Always You (18 page)

“Did I say beautiful?” he muttered, nearly yanking the camisole off her. “Melora, sweet, you’re exquisite.”

Her breasts were creamy, full, and generous; her nipples dark and taut, rigid beneath his fingers. Cal lost himself in the pleasure of touching her, of learning the secrets of her body, of watching the silken desire slide through her eyes, glisten, and glow.

Her breasts throbbed with a sweet pain that would have been agony if it had not been bliss. The way he looked at her, touched her, the intent gleam of his gaze sent a ripple of desire through Melora that was so fierce it hurt her throat and her eyelids. As Cal’s hands did magical things to her breasts and his mouth tantalized her lips, she suddenly felt a stab of jealousy toward all the women he had known before, whoever they were, wherever they were.

Hungry to block them out, to make him hers, she was swept up suddenly then in need that shook her to her core. With a small sound she reached for him; her fingers tugged his shirt from his trousers and yanked it off almost as recklessly as he had removed her camisole.

Cal grinned, then took her by the shoulders. “Eager little devil, aren’t you?” he murmured against her lips. Their mouths clung; tongues danced. While their mouths played, Cal unbuckled his belt.

Melora couldn’t help the blush that rushed into her cheeks at his words, but she was already leaning back, staring through the dimness at his wide, magnificent chest. She wished it were daylight so that she could see him, all of him. But the darkness was welcoming, too, splendid and musky and mysterious, with just the two of them and the magical touch of him, and the scent of him, and the way he made her body sing.

Her eyes had adjusted enough now to the lack of light so that she could make out what she wanted to see. Her hands swept out to caress the crisp mahogany hair across his chest, her fingers shyly traced his nipples, played across his muscles.

Her throat felt dry as Cal caught her to him again, filled his hands with the fullness of her breasts, swept small, hot kisses across her face, down her neck, down her arms.

A hunger trembled through her, grew, intensified. It was a hunger she didn’t fully understand, but as Cal lowered his mouth to her breast, found the taut crimson peak, and tasted it, she moaned with starvation. With a craving that only increased as his hands skimmed her body, exploring, massaging, as his mouth teased and tasted, as his eyes burned through hers.

“Don’t be afraid,” he said, his breath warm upon her neck.

“I’m not. Only a little.”

It was true, she thought as she raced with him to some wild, unknown destination that beckoned tantalizingly just beyond reach. The fear was there, but it was small compared with the need. Trust flowed through her, encouraged by his every gentle, pleasurable touch. This was Cal, who had cradled her during the storm, who had rescued her from Jethro and Strong. What flowed between her and Cal, what had always flowed between them, was not the stuff of fear. It was wild, sweet, powerful. As powerful as the earth and the mountains. And every bit as natural.

White fire raged through her as Cal’s rough hands stripped her naked and found their way to every inch of her, all the soft, secret places that no man had ever touched before. She quivered as his hand brushed between her thighs, nestling there, probing and discovering while all the while he kissed her, his mouth hot and demanding upon her lips. Melora thought the fire he stoked would singe her to ashes, but the fire did not destroy; it shimmered and burned like the splendid rays of the sun.

Cal groaned low in his throat as she wound slim arms around his neck and pulled him closer, arcing against him. His whole body was taut with hunger for her, even as he fought the fierce driving need. Impatience lashed him, but he fought it, chained it, for fear of hurting her.

With the whores he had known, there had been pleasure—easy, grunting pleasure. But nothing more. Only the simple, uncomplicated pleasure of animal satisfaction and release.

With Melora, each touch, each kiss, the sensation of her perfumed hair tickling his skin as he bent to kiss her, the skimming of her long, slender fingers down his back all aroused feelings so deep and intense they rocked through and through him, grinding him heart and soul.

When she reached out trembling fingers that brushed down his torso, past his hips, to touch his manhood shyly, Cal groaned and went still.

“Ohh. Oh.” She jerked her hand back in shock, and he felt the hot blush stealing through her entire body.

