Samantha James (17 page)

Her senses alone guided her—that and the limited experience she’d gained in this man’s embrace. Unaware that she did so, her fingers slid through the midnight hair that grew low on his nape; it was like rough silk, the texture oddly pleasing. In spite of herself, she felt her body relax. Her lips softened and parted. Kane was not inclined to reciprocate.

Her fingers stilled in his hair. His body was rigid as stone against hers. Abby frowned. This was what he’d wanted, wasn’t it? She cautiously trailed the tip of her tongue along the seam of his lips, back and forth with delicate precision, tilting her head first one way and then the other, as he had done to her. A bolt of sheer pleasure shot through her, but Kane remained taut as a bowstring, so taut she feared she’d done something horribly wrong.

Her heart plummeted. All at once she felt like crying. But just as she would have wrenched away, his grip on her waist tightened almost convulsively.

His mouth opened on hers. Abby’s spine turned to water. Control was no longer hers, if indeed it had ever been hers. But it didn’t matter.
Nothing
mattered but this moment. She clung to him, her nails digging into the binding tautness of his shoulders. He kissed her endlessly—wild, drugging kisses that lured her ever deeper into a heady realm where nothing mattered but the searing fusion of his mouth on hers.

She was breathless and dizzy by the time he released her lips. “God,” he said thickly. “You might not have a lot of experience but you sure as hell learn quick, don’t you?” His eyes darkened. “But I wonder … are you as warm and willing with your precious Dillon as you are with me?”

He was still angry. The realization had no sooner tumbled through her brain than he hauled her against him. Abby gasped as he pulled her against his hips. She could feel his manhood as she had the other night, swelling hard and thick against the softness of her belly. She was stunned to feel an empty ache spawning deep inside, a desperate yearning very near the place that alien hardness nestled …

He raised his head. Abby nearly cried out at the fierceness of his expression. “Is this what you want, Abby? This feeling of power, of always being right, of being in control? Does it make you feel better than me knowing you can make me want you like this?”

His words made no sense;
he
was making no sense. But Abby knew she couldn’t fight him, just as she knew there would be no reasoning with him.

Before she could say a word, his mouth smothered hers, hard and relentless. Kane wanted to cheat her of any pleasure, as he had been cheated of all that was good and sweet in his life. He wanted her to feel robbed as he had been robbed … afraid as he had been afraid.

Abby had no choice but to endure. She tried to twist away but his arms were like manacles around her back. Dimly she felt her hair ensnared in one huge fist, then wrapped around his hand. His lips plundered hers with ruthless thoroughness. Abby’s fingers twisted into the front of his shirt, not resisting, but not yielding either. If anything, it seemed to incite him further. Her lips felt swollen and bruised beneath the punishing intensity of his kiss. Determined to show no weakness, no fear, she tried to check the low whimper that welled in her throat.

She tried in vain.

As low as that faint, choked sound was, he heard … and froze. He stiffened, his entire body like an iron wall against hers, his arms so taut she feared he might crush her.

For the space of a heartbeat, then another and another, neither moved. Finally, his chest expanded with a long, inward pull of air into his lungs.

The pressure of his mouth eased subtly. Abby drew a deep shuddering breath of her own. But though the tension in his hold remained, the anger was gone.

His kiss was now almost unbearably sweet, almost apologetic, soothing the tender flesh he’d ravaged earlier. Abby couldn’t help it. Her lips parted, like the flowering of a rose. His fingers tightened on her scalp. This time it was Kane who groaned, a sound pulled from deep in his chest. All at once Abby was shaking, not with fear, not with revulsion … but with pleasure.

She had a brief sensation of weightlessness, then she felt the rumpled covers of the bed at her feet, the softness of the mattress at her back. The weight of Kane’s body followed her down; not once did he release the searing fusion of their lips. The contact was deep and intimate, slow and rousing, as if he sought to give her back all he’d taken from her earlier. Desire flashed through her, zinging through her bloodstream like fire.

Kane fed on her mouth greedily, savoring the ripe lushness of her mouth. She tasted as good as he remembered—God, even better. He ripped open his shirt, desperate to feel even more of her. Reluctantly he released her mouth. His gaze was dark and burning, devouring the sight of her breasts jutting and bare against the dark fur on his chest. Lord, she was sweet, he thought with a groan. Her mouth was shiny and wet, like fresh, succulent fruit, he noted dimly.

