Samantha James (31 page)

Damn, he thought helplessly. Damn.

He squeezed his eyes shut. “God, Abby, what are you doing to me?” His voice was right and dry. Blindly he caught her against him, curling his fingers possessively around her nape and urging her face to his. The kiss they shared was ravenous and fierce, fiery and tender all at once. Her mouth parted, shyly at first, timidly joining his bold foray.

He dragged his mourn away reluctantly. He rested his forehead against hers, his breathing ragged and labored. “I want to make love to you, Abby.” His voice vibrated all through her, low and intense. “I want to make it good for you, the way it should have been the first time—”

Her fingers on his lips shushed him. “It
was
good. You made me feel things I never thought I could feel.”

With a groan he kissed her again, but this time his hands were busily engaged, and far more deft than hers had been. Warm air spilled over her as her blouse was drawn from her shoulders. She felt a tug on the ribbon that held her chemise closed. Her breasts spilled into his hands, her nipples already hard and straining. He circled each with his fingertips; they swelled taut and eager against his palms. A cry of sheer pleasure inched up her throat.

Her skirt and drawers went the way of her blouse, pooling in a heap at her feet; her shoes and stockings came next. Abby’s heart set up a wild stampede as his fingers set to work on his own cothing. She had one heart-stopping glimpse of his body, bronzed and gloriously naked, before she was swept up in his arms.

Very slowly he lowered her to the bed. Eyes like molten flames roamed the length of her. Abby blushed fiercely but made no effort to hide herself from his devouring gaze. The thought that she pleased him made her feel all hot and giddy inside. There was an odd melting sensation deep in her belly. He pulled her to him, sealing her lips with a deep, drugging kiss. Abby wound her arms around him and clung, keenly aware of the heavy pressure of his arousal snug against her belly.

They were both gasping when he raised his head. “Touch me, Abby.” There was a hint of ragged harshness to his voice. “Touch me …” He caught her wrists and dragged her hands down to his chest.

His urgent demand unleashed a quiver of sensation all along her nerve endings. The idea of exploring his lean, hard body was tantalizing, but also rather intimidating. She suspected Kane’s experience was far more vast than what little she had to offer. She bit her hp.

“I—I want to,” she confided breathlessly. “But … oh, Kane, I know you’ve been with—with other women. And I don’t know anything … I can’t possibly compare—”

He rolled to his back, taking her with him. His gaze seared hotly into hers. “There’s never been anyone like you, Abby.
Never.”

“Not even Lorelei?” The question slipped out before she could stop it.

His eyes darkened. “Not even Lorelei.” He tangled his fingers in her hair and brought her mouth down to his. He kissed her, a fervent, soul-shattering kiss that said all that words could not—and rewarded her with a tenuous courage.

She trailed her fingertips across the binding hardness of his biceps, steel sheathed in satin flesh, then slid her fingers through the dense mat of hair on his chest, thrilling to the rough-silk texture, careful of his bandage. The quickening of his pulse, the rapid rise and fall of his chest, emboldened her. The muscles of his belly clenched when she pursued a daring pathway even lower, clear to the heat and heart of him …

Her first measuring caress sent a jolt through both of them. Abby trembled; his length and breadth made her shiver with awe—but excitement, too. Holding her breath, she indulged her curiosity, gasping at the contrast—ridged, straining steel and velvet-tipped smoothness.

Kane bore her dainty exploration with his eyes squeezed shut, his head cast back, his features taut with restraint, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of her hips. He was burning wherever their skin touched … and empty and aching wherever it didn’t. Blood pumped thickly through his veins. The desire to push her back, to drive his shaft to the hilt and take her hard and fast was almost overwhelming. But he’d taken her that way before and he was determined that this time he would banish the hurt and give her the pleasure he’d cheated her of the first time. Except the feel of her small hand curled around that part of him—gliding, stroking her tacit approval—inflamed him almost past bearing. He was only a heartbeat away from spilling himself.

With a swiftly indrawn breath, he moved her hand to safer territory. Lightly he nipped the smooth curve of one bare shoulder.

“It’s my turn now.” His low, throaty whisper rushed past her ear. Passion glazed his eyes, making them silvery-bright and brilliant. His expression ignited a fiery blaze within her.

