Ring of Fire (21 page)

He slipped his fingers inside her and she panted, “Oh, yes, Eric.”

Pumping and swirling, he explored her inner secrets. There was one special spot . . . If he tapped right there, she gasped and clenched around his fingers. The lady had strong internal muscles. No surprise about that.

Her hands were strong, too. Her fingers dug into his scalp so hard that they hurt. He was glad for that pain, and for the aches in his knee and stump, because they took the edge off his own mounting arousal. Even so, his erection was so swollen that he was surprised the fly of his black dress pants could hold out against the pressure.

“Please, Eric,” Lark gasped between panting, sobbing breaths. “I can't take any more. I need to come.”

He slowed the motion of his fingers, eased back to gentle flicks of his tongue, and she moaned in disappointment. But she could take more. He knew that this immensely strong woman could take anything that he, or the world, dished out to her.

Still, she deserved pleasure, the ultimate physical pleasure. And so after letting her body settle a little, he took her right back up to the peak. This time, he used his thumb to caress her clit, to tap and press it. She made choky, gasping sounds, then caught her breath.

Her body clenched, and then with a keening wail she climaxed in surging pulses around him. God, she was sexy and beautiful, her cheeks pink, her eyes shut tight so her lashes fanned her cheeks, her lips open as she cried out.

Still supporting her ass with one hand, he fumbled with his pants, one-handedly unbuttoning and unzipping. He yanked down his pants and boxer briefs to free his erection.

Leaning forward between her legs, he rubbed the crown of his dick against her center.

Her eyes flew open, she glanced down, and her eyes glittered in the candlelight. “Oh, yeah, that's what I want.”

He stared down, too, mesmerized by the sight of his organ, swollen and thick veined, nudging between her glistening, rosy folds. And then it hit him. He groaned in frustration. “Shit. The condoms are in the bedroom.” He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to will himself to find the self-control to rise and go get one.

“I'm on the pill.”

Her words made his eyes fly open again. “What?”

She met his hopeful gaze. “And I'm clean. I've been tested.”

“I'm clean, too. Are you saying . . .”

“Do you want to? Without a condom?”

“God, yes.” Naked flesh to naked flesh. He'd almost never done that in his life, given the temporary nature of all his sexual relationships. But with Lark, somehow it felt right.

“I want to feel you,” she said. “All of you.”

Her words sent a rush of heat through his body, so intense that he had to tighten every muscle in order to resist coming right then and there. He did a silent count to ten, realized he was holding his breath and had shut his eyes again, and finally dared to relax his muscles a little.

Rather than enter her now and risk embarrassing himself, he rose up on his knees and leaned forward until his lips were scant inches from hers. “Me, too, Lark. All of you.” He kissed her, slowly and thoroughly, until that edgy need-to-come-now sensation had cooled a little.

And then he made love to her, just as slowly and thoroughly as he'd kissed her. He wished he could stay inside her forever. Each sensation felt so intense and intimate now that there were no barriers between their bodies. But eventually, neither of them could hold back any longer, and they chased each other into climax.

Sprawled against her, gradually catching his breath, Eric became aware of the music again. It was that Johnny Cash song, the ring of fire one. This time, he could hear the words properly, and realized the man was singing about falling in love, and how it was a fiery thing pulling him into its blaze. Taking away his control.

Fire could do that. Eric had learned it in Afghanistan, and had the lesson repeated on Tannen Road. If that was what love was like, it was just as well he never planned to fall in love.

On the other hand, if he fell in love with a firefighter—

No, what was he thinking? He and Lark were friends and casual lovers. That was all either of them wanted. They had plans for their lives. Plans that did not include a life partner.

Chapter Fifteen

No surprise, Eric the soldier was on time. Promptly at ten-thirty on Saturday morning, his Jeep pulled up in front of Lark's house. She hoisted the light backpack that contained their picnic lunch and picked up the rolled plaid rug. These were her contributions to their outing. His were to arrange horse rental and drive them out to Ryland Riding.

Last night, after they'd followed up chair sex with bed sex and he had insisted on walking her home, she'd told him that Jayden was going to a birthday party today. Always before, she or Mary had gone with him, but her newly confident son had insisted he would be fine on his own. She had believed him, and also knew that the parents of the birthday girl would be sensitive to his needs. As a result, Lark had several hours free and, after all the times she'd been a side walker, she had a craving to get in the saddle. When she'd asked Eric if he was interested in going riding with her, he'd been eager.

As he stepped out of the open-top Jeep, she saw that he, like her, wore a heavy sweater. His was navy, hers a cream cable-knit.

With a smile, he stepped forward to meet her. “Hey, you're wearing cowboy boots,” he said. He raised his arms as if he intended to hug her, and then he dropped them and gave her a questioning look.

The middle-aged couple across the street had stopped raking leaves to watch them curiously. Lark answered Eric's unspoken question by giving him a peck on the cheek. That would have to do for now. “I bought the boots this morning at Days of Your. I figured if I looked the part, maybe I'd turn out to be a good rider.” Despite her words, she wasn't worried.

