The Touch of Fire

by Linda Howard

  In the end, all she could do was trust him and give him the response he insisted on. She was helpless to do otherwise. The night before he had shown her the pleasure her body was capable of knowing, and the need to find it again sprang up strong and hot under his kisses. He wooed her again with light touches of his mouth that gradually deepened, with firm caresses through her clothing that soon made her impatient with the barriers between his skin and hers. He didn’t strip her all at once, but would remove one garment and then return to his patient kisses and stroking. It seemed forever before he finally slid his hand inside her shift and cupped her bare breast, and she gave a quick, sharp sigh of relief.

  His hard mouth curved into a smile, but it was one of purely male satisfaction rather than amusement. “You like that, don’t you?”

  She moved her legs restlessly, and her head turned toward him. “Yes.”

  He tugged the strap down off her shoulder and the shift drooped, baring her. He thought he’d never seen more delectable breasts, firm and round and proudly upright. They weren’t big, but they filled his hand nicely. Her nipples looked like dark pink berries, flushed and extended from his touch. He bent his head and leisurely suckled her, determinedly ignoring his thrusting erection in order to seduce her with her own pleasure.

  Her hands plucked at his shirt in frustration and he paused long enough to hook it off over his head.

  The heat and power of his naked chest pressed down on her, and her breasts tightened at the contact. Fire was burning through her, the same fire he had ignited before, and she moved urgently against him in search of relief. Some time later she became aware that his hands were under her skirt, releasing the tapes of her undergarment, and she lifted her hips to aid him in removing it. Her thighs opened eagerly to his touch.

  It was light at first, no more than a gentle rubbing, but soon his fingers sought out and concentrated on the most sensitive spot. That awful, wonderful tension began building in her, and she whimpered.

  Then his fingers slid into her and she cried out, her hips lifting from the bed. She felt the wetness between her legs and didn’t care. Rafe forced her head back with a kiss so hard and deep it bruised her lips, and she didn’t care about that either. She clutched his bare, damp shoulders and moved against him.

  Stifling a curse of agonized arousal, Rafe unbuttoned his pants and pushed them down. He spread her legs wider and slid his hips into the cradle, gritting his teeth against the surge of heat through his loins as he touched her. Annie went still, fear edging into her desire. He positioned the thick head of his shaft against her and then held her head framed between his hands, their gazes locked as he slowly, inexorably pushed into her.

  Her pupils expanded until her eyes were enormous black pools, and she sucked in a deep breath. Dimly she realized that it wasn’t painful as it had been before, but the sense of invasion, of being stretched, was almost unbearable. Her flesh was still tender and a little raw, and the nerve endings screamed a protest as his thick length forced her open. Her loins clenched around him in a futile effort to halt the alien intrusion and he groaned aloud, sagging weakly against her.

  And still he pushed, sheathing himself to the hilt. She felt him deep inside, touching the entrance to her womb, and wild pleasure exploded through her.

  He began thrusting, slowly at first, then with increasing speed and power. Her inner muscles clung to him, slick and hot.

  She couldn’t bear it. It was too much, too frightening. She tried to slide backward away from him, but he hooked his hands under her shoulders and held her.

  “Don’t fight it,” he crooned, his breath hot against her temple. “It’s too good to fight. Is it hurting?”

  She would have sobbed if she had had the breath. All she could do was say, “No,” on a hard gasp.

  His hips recoiled and advanced, thrusting him deep within her. Her own hips were rocking back and forth and she couldn’t control them. Desperately she began fighting, and Rafe caught her arms. “It’s all right,” he soothed. “You’re almost there.” He moved higher on her, so that with each thrust and withdrawal the base of his shaft rubbed against her. “Lift up against me, honey,” he commanded with a deep groan.

  She didn’t. She couldn’t. She felt as if she were fighting for her life as she desperately tried to shrink from him, pressing her hips down hard against the blanket. The force he was arousing in her was so strong she didn’t dare let it explode. She heard herself sobbing now, harsh sounds that burned in her throat.

