Passage West (40 page)

Touching a fingertip to his chest, she moved over him and heard his little moan of pleasure. Beneath the nest of rough hair, beneath the warm flesh, she could feel the powerful muscles. “So strong,” she murmured, running kisses across his rib cage. “And yet so tender.”

“Just weak,” he moaned. “You make me weak.”

Bending, she brought her lips to the flat plain of his stomach. For the space of a heartbeat, she paused, wondering if she dared to be any bolder. But he had touched her in ways she had never dreamed of, and she longed to know all of him.

Slowly, tentatively, she moved her fingers lower. As her hand found him, he murmured words she couldn’t hear. And then he dragged her against him, and his kisses were no longer gentle. Roughly he drew her head back and kissed her until she was breathless.

Needs, savage, driving needs pulsed through them. Gone was the delicious languor that had seeped through them only minutes ago. Now they were eager, agile, seeking.

He had wanted to be slow, to make this first time easy and gentle for her. But needs ripped through the last shred of his control, driving him to the brink of madness, until all he could think of was her.

When he took her, he felt her strong fingers clutch at his shoulders. At her little gasp, he covered her mouth with his. Slowly, fighting to bank his needs, he felt her begin to move, and he moved with her, allowing her to set the pace. He felt the wild rhythm of her heart keeping time to his.

For Abby, all thought ceased. Now there were only feelings. She had never known such feelings. His heartbeat was her own. His sighs, his moans, became her own voice. They moved in an ageless rhythm, and as needs drove her, she discovered a strength she had never known she possessed. She called his name, or thought she did. Clutching his shoulders, she soared higher, then higher still, until she felt as if she had touched the sun, and it had exploded inside her. She felt him follow her into the sunlight, and together they burst into tiny fragments.

He was part of her now. And she was part of him. They had given something precious, something very special to each other. Something they could never take back. And from this moment on, their lives would be forever changed.

Shuddering, she drifted on a cloud of liquid gold. She had left this western trail of pain and was suspended somewhere in the sky. And with her, locked in her arms, was the man she loved. No one else existed for her. No one else mattered now except Rourke.

Damp with sheen, still joined, he continued holding her. Slowly, languorously, he drew the blanket over them, then rolled to his side and cradled her to him.

As he bent to kiss her, he tasted her tears. “Oh, God, I’ve hurt you.”

She smiled through her tears and brushed them away. Rubbing her lips over his, she whispered, “These were happy tears. You could never hurt me.”

Drawing her close against him, he buried his face in her hair and fought back the little worries that nagged at the corner of his mind. He could hurt her, in ways she never dreamed. God, what had he done? He had no right to keep her with him. It only endangered her more.

She sighed and drew him closer, and he felt his worries slip away. At least for this night, she was warm, and safe. And loved. God forgive him, though he had no right, he loved her.

Chapter Twenty-nine

Abby shifted in the blanket and felt an arm tighten about her waist, holding her close. Her lids flickered open and she found herself staring into Rourke’s slate eyes.

How had she ever found his eyes cold? she wondered. They were liquid silver, and she could see herself reflected there.

“Good morning.” She knew she would never tire of hearing that rough, scratchy voice in the morning.

She smiled and stretched, then snuggled close beside him. “How long have you been awake?”

“Hours I think. I was watching you sleep. You sleep like a baby. Peaceful. No fears.”

She placed a finger over his lips. “I thought you were going to stop calling me a child.”

He bit her finger and she laughed and pulled it away. “I haven’t forgotten you’re a woman. My woman,” he growled, pulling her on top of him.

Her hair fanned out around him, drifting about his shoulders, kissing his cheek. Grabbing a handful, he stared at it, then at her. “My brave little fire woman.”

Resting her chin on her hands, she stared down into his eyes. As his fingers began tracing the contours of her back, she shivered. “Do you know what your touch does to me?”

“I hope it’s the same thing you’re doing to me.” She felt his hands move along the flare of her hips, then upward, to span her waist. For all time, he had left his fingerprints on her. She would know his touch even in the dark.

