by Drake, Laura
When she would have pulled away, he kept hold of one of her hands. “Would you tell me about Kandahar, Katya?”
Her sharp inhale was loud in the close alcove. Not wanting to meet his steady gaze, she dropped her eyes, to watch his thumb running over her knuckles.
The first thing the army head doc had told her was that it would be good for her to talk—to get the experiences out of her head where they festered and into the light of day. That even made logical sense.
But to talk about Buster—Buster? Where had that come from?—Murphy.
She looked up.
Cam hadn’t moved. His face was relaxed, his eyes steady and serious. He waited.
She focused inward, listening for the whisper of sacred secrets. There was only the heavy thud of her heart, the soft push of her pulse at the base of her neck, and at the back of her flexed knees.
In spite of Cam being, at times, cold, taciturn, and hard, she also knew he was one who would hold her secrets. She took a deep breath. “At the bazaar, he bought a sweet little stuffed bunny, to send to his baby niece back in South Carolina…”
“Jesus.” Cam had wondered if there were more layers to this woman than he knew, but the reality was much more stark and brutal than he’d guessed. It was everything he could do to be still, not to pull her into his arms, tuck her head into his neck and rock her. That bomb had done more than kill a friend; it had imploded her life.
Katya fell silent. She hadn’t cried. Hadn’t even come close, speaking as if this were the plot to a movie she’d seen. It made what she said more horrifying—her friend’s death and her own injuries, inside and out.
The waiter brought their food. The aroma of lamb and curry released them from the story. She pulled her hand away and he shifted his pillow a bit to give her room to eat.
A second waiter brought more small plates of food.
“I ordered a sampler, so you could taste a bit of everything.” She must have read his misgivings, because she smiled. “Trust me. You’re about to have a memorable experience.”
“I already have.”
She blushed, then called out names as exotic as their smells: vindaloo, rogan josh, Punjabi curry and flat bread to soak up the sauce.
Turned out, he liked Indian food.
When the table was cleared, Katya ordered them one more drink; something called a feni, made from the oil of cashews. She reclined on one elbow on a large pillow while she sipped, her huge green eyes watching him.
He shifted on his pillow. “What?”
“Now you tell me. What’s next for you, after this season is over?”
This was the last thing he wanted to talk about. But then, the bomb was probably the last thing she’d wanted to talk about. He remembered the shadows that passed over her face as she’d told her story.
He should have remembered that excavating another’s history always led to digging through your own, exposing the pottery shards and the bones. “You’ve hit on why I’ve been such a self-absorbed idiot lately.
“The truth is I don’t know what I’m going to do next.”
She cocked her head and raised an eyebrow.
He looked down at the silly fragile glass in his big hands. “I’ve always had this goal to be the best bull rider in the world. Now, I’ve been there, done that. Got the buckle. Somehow, while I was having fun, fifteen years have gone by.” He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, where worry pulled the muscles tight.
“Maybe I thought I’d just ride off into the sunset or some stupid thing, but I never made plans about what came next. Thanks to the PBR, I’ve got plenty of money. But what good is that? It won’t make me happy. Only the next challenge can do that. Doing something I love is the only reason to drag these battered bones out of bed in the morning. And that’s going to end in four weeks’ time.”
“Surely there are other jobs in the PBR you could do.”
He huffed out a breath, and put the empty glass on the low table. “What? Get in front of a camera and talk for a living?”
Her tinkling laugh told him she recognized what a joke that was.
“I’ve looked into everything I can think of, and none of it appeals to me. The only thing I want to do is ride. And from my stats lately, I have to face the fact that I can’t do that anymore.”
“I’m sorry, Cam.” Her sad eyes pulled him in.
He shook himself. “What is it about you that makes me want to talk?” He smiled to try to make light of it. “I swear, I hang around you long enough, I’m going to end up howling at the moon.”
“I hope it doesn’t come to that.” She glanced around for her purse. “Let’s get out of here. I’ve got some tea back at my place with your name on it.”
He waggled his eyebrows at her. “That’s a new approach. Most women say they have etchings—” He ducked to avoid her slap.
Katya opened the door and flipped on the light. Warm light from her red scarf over the lampshade blurred the harsh lines of the generic room. Cam stepped in behind her.
“Wow, exact same room as last time.”
She dropped the key on the desk. “Nope. Different picture over the bed.”
He tossed his hat on the bed and looked closer. In place of the desert print in earth tones hung a mass-produced print of blue-green mountains. “You’re right. I stand corrected.”
She reached for her camo backpack. “So? You have to admit, Indian food was better than you’d imagined.”
He pulled out the desk chair and sat. “It was pretty good. Curry is spicy, kind of like Mexican in a weird way.”
She chuckled and pulled out a bag of leaves. “I’ve never heard it described like that, but I see your point.” She counted leaves out of several Baggies and dropped them into the white stone mortar he’d seen last time, and used the pestle to grind them.
“You sure look like a Gypsy doing that.”
Her smile was wistful. “My Grand taught me. She was our healer.”
“It looks like you’ve taken up where she left off.”
Her head came up, her eyes wary, which explained faster than words about the prejudice she must have endured over the years.