  His hair was dripping wet with sweat, and his face was stark with the effort his control was costing him. He slid his hands under her buttocks, pushing his fingers into the soft cleft to grip her hard. She screamed in shock and her hips jerked upward, away from the startling touch. Sensation jolted through her and she felt her sanity sliding away as the dark whirlpool grabbed her again, flinging her up and then pulling her down, drowning her. He was still gripping her buttocks, working her up and down in rhythm with his thrusts, then his hoarse groans mingled with her cries as his big body convulsed against her.

  Afterward he held her head and kissed her as if he couldn’t get enough of her, kisses as deep and hard as if their passion hadn’t just been expended. Tears seeped from beneath her lashes, but they weren’t tears of pain. She didn’t know why she was crying. Exhaustion, perhaps, or maybe it was a natural reaction to having survived a cataclysmic upheaval of her senses that had shaken her to her marrow. Why hadn’t she died? Why hadn’t her heart exploded from the strain, why hadn’t the heat boiled her blood in her veins? She felt as if all of that had happened, as if she should be no more than ashes in his arms. So it hadn’t been a chimera after all, but a force that welded them together with chains she would never be able to break.

  He wiped the tears away with his thumbs. “Look at me, darlin’,” he urged. “Open your eyes.”

  She did, staring at him through a shimmering veil of moisture.

  “Did I hurt you again? Is that why you’re crying?”

  “No,” she managed to whisper. “You didn’t hurt me. It’s just. . . too much. I don’t know how I lived through it.”

  He rested his forehead on hers. “I know,” he murmured. What happened every time he touched her was outside his experience too, and out of his control.

  CHAPTER

  10

  They spent most of the day lying entwined on their rough bed. They both slept, feeling the effects of the long night just passed and the exhaustion of their lovemaking. Annie got up once to sleepily check the stew and add more water, and to replenish the fire. By the time she returned to the blankets, Rafe was awake and aroused by her seminudity. The remainder of their clothes were shed, and he made love to her with a slow, lingering power that was no less shattering than before. It was afternoon when they woke again, and the chill of the air made them shiver.

  “I need to check on the horses,” he said regretfully, and put on his clothes. He’d have liked nothing better than to spend a few more days lying naked with her. He only wished they had a proper bed, with thick covers to keep them warm. Funny, he’d never before missed the creature comforts.

  Annie dressed too. She felt boneless, and incredibly languid. She had forgotten about the snow until he opened the door and a landscape of white greeted them along with a rush of frigid air. A pale, unearthly light filled the cabin. It was still snowing, and during the hours they had spent making love over half a foot had accumulated, covering the forest floor and draping the trees in an icy white mantle.

  It was only a few minutes before he returned, stamping snow from his boots and brushing it off his hat and coat. Annie handed him a cup of the coffee left over from breakfast, strong and bitter by now, but he drank it without even a grimace.

  “How are the horses?”

  “Restless, but they’ll be fine.”

  She stirred the stew; it was ready to eat, the rabbit tender after simmering all day, but she wasn’t hungry. She desperately needed some fresh air to clear her he
ad, but as Rafe had pointed out, her coat wasn’t heavy enough for this type of weather. After a few moments she decided it didn’t matter.

  Rafe watched her put on her coat. “Where’re you going?”

  “I’m going to step out for a few minutes. I need some fresh air.”

  He began pulling his own coat back on.

  She gave him a surprised look. “You don’t have to go with me. I’m just going to stand outside the door. Stay in and get warm.”

  “I’m warm enough.” He leaned down, picked up one of the blankets, and wrapped it around her Indian style, pulling one of the folds up to protect her head. Then he stepped out into the eerie white world with her and held her firmly in his arms.