“Go ahead, Melora. Yes, that’s right. Go ahead, Princess, that feels good. So good.”

She wanted him to feel good, as good as he made her feel. More boldly she reached out again. She smiled, pleased and eager as she heard his sharp intake of breath. While her lips groped for his, sweet and giving, she glided her hand over his hot engorged shaft, caressing and exploring the length of him. Her breath came in short gasps as he strained against her and his own hand guided hers, teaching her the rhythm.

Love for Cal flowed through her. It was sure and it was magical and she wanted to be even closer to him somehow than she was; she wanted to wrap herself around him, to hold him and devour him and to be held and devoured. Yet when Cal’s powerful body shifted, moving deliberately over hers, and when his knee parted her legs, Melora tensed with expectation. She’d shivered and writhed at the delicious stroking of his hand between her thighs, but as his manhood thrust against her and began to slide inside, she gasped with instinctive trepidation and tried to draw her legs together.

“Cal, I’m afraid.”

“You said you weren’t.”

“I am now,” she whispered, trying to struggle up, but be pushed her back down, his eyes gleaming into hers as he brushed a kiss across her mouth.

“I’ll try not to hurt you, sweet. Don’t be afraid—”

“I am afraid.”

“Trust me.”

Trust. Yes, she felt trust. She gazed up into his lean, sweat-sheened face, met his carefully appraising eyes. And she nearly drowned in the rush of love that flooded up through her.

“Yes, Cal,” she whispered, her arms twining around him, her legs sliding apart. Her fingers curled through his hair; she pressed an ardent kiss to his chest, her whole body trembling. “I do trust you.”

Red-hot fire surged through him then. Urgency. Need. A pumping heat that had Cal spreading her legs, easing into her. She wanted him. Needed him.
Trusted him.

Even after all he’d done.

Closing her eyes, gasping, Melora braced herself, trembling as he slid deeper, deeper ...

Pain spasmed through her as he broke through cleanly; then he went still inside her as she cried out, a sob rising in her throat. But Cal kissed her cheeks, her eyelids, and then her quivering mouth, and the warmth and strength of his body seemed to take control of hers, hypnotizing her even through the pain.

Cal tangled his hands in her hair as he began to move inside her. “Come with me, Melora,” he muttered against her lips. “Stay with me, ride with me. Faster and harder than you’ve ever ridden before.”

His thrusts accelerated. Melora mewed against his shoulder as a pounding pleasure filled her, stirring her to a slow, building frenzy. Cal’s hips dug against hers, his body crushing, grinding, but there was no longer any pain, only blinding delight, a searing heat, a need that built and built and became so unbearable she bucked beneath him, wrapping her legs around his, clawing his back.

Wild joy tore through her. She cried out his name; she arched her hips, frantic, frenzied, trying to take him completely into her, to embrace him deeper and deeper, to hold him forever.

The barn darkened, brightened, darkened again as Melora clung to Cal. A soaring ecstasy shuddered through her, arced through both of them in a fierce explosion as if the sun and the moon and the stars had whirled together in a white-hot blast that clenched them and shook them and at last released them like a pair of shooting stars.

They shuddered together amid the fragrant hay and grew still at last in each other’s arms. Only the sound of their breathing broke the quiet. Until they both heard the bolt rattle on the barn door and the rusty creak as it slid open.

“Cal, Melora?” A tiny crack of light shattered the darkness. Louisa’s voice, unexpectedly timid and concerned, wavered through the barn.

“Jesse said to leave you be, but Will and I are worried. Are you all right?”

Cal shot upright, glaring through the gloom. “We’re fine. Get back to the party. Right now.”

“But what about Melora? Is she mad at us?”

“No, Lou.” Melora managed to reply in a voice that shook only a little. “I’m not mad at you.”

“We’re talking.” Cal grimaced and briefly closed his eyes. “Making up. We’ll be back at the barbecue soon.”

“Kissing and making up?” Will asked eagerly. He stuck his head into the duskiness of the barn, and Melora instinctively snatched up her dress and held it across her nakedness, a gasp of dismay and laughter trembling on her lips.

