Reckless Territory (13 page)

“You’re so damned beautiful,” he murmured, his fingertips skimming her belly, tracing down to the curve of her hip. “Like the sunrise on a clear morning.”

“So are you,” she whispered back, lightly touching his chest as if measuring the contours of muscle and bone, her hand drifting downward. Long lashes lowered a fraction. “Though I confess I have no poetic comparisons. Let me just say that this”—she touched his erection in a feather brush of her fingertips that made his entire body tighten—“is not something proper English ladies are told about.”

“With good reason, no doubt.” He stifled a groan as she touched him again, wrapping her slim fingers around his straining flesh and squeezing gently. “In this state males are pretty dangerous to virtuous females.”

“What about less-than-virtuous ones?”

“Victoria.” He cupped her cheek and lowered his heads to kiss her. Hot, hard, with open hunger because he never wanted her to think of herself that way. He whispered against her lips, “Virtue is a matter of interpretation anyway. I’ve known all kinds of women in my life, but never anyone like you. Brave, strong, intelligent and kindhearted. What more could a man want, and trust me, I feel that way about you.”

That was as close as he could come to saying the words.
I love you.

But he was thinking it and if he had to examine his feelings—and he hadn’t done that in years—it would scare the hell out of him.

He chose to show her instead, positioning himself between her open legs. His entry was slow, measured and made his eyes close in pleasure, the sleek, gliding sensation enough to elicit a slow groan from deep in his chest as he penetrated her and sank into heaven.

Victoria sighed in his ear as he glided forward, and he found that sound more erotic than anything he’d heard in his life.

“This way.”

She was obviously startled when he rolled to his back, keeping their bodies joined, and she suddenly found herself astride him. For a moment he let her adjust to the new position, his cock buried inside her, and just admired how her hair caught the gleam from the dying fire. Then he urged, “Ride me.”

She had no idea what he meant.

“Like this.” His hands urged her on, lifting her hips until he almost slid free, and then lowering her into an impaling thrust.

Damn, it feels so good
…

There, with the low moan of the wind and the bite of the cool of the evening, she began to move, learning the motion, a little awkward at first but discovering the angle that gave her the most pleasure in the joining of their bodies, joining of their souls. The sensation was so perfect he fought the urge to move faster, prolonging the pleasure until she moaned and her hands clutched his shoulders in a request that needed no words.

Her orgasm came first, the almost frantic tightening of her thighs a telltale sign right before she let out a small cry and shattered above him. Cole rode the same wave, the rapture lashing through him as he stiffened and ejaculated, hot seed spilling from his body in white-hot pulses that took his breath away.

Afterwards, gently rolling sideways and sliding free, he held her close and pulled the blankets over them both, the fire flickering into coals, Victoria’s breathing slowing into the lassitude of slumber.

And a single shooting star fell in a graceful arc, crossing the velvet sky before it disappeared.

It was a message. He was no shaman, and he’d didn’t follow a lot of the ways of his mother’s people, but he was a believer. There were too many miracles in this world for him to think outside forces did not have power. He’d attended the ceremonies in his youth, and listened to the stories. Caught between two worlds, he’d always approached life with a pragmatic view of how civilized societies worked, and a sense of the mystical power of the universe itself.

Life
, he thought as he cradled her in his arms,
symbolized in a way only my mother’s gods would use
.

It was a sign. If he had to interpret it, he would guess he’d just fathered a child.

Chapter Eleven

The dark clouds glowering on the horizon along with the increased whistle of the wind weren’t a good sign, and Jace slapped the reins, moving the wagon along at a faster speed.

Luckily, it looked like they might make it.

The valley was straight ahead, and even with the storms rolling in on a hot early autumn afternoon and the sky turning a lurid, greenish color that reminded him of his boyhood on the West Texas plains, he was damned glad to be in familiar territory. Twisters didn’t happen often out here like they did back there, but they happened. He and Robert were out in the open with two wagonloads of supplies, and if the truth be told, they’d been gone about four days too long.

Quite a feeling for a drifter.