She was aware of his arousal, and of the look of desire in his eyes. It was a strange feeling to have such power over a man. Enjoying her newly discovered power, she shifted slightly and heard his little moan.

“You’re a witch. You know that, don’t you?”

She laughed and ran a hand over his scraggly growth of beard. “And you’re a wild man. My wild mountain man.”

She was so surprising. Soft when he expected her to be hard. Tough when he thought she’d fall apart. There was so much to learn about her. So much to share. Share. A strange thought to entertain. In his life, there was no room for sharing.

As he continued staring into her eyes, she smiled, a wicked, woman’s smile. “Rourke, are you ignoring me?”

With a single fluid motion, he turned and pinned her beneath him. “Is this enough attention for you?”

Framing her face with his hands, he rubbed his lips across hers. Her lips parted for his kiss, but he paused, studying the look in her eyes.

How was it possible that he could want her again so desperately? All night they had loved, then dozed, then loved again, exploring each other’s body with an urgency bordering on madness. They should be sated. But even while he’d watched her sleep, he’d been waiting impatiently for her to wake so he could see himself in her eyes once more.

He’d waited so long. Wanted so long. He stifled his needs, wanting to go slowly, to savor. All night, with lips and tongue and fingertips, he’d learned her texture. She was so small, so slender. But not fragile. He felt her strength and thrilled to it. No, this was no shy, shrinking female. She was curious, and bold, and as eager as he.

His mouth moved over hers, and the familiar heat spread through his limbs, leaving him by turns weak and then eager, almost frantic for more.

As the wind and snow raged against the mountains, Rourke and Abby lay in each other’s arms, lost in a world of intense pleasure.

*  *  *

The blizzard lasted for nine days.

For Abby, these were the happiest of her life. Thanks to Rourke’s cautious forays into the wilderness, they had food, shelter, and heat. And best of all, they had time. Time to explore each other’s mind and body. Time to get to know each other slowly, intimately.

Rourke heard about her life on the farm, and her preacher grandfather, and the fragile Margaret, who had meekly tried to give James a son. And she told him about her father’s deathbed admission, that she was not really his daughter at all, but Lily’s. Abby told him what little she knew about the beautiful, strong- willed Lily, and Rourke realized from where Abby had inherited her indomitable strength.

He revealed little about himself. When Abby pressed, he described his home in Maryland and his loving parents. But hearing the pain in his voice, she decided not to pursue the subject. It obviously held some painful memories for him. And so she talked about her past, and what she hoped would be her future in California.

Rourke loved to listen to her. With that low, husky voice of hers and her youthful enthusiasm, he couldn’t help but enjoy her. While she looked for new ways to prepare venison, he tended her torn, blistered hands and was pleased to see them slowly heal.

This was what home meant, Abby thought, as she watched him go about mundane chores. While he made repairs to the saddle and mended a bridle, he shared thoughts about this great country, about the opening of the west. The men in her life had never shared their thoughts before. And like a flower she opened to him, sharing secrets that until then had only been in her heart.

This was what love was, she realized. Not just a joining of two bodies, but two minds as well. They shared little intimacies that bound them ever closer. While they worked around the cave, Abby found herself humming little tunes from her childhood. Rourke would glance over, their gazes would meet, and each seemed to sense what the other was thinking. Their eyes would soften, with a gentle, knowing smile lifting the corners of their lips.

Rourke thought she’d never looked lovelier.

Abby thought he’d never looked so handsome.

And though Rourke never spoke of the war, or of his life in Maryland, she knew it was because the memories were too painful. Someday, she told herself. Someday, he would be able to put aside the pain. On that day, they would be free to share everything, both past and present.

The nights were meant for loving. While the storm continued to rage, and the fire burned to glowing embers, they lay together, warm, loving, content.

And the days. Abby had never before experienced the luxury of doing nothing more demanding than feed the horses and cook a simple meal. Lying beside Rourke, nestled deep in fur throws while morning light came stealing through the cave, was the sweetest of pleasures.

