Forbidden Fires (15 page)

Rafe was waiting for Caitlyn outside the Mercantile store when she arrived, looking breathless and pale.

“Where’ve you been?” he asked, frowning.

“I stopped by the post office to see if there was any mail.”

“You look like you ran all the way,” he observed. “Did you get all your shopping done?”

“Yes. Shall we go home now?”

“If you’re ready.”

“I am.”

He sent her a questioning glance, but when she said nothing more, he shrugged. Women, he thought. There was no understanding any of them. She’d been so eager to come to town, and now it seemed she couldn’t wait to get home.

Caitlyn didn’t mention the incident with Abner, thinking she’d tell Rafe later, at home. For now, she sat staring at the road, wondering if there wasn’t some way she could hang onto her pride and still let Rafe know she wanted him.

The knowledge that it was Saturday night didn’t help. What if he’d rather spend the night at Frenchy’s than at home with her?

She fidgeted through dinner, knowing if she didn’t do something that night, she never would.

As soon as dinner is over and the dishes are done,
she thought,
I’ll
tell him I was wrong, that I didn’t mean all the terrible things I said.

Rafe stood before the small oval mirror propped on the highboy in his bedroom, shaving. He was getting tired of spending every Saturday night at Frenchy’s, he thought, when what he really wanted to do was sit in the parlor and share a few quiet hours with Caitlyn. But he knew he couldn’t stay in the same room with her and not touch her, not any more. Just being in the same house with her was torture. It wasn’t too bad during the week; there was enough work to keep him busy outside. But Saturdays, the men quit early to go into town.

He slipped into a clean shirt, picked up his hat, and left the room. Except for the tension between himself and his wife, life at the Circle C was good. He had a home to call his own, three meals a day, and money in his pocket. Caitlyn’s stallion was recovering rapidly. The wounds in Red’s neck and flanks were healing, and Paulie was confident the stud’s leg would mend in time.

Caitlyn was in the parlor, a basket of mending in her lap. As always, he was struck by her beauty. She wore a pink dress with a high lace collar and puffed sleeves. The tight bodice outlined her breasts; the wide sash emphasized her narrow waist. Her hair, as gold as the sun, fell in soft waves down her back, held away from her face by a narrow pink satin ribbon. Her profile was soft and feminine, her neck slender and inviting.

Caitlyn looked up as Rafe entered the room, her expression morose. “I guess you’re going to town,” she said, forcing a smile.

Rafe nodded curtly.

Now,
Caitlyn thought.
Tell him now.
“Have a good time.”

“Thanks.”

He started to turn away, but something in her eyes held him. She looked sad, somehow, and he suddenly felt guilty for leaving her home alone every Saturday night. Then he shook his guilt aside. She could keep him home if she wanted to.

Caitlyn’s throat felt tight.
It has to be now,
she mused, but somehow she couldn’t form the words.
I’m sorry for the way I behaved on our wedding night,
she thought, rehearsing the words in her mind. It was a simple apology, long overdue. Why couldn’t she say it?

Instead, to her horror, she blurted, “Do you have a special girl at Frenchy’s?”

Rafe stared at her, appalled that a decent, God-fearing woman would ask such a question, and then he began to laugh. “A special girl?” he exclaimed. “Hell, Caitlyn, I don’t have
any
girl.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I’ve never touched any of Frenchy’s whores, Caitlyn,” he confessed.

“Never?” Her heart felt suddenly light and carefree.

“Never.”

“Why, Rafe?”

“Don’t you know?”

Caitlyn’s eyes were wide, as clear and green as the Pacific on a calm summer day. Slowly, she shook her head. “Why, Rafe?” she asked again, hoping he would say the words she suddenly longed to hear.

“Because of you.” His voice was quiet, his dark-eyed gaze intent upon her face. “I thought about trying one of Frenchy’s girls the first time I went there.” He shrugged. “A couple of them aren’t so bad to look at, but then I’d think about you, here, alone, and I couldn’t do it. It’s you I want, Caitlyn. No one else.”