It was Cal who answered Will. “If you and Lou don’t want to get walloped for this prank, you’ll make tracks pronto and leave us be. You hear me?”

“Yep!” Will and Lou chimed together, sounding as merry as two chipmunks prancing in a barrel of nuts, and then the door thudded shut again. This time there was no sound of the bolt sliding into place.

Melora was certain Cal could see her cheeks flaming in the darkness. Her throat ached suddenly, and she wasn’t sure if she was on the verge of laughter or tears. Imagine if those children had walked in a few moments earlier and discovered exactly what kind of kissing and making up had been going on!

Peering through the blackness, she tried to discern Cal’s expression. Shyly she reached out to touch his shoulder, still dazed by that explosion of passion that had passed between them, by what she felt, by what she knew now in her heart about the two of them, what she’d guessed for a very long time but had finally admitted without reservation.

She loved him. Fully, with all her heart. She loved Cal Holden, this tall, hard-jawed man who’d taken her here in this haystack, who’d stripped away her decorous innocence with strong, gentle hands, who’d replaced ignorance with knowledge—the knowledge that magic truly exists, that souls can touch, that love can stir you to the marrow of your bones.

She wanted him to do all of it all over again. “Cal,” she said, smiling in the darkness as she reached for him, “I wish we hadn’t—”

“I know, Melora. I wish we hadn’t too.”

Melora’s hand froze inches from his shoulder. Then it dropped to her side like an anvil. The darkness around them seemed to grow deeper, blacker. She’d been about to say, “I wish we hadn’t been interrupted.” But Cal had cut her off before she could finish.

I wish we hadn’t too.

He wished they hadn’t made love? She started to tremble and fought against it.

“I don’t understand,” she murmured, feeling sick.

He spoke in a tight voice that sent a chill piercing through her. “This was a mistake.”

“A... mistake?”

Cal had sprung up and was reaching for his trousers. “Guess I just lost my head, Melora. Sorry.”

She was cold, shaking. “Sorry?”

“This was damned stupid. And it was all my fault. Not that I didn’t enjoy it. I did,” he said quickly, feeling like a complete fool. Enjoy it? He’d done a hell of a lot more than enjoy it. The memory seared him clear through. He remembered every sweet inch of her, each kiss, each pleasured mew she’d made. Every single thing. The weight and softness of her breasts, the outline of her hips, the way she’d thrashed against him, crying out with a need as deep and blinding as his own, yet somehow one that was infinitely more affecting, a need that made him sweat and burn and vow to never hurt her.

He was probably hurting her now, he thought. Tripping over his stupid tongue. Saying all the wrong things. Just as he’d done all the wrong things, all the things he’d vowed not to do.

He tugged on his trousers, cursing under his breath.

Hell, he’d planned to go slowly, to give Melora a chance to accept the idea that her fiancé was a scoundrel, to stay away from her—and the next thing he knew he was making love with her in a haystack.

Nice going,
he thought, his fingers flying over his shirt buttons.
That’s the way to court a lady: drag her down in the hay and don’t give her a chance to think twice.

“This wasn’t something I planned.” He went on doggedly, aware that she was very still, very silent.

“I certainly didn’t plan it,” she snapped, her voice high and cold, totally unlike the way she usually spoke.

“I know that. I’m sorry. I don’t know exactly what happened. I wasn’t thinking straight, but I guarantee you it will never happen again.”

Unless you want it to.
That’s what he wanted to say, that and so much more. He wanted to haul her up against him, stark naked as she was, and touch her all over, nibble on every delicious inch of her. He wanted to tell her that she was beautiful, amazing, that she took his breath away.

Instead he buckled his belt and wished he had some idea what you say to a woman at a time like this when you’ve taken advantage of her being confused and vulnerable, when you’ve behaved like the lowest kind of snake, when you know she’s going to end up hating you.

He wouldn’t make excuses to her. He’d just leave her alone.

