Lover in the Rough

by Elizabeth Lowell

  He looked at her out of narrowed silvery eyes. “That’s when the ratters come. And that’s when someone can die.”

  Reba stared at Chance, trying to understand a life so different from hers. “It’s so alien,” she said finally, “the danger and the death. . . .”

  “Is it?” he asked quietly.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Take danger. What kind of courage or foolishness does it take to roar down a concrete raceway six abreast, tons of hurtling metal and explosive fuel separated by less than a meter of air and whatever small skill or luck the drivers around you have. When it comes right down to it, you’ve probably seen almost as much violence on the road as I’ve seen in the diamond strikes. It’s all in what you’re used to.”

  With an easy motion Chance stood. “Finish your dinner. I’m going to check the area once more. I’ll call out before I come into camp.”

  Before Reba could say anything, Chance merged with the darkness. She listened for sounds of his leaving. She heard only her own heartbeat. He had gone as silently as a breath. Slowly she finished eating, barely tasting the food, too full of his words to concentrate on anything else. She set aside her plate and sipped the Cabernet, remembering how sweet it had tasted from his lips.

  Water steamed gently above the pan that Chance had set on the grate after he had cooked the chops. Reba cleaned up the remnants of dinner quickly, washing and putting away the utensils that they had used. When she was finished, she poured a little more wine in her mug and sat next to the fire.

  Gradually Reba realized that she wasn’t uneasy even though she was alone in the camp. She knew that Chance was out there beyond the light, moving silently, checking that no one else was near. The thought was reassuring. If there were danger, Chance would find it and deal with it. She was as safe here as she was behind the locked doors of her own home. Safer, probably.

  She stretched luxuriantly, feeling more at peace than she had in a long time. She wondered how it would feel to move like a shadow through the night, to be a part of the silence and moonrise and black mountains reaching toward the stars.

  “Reba?”

  The voice was soft, deep, very near. She turned toward it, smiling. Chance walked out of the night into the twisting golden glow of the campfire.

  “Are you too tired for a short walk?” he asked.

  “I was just wondering what it’s like out there.”

  “Quiet. Dark. Peaceful.” He unrolled a sleeping bag and draped it over his shoulder. “Cool, too. The wind is moving. Bring your jacket.”

  Reba put on the windbreaker that Chance had bought her. “Ready.”

  “Not quite.” He put his hands on her shoulders and turned her away from the fire. “Don’t look at the flames for a bit. Let your eyes adjust to the moonlight.”

  “Is that why you never look directly into the fire?” she asked.

  “Yes. It makes you blind.”

  “But it’s beautiful.”

  “So is night.”

  Reba closed her eyes, enjoying the warmth of Chance’s hands on her shoulders, the sense of his presence so close to her, his breath stirring wisps of her hair. She relaxed, letting her senses expand into the night.

  “Can you see the boulder ahead of you on the ridge?” asked Chance after a long silence.

  She opened her eyes and was surprised at how much she could see. “Yes.”

  “Imagine a clock in front of you. What do you see where the three would be?”

  “A clump of chaparral.”

  “How do you know it isn’t a ridge?”

  “It’s too light. Not the color, the feeling. The ridges feel dense.”

  His hands squeezed her shoulders approvingly. “You’ll do fine without a flashlight.”

  Chance put the flashlight in a loop hanging from his belt and picked up the shotgun. He made as little fuss over the weapon as he did over the flashlight. Both were simply useful things to carry in rough country at night. When he held out his hand to Reba, she took it without hesitation.

  He led her across the clearing in front of the mine and around a clump of chaparral. To her disgust, she wasn’t nearly as quiet as he was. On the other hand, she didn’t sound like a one-woman wrecking crew. After the first hundred yards she caught the rhythm of his walk, the careful yet firm strides that soundlessly tested the ground underfoot before trusting it with his full weight. She imitated him as best she could, walking with the same poised control she would have used on a balance beam. Immediately she found she made less noise and much faster progress.

  Chance noticed the change as quickly as she did. He put her palm against his lips and whispered, “You were made for more than city streets.”

  She followed him up a small rise, threading between boulders that condensed out of darkness and moonlight like immense baroque pearls. The top of the rise was rounded, bare of chaparral. The ground became less stony, almost soft, and the springtime smell of grass lifted into the night.