A lean fingertip circled the deep pink circle atop the fullness of her breast, barely grazing the tip. A primitive satisfaction blazed within him as it sprang tight and eager. Her eyes flew open, cloudy and dazed, alight with surprise and wonder. The sight sent his pulse raging and his heart to pounding. The blood settled hot and full in his loins. Slowly he began to ease down her torso, intent on claiming even more delicious bounty for his own.

Abby gasped at the erotic friction of her nipples sliding through the dense mat of hair on his chest. They seemed to tingle and ache, so much so that she squirmed restlessly, wanting something, but not quite sure what …

And then she knew.

The sight of Kane’s dark head poised above her breasts, bare and round and gleaming, should have shocked her—in some deep, dark corner of her mind, perhaps it did. But once again, it didn’t matter. Because suddenly all her senses were alive and screaming with nerve-shattering anticipation. Waiting. Wanting …

His hand had slid from her ribs to the cushioned underside of her breast. His breath trickled warm and arousing across her rounded flesh, a divine torment. Even as she watched, he lowered his head.

With his tongue, he touched her nipple.

A bolt of sheer delight shot the length of her spine. This couldn’t be wrong. Dear Lord, it couldn’t. Never had Abby imagined such sweet, piercing pleasure—but there was more, she realized, as he took full possession of the ripe, tender peak.

The feel of his mouth drawing, pulling, suckling hard, then soothing with the eager lash of his tongue was an exquisite ecstasy. Her neck arched. Her body bowed, as if in offering. In response Kane laved with the same careful attention the other straining peak. Her fingers slid into the midnight darkness of his hair, as if she wanted to keep him there forever.

“Kane!” she cried unthinkingly. “Oh, God, Kane!”

Kane raised his head, his eyes glittering. In the wavering light thrown by the candle, her skin shone like moondust. Her nipples were rouged a deep rose, as shiny and wet as her mouth had been earlier. Her breath was shallow and panting, driving him to a fine frenzy.

Go ahead
, his body urged.
Take her. It’s what she wants. It’s what she’s asking for. Christ, she’s as ripe and ready as Fanny was, and you’re as hard and throbbing for her the way you
weren’t
with Fanny
.

Desire churned through him like a raging tornado. His blood felt as if it were on fire. His shaft was heavy and full, throbbing and painfully rigid. Primitive urges ruled him: the thought of plunging deep in her shadowed cleft, feeling her hot, feminine warmth damped tight around his burning flesh. But buried deep in his mind, some last shred of sanity remained, warning him he couldn’t surrender to the explosive demands of his body. Only she was so soft … and never had he been so hard, so desperate and in need … There had to be a way to quench this fire in his soul. There had to be …

He rolled to his side, taking her along with him. Her eyes flashed up to his.

“Kane—” His name emerged as a jagged cry.

“Don’t,” he grated. “Don’t say anything.” He covered her mouth with his. He fumbled with the buttons on his pants, then released himself into his hand … and hers.

Abby’s breath left her lungs in a scalding rush. He caught at her fingers … Abby tore her mouth from his, shocked to the core at what he was doing … what
she
was doing. But even as her eyes widened, his closed. She nearly cried out at the stark agony she glimpsed in the instant before his own squeezed shut.

His hand clamped hers … and hers was clamped tight against the shape of him, molded around the turgid, ridged plane of bold, masculine flesh, held tightly in place as he sought the motion that would bring an end to this torment … She thought her heart would burst dear through her chest.

“God,” he said raggedly, and then again: “God!”

His breath grew rough and scraping. He cast back his head, his features contorted, the cords in his neck standing out tautly. And then with a heaving cry, he caught her hips against his, binding them together, grinding and circling. Not fully aware of what was happening, but seized by the undeniable notion that she must cling to him or he would be forever lost, she slipped her arms around his neck.

His hands locked tight around her back. A tremendous shudder wracked his body. Abby knew, in some elusive way beyond the bounds of understanding, that it was over—that the passion which had gripped him was spent. Slowly she felt the rigidness seep from his body. Abby smiled slightly, shifting a little to accommodate his heavier weight.

