First Class Male (15 page)

“I never would have guessed that, a pretty, dainty thing like you.” He slung the rabbit carcass over one of the stones ringing the flames. Already skinned, gutted and cleaned, the meat was stretched out on slim branches stripped of their leaves, ready to roast. “How long did you live with your grandfather?”

“For about three fantastic years. Gramps was a shy, gentle soul, so considerate to others, especially our grandmother.” Callie couldn’t help the wistful sigh that escaped. She brushed bits of bark and dirt off her hands and stood, melting inside with love. “They took us in after our parents died of brain fever. I was eight years old and terribly hurt, with having lost Ma and Pa so suddenly. We were in pain, all my sisters and I. But then Gramps and MeMe came to fetch us, and I could see some of my father in them. Even though we didn’t know them, they felt like family right from the start. They took us to their farm in Nebraska.”

“You light up when you talk about them.” Mason knelt down, hunkered in, his jaw at ease, dark and textured with whisker stubbles. “You loved them.”

“Very much. They were good people.” She’d never forget how understanding they’d been, how they’d helped all five sisters through their grief. “They got us to laugh again, to live again. In time, our childhood returned to almost normal with school and friends. Then they were gone too, first MeMe, then Gramps.”

“I’m sorry. That had to be hard, especially after losing your parents.” He leaned closer, rested his elbows on his knees. He felt closer than ever, so incredibly delicious and caring, he was irresistible. His gaze traveled down her face and settled on her lips. “I’m glad you have good memories of them.”

“The best.” Sadness mixed in with her smile. Callie pushed herself off her knees, turning away. If she didn’t put distance between them right now, she was afraid she might let him give her a kiss of comfort. Only trouble could come from that. She stooped to sort through the stick pile she’d made.

“You were busy while I was away.” He came up behind her, his boots light in the grass, his presence like a giant oven emitting scorching heat. “You gathered wood, made a fire, unsaddled Indigo.”

“I figured he might feel more relaxed without all that gear on him.” Her hand trembled as she moved the broken sticks and twigs aside until she found the sturdiest, tallest ones. “After I figured out the cinch, it was a cinch to take the saddle off.”

“Funny.” He gave a soft bark of laughter, moved in, his arm brushing her shoulder, his hand closing over hers, taking the sticks from her. “Indigo hasn’t wandered too far from you, I see.”

“We’re friends now,” she explained with a toss of blond hair over one slender shoulder. “He’s a big sweetheart.”

The big sweetheart looked up from cropping grass, a yellow dandelion bloom poking out from between his whiskery lips. He gave a low nicker of agreement before lowering his head again, snipping away at the tender blades with his sharp teeth.

“Honey, you don’t call a tough gelding a sweetheart. It’s bad for his image.” Amused, Mason considered the sticks she’d chosen, and she’d chosen well. He tried to make his feet move, he really did, but they didn’t. They stayed stuck on the earth, refusing to move, keeping him right there next to her. His gaze slid to her lips, soft and lush, and he nearly groaned, driven by the overwhelming need to claim them once more.

Iron will, he reminded himself. He had to be resolute, determined to protect her even from himself. He turned on his heels, branches clutched tightly in his hands and heaved his feet forward and away from her, fighting everything within him that wanted to stay close to her—or get closer.

“What about you?” she called out, her steps padding behind him, her nearness like a mace swinging at his steeled defenses, threatening to take them down. “What about your parents?”

“They live over in Miles City,” Mason ground out. She had no notion what she was doing to him. He knelt down at the fire’s edge and drove one stick into the ground outside the reach of the flames.

Don’t look at her, he thought, maybe that would help. But she kept coming, settled down beside him and laid an armful of branches next to him. He couldn’t ignore her. The rustle of her petticoats, the light rhythm of her breathing, the brush of her skin to his as she took the other stick he held.

“Do you get to see your folks often?” Her lustrous blue gaze searched his face innocently, then settled on his mouth. Her pupils dilated, undoing him. Did she want his kiss?

