A Creed in Stone Creek (19 page)

After a few moments, during which the two of them tacitly agreed that it was time to move on, Steven whistled for Zeke, who’d gone exploring amid the tall grass, sheltered, like the graves, within the cluster of flourishing oak trees.

Their next stop was the high ridge, with its spectacular view of both Stone Creek Ranch and, in the near distance, the town as well. Melissa had hoped for a sighting of King’s Ransom, the legendary wild stallion that sometimes put in an appearance, but that day, he kept himself and his band of mares and foals well hidden.

“There’s still the house, of course,” Melissa said, once she was settled in the passenger seat of Steven’s flashy truck again, figuring the tour was complete, “but since it’s occupied, that part will have to wait.”

Steven smiled, looked back at Zeke to make sure he was settled, and started up the engine.

Something had definitely changed between herself and Steven, Melissa thought. There was still tension,
of course, but the strange sense of urgency had passed. Being together seemed only natural now, and easy.

Things just sort of unfolded after that, with no hurry and no fretting and no drama.

“What will it be, Melissa?” he asked her, very quietly and after a long silence, when they were back at his place, inside the tour bus. “Is it now, or is it never?”

“How about now?” Melissa murmured, realizing, as her heartbeat quickened and her breath caught, that she was completely lost. If the scent of lilacs had made her drunk, this man’s close proximity affected her like opium.

Of course she could have cited chapter and verse on why she shouldn’t go to bed with Steven Creed—they’d only been acquainted for a couple of days, and that was just the start of it. He could be six kinds of bastard and a few besides, for all she knew.

But she also knew—
had
known from the moment they met, actually—that making love with him, for better or worse, for heaven or for heartbreak, was as inevitable as the turning of the seasons.

Melissa had only been inside her brother’s fancy bus a few times—Brad had expressly forbidden any of his three younger sisters to consort with his band—but she knew where the main bedroom was. And knew they were headed straight for it.

Steven laid her down on the bed gently, his eyes at once troubled and hungry. “Are you sure about this?” he asked.

Melissa nodded, swallowed. “I’m sure,” she said.

Like hell.

He sat down on the edge of the bed, pulled off his
boots, tossed them aside. Otherwise, Steven was fully dressed, just as she was.

Turning his head to look down at her, he smiled very slightly. “You knew this would happen,” he said. The statement might have been a mere guess, it might have been an accusation.

It might have been both.

“So did you,” Melissa replied, scooting over, so he could stretch out beside her, which he did.

“Some things,” he agreed, in that same gruff voice, “are written in the stars.”

She smiled up at him. “You’re a poet on top of all your other charms.”

He laughed. “Woman,” he said, easing the skirt of her sundress up over her knees and then higher still, to the middle of her thighs, “poetry is the
least
of my charms.”

She felt so crazy-happy, and the emotion was all the sweeter because she knew it wouldn’t last. The
real
Melissa was hardheaded and practical, and wherever she’d gone, she’d definitely be back. With a vengeance. “And you’re
arrogant,
too.”

But his face had changed. He sat up, frowning, touching her with just the tips of his fingers.

Melissa remembered the cuts and bruises she’d sustained that morning, though she couldn’t actually
feel
a single one of them. No, all she felt was Steven’s caress, and the desire for more contact and then still more.

“This happened today?” he asked. “When you were
almost
hit by a car?”

Melissa bit her lower lip. “Yes,” she said. “But—”

He met her gaze, his expression grave. “You’re hurt,” he said. And just like that, he was up and off the bed,
moving away from her. He disappeared into the bathroom and returned almost immediately with a drugstore first-aid kit.

Still adjusting to the shift in mood, Melissa nearly laughed, out of pure nervousness, and started to shinny upright.

Steven stopped her, though, with just a look.

“You keep a first-aid kit handy?” she asked.

Stupid question, since he obviously did. But there it was.

“I have a five-year-old son,” he reminded her.

He set the white plastic box aside, on the table next to the bed, and that was when she noticed that he’d just happened to bring a small, easily recognizable packet along, too.

A condom. Anticipation returned, washing over Melissa in one great tsunami-like wave.