  It was so cold that it hurt to breathe, but the icy air cleared her head. She nestled securely against Rafe’s big body and in silence watched the snow fall. It was almost twilight, and the weak winter sunlight that had penetrated the thick layer of clouds had waned. The ghostly illumination came more from the snow than from the sun. The tree trunks were stark black sentinels. She had never known it to be so quiet; there were no insects buzzing, no birds calling, not even the rustle of bare tree limbs. They were so isolated that they might as well have been the only two living creatures on earth, for the blanket of snow so muffled sound that she couldn’t even hear the horses.

  The cold cut through her skirt and petticoat and seeped up through the soles of her shoes, but still she clung to him and endlessly drank in the cruel, beautiful splendor surrounding them. Somehow it gave her a base of reality, as if the dark, heated intimacy of the cabin were a dream that existed only in her emotions. Too much had happened in too little time, turning her life upside down. How long had it been? It felt like a lifetime, but it had only been four—or was it five?—days since she had delivered Eda’s baby and trudged wearily back to her cabin to find a wounded stranger waiting for her.

  She shivered and Rafe said, “That’s enough. Come on back inside now, it’s getting dark anyway.”

  The comparative warmth of the cabin enfolded them, though it took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the gloom. She felt more awake now, the cobwebs gone from her brain. She made fresh coffee, and when it was ready they ate the stew, delighting in the change of menu.

  The trouble with being cooped up, she decided, was that there was nothing to do. The first few days she had worn herself out working and had been ready to go to sleep not long after sundown. But having spent most of the day in bed, now she wasn’t tired. Had she been at home she would have worked with her herbs, drying some, mixing others. Or she could have read, or written to her old friends in Philadelphia. Here, there were no books and no light to read them by even if there had been. She had no sewing, no cleaning to do. Considering all he had done the past two days, she couldn’t pretend that Rafe needed her medical help any longer. It felt very odd, having nothing to do, and she said as much out loud.

  Rafe understood how quickly cabin fever could affect some people, and though his inclination was to take her to bed he accepted that even with liberal applications of the slippery-elm salve she would be too sore for the long hours of repeated lovemaking that he wanted. “I’ve got a pack of cards in my saddlebags,” he suggested instead. “Do you know how to play poker?”

  “No, of course not,” she said automatically, but he saw the quick flare of interest in her brown eyes. “You’d really show me how?”

  “Why not?”

  “Well, some men wouldn’t.”

  “I’m not some men.” He tried to remember if there had been a time when he would have been shocked by a poker-playing lady, but those days wouldn’t come to mind. Their ashes were far too cold.

  His deck of cards was dog-eared and stained; Annie eyed them as if they were the symbol of everything dangerous and forbidden. He positioned their saddles in front of the fire to give them something to lean against, which would be more comfortable than sitting tailor fashion, and explained the suits and hands to her. She caught on quickly, though she didn’t have enough experience to be able to figure the odds on filling a hand. He moved on to blackjack, which was better suited to being played with just two people, and the game interested her enough that they played for a couple of hours.

  Finally the game palled, and Rafe suggested going to bed. He was amused to see the quick look of alarm she gave him. “It’s all right,” he said. “I know you’re sore; we’ll wait until tomorrow.”

  She blushed, and he wondered how she still could.

  He gave her his shirt to wear to bed, not because he didn’t want her naked—he did—but because it would keep her arms and shoulders warm and would be more comfortable than her high-necked blouse. She slid under the blanket and into his arms with a shy sweetness that made him sigh with regret.

  Neither of them was really sleepy, but he was content—almost—to just lie there with her. Idly he picked up her hand and carried her fingers to his lips. The heat made his mouth tingle.

  She nestled her head more securely on his shoulder. She would have loved to live only in the moment, but unfortunately that wasn’t possible. Though she loved him, there was no way to forget that they had no future together, that perhaps he had no future at all. Her heart squeezed painfully at the thought of a bullet extinguishing the hot vitality in his powerful body, of him lying cold and still arid forever gone from her.

