A Lady of the West (30 page)

The lamplight was too bright to be merciful. A return to fear jolted her from her sensual daze, and she rose up on one elbow with one hand lifted as if to ward him off. He was plainly revealed, his strongly muscled body nude, his thick erection rising from the dark curls at his groin. She stared at him in terror. The Major hadn't looked anything like that. There was no way she could accept him inside her, he was too big, he would tear her apart—

“No,” she said hoarsely, belatedly trying to twist away.

Jake hauled her back and mounted her, prying her clenched thighs apart and settling himself between
them. Fear exploded within her, out of control, as his rigid shaft probed at the soft folds between her legs.

“I can't,” she moaned, thrashing her head from side to side. “Jake, please!”

“No, everything's all right,” he soothed. “There won't be a problem, you'll see. It'll slide in so slick and easy you won't be hurt at all. Just relax, sweetheart.”

He knew she must be terrified because of what the Major had done to her, but he also knew that because the Major
had
done it and he didn't now have to break her hymen, she wouldn't be forced to endure that pain. No, he intended to make certain that this time would be all pleasure for her.

He kissed her deeply, and in despair she felt the rise of heat in her again, and the coiling tension that only he could relieve. With a sob she admitted defeat and lifted her hips against him, silently asking for his penetration.

“Please,” she whispered.

“All right, darling,” he murmured against her throat.

There was no way she could relax, no way she could be casual about what was happening to her now. He was going to do what he wanted to her no matter what she did, but accepting the inevitable didn't help. She was swept along willy-nilly, with no control even over her own body, which begged for his conquest. Her breath burst out of her in a shuddering sigh as he let all of his weight down on her and reached down between her legs, holding her open with one hand while the other guided his manhood. She flinched as he made contact again, his flesh smooth and hot.

“Jake—”

“Easy, easy,” he whispered, and nudged the broad tip into her, following with a steady, relentless pressure that forced him past the restrictive tightness of her opening. Victoria pushed convulsively at his waist in an effort to repel the burning invasion of her body.
Hot tears slipped down her cheeks, at last uncontrolled. He caught her hands and moved them, pinning them again to the pillow, then continued squeezing into her, inch by slow inch, until he was in her to the hilt.

“Oh, God,” he groaned, fighting the waves of pleasure that swept over him. She was so tight that he almost couldn't bear it. To give himself time he held himself still, embedded deeply inside her, and began again the exquisite task of bringing her to pleasure.

“It's all right, sweetheart,” he said, kissing her over and over. His penetration had been so difficult, he wondered for an instant about the Major. But he dismissed the thought; he hadn't felt the telltale resistance of delicate skin when he'd entered her. Still, she was crying and it wrenched at his guts. He wiped her tears away and began to slowly move his hips in the way that would bring her the ultimate ease.

She lay limply, her gaze fastened on his hard, intent face, accepting the penetration and retreat of his manhood in dazed muteness. When she had imagined this act of ultimate intimacy, she had thought of it in terms of pain and revulsion, unable to comprehend why men seemed to want it so. Now, as her breath caught, she began to understand what, beyond duty, prompted a woman to submit to the act. It wasn't submission as much as participation, although her body was only now beginning to learn that. The heavy thrust and drag of his maleness was bringing the heat within her to full flame again and concentrating it in her loins.

It began slowly because both her senses and flesh were still shocked by his invasion, but it was inexorable. The twinges of pleasure became sharper, and as her senses recovered they focused on her own body, bringing it alive in ways she had never anticipated. She smelled the clean sweat that made his body gleam, the musky maleness of his skin, even the new and
exciting scents of their lovemaking. She felt his heat, enveloping her. She felt his hardness, the strength of his muscled arms enfolding her, the scrub-board flatness of his belly rubbing against her with each thrust, the powerful thighs that kept her own thighs parted, the hardness of his loins that pressed into her body with each recoil of his hips.

Her hands moved, slowly and without her awareness, to his shoulders; they were hot and smooth under her palms.

Her legs lifted and twined sensuously around his hips and thighs.

Her back arched, tilting her pelvis to receive him more fully.

And it grew in her, that heat.

Afterward, she never had any idea of how long they strained together, or when the heat shattered the last of her control. She clung to him, gasping at his strong hands on her breasts, crying out wordlessly when her hips lifted to meet him. His hair was plastered to his skull with sweat; her hands clenched in it, holding him to her. He groaned, too, with the inward thrusts that were driving them into their frenzy. She was liquid fire in his arms; her body burned him, and enchanted him. He took the full measure of her response and gave her his, caught and shattered in a way he had never been before.

And the heat became too much.

She clawed at his back, crying again, frantic for release from the incredible tension in her body. She was shuddering, lifting, straining toward him. He drove into her with a heavy rhythm that rattled the bed on its frame. She moaned, knowing that if she didn't find relief, she would shatter, her heart would burst. And then she discovered that the shattering was the relief. Her loins clenched convulsively around his manhood, then her senses exploded in great waves that lifted her entire body off the bed.

He caught her hips and pushed deeper into her, thrusting hard. He went taut and reared back, his powerful body arching like a bow as his climax shook him. A hoarse cry burst from his throat and together they died the little death that was a death of self, and an exaltation of life.

S
he awoke slowly, feeling a physical soreness and a certain malaise of spirit as she had to face the morning. She would have preferred it to remain night forever, for then she could simply lie in bed with him and push reality away.

She was alone in the bed, for which she was grateful. Despite the heated carnality they had shared during the night, she didn't think she'd have been able to blithely crawl naked from the bed in full daylight with him looking on. Nor did she now; she stretched cautiously beneath the twisted, wrinkled sheet. Though her thighs protested and her breasts and lips felt swollen and tender, the only real soreness seemed to be between her legs and to her relief even that wasn't severe.