They were not the words she longed to hear, but they filled her with a bubbling sense of joy. He’d never made love to any of Frenchy’s girls. Relief was sweeter than honey, chasing away the dreadful images her imagination had conjured up each Saturday night when Rafe left home.

“Caitlyn…”

She heard the question in his voice, saw the yearning in his eyes, and knew she could no longer deny her heart’s desires.

Rising, she let the mending basket fall to the floor and walked into Rafe’s arms. She pressed her face against his chest, suddenly shy and uncertain. She could feel the rapid beat of his heart beneath her cheek, feel the coiled tension within him as he held her close, his arms almost crushing the breath from her body. She felt his lips move in her hair.

“Caitlyn,” he whispered as his hand began to stroke her back. “I’ve wanted you for so long, waited so long.”

“Don’t wait any longer, Rafe.”

“Caty!” He scooped her into his arms and carried her swiftly down the hallway to her bedroom, his mouth raining kisses on her forehead and cheeks and finally her lips.

Gently, he placed her on the bed, his eyes blazing with an ebony fire as he stretched out beside her.

Caitlyn’s heart was pounding erratically as she returned his kisses. She slid her hand under his shirt, her fingertips exploring the hard planes of his back. His skin was smooth, like satin over steel, and she marveled at the muscles that bunched beneath her hand.

Rafe’s lips trailed down her neck as his fingers unfastened her dress. He pulled the bodice down, slipping it over her shoulders and down her arms. Her chemise came next and then he was dropping feather-light kisses on her shoulders, her throat, her breasts.

Caitlyn’s breath caught in her throat as his lips nuzzled her flesh. She had never known such excitement, such wonder. Her skin flamed wherever he touched her, and she felt vibrant, alive, and terribly vulnerable. Her fingers threaded through his hair as she writhed beneath him, driven by a need she didn’t quite understand.

But he understood. His hands were trembling with desire as he removed her clothing and then his own.

He was beautiful, she thought, perfectly proportioned. His skin was reddish brown all over, with a light sprinkling of fine black hair on his arms, legs, and chest. He had a small scar on his left thigh and she wondered what had caused it, but there was no time for such questions now, not when he was gathering her into his arms again.

She moaned with unbridled pleasure as her bare skin rubbed against his, whispered his name as he began to kiss her again, his hands gently massaging her back, stroking her thighs. His tongue was a dancing flame against her own. She was weightless, mindless, drowning in sensations she had never experienced, never imagined. Why had she waited so long to let him love her? Why had she wasted so many days, she lamented, so many nights, when she might have been here in his arms, touching him, tasting him, exploring his hard muscular frame?

His breath was warm against her face as he murmured her name, telling her that she was beautiful, desirable. And then he was atop her, his long body covering her own, fanning the fires between them.

She gazed up into his face, her arms wrapped around his neck, her body arching to receive him. There was a sharp stabbing pain and then, incredibly, only waves of pleasure as he moved deep inside her. She was dying, she thought vaguely, for surely no one could survive such heat, such ecstasy.

Time lost all meaning, reality faded away, and there was nothing but the two of them joined together in a blissful embrace as they moved to the ancient rhythms of love.

“Rafe, oh, Rafe!” she cried as bright rainbow waves of fulfillment washed over her. She felt his body shudder a moment later and then he lay still, his face buried in the hollow of her neck, his breathing labored and erratic.

She held him close, wishing the moment would never end. She was a part of him now, and he was a part of her. For this brief span of time they were truly one flesh. She had never felt so content, so utterly at peace.

Rafe continued to hold Caitlyn close, his hand absently stroking the curve of her breast as his lips nuzzled her neck. She was his now, truly his.

They lay close for a long time, and then Caitlyn shifted her weight, the movement innocently provocative, and Rafe found himself wanting her again. His blood warmed, his heart began to pound, and he rose over her once more, his dark eyes aflame.

“Caty?”