  “This man they think you killed,” she said hesitantly, knowing he wouldn’t like her bringing up the subject. “Do you know who did it?”

  He was still for a fraction of a second, then he touched her fingers to his lips again. “Yeah.”

  “Isn’t there any way you can prove it?”

  He’d tried, back when he had been so angry that he’d wanted to make them all pay, and nearly lost his life, only to realize that all of the proof pointed to him. He knew who had killed Tench, or at least who had arranged it, but there was no way in hell to prove that his finger hadn’t pulled the trigger. He didn’t tell her that, though, just said, “No,” in a soft tone and held her hand to his face.

  “I can’t accept that.” she said in a low, fierce voice. “There has to be a way. What happened? Tell me about it.”

  “No,” he said again. “The less you know the safer you’ll be. They’re not after me because of what I did, honey. They’re after me because of what I know, and they’ll kill anyone they think I’ve told.” That was one reason he’d finally given up trying to exonerate himself; after two people who had tried to help him had turned up dead, Rafe had stopped trying. The only people who were likely to believe him were his friends, and he couldn’t get his friends killed. Besides, what the hell did it matter anyway? He’d had his illusions destroyed, but other people had a right to theirs. Sometimes it was the only comfort they had.

  “But what can be that dangerous?” she argued, lifting her head from his shoulder.

  “This. I won’t risk your life by telling you.”

  “Then you should have thought of that before dragging me up here. If anyone finds out, won’t it be assumed that you talked to me?”

  “No one in town saw me at your place,” he assured her.

  She tried another tack. “Someone is hunting you, aren’t they? Right now, I mean.”

  “A bounty hunter named Trahern. A lot of other people too, but Trahern’s the one I’m most concerned about right now.”

  “Will he be able to track you to Silver Mesa?”

  “I figure he’s already done that, but I had my horse reshod there and there’s no way he could have picked up the trail.”

  “Does he know you were wounded?”

  “I reckon. He’s the one who put lead in me.” “Then won’t he think to check if there’s a doctor in town?”

  “He might, because I got lead in him, too. But as far as he knows I wasn’t hurt that bad, and it had been ten days since he’d shot me, after all, so he probably figured I was okay.” He moved her hand back to his lips. “And from what you said, you rode out a lot to see sick f
olks, so no one would think it was unusual that you were gone.”

  That was certainly true enough. She had even thought the same thing herself. She smiled as she saw a flaw in his logic. “If no one will know I’ve been with you, then how can it be dangerous for me if you tell me anything? I’m certainly not going to run around Silver Mesa blabbing about it.”

  “Just in case,” he said gently. “I won’t take the chance.”

  She sighed in frustration, but sensed how implacable he was. That seemed to be one of his main characteristics: when he made up his mind, he didn’t relent. He made a mule seem reasonable.

  “What did you do before the war?”

  The question startled him, because he had to think about it for a moment. “Studied law.”

  “What?” Of all the things he could have said, nothing would have surprised her more. He seemed so naturally dangerous, everything about him perfectly bred to be the predator he was, that she couldn’t imagine him dressed in a suit and pontificating before a judge and jury.

  “I didn’t say I was any good at it. My father was a judge and for a while it seemed like the thing to do.” Mosby had been a lawyer, and the two of them had whiled away many an hour arguing obscure points of law. At the same time, Rafe knew he’d never have been interested enough in the law to have been a success at it. He had simply absorbed a lot of it by being his father’s son. Absently he carried Annie’s hand down to his chest and brushed her fingers over his nipple. That sharp, sweet tingle made it tighten immediately.

  With interest Annie felt his hard, flat nipple pucker just the way hers did, and she wondered if he enjoyed the sensation. He moved her hand to his other nipple and it reacted the same as the other. He brushed her fingers back and forth over his chest in a slow, absent motion.

  She sighed. “I can’t imagine you as a lawyer.”