“Let’s get you out of that dress,” he said next.

And he simply whisked the whole thing right off over her head, without any sort of wasted motion.

Melissa had been undressed by a few men before, of course, but never in such a deft and matter-of-fact way. The yearning, strong before, pressed on her like a weight now, making it hard for her to breathe.

“That was—direct,” she gasped, as a flush moved from her hairline to her toes. Goose bumps rose in its wake.

“I’m nothing if not direct,” Steven said. Then he began applying some kind of medicine to her injuries, lightly and with skill.

“I’ve already used ointment,” she struggled to say. Her body wanted to rise to him, to the touch of his hands, her back wanted to arch and her legs to part.

“Well, now you’re getting more,” Steven answered.

Oh, God,
Melissa thought desperately, as his fingertips moved like a whispering breeze over the tingling flesh of her thighs and her knees, then her arms and shoulders.

He gave another of those raspy chuckles she was beginning to recognize as a hallmark of his personality. “Oh, lady, as roughed up as you are, you are
beyond
beautiful.”

Apparently, they were past the first-aid stage.

Melissa suppressed a moan of pure need as she watched Steven stand up, unbutton his shirt partway, and then impatiently haul the garment off over his head.

His chest was broad, his muscle tone was good and a light dusting of hair, the color of brown sugar, caught the light.

“You’re sure?” he asked again.

The longer she looked at him, the surer she was.

“Yes,” she said. It was an ache, that simple word.

He didn’t take off his jeans then, which was probably a mercy, Melissa figured, because she already wanted him so badly that she might have bolted right up off that bed and tackled him to the floor if she’d seen what was under them. Not that his erection didn’t show, because it strained against that thin layer of denim.

The mattress dipped and he was beside her again, gathering her close, deftly unhooking her bra, so that skin met skin. Kissing her so deeply, so thoroughly, that she couldn’t hold still any longer.

Her body flexed on the bed, already slick with need, and burning. Burning everywhere. She was on fire, and nothing had even happened yet.

She felt his thumb slide under the elastic on her
panties, and then those were gone, too, as easily as if they’d dissolved under the heat of his hand.

His hand.
It was between her legs now, stroking her, teasing her, subtly parting her.

He kissed his way down her neck, stopped to nibble at her left breast, then her right. She was squirming, even whimpering a little, by the time he left the nipples, wet from his mouth and so hard that they nearly hurt.

He reached her belly, tasting her skin, his fingers still plying her.

Melissa’s whole body buckled in reaction; if he kept this up, she’d have an orgasm
way
too soon. She didn’t realize she’d voiced this concern aloud until Steven laughed and shifted, kneeling between her legs now.

“Go ahead and let yourself go if you need to,” he drawled, leaning forward now, his hands gently possessive on her breasts. “There will be plenty more where that came from.”

Another groan escaped her, fierce, almost primordial.

And then he lowered himself to her, parted her with his fingers, flicked at her with the tip of his tongue.

Melissa’s hips surged upward, and she made a soblike sound, hoarse with lust.

He tempted. He teased. He feasted, and then withdrew, and then feasted again.

Melissa buried her fingers in his hair, frantic. Her body flew, but Steven stayed with her.

She began to quiver all over, and perspiration misted her skin, made wisps and tendrils of her hair stick to her neck and her cheeks and her forehead. Finally, she pleaded, in a scratchy rasp….

And the climax came, shattering, a thing of light and
heat and fire, blinding her, wringing guttural shouts from her throat, causing her heels to dig deep into the surface of the mattress.

Steven held her afterward, until the trembling had eased, until she could breathe, and then got up, a haze at the periphery of her vision, and got out of his jeans.

She hadn’t seen his shaft—everything was blurry—but she
felt
it all right, because he was soon on top of her. The length of him, hard and hot, pressed against her abdomen and belly, a physical portent of what was about to happen.

Melissa moaned again, as all the melted-honey satisfaction of her recent climax instantly morphed into something greedy and feverish and utterly wild.

Steven shifted his weight slightly, careful not to crush her, and she knew he was putting on the condom. Even that move was graceful.

