by test
* * * *
Cara took a deep shuddering breath after Brady disappeared over the edge. He hadn’t looked angry, only confused and uncomfortable.
She pulled her shirt back on and soothed it over her shivering body. Her legs trembled when she stood. Walking to their supplies, she knelt and began taking out things they needed for a meal. Next she shook out their blankets, using the mundane tasks to keep her mind off her failure to be a whole woman. The fatigue of being up all night slammed into her defenseless emotions. If there were any tears left in her body, she would cry.
Why had she thought she could to it? What had made her believe she could be with a man like a normal woman? A hot spurt of anger at Brady heated the chilled, empty hole inside her. He’d made her believe such a ridiculous notion. But her anger died as quickly as it’d come.
It wasn’t his fault at all. The failure, the disappointment were all hers. She was too damaged.
Without real interest, she worked free the knots in Brady’s extra shirt that held the stolen food. He’d had no choice but to throw it all together. Oats, nuts, dried berries and other things were mixed into a mish mash. She pulled the cooking shell from the pack and began sorting oat kernels and tossing them into it.
The mindless work only insured her thoughts would wander back to the aborted lovemaking. Things had been going fine. Her nipples rose to hard points against her blouse as her body remembered the hot touch of his tongue on them. His lean sculpted torso was everything beautiful in a man. His hands had been gentle and he had touched her in places so innocently but somehow erotic. Then he’d rolled them over so he was on top of her.
Even now her breath hitched at that remembered terror. His weight, though so much less than a Savage, had held her helpless beneath him. His legs had spread hers apart and left her vulnerable to his attack. He’d pressed his penis obscenely … but it hadn’t been so horrible and scary when she’d been on top pressing on him. It was the helplessness of being under him that panicked her. She would never be able to make love with him. Never.
* * * *
Brady took his time. He set his gun and knife aside and then stripped down to nakedness.
The stream flowed down from the mountain side in a skinny water fall no wider than his waist.
The feel of snow and ice was still in it. Exactly what he needed. There was no spot in the stream ONE GOOD WOMAN SUSAN KELLEY 53
large enough for him to even sit in so he stood in a level spot and splashed freezing handfuls of water over his body.
His feet were numb by the time he finished scrubbing his hair. He stepped out onto the sandy bank and washed his clothing. Soon they might have to think of hunting fur-bearing animals and making clothing of skins like the Savages.
And that thought brought him full circle to the reason for his icy, lonely bath. Cara.
Things had been going so well, great even. A few hot kisses, the taste of her skin, the texture of her nipples beneath his tongue, and he forgot his intentions to go slowly. And then he’d frightened her. He’d jumped on top of her like a … like a damned Savage. He was lucky he’d only received a punch in the jaw for his disgusting behavior. How could he make amends?
He’d never faced such a situation. Had he ever been rejected by a woman? Only Cara.
Had he ever scared a woman with his attentions? Only Cara. Had he ever had to apologize to a woman for such a horrific misstep? Only Cara. All his previous dealings with women, even when he was much younger than his current twenty-nine years, had been smooth easy relations.
He’d always been the one controlling the pace, defining the depth of involvement and deciding when to end it. Not that his career lent itself to building lasting relationships. And he hadn’t cared. Until Cara.
Walking further down stream, he found a patch of sunlight. He spread his clothing upon it and sat on another rock. The stone didn’t feel warm on his bare skin, but damp pants would feel even worse.
He looked around at the trees and brush. There was no store where he could buy her a trinket for an apology, no sweet shop where he might buy her a chocolate or sugar-laden treat.
He had only himself to offer.
No clever plan came to him and after an hour, he got dressed. His pants were still wet in spots but his shirt was dry and warm from the sun. His gun belt didn’t offer its usual comfort against his hip. He had no weapon for what he must face. How could he earn her trust again?
* * * *
She dropped a few dried berries into the simmering oats. If only she had some honey to add, it would make a special treat to sooth Brady’s anger.
He had to be furious. She’d touched him, kissed him, half undressed him and allowed him to do the same to her, and then flung him away and hit him.
“Cara,” he called softly in warning as he climbed up to their camp.
His hair stuck up in its usual, impossible mess. Some finger-sized pieces on the top pointed straight into the sky. The sun shone against it so it gleamed almost blue with its deep blackness. His blue eyes regarded her warily and a small dark bruise darkened his jaw.
“I started a fire and a meal.” She gestured toward it. Her face heated with a strange combination of embarrassment and remembered passion.
He took a few steps toward her and then stopped. “The water was cold but the bath felt good.”
“You did your clothing also?” She cringed at their inane conversation.
He ran his hands down his thighs. “Still a little damp.”
Her gaze followed his hands. His thighs were lean but she knew how strong they were.