Watching her, Rourke felt a measure of contentment he hadn’t known in years. When was the last time he’d lingered in bed, feeling the warmth of a woman’s softness? If this was what heaven had in store for him, he’d willingly go to his death. He knew a happiness, a sense of joy he’d never thought would be granted him again in this life.

*  *  *

On the ninth day, Rourke returned from foraging and announced that the sky was once more clear. “The snow has stopped,” he said, placing a log on the fire.

Abby felt her heart contract. If she could, she would have stayed here forever. Hoping her voice wouldn’t betray her, she asked, “Will we leave tomorrow?”

He nodded his head, sensing her reluctance and sharing it. “It’ll be slow going. We’ll probably have to lead the horses. But we have to get out of here before the next blizzard or we could be trapped here until spring.”

She felt her heart breaking. “That would be fine with me.”

He stood, wiping his hands on his shirt. Turning, he saw the look on her face and drew her into his arms. “Don’t fret, Abby. We still have tonight.”

Tonight. The word echoed in her mind. One night. And then they would be forced to leave this haven and return to a world of pain and suffering. Tonight.

That night, they loved passionately, with a desperation born of the knowledge that in the morning, they would be on the trail once more. They clung together, holding on to this one last night of heaven before facing hell. As the first thin light of morning crept into the cave, they loved again, lingering over each other’s lips, each other’s bodies, with a kind of reverence. Afterward, they lay together, unwilling to let go.

“If we stay here long enough, those hands might even forget what calluses are,” he murmured as he held her close.

“Would you like me better with soft lady hands?”

He lifted his head and studied her by the light of the dawn. Her hair spilled across the blanket like a splash of liquid fire. Her eyes were so green, they glowed like a cat’s. Her skin, so pale in the flickering shadows, took his breath away. “There isn’t a thing about you I would change, Abby,” he breathed, running kisses along her throat. “I want you to remember that for all time. I love you just the way you are.”

She went very still, her heart so filled it nearly burst. It was the first time he had said he loved her.

Rourke, too, stiffened. God, he loved her. He had always known he’d wanted her. But this was more than simply wanting. He loved her. Loved her with a passion that left him stunned and reeling.

He had not meant for it to go this far.

As if realizing his admission, Rourke sat up and turned away from her. Sitting up behind him, Abby brought her hands to his shoulders. “What’s wrong? What have I done?”

He kept his back to her. His words, when he finally spoke, were low and quiet. “It isn’t anything you’ve done, Abby. It’s me.”

“Is that all.” She sighed, pressing herself close. Drawing her arms around his waist, she murmured, “I can’t find a thing wrong with you. You’re a perfect specimen.”

He pried her hands loose and turned to face her. His features were grim. At the sight of him her smile faded.

When she tried to touch him, he caught her hand. “Abby, there are things about me you don’t know.”

She saw the look in his eyes and felt a stab of fear. The chilling look was back, giving his eyes the appearance of cold steel.

Don’t tell me, her heart cried. Don’t tell me anything I don’t want to hear.

“I had no right to your love,” he said gravely. When she started to protest, he touched a finger to her lips to silence her. “I took it because I was a starving man. But that’s no excuse. I had no right to it.”

“Why?”

He met her gaze. “I’m a wanted man.”

“Wanted?” The pain in her heart grew, and she hugged her arms around herself. “What have you done?”

“I’m wanted for killing some men.”

Her eyes widened. She waited for his denial. When it didn’t come, she panicked. “We’ll find a sheriff, or a marshal and explain the mistake. You’re no killer.”

“There is no mistake, Abby.” Exerting rigid control, he didn’t touch her. He had no right. “I killed them.”

Her panic grew. He was so calm about it. So rational. “But you had to kill them, didn’t you? It was self-defense. You had no choice.”

His tone was low, patient, as if explaining to a child. “The choice was mine. I could have walked away. I chose to kill them.”

She covered her face with her hands, trying to blot out his words. “Stop it, Rourke. Why are you doing this?”