Before he did something he’d regret, he launched onto his feet and strode away from her. He was on the other side of the fire pit before he realized she’d circled around the other way, meeting him in the middle, the stick he needed clutched in one hand, so small and soft. When he reached for it, the look of her pale hand against his sun-browned skin sent a shiver rocking through him. Imagining her hand on his naked chest, sliding lower—

He clamped his molars together, jabbed the stick deep into the ground and reached for the long wood skewer that held the rabbit meat.

“Yes,” he finally answered, his voice cracking with strain as he eased the skewer into place so the meat hung suspended over the crackling flames. “When I get the chance, now and then I head up their way.”

“Now and then?” She tilted her head to one side, studying him, curious. She studied his lips again, as if waiting for his next words...or his next kiss.

“I don’t travel much. I work long hours,” he explained. The words felt squeezed out of him. He rubbed his hands on his thighs, wiping the bits of bark and dirt off his palms, not that there was any, but it kept him from reaching out for her, dragging her into his arms and kissing her until they were both senseless. That would not be a good option, so he took a step back.

She followed, keeping close to him, unaware how tantalizing she was in the sun. The light glinted golden in her hair, kissing her soft ivory skin, shining like a beacon on her Cupid’s bow mouth.

“You’re not one of those men whose entire life is their work, are you?” She pressed her lips together, aware he was staring at her mouth. Her eyes dilated a little more, growing darker.

His body responded like a punch, his groin quickening, his blood heating. Iron will, he reminded himself. Do not kiss her.

“Uh, guilty,” he answered her question, struggling to take another step back, but he really didn’t want to. A painful pressure built in his chest, expanding out, a need that surged through his body, beating like a drum in his blood. His hands shook from trying not to grab her. “I work all the time. It’s how come I’m in charge of an office full of men. I’m dedicated. It’s my purpose.”

“I can see that.” She slipped in, as stealthy as an evening breeze, to press the palms of her hands against his chest—blissfully unaware of his prior inappropriate mental image of her doing the same and more with him naked. He tensed every muscle in his body, fighting the rising need that gathered within him. That powerful need built, growing stronger, able to tear his iron will apart.

“Am I just a job for you?” she asked, her voice thin and raw with feeling, her gaze pinched. She stared up at him, vulnerable, heart exposed, awaiting his answer. The feelings and affection he read in her eyes shattered him.

“No,” he rasped out. “I didn’t chase after you because of my badge. That had nothing to do with it.”

His steel will and iron defenses collapsed, leaving him exposed and vulnerable. All control lost, he hauled her against him, claimed her lips with his and kissed her with everything he had.

Callie thought she knew what she was asking for when she wanted another kiss from him.

She was wrong. This kiss was nothing like the last one. It was need and hunger, possession and inferno. His mouth stayed hot and hard on hers, demanded entrance and deepened, sweeping tantalizing flickers of sensation everywhere—her lips, her tongue, the roof of her mouth. His hands gripped her, strong fingers curling into the flesh of her arms, holding her captive against the unyielding wall of his chest, making her feel his hardness everywhere.
Everywhere.

A flicker of alarm skidded through her, but it was a small flicker, more of surprise than anything. She trusted Mason with her life. When he came up for breath, leaving them both panting, his eyes searched hers, gauging her reaction. His whiskered jaw was clenched, his chest rising and falling. Tendons corded in his neck, as if it took all his strength to stop. Her pulse thudded low and deep in her abdomen and she wanted to melt against him, to never stop, never let go. She didn’t know how to tell him, so she reached up to cup his rough, stubbly jaw in both hands and went on tiptoe to kiss him again.

With a groan, his arms folded around her, his mouth descended on hers—hot, so hot. He took them both down to the ground, into the soft grass where wildflowers bobbed and a distant bee buzzed and his weight pinned her to the earth, every amazing inch of him. She felt his desire thick against her belly, felt what he yearned for in his kiss that grew rough, demanding and at the same time so tender, she couldn’t bear the thought of it ending.