“I think I’ll do the same while the oats cook.” She ducked past him, taking care not to touch him and slid down the bank. She gave him no chance to say anything. How could she ever make it up to him?
ONE GOOD WOMAN SUSAN KELLEY 54
Chapter Nine
Brady stirred the oats. Again. Cara had yet to return and the previous night without sleep was catching up to him. Added to the demands on his body and mind since they’d gone over the falls, he was exhausted. Yet the need to press on with their search for an escape weighed on him.
He rested against a rock near the fire. It had taken him the good part of an hour to fix their sleeping area. He’d cleared an area of any little stones or clumps of grass that might poke through their blankets. Then he’d used his knife to cut some thin pine branches from one of the slender saplings sharing their ledge. They were both so tired they could probably sleep on top of a thorn bush, but it was the only thing he could think of to do for her.
The day was well past its midpoint before he heard her returning. He went to the edge of the shelf and offered his hand to her. She hesitated for an uncomfortable moment before reaching up and taking it. He could have easily hauled her up, but he let her pick her way with only a little assistance from his muscle.
His stomach clenched and something even lower tightened as he looked at her. Her hair hung loose and wet down her back, but even wet, the sun picked up the gold gleaming in it. It fell short of brushing her hips, but the beauty of it freed stunned him. He couldn’t pull his gaze from her though he knew he should.
“What’s
wrong?”
Her sharp question woke him from his fascination but his wits weren’t quick enough to lie. “I’ve never seen you with your hair loose. It’s incredible.”
Her face darkened but she didn’t seem angry. She looked kind of sad. “Thank you.”
She ate off their only plate and he ate directly from the shell. The oats were plain even with the bits of fruit to flavor it, but it was a feast compared to their recent diet. They didn’t speak while they dined and shared the cup of water. Her hair fluttered in the breeze and distracted him. He hadn’t willpower enough to avoid watching it. Their hunger made quick work of the meal and there was little to clean up.
Cara started to speak, but a large yawn interrupted her. He smiled, but then an irrepressible yawn took him also. They smiled at each other.
Her expression sobered and a familiar haunted look took her eyes. “I think we need to talk.”
He should have known she would be too brave to let it go. They sat down near the smoldering fire and faced each other. Some idiot part of him spoke first. “I’m sorry, Cara.”
Her brow furrowed. “Why?”
“Why? I jumped on top of you like a …. ” He deserved to get punched again for almost saying it, but she shook her head and looked down at her booted feet.
“I panicked, Brady. I thought I could do it, but I can’t. It’s not your fault.”
He cautiously picked up her hand. “It was my fault. I hurried you. You’re so lovely and perfect, and I’ve been fighting to keep my hands off you since we first met. We were going too fast.”
ONE GOOD WOMAN SUSAN KELLEY 55
She didn’t look up at him. “I can’t do it. It’s like an insanity inside my head. It’s stuck there. Forever.”
“We can try again. Go slower.”
“No! I can’t do it.” Her hand went cold in his.
He dared not push her, but the hell if it was over. “Let’s get some sleep.”
She sighed her appreciation when she lay back on their soft bed. The sun shone warmly on them though it would soon dip behind the mountains and throw long afternoon shadows on them.
By unspoken agreement, they lay on their sides and faced each other. He reclaimed her hand. It was warm again, her fear gone. Her eyes drifted closed, and her breathing deepened to that of sleep quickly. Though she didn’t believe it, she did trust him. His original plan for a slow seduction would work. All he needed was time and patience to make her his.
* * * *
Cara woke in the dark. Something warm and heavy lay across her back and curled around her waist. Her nose staved off the first twinge of panic. Brady.
His shoulder cushioned her head, and her right leg was thrown over his thigh. Her right arm curled across his chest and her fingers curled in his shirt. It was his arm across her back and holding her close. As some point in her sleep, she’d sought him out and taken refuge from the chill, night air.
His heart beat strong and steady beneath her ear, and his chest rose and fell with slow deep breaths. Two years ago she would have never thought such a being existed. Brady Gellot was a good man.
But being here, against his strong, lean body, she knew it was more than his goodness that drew her to him. She snuggled closer and pressed her small breasts to his side. The remembered wonder of him kissing and loving her bare bosom tightened her nipples to hard peaks. She slipped her hand up under the bottom of his shirt, and explored his smooth, warm skin. The muscles beneath her fingers were firm and strong, but it wasn’t a strength that frightened her.
His breathing hitched and changed. She looked up and encountered his gaze. The second moon shone down on them so she could see him clearly. Her hand continued its meandering exploration. She sat up and his hand slid off her back to rest lightly on her hip.
Using both hands and with his help, she pushed his shirt up and over his head.
He remained passive under her hands, but her fingers felt the racing of his heart. She ran her fingers along the carved seams where slabs of muscles overlapped other muscles. How had his shoulder ever dislocated with such strength to hold it in place?
