Teresa Bodwell (16 page)
Authors: Loving Miranda
Miranda threw her outer garments over the line first, then felt her cheeks flame as she hung her chemise and pantaloons. She stepped away from the dripping clothing and straight into Ben’s chest. He caught her arms to keep her from tumbling but lost his blanket in the process.
“Are you all right?” he asked as he pulled the blanket back up in front of him.
For a few beats of her heart Miranda forgot to breathe. She swallowed hard as Ben pulled the wool covering around him, leaving those shoulders bare and stunning for the whole world to see, or at least for Miranda to examine in detail. She licked her lips, but her tongue was so dry it made no difference.
Breathe. It’s not like you’ve never seen a man’s chest before.
Only the ones she’d seen had been fat and sloppy, or so thin the ribs had shown through. Ben’s chest had a light layer of brown fur over amazing cords that called for her fingers to touch, though she managed to stop herself. Just above his right breast she observed a great gash that had been stitched together.
Breathe. It’s not like you’ve never seen a man’s chest before.
Only the ones she’d seen had been fat and sloppy, or so thin the ribs had shown through. Ben’s chest had a light layer of brown fur over amazing cords that called for her fingers to touch, though she managed to stop herself. Just above his right breast she observed a great gash that had been stitched together.
“Is that from the war, too?” The words slipped out before she could catch them.
Ben nodded. “And this.” He showed her a scar on his right arm. “And that’s as much as I’m willing to say about the war.”
“I understand.” She looked away. It wasn’t so much that she was interested in the war, though she was curious about Ben’s experiences; mostly she hoped for a distraction that would keep her mind away from the man’s delicious body. Miranda sucked in a breath. “There might be the fixin’s for coffee, or . . . tea.”
“Something hot would be . . .” Ben smiled and she wondered whether any tea would warm her so much. He cleared his throat. “We need to get warm. I’ll build up the fire.”
Miranda found a pot, filled it with water from her canteen, and set it over the fire to heat while she searched the cupboard.
“No coffee, I’m afraid.” She kept up a cheery commentary on her search, hoping to keep her mind occupied with trivialities. Anything rather than . . .
Oh my
. Her eyes wandered over to where he squatted in front of the fire with his seat stretched against the blanket, nice and round and, she suspected, as firm as his arms, legs, and chest.
Damn, the man is a distraction!
Oh my
. Her eyes wandered over to where he squatted in front of the fire with his seat stretched against the blanket, nice and round and, she suspected, as firm as his arms, legs, and chest.
Damn, the man is a distraction!
She needed some air. Looking around, she found a bucket. “I’ll set this outside to collect rain water. In case we need it later.” She set out the bucket, clear of the eaves, and dashed back inside the door before her blankets soaked through. For a moment, she stood in the doorway watching the sky. The storm clouds looked as fierce as ever.
Back inside, she set about taking an inventory of the supplies on hand. “There’s tea and some canned beans. Oh, and corn flour, bakin’ soda and there’s some jerked meat and . . . ”
“We’re only here until the hail stops.”
“It’s turned to rain now, but still driving hard. Look out the window. I’m afraid we could be stuck here for hours.” Maybe all night, Lord help them. “Likely it’ll clear before dark,” she said, though there was little hope of that occurring. She spooned some leaves into cups and poured hot water into them. “My sister makes this tea with herbs that grow wild hereabouts. One day I’m gonna have to find out what she puts in it. It always tastes good, not bitter . . . and it’ll warm you for certain.”
She handed Ben a hot mug.
“You’re shivering.” He put a hand over her shoulder and she felt heat radiate through her. “Here.” He set his cup on the small table and pulled a huge pelt out of the chest. “What is this?” He held the pelt up in front of him. “Bear?”
“Looks like a black bear.”
“Come.” He spread the pelt on the floor in front of the hearth. “Sit close to the fire.”
She stood on the thick fur, folded her legs under her, and sat, careful not to disrupt her blankets. He handed her a thick porcelain mug and she wrapped her icy fingers carefully around it, feeling the warmth soak through her hands. Then he draped a blanket over her shoulders. She looked up at his bare chest pink with cold, his nipples erect, and she felt the response in her own breasts. This was not a good idea.
