The Legacy of Buchanan's Crossing (14 page)

He hugged her. “And happy.”

Mid-way into his third stride, Cayden’s calf made contact with the railing. “Ouch!”

“Sorry. Can’t see much.”

“My fault. I wasn’t thinking about how much longer your legs are than mine.” Because she’d been busy being proud she could do geometry with only half her brain functioning.

She fumbled for a match and lit the candle. The way she caught him staring at her in the warm glow shut down the other half of her brain. Being carried up the stairs in his arms was unbelievably sexy.

The drawn curtain at the top parted. He sank to his knees and laid her on the mattress. The contrast between the cool sheets on her butt and the heat of his lips on hers deepened the angle of that delicious see-saw between ache and pleasure, need and satisfaction.

He was still on his knees when she wrapped her legs around his thighs and found his still-open zipper. Access was easier now with him holding himself above her, but the object of her desire remained trapped. She tried to shove his jeans out her way.

“Wait a sec.”

She instantly missed the heat of his mouth while he pushed his jeans down, but the view was almost worth it. And his palms at her breasts beneath the corset’s satin cups, lifting them above it, warmed more than the tender skin. His thumbs chafing her sensitized nipples sent zings of need farther south.

“How do I get this off?”

His words didn’t register immediately. They were uttered in a voice so guttural she had trouble interpreting them, and her blood was pounding in her ears.

“It laces. I can—”

“No. Let me. This thing’s been driving me crazy since I picked you up. Where do I start?”

“Untie the ribbon.”

Cayden felt a tug and the first slight release of the binding pressure, the laces being undone, the front of the corset gradually falling open. The man had clever fingers.

He hissed. “Like unwrapping a gift. A hot, gorgeous gift.”

She knew exactly what he meant. She shoved his boxers down and found her own little present. Whoa, make that
large—Goddess above, You’ve been generous with this one.

He groaned when she made contact, first with her hands, then with her tongue. She licked her way around awhile, teasing, until his groans turned to prayers.

“Jesus…Cayden…have mercy…” She opened wide to suck him in. “Ahh…yesss…Can’t… Where the hell are the damn…” He groped frantically behind her. “Thank you, God.”

“Allow me.”

Since he was obviously in no condition to manage it as quickly as she needed him to, she yanked the packet from his hand, tore it open, and rolled the condom smoothly over the thick, hard length of him. His kiss was hungry, urgent. He nudged the thong’s thin panel out of his way, probing. Good, now he knew just how ready she was.

Even so, he shouldn’t have been able to slide in so effortlessly. Not when there was so much of him, and not when her last liaison had been more than a year ago. How could she feel so full and yet so hungry? Why wasn’t he moving? Was he trying to drive her mad? She struggled to get the friction her body desperately craved, but he had her pinned. She whimpered in frustration.

“Shh. Easy now.” His voice was a low moan, as if he were in pain. “You keep squirming like that, this’ll be over before it starts.”

“That would be terrible.” She rotated her hips. “We’d have to do it again. Please, Clint.”

“I’m not sure I could. I’m not twenty anymore.”

Cayden reached between them and ran her finger gently behind his sack. His breath drew in sharply, and he nearly pulled out of her. “Say it again.”

She murmured in his ear, “Please.”

He groaned and thrust deep.

Yes, oh yes.
This
was what her body was crying for. She clutched that beautiful butt of his, gloried in the powerful muscles flexing with each driving plunge. His release came fast and hard.

Still inside her, between panting breaths, he said, “I’m sorry. So sorry. Too good. Too hot.”

Now was her turn to shush and soothe. This time, when she tried to roll him off her, he went easily. She took care of the condom first, then the corset she was still lying on and her fingerless gloves. He stripped her of her thong. She helped him with his jeans, shorts, and T-shirt. He removed his wallet before she tossed the pile through the curtain. It hit the floor at the bottom of the stairs with a plop.