She nodded, surprised that he wanted her again so soon, and equally surprised to discover that she wanted him, too. He made love to her gently, tenderly, his hands and lips trailing fire as he aroused her.

His skin tasted of salt now, and his hair was damp beneath her hands. She let her palms slide over his arms, glorying in their strength. The heat in his eyes thrilled her even as desire coiled within her, drawing her toward the brink of fulfillment once again.

It was even better the second time, and Caitlyn was smiling with pleasure when Rafe’s life spilled within her. “My husband,” she whispered the words, delighting in them, and in the sense of well-being that swelled inside her heart.

Rafe chuckled softly, his breath tickling her ear. “My wife,” he murmured huskily. “At last.”

Chapter Twelve

Caitlyn was still smiling when she woke the next morning. Turning her head, she gazed tenderly at the man who had brought her such pleasure the night before. Her husband. She had never realized what a wonderful word that was—husband.

Her heart beat a quick tattoo as she studied his face. How handsome he was! She glanced at his long form outlined by the blankets. He was handsome all over, she thought, blushing. Last night she had explored his body with bold abandon, pleased beyond words with what she saw and touched. Her fingers had stroked and caressed each inch of him, surprised that her untutored hands could bring him pleasure.

She felt her cheeks grow warmer as she recalled how his hands had roamed freely over her own flesh, and how much she had enjoyed it. And suddenly she could not face him. Her feelings were all so new, so unexpected, she felt the need to be alone.

Slipping out of bed, she drew on her wrapper and tiptoed from the room. Going to the kitchen, she began to prepare breakfast. Soon the aroma of frying bacon and fresh-brewed coffee filled the room.

She was standing at the stove scrambling eggs when she felt his arms slip around her waist, felt his lips on the side of her neck.

“Good morning, wife,” he murmured.

“Good morning, husband,” she replied. Her voice was all aquiver, her hands trembling at his nearness. She took a deep breath and his scent filled her nostrils, stirring a sudden hunger that had nothing to do with food.

Rafe’s hands slid upward, his fingers sliding over her stomach, until his hands cupped her breasts. Lowering his head, he buried his face in her hair, loving the womanly fragrance of her, the way she leaned against him, the soft sigh of contentment that escaped her lips.

“Caitlyn.”

“Are you hungry?”

“Famished.” He wasn’t talking about breakfast and they both knew it.

“The eggs are almost done,” she remarked.

“Leave ‘em.”

Nodding, she put out the fire, then turned to face him. She gave a little gasp, her cheeks turning crimson, when she saw that he was naked and fully aroused.

“Is that how you plan to come to breakfast every day?” she asked, smothering the happy laughter that welled in her breast.

Rafe grinned. “Do you mind?”

“Oh, no,” Caitlyn replied, slowly shaking her head. “It’s very becoming.”

He grinned broadly as he scooped her into his arms and carried her back to bed.

They missed breakfast that day. And lunch.

* * * * *

Rafe let out a long contented sigh as he sipped a cup of hot black coffee. Caitlyn stood at the kitchen counter preparing an enormous meal. Her hair was still mussed, her lips slightly swollen from his kisses, her cheeks rosy, her eyes still warm with the afterglow of their lovemaking. She had never looked more beautiful.

He grinned as he felt the faint stirrings of desire. He had thought his yearning for her would wane once he had possessed her, but it seemed the opposite was true. Once had not been enough. Twice had only whetted his appetite for more. The third time had been exquisite, and still he longed to hold her again, to bury himself within her and never let go.

Caitlyn set a plate before Rafe, heaped high with sliced roast beef, potato salad, fresh corn, and buttermilk biscuits dripping with honey.

“I hope you’re hungry,” she said, smiling at him, and then, seeing the look in his eye, she shook her head. “You can’t be serious!” she exclaimed. “Not again. Not so soon.”

“Are you refusing me?”

“No, but couldn’t we have something to eat first? I’m awfully hungry.”