He turned her on her stomach and brushed aside her hair. She gasped as he pressed a feathery kiss upon her nape. Heat rippled through her as he slid down the length of her spine, his mouth and tongue lingering here and there, and then again at the warm valley where her buttocks swelled soft and firm.

And then she was being turned again. His hands were on her breasts, cupping, squeezing, teasing. Her fingers sank into his hair when at last he took the dusky, swollen peak of one breast into his mouth, tugging, nipping, suckling, first one nipple and then the other. She bit back a moan, seized by a wanton fire that burned from the inside out.

The backs of his fingers skimmed the flat of her belly, grazed her silken fleece. He ran the callused tips of his fingers down the insides of her thighs, clear to her knees and back again. One daring finger plundered further, tracing the furrowed cleft of her womanhood, the treasure between—torrid, tormenting strokes that made her go weak inside, her limbs boneless. A damp, liquid heat spiraled through her, settling there between her legs, even as a sharp, piercing ache shot through her middle. Her hips began to circle and writhe, unconsciously seeking his searching hand.

A jagged moan caught in her throat. He raised his head. A sense of, wonder filled her. She saw the same uncontrollable passion that swept through her mirrored in his hot gaze. He kissed her, the contact wild and heady; she could taste the hunger in his mouth, as ravenous as her own. It made her tremble to think that this man, dangerous as he was—desperate as he was—wanted her so.

He braced himself above her, his knees spreading her wide. A low, guttural sound of need and desire tore from his lungs. The sleek, round crown of his shaft breached the waiting folds of her woman’s flesh. His penetration was excruciatingly slow, driving them both half-mad.

Her nails dug into his shoulders. Her breath skittered out in a rush. There was no pain this time, only a primitive need to join with this man, to be filled with his essence and strength. She stared at his face, unable to look away. She could see the tension constricting his features, feel the tautness of his shoulders; she sensed the iron control he exerted in order to keep his desire in check.

Something inside her came undone. A tremendous outpouring of emotion rushed through her, spreading through mind and body and heart. She buried her head against the solid curve of his shoulder, in that instant uncaring that she bared her soul to him.

“I love you!” she cried against his throat. “Oh, Kane, I … I love you.”

He half-closed his eyes, his features almost anguished. “Abby.” He groaned her name as if he were in agony. “Oh, God, Abby …”

He thrust home, his control all but gone. He could feel the sleek, wet heat of her passage sketching, expanding to accept the plunge of his body. She was so small, so tight. It had never been this good before … never. Engulfed in dark, sweet ecstasy, he lunged mindlessly, driving himself deep—so deep she would never forget this night … never forget him. He yearned for nothing more than to brand himself into her body and heart as surely as she was branded into his.

Abby moaned. So this was love, she thought dazedly. Reckless and wild. Wondrous and glorious. Caught in the same raging inferno as Kane, she cried out, feeling the clasp of her body around his tighten and contract, again and again and again. And then she was exploding, hurtling through space, as if the world were falling away all around her. Her pleasure doubled as she felt him shudder, a heartbeat before his scalding release drenched her womb in heat and fire.

He buried his head against the damp hollow of her shoulder, loath to move. She combed her fingers through the dark hair that grew low on his nape. Nothing had ever felt so right, she thought, still floating in the languorous aftermath. Surely he had felt it, too—that delicious sense of oneness. They belonged together, she realized fiercely. Tomorrow, she vowed, tomorrow she would tell him …

But in the morning he was gone.

K
ane stood high atop a lonely bluff, his gaze trained on the white ranch house nestled in a stand of scrub oak. A wide covered porch held up by stout columns ran the width of the house. A lazy plume of smoke trailed skyward from a massive stone fireplace. Several horses lazily grazed in the largest of two corrals. Beyond the cluster of buildings, rich grassland ran back into the hills.

His mind was filled with just one thought—he’d taken a hell of a chance coming back to New Mexico.

At length he turned away. Midnight glanced up from where he’d left him tied to a bush. Kane retreated several steps, then knelt down in the grass. He stared down at two overgrown grave markers, tugging on the dried, parched grass until he could see the letters etched into the stone.