They made it just as the first spit of rain touched his face, and he jumped out of the wagon, leading the horses into the barn, Cole running out to help Robert as they got their supplies inside just in time. Between the three of them they unhitched the teams, put them up and fed the animals, and had the wagons settled before all hell let loose. The dash to the ranch house was made in the pouring rain, but it was worth it to come through the door and see Victoria standing there, her anxious expression smoothing into a smile.

Yeah, that was worth every dusty, long mile.

“You’re safe,” she said tremulously, and then laughed as Jace pulled her into his arms and kissed her soundly, her lips soft and receptive, her breathless response exactly what he’d craved every long step of the way back.

This is what it is like to have a woman care about you
.

Maybe she was right about her clothes, because she wasn’t the least bit boyish in her trousers and cotton shirt, her golden hair caught back at her nape in a simple style.

“Cowboys,” she said, but the reprimand was soft, in her cultured English voice as she stepped back, and the way she shook her head at odds with the slight sheen of tears in her azure eyes. “I was
so
worried,” she told Robert, and the way he took her hand and raised it to his lips wasn’t just gallant, but spoke volumes.

They’d been worried too.

Not that Cole couldn’t take care of himself, he sure as hell could, but the Utes were unpredictable, and they weren’t the only threat in this remote place, especially with the Saxon gang in the area. He was just one man. A formidable one but still outnumbered if there had been an attack, and thank heavens it hadn’t happened while they were gone.

There were flowers in a jar on the windowsill. Jace noticed them as soon as he went inside. He swept off his hat and ran his fingers through his hair, recognizing Indian paintbrush and wild daisies, and for whatever reason his throat felt tight at that moment.

This…this is home
.

“Good trip?” Cole asked it quietly, but his eyes spoke more than his voice.

“No real trouble,” Robert told him evasively, taking out a bottle and setting it on the table. “And I’ll drink to that. It was a dry trip, at least until we got here. We brought back whiskey and I wheedled a bottle of wine for Victoria out of the wife of the storekeeper.”

Jace could attest that they were pretty worn out, and they were definitely thirsty.

They’d need to talk about running into Frank Saxon pronto, but not in front of Victoria.

“I think we could all use a toast to the fact that you’re home safe and sound.” Cole got out four cups from the shelf by the sink—the wooden plank table newly cleaned and looking a lot sturdier than before they’d left. He opened the wine first using his knife, splashed some into a glass and handed it to Victoria, his smile just a flash of white teeth. “Ladies get to go first.”

“What is this?” She eyed the reddish liquid in her glass with evident trepidation.

“Not a fine claret.” Robert slipped off his gloves, his smile slight. “They were fresh out of that in Rio Verde. But my grandmother used to make fruit wines too, and the lady at the mercantile swore you would like this. Maybe we’ll go looking for wild blackberries in the next few weeks and give it a try ourselves. She wrote down the recipe.”

Jace had to hide a grin at the idea of Robert mixing up a batch of wine, his brawny arms vat deep, but then again, if it would please Victoria, he might help out himself. She tasted it tentatively, and then took another sip. “Actually, it is quite delicious.”

Spoken in such a proper English voice. What was delicious was her delicate bone structure touched by the shadows thrown by the clouds of the storm, her shining golden hair, the plain, still-barren ranch kitchen adorned just by her beauty and the sound of the rain pounding the roof…

“It’s good to be back.” Jace took the glass Cole had poured for him and swallowed a large mouthful, the liquor soothing his parched throat. “I needed that. A bath wouldn’t be bad either.”

Later he’d tell Cole all about the Saxon brothers tracking him down… God knew those brethren all should have been wiped off this green earth by now, but if a problem wasn’t going to go away, it just wasn’t.

There was bad blood, and then there was a certain kind of enmity that gave new meaning to the word feud, and between Cole Thune and Lawrence Saxon the latter applied. Jace would stake his life they’d see each other dead one day, and if Saxon had traced Cole already, that didn’t bode well for a peaceful future. Frank, too, was a piece of refuse best swept in the gutter, and maybe he should have done it right then and there on the street.