He kissed her again, then looked straight into her eyes and said, “Last chance to say no.”

Melissa arched her back, inviting him inside her in that way as old as the human race, and now it was Steven who groaned. He was part of her in one swift, fiery stroke, sheathed to the hilt.

She reveled in the sensation of being conquered and, at the same time, conquering. By tacit agreement, they both lay still for a few long, delicious moments, simply savoring this most intimate of all connections.

As soon as he began to move, though, Melissa was lost.

She bucked under him, like a wild mare being broke to ride, and clawed at his shoulders and his back, and there was something so primitive, so freeing, in the joining that a terrible, consuming joy rose up inside her.

On and on it went, the delicious tension rising, rising—and then the peak. Melissa wept as she gave herself up to Steven Creed, completely, eagerly, without reservation or shame.

His whole body stiffened as, at last, he surrendered, his head thrown back, the muscles cording in his neck.

Then he collapsed beside her, one leg still sprawled across her thighs, and both of them lay gasping.

It was a long time—a very long time—before either of them spoke.

In the end, it was Steven who broke the silence.

Melissa’s face was wet with tears, and he dried them with the side of one thumb, kissed the traces of them away.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked, and he sounded genuinely worried.

Melissa laughed softly. “
Hurt
me? Mister, if that was pain, bring on the next round.”

His eyes, his wonderful blue eyes, remained solemn, and the chortling sound he made came out brief and a little raw. “Then why the tears?”

She crooned a sigh. She was soft everywhere, inside and out. And more deeply satisfied than she’d ever imagined it was possible to be. “Because it was so good,” she said, tracing the line of his jaw with the tip of one index finger.

He ventured a smile then, shook his head. “Women,” he said.

He got up, disappeared into the bathroom again, then came back.

Melissa looked at Steven, saw that he was hard again, and held out her arms to him.

T
HE MEAT LOAF WAS PRETTY GOOD
, in Steven’s opinion, and after several hours with Melissa O’Ballivan, definitely the hottest woman he’d ever encountered, in or out of bed, he was ravenously hungry.

He was managing to keep his misgivings at bay, but he knew they were slinking around like wolves on the fringes of the light from a campfire, waiting to pounce.

She sat across the table from him now, fresh from the shower they’d just shared, wearing his T-shirt and nothing else. He felt downright overdressed in his jeans and the shirt he’d been wearing earlier.

Melissa picked up her fork, but instead of taking a bite of food, she looked around. Smiled.

“What?” Steven asked, amused, but feeling a touch of something else, too. Something proprietary, though he wasn’t ready to call it jealousy.

“It’s ironic,” she answered, with a saucy twist of her mouth and a twinkle in her beautiful eyes. “I’ve been inside this bus maybe three times in my life—Brad bought it for the guys in his band, while Ashley and I were still in high school, and Olivia had just started college. And none of us were allowed anywhere
near
it unless he was with us—he was that determined to protect our virtue.”

Steven smiled. “Can’t say I blame the man for that,” he commented. “Looking out for three sisters—especially
kid
sisters—has to be a challenge.”

Melissa took a few bites, looking pleasantly thoughtful. Then she asked, “Do you have sisters, Steven?”

He shook his head. “I’m an only child,” he said.

“That sounds lonely.”

“You know what they say. A person can be lonely in a crowd.”

“That’s true,” Melissa admitted. “And I have to admit, there were times when I wouldn’t have minded being an only child myself.”

“Did you always want to be a lawyer?”

“No,” she replied. “My first ambition was to reign as queen of Stone Creek Rodeo Days.”

“Did you?”

“Sure did,” Melissa answered. “When I was nineteen. Did
you
always want to be a lawyer?”

Steven paused a moment before shaking his head. “Nope,” he said. “I planned on running a ranch, like my dad.”

“What changed your mind?”

Steven was a little surprised to find himself discussing a matter he’d barely talked about with Zack, his best friend, or Brody and Conner, his cousins. “Ranching was in my blood,” he said, “but so was the law, as it turned out. My grandfather founded one of the biggest firms east of the Mississippi. It was a family business.”