The Rancher's Dance (19 page)

Blocked her way.

And her heart slid dangerously into overdrive.

“Changed your mind about walking through that door, now?”

She stared at him. “Have you?”

He slowly shook his head. His hands closed over her shoulders. “I just want to know why, though.”

“It's not because I want a baby right now.” She forced a smile, trying to lessen the tension. “I'm on the pill, in case you're worried or something.”

He just looked at her and she exhaled, feeling exposed right down to the bone. “All right! Maybe I need to do some moving on of my own. Or maybe I've just had a miserable day and would like something pleasant for a change!”

The corner of his lips kicked upward. “I think we could outdo
pleasant.
”

She had no doubt about that either. His thumbs were slipping beneath the neckline of her leotard, sending nerves tightening up and down her spine. “You don't have to worry. It's not like I'm going to expect anything.”

“Ah, Lucy.” His voice was low. Regretful. “You should expect everything. You deserve to have that. And if I could—”

Her eyes burned and she lifted her hand, covering his mouth. She couldn't bear to hear the rest.

With him there were no illusions to be broken. He didn't love her. She knew that. But that didn't mean he wasn't a good man. A good man who wanted her.

And for tonight, it was going to be enough. Because it had to be. Because she couldn't back away from him one more time.

“The only thing I expect for either one of us is to forget everything but
this.
” She stepped closer until her body brushed his.

His hands slid down her shoulders. Around her waist. He lifted her off her feet until her mouth was level with his. “I've been dreaming about
this,
” he murmured and slowly grazed his lips over hers. “But where's your brother?”

She actually felt dizzy and tightened her hands around him. Her legs just seemed to naturally find their way around his hips. Helped, no doubt, by the hands he'd slid beneath her derriere.

“Caleb?” She had to focus her thoughts. “He's fishing for a few days with some of our cousins.” He'd actually left a note for her. “Why?”

“I don't want to be interrupted.” He brushed a kiss against her mouth again and her fingers tunneled through his thick hair. She kissed the hard line of his jaw; felt the tantalizing bristly roughness against her lips.

“There's nobody here but you and me,” she whispered near his ear.

His fingers flexed against her rear. “Are we gonna keep talking?”

She tilted her head back until she could see his face. “I hope not,” she admitted breathlessly.

The corners of his eyes crinkled a little, and then his mouth was on hers.

Colors exploded in her mind, sending bolts of heat through every vein. Her legs tightened around him.

And then he was walking, heading toward the barn door.

“Too far.” Her voice felt raw. “The mats. By the mirror.”

His gaze slid over hers, setting off another liquid wave, and then he carried her to the folded tumbling mats. They were stacked neatly against the mirror that lined part of the barn, and were as high as any bed and almost as wide.

He lowered her until her feet hit the ground. Whatever breath she had left was stolen when he pulled his shirt off over his head. Without thinking, her fingers reached out to stroke over that wealth of hard, broad chest. Down the ridges of his abdomen.

He gave a strangled sound and closed his hand over hers, capturing it flat against his stomach for an aching second before setting it away from him. “You go any further and this is going to be over before we've begun.”

She started to slide the leotard off her shoulders, but his hands got in the way. “I've dreamed about undressing you,” he murmured. As if he had all the patience in the world, he slowly…so slowly…drew the stretchy fabric down her arms.

Her knees felt weak. “What else have you dreamed?”

His eyes were hooded as he watched the wide neckline of her leotard reach her breasts. He tugged again and it slid lower, beneath the rigid points of her achingly tight nipples. “This.” His head dipped and his mouth found one crest. Then the other.

She swallowed a moan, closing her hands around his shoulders. “Beck…”

His mouth burned up her throat. Her jaw. His hands pushed the leotard down past her hips. Her thighs. It slipped
down to her feet and then he was leaning over her, rolling down her tights.

She closed her eyes, feeling the brush of his hair against her breast. Her belly. She grabbed his bare shoulders before her knees simply gave way.

And then she was wearing nothing at all except the heat that was in his eyes as he looked at her. “I dreamed about this.” He slid his hand along her waist. Her hips. Glided even more slowly over her thigh. Then back up again. Over her abdomen. And lower.

She sucked in a breath as he touched her. She reached for his belt buckle and dragged it free. His fingers swirled. Teased. Her head fell weakly forward onto his chest and she fumbled desperately with his fly, unable to unfasten it quickly enough to suit her. “Wait—” she whispered. “Wait—”

“I dreamed about you,” he murmured. “Wet. And dancing for me.”