She held on tight, savoring the moment. Nibbled his lips when he nibbled hers, moaned when his hands trailed down her arms and up again, sending pleasure zinging through her system. Those hands moved to her waist, his palms cupping her hips, and he extricated his mouth from hers.

Silent, he gazed down at her, his black hair wind-strewn, his hat gone, and deftly untied her sunbonnet strings, tossing it aside. The palm of his hand stroked the line of her cheek and jaw, and she quivered head to toe, the tremor rippling through her. Could he feel it? She ached for him in secret places, true, but what ached more was the sweetness filling her heart. Seeing how he cared, that’s what made the backs of her eyes burn and her throat tighten. He did care for her. A lot.

That’s all she needed to know. She covered his hand with hers, pulled it from her face, that sweet tender touch, and laid it at her throat, over the first button of her collar.

Please,
she said with a look, because she was afraid to say the words aloud. Afraid of his rejection, for this man didn’t let himself be close to anyone. Maybe not even her. She held her breath, waited for his reaction.

He stayed frozen for a few seconds, breathing heavily, and then his answer traveled across his face. The curve of his mouth hitched upward before his mouth descended on her throat, under her chin, kissing the sensitive skin there. His hands tugged at her buttons, one, two, three, exposing her corset. Warm evening air sailed across the bare skin of her chest. With a few more sturdy tugs, buttons four, five and six gave way, and her dress fell open to the waist. Taking advantage of that, his fingers nimbly brushed the fabric off her shoulders, working the sleeves down her arms as the heat of his mouth lingered on the line of her throat before heading downward in hot, little butterfly kisses. He caught the lace trim of her corset in his teeth, groaned, and buried his face between her breasts, holding her hard, clutching her to him in fierce need.

He’d been lonely for so long, she thought sympathetically, he’d gone without anyone to love him. It had taken its toll. Tenderly, she raked her hands through his thick black hair, ran her hands down his back. She’d never felt anything as strong, warm male skin over tempered steel. Muscles rippled beneath her fingertips as he lifted up, snaking his hand beneath her to untie the stays at her back. She eased up, pressing against him to give him better access, dizzy and light-headed. She buried her face in the curve of his hot shoulder, breathing in the salty scent of his skin as her laces loosened. Finally he laid her back onto the soft grass, gazing down at her as if she were the most cherished thing in the world.

This man had a
heart,
that was for sure. She relaxed, feeling safe with him, trusting him in a way she’d never trusted a man before. This was so new to her, the desire coursing like whiskey through her blood, intoxicating and heady. Made stronger by seeing that same desire reflected in his eyes, feeling it in his touch. With a tug, her corset came undone, the laces trailing in the grass as he brushed it aside, baring her to him and the sky above. She quaked, not used to being so exposed, feeling her nipples pebble beneath his stare. The blades of grass felt slightly scratchy against her skin, the sun and breeze a gossamer caress as she lay back.

“You’re beautiful.” His voice came gruff, broken.

Her breasts felt swollen and achy until he touched them—what bliss, she’d never known anything like it. The rough texture of his hands, the rasp of calluses, the skim of his fingertips across her pebbled nipples, then around, then covering. With the first squeeze of his hand, the pulse beating low in her midsection tightened, arced straight down and right through her. Intense. Unexpected. She cried out in surprise.

With a smile, he lowered his mouth, captured one sensitive nipple with his tongue and drew her in.
Wow.
Sensation ripped through her in brazen, fiery arcs, each one stronger than the last, tightening muscles deep inside. She clutched him to her, hardly aware that he was slipping her dress down her legs. When he planted one knee between hers, she arched up, straining, needing, aware of his now larger, harder arousal straining against her bare stomach. Only his clothes and her drawers separated them. She closed her eyes, drank in the thrilling sensation of his mouth on her breast, the kiss, the tug and pull. Sparkling pleasure that beat and kept beating, growing inside her, deeper and deeper.