Self-disgust churned in his belly. Kane hated himself at that moment. He had seen to it that Lorelei was buried next to her first husband, Emmett, but this was the first time he had returned to the site of her grave.

He cursed himself for being a rotten, no-good bounder. What kind of man was he to leave as he had, not knowing who had murdered her?

You selfish bastard
, jabbed a scathing voice.
She was your wife. You owed it to her to try to figure out who murdered her—and why. And you didn’t even try …

Guilt gnawed at him. Maybe he should have come back years ago. He thought of the hollow emptiness of that first year without her. He woke up every day knowing her killer was out there somewhere. But he’d been so tired of fighting what he couldn’t see. Tired of fighting what he didn’t know. And so in the end, he had emptied his mind and heart of all feeling, of all memories.

He bowed his head low. “I’m sorry, Lorelei,” he whispered, his voice raw. “I’ll make it up to you. I swear I will.”

He’d failed her, he realized starkly. But he couldn’t do the same with Abby …

He rose, then untied and mounted Midnight, his heart sealed with a brittle determination. It was nearly dark when he approached the outskirts of town. Kane was secretly glad for the enveloping cloak of darkness as he rode toward Willie’s, the local saloon. He dropped down from his saddle into the dusty street and tethered Midnight to the weathered gray railing. His spurs jingled as he mounted the steps, his hat ducked low over his eyes. His posture was ramrod-straight, that of a man sure of himself and where he was going. But inside he was sweating. What if he was recognized? What if they threw his hide in jail?

Yet Kane knew he had no choice. He couldn’t live with the man he’d become. He had to clear his name or die trying. Not just for himself, but for Lorelei.

But most of all for Abby.

Spirals of hazy smoke and raucous male laughter drifted through the swinging doors. He rubbed the bristly beard that had sprouted in the last two weeks, grateful it obscured his features. A few idle glances swung his way as he stepped inside; none lingered. He attracted little attention as he made his way to the bar—with luck, the patrons would think he was just passing through on his way to Albuquerque.

He stepped up to the bar. The barkeep appeared, wiping his hands on a towel. “What can I get for ya?”

“Whiskey,” was all Kane said.

“Comin’ right up.”

Seconds later, his whiskey in hand, Kane made his way to a table in the corner, where he was less likely to be noticed. He sat, taking a sip of the burning brew. He surveyed the room, taking care that his gaze didn’t dwell on any one face too long. He recognized a few, but most were unfamiliar. A lot had changed, he acknowledged distantly. The town was spread out more than he remembered. He’d passed a number of houses near the school house that hadn’t been there four years earlier, and a new hotel.

His whiskey finished, Kane rose. He made his way toward the door, his mind surging ahead. He didn’t think it was wise to stay here in town. Tyler Hats was only five miles west. He’d ride there and put up for the night. There was time enough to start asking questions tomorrow—

His shoulder slammed into a man who’d just stepped up onto the boardwalk. Kane’s head came up. Beneath the dusty brim of a Stetson, a young man with narrow features and a reddish-brown mustache peered at him. Kane silently cursed.
Son of a bitch
! The man was Rusty Owens. He’d worked with him on Lorelei’s ranch; they’d once been friends.

The other man stepped back. He nudged the brim of his hat upward, his expression faintly puzzled.

“Say, mister, don’t I know you?” The question was no sooner voiced than his eyes widened. Recognition dawned.

His feet braced slightly apart, Kane’s hand was already on the butt of his Colt. “I don’t want any trouble, Rusty,” he warned, very low. “Let’s just go on around to the back of the saloon, real slow now. Keep your hands where I can see them.”

Rusty obliged, his hands spread away from his body. Kane was right on his heels, watching for any sudden move. Once they were behind the building, he stopped.

“Okay. That’s far enough.” He relieved Rusty of the gun strapped to his thigh, slipping it into the waistband of his gun belt.

Rusty raised his hands and turned slowly. “There’s no call for alarm. I won’t let on who you are, I swear. We were friends once, remember?”

A filmy stream of light from the upstairs window lit the other man’s face. Kane could tell he was nervous by the sheen of perspiration above his mustache.