Shivers danced down her spine and she pulled away from him long enough to turn in a very slow pirouette. “This kind of dance?” She stepped back to him until her bare breasts were pressed against his chest. “Or this kind?” She slowly raised her good knee, brushing it deliberately along his thigh, then extended her leg until her pointed toes reached above his shoulder.

He made a rough sound, and slid his hand between them, cupping her boldly. “What do you think?” He kissed her calf, his gaze never letting hers escape as he slid one finger inside. Then another.

She gasped, shuddering. And even before she could settle and gain some sense, he was moving again. And then his jeans were gone and he was pulling her down onto the mats, pulling her down onto him, his hands hard and gentle at the same time as he sank to the very heart of
her. His teeth bared and he slowly thrust, filling her until there was nothing but an ever-tightening, ever-spiraling pleasure.

Her lips parted, her breath keening, her fingers tangled with his on her hips. Nothing.
Nothing
had ever felt like this.

“Lucy.” His fierce gaze was hot on hers. “
This
dance.”

As if she'd been waiting only for that, her head fell back and she cried out his name and splintered into a thousand shining points of ecstasy. And she knew that in this dance at least he was right there with her in that same, exquisite light.

E
ventually, they made it to the house. And only the fact that Lucy didn't know when, or if, Caleb would be coming in, did she make it past the couch and upstairs to her bedroom before dragging Beck down to her again.

And it was much later still when they finally went in search of food.

“Are you going to fix me waffles again?” Wearing only his jeans and a small grin, he leaned against the counter while she tried to make order out of the groceries that were shoved haphazardly inside the refrigerator.

She gave him a look. “Are you going to make it worth my while?”

He reached out and caught the sash of her robe, tugging on it enough to loosen and gape open over her breasts. “Honey, I've already done that. Three times.”

Her cheeks were hot but she held his gaze. “Didn't notice you complaining.”

He gave a low chuckle that made every nerve in her body
sing. Then he was reaching past her into the refrigerator and pulled out a bunch of grapes. “Here. You can feed them to me one at a time.”

She snorted and retied her robe. “In your dreams.”

“Think we've established what's in my dreams,” he reminded, looking sexy and satisfied and oh-so-wicked.

She plucked the grapes out of his hands and carried them to the sink, rinsing them off under the faucet. “All right, then, Mr. Ventura.” She held up the bunch by the thick stem and wiggled them as she edged toward the doorway. “Let's see what you're made of, then.”

He caught her from behind, kissed the nape of her neck through her hair and slipped the grapes out of her suddenly lax fingers. He pulled one free and popped it in her mouth. “My dad and Susan are getting married.”

She stopped dead in her tracks, quickly swallowing the succulent grape. “You're kidding!”

“They told us at dinner.”

“Well, that's wonderful. Isn't it?”

Beck nodded and pressed himself against her.

He'd known she'd be addictive. He just hadn't counted on
how
addictive.

“Where are they going to live?”

“They plan to build a place of their own somewhere around here if they can find a property they like.”

She gave him a quick look. “
They
plan to, or will you build it?”

He gave a casual shrug that didn't feel entirely casual. “I told them I'll design it at least.”

She smiled slowly. “I think that's wonderful, Beck.”

He just grimaced, hoping to hell she wouldn't make a big deal out of the decision.

It wasn't as if he planned to hang out his shingle again.
Or that he'd been thinking—at all—about Jake Forrest's new project…

Wanting to distract her as much as himself, he wrapped his arm around her waist and slid his hand inside the robe, landing on a velvety smooth swell of hip.

“Have they set a wedding date already?” Her voice went a little breathy.

“Not quite, but they want to do it within the next few months. Neither one of them can think of a reason to wait.”

She caught his hand before it could get somewhere really interesting and turned in his arms to loop her hands around his neck. “I can tell you on good authority that Weaver has been the home to some very, very lovely weddings. I'm sure your father and Susan's will be one as well. I wish I could be here to see it.”

But she wouldn't be. Because after Labor Day, she was returning to New York. To work at the same place her cheating lover still worked.

There was no reason for his mouth to feel sour but it did. And he suddenly felt an urge to make his mark on her; to make certain that she'd know just what she'd left when she went.

He pulled her robe off her shoulders and hauled her up to his mouth, pinning her between him and the wall behind her back. He heard her soft gasp, and felt her mouth open under his demanding kiss.