He sprang to his feet.

Abby stared, feeling confused and still rather dazed. She spoke his name, a mere wisp of air: “Kane?”

Three steps took him to the door.

She struggled to sit up. “Kane!”

He walked out without a word, slamming the door shut behind him.

A
rough hand at her shoulder jarred her awake the next morning. Reluctant to forsake the misty layers of sleep in which she was immersed so pleasantly, Abby swatted the offensive intruder and rolled to the other side of the bed. The next thing she knew a firm hand descended sharply on her backside. The sheet and thin blanket did little to ease the sting.

She bolted upright with a gasp, instinctively clutching the covers to her breast.

Kane stood not two paces distant. Her mind recorded a fleeting impression of cold gray eyes and tautly set shoulders. Remembrance flooded her mind like a raging tide, stark and vivid, of all that had happened last night. Dear Lord, what had she done—what had
they
done?

She swallowed nervously. “How—how long have you been there?”

“Long enough to know you’d better get your ass in gear if you want to get an early start.” He was already halfway across the room. For the second time in twelve hours, the door slammed shut behind him.

Abby pushed the covers aside. “Well, good morning to you, too,” she muttered crossly.

On the washstand was a pitcher that had once been painted with dainty pink flowers but was now faded and cracked. She poured a generous amount of tepid water into the washbasin, grimacing a little as she splashed it onto her face and arms. She nearly tripped on something as she turned to reach for a towel; it was the shredded remnants of her chemise. Beside it were her drawers.

Hot color stole into her cheeks. Abby was heartily glad she was alone. She’d changed after Kane had left last night. She didn’t fully understand the significance of the damp, sticky spot that had stained her drawers; she knew only that it had something to do with what had happened between them. Picking them up, she scrubbed them hurriedly in the washbasin. Wringing them out before she stuffed them in her saddlebag, she glanced at the underclothes she wore, wryly concluding they had better find Dillon soon—the ones she wore were her last remaining set.

Kane was already there when she ventured downstairs a few minutes later. Her mind strayed to the room upstairs—and her last sight as she’d closed the door: the tumbled bedclothes were evidence of all that had transpired there last night. Meeting his gaze was the hardest thing she’d ever done. One glance at his black scowl convinced her his disposition hadn’t improved. Abby thought longingly of breakfast but decided not to say anything. She suspected neither of them were in the mood for an argument.

It struck her as they left the hotel that he had yet to say a word to her since she’d come downstairs. She raised her chin, resolving to dismiss the memory of last night; it was glaringly apparent Kane already had.

She couldn’t. Dear God, it was all she could think about. The memory muddied her thoughts throughout the morning. Her insides tightened every time she recalled their torrid exchange last night.

Kane was right. She could have called a halt to it but she hadn’t—and he was convinced she was married to another man yet!

Not that it had stopped him, though. She stared out to where golden plains bowed to the heavens, aware of an odd heaviness in the pit of her stomach. She’d thought no man would dare lay a hand on a married woman.

But Kane had dared. He’d dared much more.

And she hadn’t lifted a finger to stop him. No wonder he’d branded her a tease! Indeed, stopping him had been the furthest thing from her mind. She wanted it to go on and on. She wanted to feel his mouth on hers, draining her of strength and will. She wanted to feel his tongue in her mouth, his hands on her breasts, brushing the crests with callused fingertips.

Recalling the feel of his mouth on her breasts made her go weak all over. It wasn’t so much the intimacy of his caresses, but what he’d said that had broadened her awareness considerably. Despite the fact she’d secretly yearned for it, she’d been a little shocked when he had so boldly voiced his urges aloud.

He’d called her beautiful … and he’d said he
wanted
her
. Abby had never thought of herself as either beautiful or desirable. Oh, Pa had always said she was pretty and sweet, but that was different.

She’d been so convinced she hated Kane. But—oh, sweet Lord—she had liked what he’d done. Heat welled up within her as she thought of her hand, trapped against that part of him. Maybe it was shameless … maybe God would strike her dead for such sinfulness … but she’d liked knowing he wanted her in that way. She’d liked knowing he
needed
her …