“Convenient.” His teeth flashed in the dark.

“Very.” She grinned.

“The moonlight’s romantic and all, but I want a better look at you.”

Cayden wanted to see more of him as well. Her body still hummed with bearable, but unrelieved, tension. Unfortunately, she’d have to get up to light the candles surrounding the bed on the various-sized tables and shelves that held plants besides. She imagined their warm light and sighed wistfully.

Instantly, the room glowed, each and every candle burning as though she’d touched a match to it.

“Wow. Neat trick.”

“Mmm-hmm.” Cayden thought so, too. She’d ponder how she’d accomplished it later, when she didn’t have the candlelit contours of his broad back and strong shoulders to drool over. He was turned away from her, leaning on one arm, gawking at the candles.

He flopped over and switched elbows, that adorable little frown hovering above those green-gray eyes of his. Searching them brought on that mild seasickness. Besides, his front was as deserving of a thorough perusal as his back. His pecs were well-developed, yet not overly so, same with his abs. The hair sprinkling his chest trailed lower, just golden enough to reflect the warm light.

“How’d you do that?”

Cayden followed the trail with her finger, successfully interrupting his question. She risked another look into his eyes at the same time she wrapped her hand around him and squeezed. He drew in a breath and his pupils dilated. His gaze moved lower, heating her breasts.

“Are you sure you want to talk about it right now?” She pumped him slowly.

His breath rasped out equally slowly, if not nearly as even. “Not fair. God…oh…. It’s too soon.”

“Really? Because I have evidence right here to the contrary.”

“You little witch.” He removed her hand and started kissing her deeply, the thrusting of his tongue repeating the rhythm she’d employed. He tweaked her nipples before slipping lower, teasing, exploring.

He kissed her breasts, nibbled at her nipples, slid first one, then two fingers inside her, increasing the speed and intensity of his movements. Cayden thrashed helplessly.

“Please.” Goddess, could he hear how desperately she wanted him?

His breath in her ear inflamed her. “So sweet, so beautiful, so hot. How can I refuse?”

Cayden didn’t know how or when he’d put the new condom on. Suddenly he was inside her, moving slower than before, but deeper, more forcefully. Rubbing her just right.

His teeth grazing her neck was all she needed to reach the pinnacle. He began moving faster, riveting her to the waves of intense pleasure pounding through her. There was a flash behind her eyes and a boom somewhere that might have been thunder, a crackling and popping that could have been almost anything. She was still reeling from the aftershocks when he stilled, cried, “Cayden,” hoarsely, and shuddered in her arms.

Sometime later, a train whistle in the distance called her from whatever glorious mindless place she’d been. She was lying on her back. Clint was on his elbow again, idly tracing the tattoo of the gnarled oak whose ancient branches began beneath her breasts and ended with its great roots curling around the top of her thighs.

“That’s some tat. The detail is—” the callused tip of his finger following the trunk toward the roots made her shiver “—amazing.”

Cayden swallowed a couple of times, attempting to determine whether she still had a voice and if she could still use it. “It’s—” she cleared her throat and tried again “—It’s a real tree. The artist drew it from a photo I gave him.”

“
Him?
” His jaw was set, as though his teeth were gritted.

“I’ll take you there.” They should be there now.

“Where?”

She was surprised he’d answered her considering how preoccupied he sounded. “To the tree. It’s a very special tree in a very special place.”

“And where would that be?”

The way he was staring at her belly was beginning to make her feel self-conscious.

“Buchanan’s Crossing.”

His finger was still moving over her skin, but the little frown between his eyebrows had returned, more worrisome than adorable now.

“We can go there for our next date,” she prompted.

The frown remained.

A ripple of unease slithered inside, settling in her middle. “You said I could pick the location, remember?”

“Sure. Wherever.” His half-smile and careless shrug did nothing to ease that uncomfortable squeeze.