She lifted her leg over his hips and sat on him to give herself better access to touch him.
Her rear pressed on the proof of his lust but he didn’t push up against her. His waist was so slim, his ribs as pronounced as her own, how dare he call her skinny?
He touched her cheek and then slid his hand into her hair. It still hung unbound down her back and over her shoulders. He picked up one long strand and tugged it gently. She let him pull her head down to his.
The kiss was cautious on his part, but as soon as their lips met heat exploded out from her middle. She sucked on his lip and clamped her hands on both sides of his head. His mouth opened at her demand and received her tongue. What ever wariness had slowed his first response fell away and his tongue and mouth joined her erotic play.
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She broke from the kiss and sat up straight. His hands wandered to her hips and stayed there, neither holding nor caressing her. His erection was a thick rod between her legs but barred by their clothing. It felt … interesting. She wiggled.
He inhaled sharply and grimaced. Was she cruelly teasing him? She started to slide off of him, but his hands tightened on her hips.
“Don’t
go.”
She gave into his plea against her better judgment, but she didn’t want to go yet. She leaned forward for another kiss. His hands roamed her hips and behind, fluttering to the front for a moment and then away. Soon his hands touched her more insistently. Somehow the laces of her pants were undone, and his clever hands worked their way inside to touch her skin.
She shivered and not with cold or fear. The calluses on his fingers and palms drew delightful, random patterns of pleasure on skin untouched by human hands. When he lifted her hips and pushed her pants down her thighs, she rose up to help him. She settled on top of him again, his pants rough against her inner thighs. The texture of the material jolted strangely sensitive nerves around her opening. Her body wept hot liquid onto his clothing.
His hands rested on her hips for a moment while he took some deep breaths. His lips were pressed tightly together as if something pained him. She rubbed her hands on his chest.
His hesitation held back her fears. It was him trapped beneath her and at her mercy.
He spread his fingers and lightly ran his hands along her thighs and back again to her hips. And then again and again. Each time his thumbs brushed closer to the damp curls between her legs. Soon she could think of nothing except whether he would touch her or not. Touch her there.
Then one of his thumbs touched the hard, throbbing nub at her center. How did such a light, quick contact make her gasp? The sensation was foreign to her every experience. His other thumb touched her in that wonderful spot but with more pressure. She whimpered with the sheer agony of the pleasure. His hand stayed.
His fingers feathered across that bundle of nerves. Unbearable. She pressed her hips down toward his hand. He gave her what she wanted. How could a part of her body that had been the center of so much agony and humiliation now be the key in boundless pleasure? Her body felt light and free. Free to indulge herself with him.
He moved his fingers in long, easy strokes from her nerve center to across her opening.
Each pass of his touch ventured ever deeper into her folds. His other hand, resting on her hip, urged her to move and meet his strokes. She rocked slightly and drew his finger inside. Her breath hitched but not with the panic she expected. They caught onto each other’s rhythm as if they’d done this countless times.
His hand left her hips and dipped between her legs, but only to work on the laces of his pants. He lifted his hips slightly and pushed his pants down enough to free his penis.
She tensed. The time had arrived. No matter the lust filling her, she could not let him mount her. Not even the magical wonder of his fingers could convince her to accept his weight.
But he didn’t roll over and turn her beneath him. He put one hand back on her hip and urged her back into the lovely, erotic rocking. His penis brushed her opening instead of his thumb. But his thumb again teased the bundle of nerves between her wet folds.
Tension of a different sort built within her. He changed the angle of his hips and his penis slightly parted her folds. Then he put both hands on her hips and lifted her slightly. His penis slipped inside her, stretched her, filled her and didn’t hurt at all.
ONE GOOD WOMAN SUSAN KELLEY 57
He stopped all motion, and the quiet night settled around them. His eyes glinted at her and his chest heaved with his effort or was it emotion? Her heart raced as if she’d run for miles.
“All right?”
he asked in a low, strained voice.
She was, but she didn’t answer with words. She moved her hips and his penis slipped further inside her. His jaw clenched and his hands tightened on her hips. The next time she moved, he used his hands to direct her. Soon they found a concert of movement that created an anticipation and tension that stole her breath. He shifted his hand so his thumb again could touch her center.
Her hands rested lightly on his ribs, but now she needed to grab onto him. She flew away, off the ledge and into nothing and everything. Sensations overwhelmed her senses and brain and nothing mattered but him. She could only ride him faster, take him deeper and hold onto him. Every part of her body went tight and then tighter. He groaned, but his body moved beneath her. Not that she would have allowed him to stop. She moved even faster.
Then the tightness would wind no further. It broke apart, shooting arrows of drugging glory from where his penis touched her upward to her breasts, downward through her thighs and most especially to where his thumb pressed against her.