He put up his hands. “Hey, don’t look at me, I’m a convert.”
The tight line of lips softened. She dropped the leaves into a hotel coffee mug, turned on the coffeemaker, and poured water into the back. “I appreciate you talking up my remedies with the other riders.”
“I didn’t do much.”
“Oh yes, you did. You must have, because those guys went from looking at me like I was a witch to asking for my advice.” She leaned back against the desk, her hands resting at the edge. “Thank you.”
He straightened the crease in his jeans. “I care about those guys. I want them to have the best care available. And after drinking that stuff, I can testify that you’re the real deal.”
CHAPTER
18
Something about a tough guy exposing his soft side made her do crazy things. The gravitational pull she’d felt all through dinner might have had something to do with it as well. Whatever it was, she didn’t so much as reach to touch, as she just stopped restraining herself from doing so.
When she put her fingers under his chin to lift it, his whole body followed. He stood and leaned in, his hands bracketing her hips. “Haven’t we been here before?” He tipped his head and took her lips.
It was a slow, getting-to-know-you kiss. But she didn’t need that. The second his mouth touched hers, she recognized him, as if his lips were as known to her as her own. She ran her tongue along their seam, knowing their shape, their taste. Still, the knowing went deeper.
Though it couldn’t really, could it?
When he opened and his tongue greeted hers, the wisp of a question was whipped away. He made a sound, low and dangerous, and stepped between her somehow opened thighs. When he wrapped his arms around her, she settled in.
Oh, this.
This was what she’d missed. This closeness with anothe
r person—his fingers at the nape of her neck, and knowing from the change in his breathing that he was as caught as she.
Her need whispered to her. More of this. More of him.
When he trailed his lips along the underside of her jaw, she whimpered. When they dipped, finding the deep slit in the embroidery of her blouse, she kicked off her shoes, no longer wanting the advantage.
He’d already taken it anyway.
He lifted her hips, sliding her back so she was sitting on the desk. His mouth. His mouth paid homage to her neck, and she had no choice but to lay her head back, since her muscles would no longer support it. When he sucked at the delicate skin above her collarbone, muscles deep inside her spasmed. She clung to the anchor of his strong shoulders, intoxicated by her senses; his smell, his breathing, his taste. His touch.
“Katya,” he whispered the word onto her neck.
She loved that her name sounded foreign on his lips. A delicious shiver ran through her. He raised his head and looked long into her face, as if drinking in what he saw there, before capturing her mouth again.
When his erection bumped against her most intimate place, she realized her legs, wrapped around his hips, had brought him there.
Hot. God, she was hot. She couldn’t keep a thought in her head past tearing off his clothes and satisfying her body’s demands. Her lips, above and below, felt engorged, every nerve ending on alert.
His hand closed over her breast as his tongue plunged.
More.
She squirmed against him. He pinched her nipple. She whimpered, and bit his lip.
More.
If she’d pay for this, she’d pay tomorrow.
And tomorrow was a long night away.
She broke the kiss, reached down, grabbed the waist of her shirt and peeled it over her head. She needed his hands on her bare skin, needed to feel his skin under hers. Touching his buttons, she realized they were snaps. They sounded like muted rifle fire as she ripped them open.
She’d seen his chest before, of course. But it was different with soft light playing across its hard planes, painting his skin in a crimson wash. Nestled in his washboard stomach was a thin line of hair she was dying to trace with her tongue.
His fingers brushed her back, and her bra let go. “Katya.” His fingers lifted her chin and he looked into her eyes. “Be sure.”
He watched as if she was a plump rabbit and he was a hungry wolf. His sky-blue eyes held a man’s surety, but also a tentative… awe?
A woman’s power surged in her, and to tease them both, she cupped her breasts and lifting, offered them to him. With a moan, he buried his face in her skin.
She twined his hair in her fists as he suckled her. A bolt of electricity shot from her nipples to her crotch. “Please, Cam. Don’t make us wait.”
He turned, toed out of his boots, kicked them off, and shucked out of his jeans, even as she stepped out of hers. When he turned back, she exhaled a sigh. His cock was magnificent—high, hard, tight, proud, and sheathed in a condom.
When she looked up, he tipped his chin to the bed, raising an eyebrow in question.
She gave him a slow smile and a shake of her head. A bed was domestic, too tame for the kind of sex her body demanded. She slid one heel on the chair, opening herself to him.
“Oh, sweet Jesus.” He breathed, and took the last remaining step to her.
She twined her arms behind his head, and brought him close. Now, please, now.
He must have heard her need, because his mouth came down on hers in a crushing kiss as he entered her, deep and hard. Just how she wanted him, needed him.
Her body gave, accommodating him, stretching to a point that should have been painful but wasn’t, because she was so ready. She pulled him closer, scratching his back in her haste. He buried himself to the hilt.
Then stopped.
Moremoremore. Her greed made her whimper, and she dug in his buttocks with her heels.
But his will was stronger. His tongue plundered, though his body didn’t. The only sign of what that cost him was the shaking in the arms that crushed her to him.
When she thought she couldn’t stand it one more second, he began to move.