“Beck—” she whispered unsteadily when the need for oxygen drove him to finally lift his head.

Yes. He wanted to hear his name on her lips. Only his name. And if that made him the son of a bitch he knew he could be, then so be it. He covered her breasts with his hands, felt the stab of her nipples against his palms and dragged his thumbs over them, catching them until they
pearled even more tightly, turning a deep rosy red that begged to be tasted.

But he didn't just taste.

He feasted. He feasted and he drove her until she was practically sobbing in his arms, and only then did he shove aside his jeans and plunge into her, taking her right then and there against the kitchen wall.

But if he'd thought she wouldn't meet his sudden demand, he was wrong. Because even as he took, so did she. And in that moment when he knew he was on the precipice of losing complete control, her glowing aquamarine eyes stared hotly into his and she wrapped her lithe, strong body around his. “Yes,” she whispered hoarsely. “Don't stop.”

He couldn't have even if he'd wanted to.

And he didn't want to.

And then her eyes fluttered, her lips parted and he felt the exquisite ripples inside her begin to grow. And spread. Her fingers tightened on his shoulders until he felt her nails digging in. And still he drove. Until she cried his name out loud, and those ripples became an endless wave, pulling him under an abyss of pleasure so acute that he didn't care if he ever came up again.

And after, when they finally made it up to her tumbled bed and she curled against him and fell immediately into an exhausted sleep, he was left staring up at the ceiling, drained and spent.

And it scared the hell out of him.

Not just because he wasn't sure whose mark had been made on whom.

But because, once again, he was going to be the one left behind.

H
e was gone when she woke.

Lucy pushed her tumbled hair out of her eyes and rolled over in bed. Even that much movement had some muscles protesting, but it was the good kind of protest. The kind that reminded her well how they'd been earned.

Making love with Beck. Again. And again.

She exhaled luxuriously, the memories so fresh and vivid that she went hot all over again.

She didn't remember his leaving, but she knew that he would have wanted to be home when Shelby woke.
And
he would be back that day to continue finishing the addition.

Suddenly energized, she climbed out of bed and stripped off the sheets. She pulled on her robe and carried them down to the new laundry room, inhaling the scent of fresh paint and new wood as she filled the washing machine. She smoothed her hand over the satiny surface of the cupboards that Beck had installed and smiled to herself. Belle was
going to love the addition, but Lucy was always going to remember watching Beck put the whole thing together.

With the washing machine quietly humming, she went into the kitchen. The clock told her she'd slept later than she'd expected. Of course, she'd had good reason.

Smiling even more, she started a pot of coffee so it would be ready when Beck got there with Shelby. It was Friday and his father was busy with his AA meeting in Braden, which meant that Beck would be shuttling Shelby around that day.

She tidied up the kitchen from their middle-of-the-night refrigerator raid, then hurried back upstairs to shower and get dressed. By the time she got back downstairs, the sheets were done in the washer and she transferred them to the dryer and hurried over to the barn to get ready for that morning's dance lesson.

Beck still hadn't arrived. Not even after the last of the cars came and went, dropping off little girls dressed in everything from the traditional black leotards and pink tights to summer shorts and tank tops.

But no Shelby. And no Beck.

Lucy assigned them a simple dance sequence to practice and called his house. He answered on the fourth ring, when she was nearly ready to give up.

“Shelby woke up with a fever,” he said in greeting.

“Oh dear. How bad?”

“Few degrees.” His voice was short. “I'm taking her to the pediatrician now.”

“Good idea. I won't keep you, then. How about if I come over this afternoon?”

“That's not a good idea.”

Something in his voice made her stomach tense. “Why not?”

“School starts soon. And you're going back to New York.
She's already upset at the idea of your leaving, just like I feared.”

“What's going on? After yesterday—”

“Lucy.” He sounded ragged. “I can't do this. Not to any of us.”

Her eyes started burning. “Beck—”

“I'm sorry. Right now, I've got to get Shelby into town. The doc is fitting us in between other patients.”

“Right.” Her fingers tightened around the phone. “We'll, um, we'll talk later.”

But she realized she was only talking to the dial tone. He'd already hung up.

She stared out at the house across from the opened barn door and marshaled her emotions. He was just worried about Shelby, she told herself. And maybe freaked out about how quickly things were moving.

They could deal with that.

She wasn't afraid of waiting, if she had to.