Her depression wasn't brought on by her physical complaints, which were minor, but by her uncertainty that had, perversely, been increased by his lovemaking. Before, the situation had been that she loved him but wasn't loved in return. A simple, if painful, reality.

She still loved him. If she hadn't done so, she could
have resisted him, but she had long ago admitted that she loved the rough, hard-eyed gunman. No matter if he called himself Roper or Sarratt, no matter if he'd sworn vengeance on everything and everyone bearing the McLain name, she loved him. She couldn't love by half-measures, holding back in self-protection; nor could she stop loving him just because he'd lied to her and betrayed her trust. Whether or not he wanted it, he had both her heart and her loyalty. The sense of honor that had kept her with McLain even when she despised him would keep her heart with Jake Sarratt forever. So she had lain beneath him in the night, shocked by the intimacies he'd insisted on, burning with the pleasure he'd given her, and she had become, irrevocably, Jake Sarratt's woman.

She had given him everything, her body and her honor, her pride. What deepened the shadows in her eyes was the inner certainty that he didn't cherish the gift. He had enjoyed her body, but she remembered with sharp pain that he had also enjoyed the body of the woman she'd seen him making love to in the barn.

The bright sunshine pouring in the window mocked her, but after another moment of lying in bed she answered the mockery by rising. Even though she was alone, her head was high and her back straight as she washed the evidence of the night from her body and methodically dressed herself in her usual modest shirtwaist and plain skirt. After she had picked up her scattered garments from the floor, she sat down at the dresser to put up her hair. It was a moment she had been postponing, because she dreaded looking at herself this morning, afraid the night's sensuality would show on her face.

To her relief, she looked much as she always did, although a little paler. Her face was grave and serene, and if there was a depth of new knowledge in her eyes, that at least was to be expected.

Facing herself in the mirror had been difficult;
facing Jake would take every bit of backbone she possessed.

Jake brooded in the library, a cup of Lola's strong hot coffee in his hands. The night had not left him untouched, either. He'd known he wanted Victoria; he'd even admitted to being obsessed by her. What he hadn't known was how strong the obsession was or that now, after taking her, he'd want her even more.

All of his plans had seemed so simple, but now he was caught. Victoria was a temptation he couldn't resist, a complication he couldn't solve. He and Ben had the ranch back, the land that was theirs by birthright but not by law. McLain was dead; though Garnet had survived, it was enough that he was gone. Jake wasn't inclined to go chasing after him. If Garnet ever crossed his path again, he would kill him, but for now at least Jake was satisfied. Almost.

What was he going to do about Victoria? She threatened him in a way no one else ever had, because she threatened him emotionally. Last night had shown him his own frightening vulnerability to her. He was terrified of his weakness for her, of how close and raw she made his emotions. The only way Jake knew to deal with this kind of threat was to flee, to protect himself by being rid of her, but he couldn't do that without losing the ranch.

She had been McLain's wife; he should be disgusted at the thought of touching her, but the truth was that he ached to have her again and again. She was so fine that McLain's ugliness hadn't been able to coarsen her. The night they had just shared hadn't diluted the intensity of his desire; it had increased it.

He desperately wanted to fight that desire, to keep himself heartwhole. He could send her away, but the thought of some other man marrying her made him grind his teeth in rage. And with her went the legal ownership of the ranch. He was caught in her
woman's web like some stupid insect, and damn if he liked that idea.

He couldn't let her go, so there was no sense in even toying with the idea. He and Ben had control of the ranch, but they didn't have ownership. Unless he married Victoria. Then it would be his, and he would deed half of it to Ben.

He could keep the ranch, or he could protect himself by letting Victoria go. He and Ben had been born in this house; the thought of coming back to it, reclaiming it, had been the driving force of their lives. He'd fought for it, killed for it, won it back, but still it legally belonged to someone else. He could try to close himself off emotionally, try to protect himself with the wall of ice that had served him so well until now. But physically and legally, he and Victoria were to be man and wife. He really had no choice.

Ben walked in, sipping his own cup of coffee. He sprawled in a chair close to Jake's and eyed his brother with sharp awareness, both of where he had spent the night and of what was on his mind now.

“She's a fine woman,” Ben said.

Jake looked up. “I know.”

“And a real lady. I'm not too sure about that cousin of hers, but Victoria is a lady through and through.”

Amusement lightened Jake's frown for a minute, and he grinned at his brother. “Emma? She's even more proper than Victoria. What did you do to her to get her stirred up?”

“Me?” Ben snapped. “She shot at me, damn it, and tried to knock my brains out with the rifle!”

Jake shrugged. “Victoria took a shot at me, too.”

“She fought like a wildcat,” Ben said, remembering the way Emma had felt beneath him, the way she had gone still when she'd felt his hardness pushing against her. He shifted restlessly and changed the subject.

“Do your plans still stand?”

“What choice do I have?”

“We both know the choices.” Ben knew Jake would
never harm Victoria, but he wanted to jolt his brother out of his brooding, so he said, “Victoria owns the ranch now. You can marry her, or you can kill her.”

Victoria had come downstairs just after Ben had entered the library, and stood outside the door trying to work up enough courage to greet them. Jake had seen her as no one else had, touched her as no one else had. The memory would be in his eyes when he looked at her, and knowledge would be in Ben's because the things that a man did to a woman were something that all men knew, and did. She hadn't intended to eavesdrop, but in her hesitation to enter the room she had. And what she'd heard had drained all the blood from her face.