Rafe picked up his fork and speared a slice of roast beef. “Better eat up, then,” he advised with a roguish grin. “You’re gonna need your strength.”

Late that night Rafe and Caitlyn sat on the sofa before the hearth. Her head rested on Rafe’s shoulder, and her hand lay on his thigh. She felt very married sitting there beside him clad in nothing but a blue cotton wrapper. Rafe wore only a pair of trousers.

A fire blazed merrily in the fireplace, casting long shadows on the walls. Her stomach was full, her heart content, her lips slightly bruised from their last bout of lovemaking. Once they had let the barriers down, it seemed they couldn’t get enough of each other.

Caitlyn glanced up so she could see her husband’s face. She loved his profile, and she loved him. It still surprised her, the way she felt about Rafe. She had waited so long to fall in love, had dreamed of a lean, wiry golden-haired man who would court her with candy and flowers and sweet words until, at last, she accepted his proposal, offered on bended knee, and became his wife.

But this was better, Caitlyn mused with a little sigh. Rafe was tall and broad-shouldered, darkly handsome, with a roguish smile that could make her forget everything else.

It occurred to her that she knew very little about the man who was now her husband in every sense of the word. And now, having discovered him physically, she wanted to know everything—his past, his hopes for the future, his dreams.

“Rafe, where were you born?”

“Georgia.”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-five.”

“When’s your birthday?”

“April 10.”

She filed the date away for future use.

“Full of questions tonight, aren’t you?” he asked. He stroked her thigh, his hand dark against her alabaster skin, but Caitlyn would not be sidetracked.

“What’s your father like?”

Rafe shrugged. “He’s a wanderer, always was. That’s why he likes living with the Lakota. They never stay in one place long, and my pa’s always had an itch to see new places.”

“Do you look like him?”

“Some, only his hair is brown.”

“Do you think I’d like him?”

“Probably. Most women do.”

“Would he like me?”

“Definitely.”

Caitlyn was silent for a long moment, and Rafe wondered if she’d finally run out of questions. But she’d only been gathering her nerve for the next one.

“Did you ever ride to war with the Sioux?”

“A time or two,” he admitted, knowing what her next question would be before it left her lips.

“Did you ever fight against your own people?”

“You mean
your
people, don’t you?” Rafe asked sardonically. “They’re both my people, Caitlyn. I’m as much Indian as white. But, no, I never rode against the Army, or the settlers, either. Only against the Crow when they raided our village.”

“Did you wear war paint and feathers?”

“Yeah.”

“It seems so…uncivilized.” She tried to imagine him in a skin clout and moccasins, his hair in braids, his face streaked with vermillion. She was unsettled by how easily the image came to mind.

“It is uncivilized,” Rafe replied, “but no one ever accused the Indians of being civilized, only savages.” And yet, for all their primitive ways, they were the only people who had ever accepted him for what he was, the only people who hadn’t cared about his mixed blood. He had been a good fighter, a capable hunter, and they had admired and respected him for that. And when he told them he would not fight against the whites, they had respected that decision, as well. No warrior was ever forced into battle; each man followed the dictates of his own conscience. If he wanted to fight, he did, and if he wanted to stay home, that was all right, too.

“You never told me why you left the Indians,” Caitlyn remarked quietly.

Rafe’s jaw clenched and for a moment she was sorry she had asked the question, for it seemed to have spoiled the companionable silence between them. But then Rafe took her hand in his and gave it a squeeze.

“I was banished from the tribe for killing a man,” he explained. “We’d both been courting the same girl, and…”

“What was her name?”

He had not meant to go into detail. “Summer Wind.”

“Was she pretty?”

“On the outside.”

“What do you mean?”

“I thought I was the only man she was interested in, but she was courting Hump Back Bear at the same time, letting us both believe there was no one else.” Rafe shook his head. “Hump Back Bear was furious when he found out about me. I would have walked away, but he wouldn’t let it go. He was mad and spoiling for a fight, and the next thing I knew, he was dead.”