“I’ll wait for you outside,” he said curtly, and then risked a glance at her. She looked like a frozen block of ice. Half sitting up, her arms braced upon the hay, she was beautiful, a shapely statue carved from alabaster. Her skin gleamed pale in the darkness, her hair was sexily mussed, rippling past her shoulders and her breasts with sensuous abandon, her eyes staring at him, wide and filled with—what?

He couldn’t see what was in her eyes.

Through the darkness he thought he saw the glimmer of tears.

Then she sprang up with a cry and began to dress, yanking her clothes on even faster than they’d come off.

“Don’t you worry about me,” she told him with a taut, icy dignity that made him flinch. ‘I’ll be right outside—in just a minute. Don’t give me another thought. Just go on back to the party.”

“I said I’d wait for you outside.”

“I said don’t bother.”

Cal wrenched her around to face him just as she’d slipped her chemise over her head and his eyes narrowed as he saw the filmy fabric glide down to conceal her breasts.

He wanted to yank it off again.

Instead he forced himself to peer into her eyes, trying to read what was beneath their hard sparkle.

“What the hell is wrong with you? I know you’re angry, but—”

“Angry?
Angry
?” Melora choked on the words. Her voice whistled out high and clear and throbbing with the rage and hurt that shook through her like a cyclone. “You’re damn right I’m angry, Cal. How dare you?
How dare you
treat me this way?”

His lips thinned. “I said I was sorry. It was wrong, I know—”

“Get out! Just get out! Don’t you ever touch me again, do you hear me, Cal Holden? If you do, I swear I’ll kill you!” she shrieked. “Do you understand that? Do you?”

“I may be a fool, but I’m not an idiot, Princess.” He picked up his hat, stuck it on his head, and turned on his heel.

She waited until the barn door slammed shut behind him, and then, when she was alone, she threw herself down in the hay and let the tears come.

They were tears of mortification. And tears of pain such as she had never known before.

Cal regretted it. He regretted what they’d done. He felt—
Lord, help me,
Melora thought in agony, her hands covering her face—he felt he’d made a
mistake.

He doesn’t want me.

She’d given him all that she had within her, she’d given him her innocence, her virginity, her absolute love and trust, and the hopes and dreams that sailed along with it, and it had meant nothing to him. Nothing.

He didn’t want her.

She sobbed out, wrenched out, thrashed out all the bitterness and pain, but when she thought it all was gone, more welled up inside and overflowed.

She’d thought Cal had felt what she had. She’d thought he cared for her, maybe even loved her. He’d been so gentle.

But he never said it. He never said anything like it.

She felt like the world’s biggest fool. She’d given of herself in a way she never had before, and he was turning his back on her, apologizing for his mistake, walking away from her.

And she wanted him. All she knew was that she wanted him.

“To hell with him,” she whispered, and then she bent her head and wept anew, her tears soaking the hay, because Cal Holden was in her blood, in her heart, in her soul, and she knew she would never get him out.

* * *

They didn’t speak to each other all the way home from the barbecue, or afterward, or the next day. Cal made himself scarce, tending to farm chores, staying away from the house. As Melora went about her own solitary way, helping the children with the household tasks and tending the small patch of vegetable garden, she noticed the worried glances exchanged among Cassie and Will and Louisa, and she knew they thought their matchmaking prank had backfired.

They were desolate, and she tried her best to appear cheerful and unconcerned around them, but when Jesse came in at noon for a supper of cold sliced ham and bread, she saw the concerned glances sent her way, and Will and Louisa kept coming over to hug her knees, while Cassie kept telling her how pretty she’d looked and asking Melora to teach her how to coif her hair in the style she’d adopted for the barbecue.

This is ridiculous,
Melora snapped angrily to herself that afternoon, when for no reason at all she found herself sniffing back tears, and Will, seeing, ran to hug her for the dozenth time.

You’re Melora Deane, not some pathetic ninny. Have a little dignity. Don’t let the whole world, especially Cal, see you moping around like a lovesick calf. Where’s your backbone? Your pride?