He rummaged through the drawers and came back wearing a shirt that had been made for a smaller man. The sleeves ended three inches above his wrists, the buttons threatened to burst, and the shoulders looked as though they would rip with the slightest movement. She couldn’t help herself—she laughed.
Miranda’s giggle sounded a clear melody like a brook splashing over rocks under the summer sun. The light of the sun reflecting off the water added harmony to the song as the shine of her eyes danced with her laughter. Ben found himself smiling again in spite of himself. It seemed when he was with Miranda, all he wanted was to smile.
And touch her.
He fled to the table and sat on one of the crates.
“You’ll freeze over there.”
“I’m fine,” Ben lied.
“I didn’t mean to make fun.”
Ben peered over his cup at her, allowing the warmth of the steam to cover his face as he breathed in the pungent aroma of the herbs.
“You do look silly in that shirt, I’m afraid.”
Ben looked down at the cotton plaid shirt. It kept him decently covered, but was otherwise not the sort of thing he’d be likely to wear. He shrugged as best he could within the tight confines of the garment.
Miranda laughed again. “Be careful, you’re likely to rip right through those seams.”
Her laughter was contagious and he chuckled, too. The sound was strange in his ears.
“Come on, then,” Miranda said, “you’ll warm more quickly near the fire.”
Ben’s better judgment told him to stay where he was, across the room from the beckoning finger. A safe distance from that fairy smile with the magical properties that seemed to control his lips. If he had any sense at all, he wouldn’t be standing and walking to her side, and he certainly wouldn’t fold his legs into a tight knot as he tried to fit onto the space she made for him on the great bear pelt.
He squeezed his tea mug and allowed the warmth to soak into his hands. His eyes caught on the stubs of his fingers, and he dropped his left hand out of Miranda’s line of sight.
“Don’t,” she said. “There ain’t no point in hidin’ what these blankets can’t cover.”
She turned so that he could see the scar on her face. He lifted his hand and touched her jaw, smoothing over the ragged surface of the scar with his battered index finger. “How did you come to have this?”
She favored him with that half-smile again. He felt the raw pain deep in his gut and knew the story held more pain than the injury itself explained. “It was an accident. A buggy overturned.”
“With you in it?”
She nodded, but her eyes dropped away, and he knew the story was designed to cover a truth she felt unable to reveal to him. He wanted to question her but couldn’t bring himself to do it. He had his own secrets. Instead, he pulled the blanket back up around her shoulders.
“You’re still shivering.” Ben held his blanket around his waist as he rose to his knees to add wood so that the fire danced high and hot, warming the stones of the fireplace and radiating heat into the small cabin.
“Won’t take long to run through all our wood using it like that,” she said.
“I hope we won’t be here much longer.”
Miranda’s chest rose as she took in a deep breath, and Ben’s eyes were drawn to the mounds that pushed her blankets into tempting curves. He swallowed and looked back into the fire.
Her hand over his caught him by surprise. He turned to see her smiling, a new smile, one full of mischief. She knew damn well she was tempting him, and still she had no mercy. He watched her rise slowly to her knees and lean forward, her tongue darting out to moisten her lips as she drew close. A small voice told him to move. To run outside and jump on his horse, to hell with his clothing, the freezing rain, and everything else. If he stayed here, he was going to lose the battle for control he’d been fighting since they entered the cabin. Fortunately, he wasn’t listening to that annoying little lecturer.
Her breath brushed warm against his cheek first, then her nose touched his, a light stroke that made him smile again. Her hands pressed against his shoulders and she pulled him closer as their lips met with a tingle of heat that made him feel light-headed. The blanket fell off her shoulders and his hands touched bare skin, smooth and soft as a rabbit pelt. He wanted to keep exploring—to slide his palms on down her backside—but the small voice inside him was shouting now, and he could no longer ignore the warning.