Slow.
She broke the kiss, to urge him faster until she saw his face.
Eyes closed, he had such a look of fragile rapture that she couldn’t bear to break it. She slowed, fascinated by the interplay of soft emotion flickering across his features. He looked like an angel. A wash of tenderness sheeted the hollow spot in her chest, soothing it. Filling it.
Then he opened his eyes, and she was startled, almost frightened by the raw emotion in his gaze. “Smitty… my Gypsy.” His hands dropped to her hips. He lifted and plunged into her, fast and hard, his gaze holding hers.
She’d never watched like this or been watched. She melted in the molten heat of his eyes, and their bodies. Her orgasm burst upon her with no warning. It took her spiraling up. Her head fell back, and she moaned in release.
Watching was his undoing too. He pumped, straining with every muscle. Her body milked him, and with a last mighty plunge, he emptied himself as he shouted her name.
Hours later, when Katya shifted to lie on her back, the soft musky scent of their mingled sex drifted up from the sheets. She felt gentled; her mind at ease for the first time in so long she couldn’t remember. She wished she could freeze time and stay exactly like this until she couldn’t recall reality.
Cam looked as languid as she felt, propped on an elbow, his head in his hand.
She smiled up at him. “So does this make me a buckle bunny?” She ran her fingers over the muscles of his chest, admiring them. “Because I think I’m starting to see the draw.”
“Don’t ever say that.” The steel wool in his tone scratched her peace.
“What?”
His faded blue eyes turned steely. “It’s a demeaning term. And it so doesn’t describe you.” Below his ear, a muscle jumped.
There were years of bitterness in his tone, this was more than a comment on the breakdown of societal mores. “What is it, Cam? What happened to you?”
He looked away. “Oh, it’s just another sad old country song.”
Yeah, right. From the braided wire muscle under her fingers, it was a lot more than that. She’d read he’d been married before. “Will you tell me about it?”
He took a breath. “I should have known when she sashayed up, winked and introduced herself as, ‘Candi with an “i.” ’ I was Buster’s age, and had just started to win at the top events.” He studied the wall over her head. “Sure, there were groupies at the local rodeos and Challenger events. But like the bull power, Candi was a big step up in more ways than one.”
“She was gorgeous.” She held her voice to a “whatever” tone. It wasn’t as easy to pull off as it should have been.
“She was legendary.” One side of his mouth lifted a tiny bit. She would have missed it if she hadn’t been watching so hard.
“Tiny, blond, and shiny as a showroom-floor sports car. Fully loaded.” He closed his eyes. “It was more than that. She looked at me like I’d made the world just for her. That’s pretty heady stuff for a fresh-off-the-farm boy.”
The furrows between his brows deepened. “I kept winning. And she was there, every night. Pretty soon, I was paying expenses to make sure she was there.” He opened his eyes. “You see, pain pills aren’t the only addiction of bull riders. And she was a drug… the best kind. We’d leave the event and head to the bar to dance and drink until last call. Then we’d go to the hotel, and—” Pink spread up his neck to his cheeks, and he closed his eyes.
“How did it end?” She ran her nails over the hair at the back of his neck, to soothe.
“The fun ended when she came to me crying, saying she was pregnant. I couldn’t wait to get her to the altar. Luckily, we were in Vegas, so I didn’t have to.” He rolled his eyes. “God I was an idiot.”
“She lied?”
“Yeah. But that wasn’t t
he worst of it. I forgave her for that. She was so young, and she was insecure. I figured we could go on as we were. Then all that drama got stuck in my head. Riding, which used to be easy, got hard. I started losing. And Candi wasn’t hitching her wagon to a loser.”
Katya closed her mouth. “She said that?”
He looked at her for the first time since he’d begun the story. It wasn’t the Cam she knew in those eyes. In them, she glimpsed an artless, heartsick young man.
“Not in person. It was in the note she left on the hotel nightstand.”
What a cold-hearted bitch. She smoothed his sideburn with a finger, aching for that young cowboy. How could a woman lie about something so important? To lead him to believe—
Aren’t you doing the same thing? A gut-bomb went off in her stomach. You’ve got to tell him why you took the PBR job. If she didn’t, after this, it would be a lie.
But it would mean exposing herself. That could get her fired. And she wasn’t together enough yet to go back to the army. Worry, which had been lulled to sleep by sex and companionship, surged in her mind. She would be trapped in limbo again—no job, no prospects, and her only family over seven thousand miles away.
I just went to bed with the guy. Brain-blowout sex doesn’t mean I’m going to get attached.
Maybe not, but he might. She’d never seen Cam with a woman, and now she understood why. Yet here he was, in her bed. That meant something.
It means more to him than just something.
If I lie, it puts me in the same category as Candi. And he deserves way better than that.
She let her hand fall, allowing herself the comfort of only the backs of her fingers, lying against the velvet skin of his ribs. “I’m going back to the army, Cam. Hopefully after the finals.”
His breath came out in a snort. Of course she was. Cam Cahill was only a short stop for women on their way to something better. Apparently it was his fate to stand on the platform, hat in hand, as the train pulled out.