Drawing a deep breath, she slipped her phone into the pocket of her loose sweater and turned back to her little dancers. But the second the last child had departed after the lesson with her parents, she went into the house to grab the truck keys where she'd left them on the counter.

She was going to Beck's whether he invited her or not. And if he was still in town with Shelby, then she would wait.

But before she made it out of the house, she heard the creak of the front door.

Relief swept through her, making her knees feel strangely weak. She left the keys where they lay as she moved toward the kitchen doorway. “You decided to come after—”

“Sweetheart!” Belle dumped the shopping bags and purse she was holding on the hall table and hurried forward, her outstretched arms folding around Lucy before
that false relief even had a chance to settle. “Oh, honey, it is
so
good to see your face!” Belle pulled back, her dark eyes sparkling. “And I'll admit this now before your father walks in, but I am
so
glad to be home again. The next time we take a vacation, it is
not
going to be longer than two weeks, and that is that!” She cupped Lucy's cheek with her palm and hugged her again. “So, tell me, how is your knee?” Her eyebrows rose. “Caleb informs me that you underplayed the seriousness a bit.”

Lucy was so disappointed that it wasn't Beck who'd arrived that she couldn't even summon up irritation for her brother's lack of discretion. “It's fine,” she assured shortly. “As fine as it's ever going to get anyway.”

Belle's eyes were narrowed, but boots clomped on the steps outside and Lucy's father walked in, loaded down with suitcases. He dumped them on the floor at his feet, then kissed Lucy's forehead and swept her off her feet in a giant hug. “Your mother—” he jerked his head toward Belle once he'd set Lucy back on her feet “—never told me that suitcases
multiply.
”

Belle grinned and waved a hand dismissively. “I didn't figure that some facts of life still needed to be explained to you at your age.”

Cage swept his arm around his wife's trim waist and hauled her next to him. “Honey, if you haven't learned by now that we've got the most important facts of life all sewed up, particularly after our vacation, then we haven't been doing something right.”

Lucy clapped her hands over her ears. “Please, the children are present.” Then she pointed. “Anything I can help carry in?”

“Good heavens, no.” Belle sidled out of her husband's hold and took Lucy's arm. “Cage will take care of it.
You
and I are going to catch up.”

Lucy nearly groaned, but didn't want to give her father any reason to look more suspicious and shrugged instead. “Let's do it in your new addition,” she suggested. “By way of the laundry room. It's seriously drool-worthy. Almost enough to make me enjoy doing the darn chore.”

Belle smiled, and they headed through the house.

Lucy did get a small reprieve then because Belle simply stopped and stared in awe as she took in all of Beck's amazing work. She touched the cabinets above her fancy washing machine and dryer with reverent fingertips. “I
knew
it would be lovely. I've been to Beck's place, after all, but…” She broke off, shaking her head with wonder. “This is so much more than I expected.”

Then she left the laundry room and went into the new family room. She stood in the center of the space, her gaze running from wood flooring to gleaming windows to high ceilings and all of the trimmings in between. “I can't believe he did so much in such a short time.” She glanced at Lucy. “He must have been working nonstop over here. Was the noise and mess very much a bother?”

Lucy tried not to flush. “Not at all. And he's been bringing Shelby,” she reminded. She'd told her folks about the dancing lessons when they'd spoken on the phone, though not about how much they'd expanded. “She's such a doll.”

“She is,” Belle agreed. Her discerning gaze had turned from admiring the improvements to her home to the studied casualness on Lucy's face. “Beck's a fine father, but she needs a mother.”

Lucy's face felt warm. “A few of her friends have started coming to the morning lessons as well. They, um, they all just left a few minutes before you arrived, actually. We've been working over in the barn.”

“I know,” Belle admitted. “I've heard all about your
budding little business from Squire and Gloria.” Then she tilted her head slightly and pinned Lucy with a no-nonsense look. “Now, about your knee.” She nudged Lucy back into the kitchen and pointed at one of the chairs. “Sit.”

Lucy grimaced. “I'm not twelve anymore.”

“Then stop acting like it. I know Dr. Valenzuela has seen you twice.” Belle pointed at the chair again. “Sit.” Lucy sat.

Belle crouched at her foot and rolled up the stretchy knit of Lucy's dance pants until her knee was revealed. Her knowledgeable, nimble fingers gently felt around Lucy's knee, the muscles above and the muscles below. She had Lucy extend and flex and bend and point and it was almost like a step back into time.