“You'll be fine,” he said as she tossed the pack and rug in the back of the Jeep and he opened the passenger door. “You're a natural athlete and you've been listening to Sally's instructions for months now.”

“That's what I'm counting on.” She swung up into the seat.

“Want me to put the top up?”

She glanced at the sky: some clouds, mostly sun. The mid-October sun didn't hold a lot of warmth, but there was no wind. “Leave it down,” she responded. “I love fresh air.”

With a pleased smile, he started the engine.

It was the first time she'd ridden in his Jeep. It was kind of noisy, with the top down and the heater on. You couldn't talk without raising your voice. But she was happy to sit back and enjoy the scenery.

“Music?” he asked.

“Sure.”

He turned the radio on, to Dolly Parton singing “Here You Come Again,” and Lark sang along. Sitting beside Eric, she could sure relate to the bit about the guy looking better than anyone had a right to. In that chunky, masculine sweater, with well-worn jeans hugging his firm body, and the breeze ruffling his short hair, he was truly a feast for the eyes.

As for the rest of the song—about the woman being powerless to resist the charming guy—well, Lark wanted to whack her upside the head. It was downright crazy to fall for a man who lied to you, who disrespected you in any way. She had learned that with Tom, and wouldn't repeat the mistake. What a woman needed was an honorable man like Eric.

Not that she had any intention of falling for any man, ever again.

The song changed, the radio now playing Lee Brice's poignant “I Drive Your Truck.” She sang along to that, too. And then, suddenly realizing how the song might resonate with Eric, she shut up and clicked the radio off.

“What's wrong?” Eric queried, his voice raised so she could hear him over the Jeep's noise.

“That song . . . I just realized . . .”

He shook his head. “I don't know the song. Didn't catch most of the words, except it sounded like some guy was driving someone else's truck. I know country music has some weird topics, but that can't be right, can it?”

“Well . . .”

“Lark, I don't get it. And speak up, okay? What's the song?”

“It's a sad one,” she said.

“Didn't we already establish that most country songs are sad?”

It didn't seem he was going to let this go, so she filled him in. “The guy drives his brother's truck because it's his way of coping with his grief over losing him.” She bit her lip. “His brother's grave has a flag.”

She was gazing at his profile, and saw him swallow before saying, “A soldier.”

“Yeah. I didn't think you needed to hear that.” It had to remind him of Danny's death, which was the last thing she wanted on an afternoon that was supposed to be carefree.

“It's okay.”

They drove in silence for a few minutes. Lark gazed out at the scenery as they traveled through rolling ranch land, but shot an occasional glance at Eric's profile. He seemed deep in thought. Maybe she should keep quiet, but that wasn't her way. “Are you all right?” she asked.

He glanced at her, then back at the road. “Yeah. I was thinking that maybe I got it, how driving the truck could help. It's like me talking to Ellie. Sharing those stories was good. I don't feel quite so . . .”

When he didn't go on, she reached over to rest her hand on his thigh. Well, it wasn't actually his thigh, because the socket of the prosthesis cradled his leg at that point, but she meant the gesture to be reassuring all the same. “Don't feel quite so sad?” she queried softly.

“No, I don't.” He took his right hand off the steering wheel and rested it atop hers. “Or so angry, or so guilty.”

“I'm glad.” He was making steps toward recovery, and that was wonderful. Even if it meant that he'd soon return to duty.

Life wasn't going to be the same without Eric.

He kept his hand on hers and steered left-handed until they reached the turnoff to Ryland Riding. There was a pullout there, and he took it, stopping the Jeep and turning off the engine.

It was quiet. A few pings from under the hood. Then, as her ears attuned themselves, she heard the chatter of birds. Glancing up, she saw a string of small birds perched on the cables.

“Eric?”

“You asked if I was all right. And I am, except for one thing.” He undid his seat belt.

Concerned, she said, “What's that?”

“That hello kiss just wasn't good enough.”

The concern cleared and she smiled at him. “That can be remedied. I'm just cautious about public displays.”

“The birds may gossip,” he warned her, pointing upward.

“That, I can handle.”

As he leaned toward her, she undid her own seat belt and met him halfway. He clasped her head gently between his hands, holding her there as their lips met. Oh, yes, that kiss was much better. So good that she lost herself in it and was sorry when he released her.

“To be continued,” he promised.

“I'll hold you to that.”

They both buckled up again, and he drove down the road and parked. “You didn't have any problem booking horses?” she asked as they climbed out of the Jeep. She knew weekends were the busiest time at Ryland Riding, and Sally's fiancé was usually competing in a rodeo so wasn't around to help. Sally had said Ben was determined to win as much as he could before the end of the season, so he could finance their new rodeo school.

“Nope. I spoke to Corrie,” he said as he got the pack and rug out of the back. “She said I could have Celebration and she and Sally would pick out a horse for you, and they'd bring them in and put them in stalls for us. She said we'd have to put on the saddles and bridles because she and Sally would both be tied up with lessons.”

Lark nodded, seeing that Corrie was running a children's class in the large ring and Sally was giving a private lesson in the smaller one. The two women waved as Lark and Eric crossed the yard toward the barn.