“I can’t.” Ben gasped for breath, hoping the air would help him regain his senses. Hoping he could get the creature that was sticking straight as a board between his legs to relax and stop demanding satisfaction, because he was not going to let that uncontrolled lout touch this beauty if he could help it. “I . . . won’t take advantage of you.”
He pushed away from her and tried to keep the blanket loose about him, to hide the evidence of his arousal. Lord help him, he was having one hell of a time convincing himself to be a gentleman right now.
“Why?” Miranda seemed almost hurt.
“You’re innocent. . . . I’m a lot of things, but I won’t be the one to steal that from you.”
“Innocent?” Miranda closed her eyes and smiled, heaving a sigh that seemed too big for her petite frame. “I’m not . . . Would it make a difference if I told you I have slept with a man before. More than once, in fact.”
Ben stared.
“Now I’ve made you think I’m . . .” She licked her lips, unable to say any of the words people used to describe a woman who let men have their way with her outside of marriage. She drew her lower lip between her teeth. “I shouldn’t have . . . I made it sound . . . There was only one man, though it was more than once. . . . Aw, hell. There’s no way to make it sound right. It was a foolish thing to do.”
“Are you feeling . . . foolish now?”
“No.” One corner of her lips curled up in a half-grin that spoke of pain too deep for him to contemplate. “He wanted to take what I had—you’re different.”
“Don’t be fooled, Miranda. I want to take from you.”
“I know.” Her smile grew, a full bow that sparked pain inside him, but this time it was the ache of desire possessing him. “But I have a feelin’ you’ll be givin’, too. Fair trade, seems to me.”
She looked directly at him, and he felt himself tumbling helplessly into those great pools of blue. He bent to kiss her, tasting her sweet lips and breathing in lavender and spices. He’d forgotten how sweet a woman could be, how soft and . . . He pulled away.
“You’re certain you want this?” His voice was husky with need and though he told himself he was only doing what the lady wanted, he knew damn well it was his own desire that drove him to her.
“I want you,” she mumbled into his ear. “Please show me.”
She didn’t have to ask twice. He stretched her out on the pelt and opened the blanket she’d wrapped around her small, perfect breasts. He bent to kiss each of them twice before he settled his mouth over one and rested his palm on the other. He’d waited a long while for this pleasure, had dreamt of it, and pausing now so near his goal was sweet torture. The kind of pain that would make his release that much more triumphant when it came.
A blanket still covered her below the waist, and he was well covered with shirt and blanket himself. The small voice returned, telling him he could stop now before it was too late—before the insanity of desire put him beyond all sense. He laughed at the small voice, though the sound he emitted was nearer that of a man in agony. He could feel the pleasure of conquest within his reach. Like a mountain climber approaching the summit, he knew he would have his goal. And he was a man suffering the worst deprivation of all—layers of fabric separating him from her soft skin. But she had wanted him to give as well as take, and he intended to do some giving before he rewarded himself. Hell, she didn’t need to know that each shiver of excitement she felt echoed within him, that half of his delight came from hearing that delightful mew of pleasure she made when he touched her.
For a moment, he suckled, content merely to taste her. Before he could memorize the exquisite surface of her nipple, his impatient tongue began stroking, teasing her until she groaned a new sound that bubbled up from deep inside her.
“Ben—oh!” It was magical. He was a wizard who touched her breast so that she felt each stroke of his tongue through her body until she was throbbing between her thighs. It was heaven, and she wanted him never to stop. She gasped. His tongue continued its fantastic efforts, but his hand drew away from her breast. She felt a rush of cold to her bare breast, but before she could protest, she felt his hand wriggle under the blanket that stretched around her waist. He slid it down over her belly and between her thighs until his palm rested on the curls that covered her womb. Her eyes opened wide to see Ben smiling at her.
“Did I surprise you, love?” His fingers pressed against her, gently probing. “I promise, you’ll like this.”
She reminded herself to breathe, then she quickly moistened her lips. She wanted to say something, but she couldn’t find words. Thought perhaps she’d lost her voice until—“Oh!” His fingers worked their way inside her, and some instinct made her rise to press against him.
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