“Did you love her?”

“I thought I did at the time.”

“Did you ever make love to her?”

“No.”

“I’m glad,” Caitlyn said. She could not abide the thought of him making love to another woman.

“Any more questions?” Rafe asked, his voice lightly teasing.

She pretended to think about it, then shook her head. “No, not right now,” she murmured, “except maybe one.”

Rafe cocked an eyebrow at her. “Well?”

“Do you think you’ll ever want to go back to the Lakota?”

“I can’t.”

“Because you were banished?”

“Yeah.”

“Not even to visit your father?”

“Banishment is like death, Caitlyn. I can’t ever go back. It could mean my life at the most, a severe beating at the least. The Indians don’t have very many laws, but the ones they have are strictly enforced.”

Rafe yawned widely, a smile playing about his lips as he stretched his arms overhead. “I think I’m ready to turn in, wife,” he remarked. “How about you?”

Caitlyn’s heart skipped a beat as his gaze touched her lips. “Me, too,” she agreed. “I’m terribly tired.”

Rafe quirked an eyebrow at her as he reached for her hand.

“Not that tired,” she amended, blushing prettily.

“I’ll never see the outside of this house again if you don’t stop looking at me like that,” Rafe muttered as he dropped his arm around her shoulder. “I’m not complaining, though,” he added, chuckling. “You’re a lot prettier than those mangy cows.”

“Thanks,” Caitlyn retorted dryly.

His hand slid up and down her ribcage as they walked down the hall to the bedroom. Inside, he closed the door and then, very leisurely, he began to undress her.

“Damn,” he breathed as he unfastened her robe. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

His hands spanned her waist as he dropped his head to nuzzle her breast. Caitlyn gasped as little shock waves of pleasure rippled through her. She drove her fingers through his hair, her lips brushing the top of his head.

She heard his breath quicken as he slid the robe from her shoulders and quickly stepped out of his trousers.

“You’re beautiful,” she murmured fervently. “I never knew a man could be beautiful, but you are.”

Rafe felt his neck grow warm at her unexpected compliment. Other women had remarked on his virility, his physique, his ability to satisfy them. But no one had ever told him he was beautiful.

He took her hand, led her to the bed, and gently pulled her down beside him. He meant to make love to her slowly, tenderly, but her nearness and the love in her eyes filled him with a sense of urgency and he took her masterfully, powerfully, his hands arousing her to fever pitch as he found release in her sweet womanly warmth.

They spent three days in the house, loving one another, getting to know each other. Rafe went out only once to assure Paulie that all was well, and to inform him that it would be business as usual the following week.

Paulie grinned knowingly. “Sort of a delayed honeymoon, huh?”

“You could call it that,” Rafe agreed.

“I’ll take care of everything,” Paulie said, his grin growing wider by the minute.

Rafe nodded. He could feel Paulie grinning at his back as he returned to the house.

He found Caitlyn in the bedroom changing the sheets on the bed. Watching her, all thoughts of Paulie and the ranch left his mind.

Caitlyn shrieked as Rafe grabbed her from behind and dumped her unceremoniously on the bed. He began to tickle her, laughing when he discovered she was ticklish everywhere.

“It isn’t fair!” she wailed as his finger tickled the bottom of her foot. “Stop it, Rafe! Please stop.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said contritely, and releasing her foot, he folded his hands in his lap.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m stopping.”

“Oh.” She sounded disappointed.

“You told me to stop, didn’t you?”

“I told you to stop tickling me,” Caitlyn said, looking up into his eyes, a provocative smile playing over her lips. “Can’t you think of anything better to do?”

“I’ll work on it,” he said solemnly.

And he did.

It wasn’t until Thursday morning at breakfast that Caitlyn remembered her encounter with Abner Wylie. She stewed about it all day, wondering if she should tell Rafe what had happened. She tried to recall exactly what Abner had said as she prepared dinner that night.

“What is it, Caty?” Rafe asked, noticing her frown as she sat down across from him.