His finger tracked lower to the oak’s roots and circled them lazily.

“So, your hair
is
red.”

Pulled in too many directions, Cayden squeaked a startled, “I beg your pardon?”

A decidedly more sincere smile spread across Clint’s face. “I was wondering…” He reached up to tug on a lock of the hair on her head. “The way it’s colored, I couldn’t tell. The red seemed too, well, red. But your skin is so fair, black didn’t seem right, either.”

“Freakishly pale, you mean.” Perspective had returned, now that those hands of his were occupied above her neck.

“White and smooth as Yule marble.”

“Yule marble?”

But his hands were no longer above her neck, and her trembling overrode all perspective.

“Elk Mountain, Colorado. Rare. Beautiful.” He captured a breast and began suckling it.

“The mountain, or my…?”

“Yes,” he murmured, his mouth moving lower, his hands stroking her sides, gripping her thighs, pulling them apart.

It wasn’t really an answer, not that she could bring herself to care. About much of anything. And that was before he made her witless with desire.

The last words she remembered him saying were, “Just. Can’t. Get. Enough.” The tempo of each syllable matching the tempo of their bodies.

Early morning sun drizzled across Cayden’s eyelids. She snuggled her face deeper into a firm, slightly hairy chest. A muscular arm tightened across her shoulder, and a long leg snaked around her thigh, dragging her closer. She allowed the warm scent of sandalwood, man, and memories of the night before to envelope her, hold her worries at bay.

Which lasted all of two minutes. Then they came crashing through. She was a fool, a complete, utter—and worse, shameless—fool. She’d blown everything. And for what? Yes, their lovemaking had been amazing, unbelievable, wonderful, the stuff dreams were made of. Which made Clint’s reaction when she’d brought up their next date all the more crushing.

He hadn’t even been able to look at her when he’d offered her that fake smile, the casual shrug. She knew them well enough, having used them more than once herself. Then he’d distracted her and gone for a repeat performance, because there wasn’t going to be another date. No Joining.

An alternative method of gaining the Crossing’s acceptance must exist. Losing the battle didn’t necessarily mean she’d lost the war. Maybe Clint didn’t
have
to be the Keeper. She’d work harder, master herself, her power.

She slipped out of bed and pulled on her spider web nightshirt. Padding down the stairs, she passed the scattering of clothes, pausing at the shards of her great-grandmother’s bell jar. So that’s what her shoe had broken in its flight. Beneath its glass, Cayden had been able to see a microcosm of the next day’s weather. That she would suffer its loss seemed entirely appropriate.

Nevermore perched on Dr. Seuss’s shoulder, his head tucked beneath his wing. How could she have found his scolding amusing when it had been so apt?

A quick peek at the traitor in the bathroom mirror had her scrambling into the shower. Her makeup came off easily. No amount of scrubbing washed away the guilt. Facing the agent of her failure was almost as bad as the idea of confessing it to Gran. If the bathroom had a door that could be locked, instead of the heavy drape separating it from the theater racks and shelves that functioned as her closet, she’d have hidden in there until she was certain Clint had gone. With any luck, he’d already sneaked out the door.

Nevermore’s wolf whistle cursed that small hope. He followed it with, “Clint MacAllen. Keeper.”

Cayden pulled a plain black silk kimono off a hanger on the rack, tied the sash brutally tight, and stepped out from the drape.

Clint was standing in all his naked glory with his back to her. It was impossible not to admire the view, equally impossible to forgive herself for what it had cost her.

“Hey, I thought you didn’t like me.” Clint’s voice was sleep rough.

Nevermore croaked, “Clueless Keeper.”

Clint’s head tilted at the same angle as the bird’s.

Cayden cleared her throat. “Nevermore, remember our little talk?”

Clint jumped.

Nevermore squawked, “Bad girl,” beat his wings, and flew through the window, leaving them staring after him.

“Don’t remind me,” Cayden muttered.