Lucy finally caught her mother's hands in hers and squeezed. “This isn't one that you're going to be able to help me fix,” she said huskily.

Belle sat back on her heels. Her eyes were dark and Lucy knew that she didn't have to tell her mother any more than that for her to understand all of the ramifications. “I'm sorry, sweetheart. I wish we'd been here for you. That you didn't have to deal with this all on your own.”

“I know.” Lucy's throat tightened. “But I needed you two to have that trip. You've waited nearly all of your married life for it.” She swallowed. “And I haven't been all alone. Caleb—”

“Has been gone more often than not,” Belle said tartly. “He admitted as much when we last spoke, but I'd already heard about it from the family before then.”

Lucy wondered what else her parents might have heard from “the family.” They all could complain that it was just the other residents of the Weaver community who were the biggest gossips, but the fact was nothing much happened among the extensive Clay family without word quickly
traveling on the family's own grapevine. Sometimes, it was a curse as much as it was a blessing.

“And Beck's been here,” she added casually.

“And?”

“And nothing.”

Belle lifted an eyebrow. “Sweetheart, you can either tell me what's
really
going on with you and Beck, or you can tell your dad and me when he comes in here in two minutes.”

“You're going to tell him anyway.”

“Yes, I am. But it might be easier for him to hear, coming from me first, that his baby girl has fallen in love with our ordinarily reclusive neighbor.”

Lucy stared. “I haven't said—”

“You don't have to.” Belle leaned forward and tugged the point of her chin. “It's written all over you. Just as Sarah described to Maggie, and Mags described to me.”

“Grapevine,” she muttered.

Belle's smile was sympathetic. “In this case, I'm grateful for it because at least I knew you weren't moping around any about that idiot, Lars.” She waited a beat. “And I'm right, aren't I?”

Lucy exhaled. What was the point in pretending?

She nodded.

“So how serious has it gotten?”

“Serious. At least on my part.” She chewed the inside of her lip. “Especially after last night.”

“Ah,” Belle murmured softly. “So what has you looking so upset the afternoon after?”

“He didn't show up this morning to work on the addition. And he didn't bring Shelby to dance. He said she had a fever and was taking her to the doctor, but—” she broke off and shook her head. “I think he's regretting what happened.”

“Hmm.” Belle pushed to her feet. “What do you plan to do about it?”

Lucy hugged her arms. She wasn't sure there was anything she could do about it. “It takes two willing people to make a relationship,” she murmured. “I was going over to his house.”

“Well, then.” Belle gestured. “Go on over and see what's up.”

“But you've just gotten home. I've barely even hugged Dad hello.”

Belle waved her hands. “First off, we'll be here for a good long while.” Her lips curved wryly. “
Right
here,” she emphasized. “And just leave Cage to me.” She scooped the keys off the counter and handed them to Lucy. “So go.”

Even though she'd planned to do just that already, her hands still shook when she took the keys and went.

And when she got there, the sight of Beck's truck parked alongside his house didn't do a whole lot to alleviate the tension in her stomach.

She parked next to the truck and walked around the house to the front door.

She couldn't help but remember the day she'd brought the brownies and she had to sternly remind herself that they'd come a
long
way since that day. She curled her fist and rapped her knuckles on the massive door.

And just like that day that felt so long ago but really wasn't, he answered the door himself.

Then he'd worn jeans and a denim shirt, and today was no different. The only things missing were the cowboy hat and the grim expression.

The look on his face now just made her ache inside.

“How is Shelby?”

“Okay. She's sleeping.”

Her mouth felt arid. She nodded. “Nothing serious, then?”

He shook his head.

“Okay, then.” Her hands curled nervously. “What is it that you
can't
do?” Even as she asked the question, she knew it was moot.

She could see the answer on his face.

Read it in his bloodshot eyes.

“This.
Us.
” His voice was low.

Final.

She thought she was prepared for the pain of it. Lord knows she'd told herself often enough to expect it.

But no amount of preparation was enough to withstand the blow of the real thing right there, up front and in her face

She wrapped her arms around her waist, holding herself together with a tenuous thread. “Can't, or won't?”

“It doesn't matter.”

“It
does
matter,” Lucy said huskily. She looked to either side of her at the sturdy, attractive porch furnishings. “After everything, you won't even invite me in?”

The door didn't budge. His muddy green eyes didn't flicker for even a moment. His resolve was steely. “I don't want Shelby waking up and getting even more upset.”