And normally, he would be up for the fight—he’d welcome facing any one of those bastards—but Victoria changed the dynamics of it all. After the run-in with Frank, Robert had asked a few questions of the storekeeper, who was in a talkative mood considering all the money they had just spent. The Saxon band was six strong according to him. They’d caused some trouble at the hotel, and must be camping out nearby because they rode in nearly every night.

The trip to Rio Verde, in Jace’s opinion, had been lucky. If he and Robert hadn’t gone, they wouldn’t even be aware the Saxons were in the area.

“It does look quite unsettled out there.” Victoria glanced toward the door, her expression a bit apprehensive as a gust of wind rattled the rain-streaked windows, and the door, which was only loosely hung on rusting hinges, shuddered.

“It must storm in England.” He actually really didn’t know. It sounded like a much too civilized place for unruly weather but he’d never paid much attention to history in school.

“It does.” She nodded, lifting her cup to her mouth and taking a small sip of wine. “But everything seems bigger here.”

“You should see Texas. The storms that roll across where I come from are real devils.”

“I think, perhaps, that explains quite a lot.”

It was said so elegantly that it took him a moment to realize she was teasing him, except both Cole and Robert laughed, the latter adding more whiskey to his cup.”

Jace grinned. “Got me there. I’m no angel, ma’am.”

“I have noticed, Mr. Vance,” she shot back, a small smile twitching her mouth.

It was one of the things—and there were quite a few as he was a love-struck fool—he admired about her. She had a very real sense of humor that did not involve stuffy propriety—which was just as well, as propriety had no place out in their remote valley, and he sure as hell wouldn’t know how to deal with it.

“Have you now?” he drawled with a slow, wicked smile. “What else have you noticed?”

“That the rain is letting up already.” She smiled and took another sip of her wine, but her eyes held his for a long, poignant heartbeat that said she’d missed him too.

Yeah, he was lucky as hell.

Dinner was delicious and included some fresh vegetables, which were most welcome after all the trail fare she’d had recently.

They were at the plank table, the meal over, and she would never cease to be amazed at how much they each consumed, but then again they worked hard and were rather large human beings compared to her.

Very carefully, she set aside her fork next to her empty plate, the stew quite delicious with some carrots and potatoes tossed in, and Robert had made the biscuits, which were flaky and completely different from when she attempted the same effort. The storm
had
passed quickly—a cloudburst that had merely dropped the temperatures enough to be sufferable and left the air clean and clear. “It’s getting dark.”

An ambiguous statement, but then again, this was a lot more to do with the dynamics between the three of them rather than her specifically, though she’d like to think as she was in the middle of it, her feelings were a consideration also.

In fact, she knew they were.

But, as much as she acknowledged that, their camaraderie was affected also, and she never wanted to be the cause of any friction between three men who had come to mean not just a great to her, but to each other.

“We’ll clean up.” Robert, always the thoughtful one, got up and scooped her plate off the table. “You were stuck here with Cole for almost a week. That would wear anyone out.”

Jace laughed, his handsome face, albeit somewhat sunburnt from the trip, alight. “I agree.”

“Funny.” Cole just lifted his brows and rose to get a bucket. “I’ll bring in the water if you two want to stoke the fire for the kettle.”

It was past the time when she felt useless—they’d done their best to overlook her lack of skills at anything that even remotely resembled a domestic task, but still Victoria got to her feet and began to briskly clear the table. “I may not be skilled in the kitchen, but I can wash dishes. I am certain there are issues you all wish to discuss, with or without me. Feel free to go outside. I prefer you do not light tobacco in the house anyway.”

It was ironic to think that while most women found one husband hard enough to deal with, she theoretically had three. Not that she was legally wed to any of them, but that was starting to matter to her less and less. Actually, if she stood before a bishop—there weren’t any available anyway—and swore devotion to one man, then she would be breaking her word to God in her mind. This way, the arrangement might be an affront to the world she’d once known, but it made sense and there was no obligation to choose, which would be impossible.