She could almost hear her father’s voice commanding in her ear:
Buck up, girl. Put a good face on it.

So she tried. And she managed fairly well, tucking her flannel shirt into her rope-belted trousers, brushing her hair, forcing herself to smile when she strode in for breakfast the next day, though she and Cal stiffly avoided glancing at each other. She concentrated all morning on becoming immersed in small chores, in cooking and sweeping and reading aloud to Will and Lou, trying not to watch out the window for Cal’s return or to glance up every time she thought she heard someone coming, and soon she did begin to think about other matters—matters, she told herself, of far more importance than Mr. Cal Holden.

For one thing, there was her sister.

She was sorely worried about Jinx. And she missed her every time she looked at Will and Lou and Cassie. How Jinx would have loved to be here in this cozy farmhouse, playing with these children. An agony of worry overtook her as she remembered that her sister still thought her the prisoner of unknown desperadoes, that poor Jinx, who couldn’t even walk, was probably worried sick about what fate had befallen her sister.

She went into the bedroom and picked up the note she’d composed explaining to Jinx that she was safe and would be home soon. As she stared at it, an idea formed and grew large in her mind.

Why should she wait to give Cal her message for Jinx? She didn’t need him. She would go to Deadwood and send the wire herself.

Only she’d best not go to Deadwood, she reflected, pursing her lips. She had to steer clear of that town just in case Rafe Campbell was already there. He might spot her, and
then,
Melora thought,
I’d have no choice but to confront him.
Confront him?

She’d shoot him. It was what he deserved.

But reason quickly prevailed over this tempting notion. No matter how upset she was with Cal, she couldn’t risk spoiling the plan he’d devised to clear his name. He needed to set Campbell up, to arrange Marshal Brock’s involvement in order to gain a valid confession. She’d have to avoid Deadwood—for now.

But I can ride to Cherryville; it’s only five miles south of Deadwood. I’ll send the wire to Jinx and come right back before Cal even knows I’ve gone.

With Cal so damned busy he hadn’t even bothered to say good morning or to come in for supper, who was to stop her?

Only Jesse.

Well, she could handle a fourteen-year-old boy. Thinking quickly, Melora folded the note into the pocket of her trousers, then retrieved her Colt from Cal’s saddle pack.

He should have returned this to her days ago. She needed it. Who else did she have to rely on but herself? Always herself.

For a moment her throat closed with unshed tears as she realized that for a time, a very short time, she’d thought she could depend on a man who called himself Wyatt Holden, who’d come courting with flowers and gifts, who’d offered to marry her in church before the entire town of Rawhide.

She’d been a fool.

Falling for the lies of a rustling, murdering con artist had been a miserable enough mistake. But then—then she had allowed herself to think, for a few brief moments, that she could count on Cal. That he cared for her, wanted her, maybe even loved her...

Fool, fool, fool,
she told herself.
After all the men who’ve courted you, chased you, wanted you, you have to pick a big lug who couldn’t care less about you, or love, or anything but getting revenge against Rafe Campbell. Oh, he cares about his family, these children, and his family name, but not about you.

Not in the way you want him to care.

She wanted to scream, to pound her fist into Cal Holden’s handsome, stubborn face, to grab hold of him and tell him exactly what she thought of him, but she did none of these things.

She knelt beside Louisa, while the other children were out back, and gave her a quick smile.

“Lou, honey, I’m taking Sunflower out for a ride. I’ll be back in time to fix dinner.”

“You going to find Cal?”

“No, Cal’s busy. I’m just going for a ride.”

“Where?”

She hesitated, then smiled into the little girl’s worried eyes. “It’s a secret, Lou, but actually I’m going to Cherryville. See this?” She took out the note and showed it to Lou. “I’m going to wire my little sister back in Wyoming.”

“Jinx.” Lou nodded importantly.

“Yes, Jinx.”

“How did she get such a funny name?”

Melora grinned. “Because on the night she was born my pop won three hundred dollars in a poker game.”