Inside, a familiar bay head poked over a stall door. “Hey, Celebration,” Eric said as they both went over to stroke the horse.

The neighboring stall had a note tacked to it. Lark glanced inside, seeing a pretty palomino, and then read the note. “I'm riding Sunshine Song, called Song for short,” she said.

When she spoke the horse's name, the palomino came to stick her head over the stall door. Patting the horse's neck, Lark read the rest of the note. “Eric, she foaled this summer and the note says she's fine with a trot and slow lope, but not to run any races. That's okay with me. Can you live with it?” She glanced up in time to see a look of disappointment cross his face.

Still, he said, “Sure. After all, it's your first time riding. We should go easy on you as well as on the mare.”

Each working on their own horse, the two of them got the animals ready. Using the leather thongs on the back of Celebration's saddle, Eric secured the picnic rug. He shouldered the light backpack as Lark studied the big map on the wall of the barn. “Where do you want to go?” he asked.

They had booked the horses for two hours. “How about here?” She pointed to a small lake. “We've never gone as far as this during the lessons, and it looks like it'd be a nice ride, and a pretty spot to have lunch.”

He approved her suggestion, and they took the horses outside and mounted up. Eric no longer needed to use the mounting block. Lark shunned it, too, having no problem swinging up and into the saddle from the ground.

The two of them sent another wave in the direction of Sally and Corrie as they headed out. At first, they rode side by side on a dirt road, occasionally passing other riders. Lark tried to remember everything she'd heard Sally tell Jayden and Eric, and occasionally Eric gave her a tip. It was pleasant being atop the pretty blond mare, getting a feel for her smooth gait and giving her neck an occasional pat. She noticed that Eric, who initially had seemed to view his horse as a piece of exercise equipment, had developed a bond with Celebration and turned into a relaxed, confident horseman.

After ten minutes or so, he said, “Want to try a trot?”

“You bet.”

She'd seen Eric jounce around during his first lesson and vowed she'd do better, but the jarring motion got the better of her. It took her a couple of minutes to get a sense of the rhythm and figure out how to coordinate with it so her butt didn't whack up and down. Once she'd mastered that, Eric took pity on her and they loped, a gait she found more comfortable.

When they reached the trail to the lake, they slowed back to a walk. They had to ride single file, and he suggested that she lead the way. She wasn't sure whether he wanted to keep an eye on her and make sure she was safe, or just to watch her butt.

They didn't talk much, occasionally pointing out something interesting, such as the beauty of the crisp golden leaves or the antics of a squirrel racing from one tree to the next on an overhead bridge of branches. It was so peaceful, which Lark appreciated after a couple of busy weeks.

Curious, she called back, “Are you craving speed, Eric?”

“A part of me is,” he admitted. “But this is nice, too. Used to be, my idea of relaxation was a beer in front of a football game, but this is even better.”

And that, she figured, was one of the lessons his rehab team had hoped he would learn from riding. Relaxation and peace had to help with post-traumatic stress. She also thought that Eric's relationship with her family had been good for him. In turn, he provided a strong male influence for Jayden. Mary enjoyed his company, and as for Lark—well, her life was certainly brighter, and sexier, with Eric in it. It was going to be tough when he left.

The trail widened and Eric brought Celebration forward to walk beside Sunshine Song. For a few moments, neither he nor Lark spoke; then she pointed to the bright red globes on a cluster of wild rosebushes. “If Mom were here, she'd want to pick those rose hips. They're full of vitamin C and antioxidants.”

“Mary's pretty amazing. You were lucky to grow up with a mother like her.” Then, maybe realizing that his comment might be taken as a criticism of his own mom, he said, “Not that my mom isn't terrific, too.”

“I'm sure she is. My mother had to deal with a guy who disrespected her and ran out on her, and with raising a child alone when she didn't even have a grade twelve education. Yours had to deal with a soldier husband who put his life at risk and left much of the work of the marriage to her. Seems to me they're both pretty strong women in the way they dealt with the circumstances of their lives.”

“Yeah. My mom was always good at coping with the practical stuff. But for other things—like Dad putting his life at risk—she kind of played ostrich. She tried to avoid seeing and having to deal with the really bad stuff.”

“Hmm. Well, maybe that was what she needed to do in order to survive. She made things okay for you kids, didn't she? She gave you a safe home where you knew you were loved.”

“She did. But Quinn and I knew not to dump any serious problems on her because she didn't want to hear about them.”

“That's too bad.” She shot him a sideways glance. She did sympathize, but she questioned his perspective. “But I wonder if that might be something you learned from your dad more than from your mother. All that stuff about being the man of the house, when you were just a child yourself. He taught you to protect your mom. He has old-fashioned ideas about women's and men's roles. And, from what you say, he also has a forceful personality.”

Eric snorted. “That's a polite word for it.”

“Maybe you all just fell in line, like good little soldiers.”

“Quinn rebelled,” he pointed out.

“In some ways,” she agreed. “But she brings her problems to you rather than to your mom. She protects your mom and she thinks you—” Oops. She stopped abruptly.

“Thinks I what?” He glanced over.