  “Look to your left,” said Chance softly.

  Reba turned and stood transfixed. Serrated, sable, endless, ridge after ridge fell away in shades of black to a distant, invisible sea. The outlines of the ridges were clean and bold against a multitude of brilliant stars. Chaparral made ebony lace designs against the brighter moonlight. A vague shimmer of mist curled along some of the valleys. Moonlight and shadows, grass a lighter shade of black, chaparral glistening like obsidian, boulders a ghostly grey, the moon itself a silver radiance that was almost overwhelming.

  “I never knew night came in so many colors,” whispered Reba.

  “Glory used to say that only a mine and a miner’s heart are truly black,” said Chance, pulling Reba down onto the ebony sleeping bag he had spread on the grass like another shade of night.

  She shivered.

  “Chilly?” he asked.

  She didn’t answer. “You’re a miner—does Glory think that of you?”

  Chance removed the flashlight and belt knife. He lay on his side, his chin propped on his fist. He stared out at the rugged, black-and-silver land. “No,” he said finally, softly. “Do you?”

  “No,” said Reba, kneeling next to Chance, watching his face rather than the moonlight-washed land.

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m here,” she said simply.

  “Why does that seem so close,” he whispered, “and so damn far away?” His hand went around behind her head, pulling her closer to him. “Just a kiss,” he said huskily. “Don’t be frightened, chaton. I won’t even hold you unless you want me to.”

  Reba felt the tremor that went through Chance when her lips touched his. His hand lifted from her neck, slid the comb out of her hair and then released her. A shimmering fall of hair spilled over him. He whispered a phrase in the strange, liquid language she had heard him use before.

  “What does that mean?” she murmured against his lips.

  “There’s no translation,” he said, curling his fingers through her hair. “The shimmer of water at dawn . . . the flash of an opal in a miner’s light . . . the kind of beauty that makes me want to shout and laugh and cry. You.”

  “Chance,” she whispered, then was unable to say more.

  She kissed the corners of his mouth, felt the sable smoothness of his moustache with her sensitive lips, kneaded her fingers into his thick hair. With a sigh she returned to his mouth, parting her own lips, silently asking him to do the same. His mouth opened to her. She kissed him slowly, savoring each change of texture, each moment of increasing intimacy.

  Her hands slid from his hair down to his shoulders, his arms, the hard muscles of his torso. Slowly, she lowered herself until she was lying close to him, holding him and kissing him, her body resting along his. The longer she kissed him the more she wanted to share her pleasure the only way she knew how—by touching him.

  Chance made a sound deep in his throat and shifted, bringing his body even closer to hers. His hands were clenched in the ends of her hair. Reba sensed
how much he wanted to hold her, to run his hands over her, to know her body as intimately as he knew the night. But despite the hunger seething in him, when she lifted her head he immediately opened his hands and let her hair slide away between his sensitive fingers.

  His restraint reassured her as nothing else could have. She lowered her head again, letting the tip of her tongue touch his lips. “Hold me,” she whispered.

  Slowly his arms closed around her, hard and strong and warm. A quiver of pleasure went through her. He felt it. His arms tightened, then released her before she could feel trapped. But she hadn’t felt trapped. She had felt wanted. The difference was both simple and overwhelming. Her body softened, flowing over him.

  “Chaton,” he whispered hoarsely, “do you know what you’re doing to me?”

  Reba shivered as Chance’s hand went down her spine, drawing her closer to his male heat.

  “Don’t be afraid,” he murmured.

  “I’m not. It’s just . . .”

  “Just what?” he asked after a moment, kissing her forehead.

  “I just realized I’ve never made love with a man, not really. I mean, I was married and I’m not a virgin, but my husband is the only man who’s touched me. And he”—she hesitated, staring into Chance’s silvery eyes so close to hers, so intent—“he never wanted me the way you do. He never made me want him at all. But you”—she brushed her mouth over Chance’s lips, glorying in the instant response she felt go through him—“you make me want you so much that I’m helpless.”

  “That doesn’t frighten you?” he asked softly, kissing her eyelids, the corners of her mouth, the pulse beating strongly in her neck.

  “Not any more. I just don’t know what to do. I want to please you but I don’t know how.”

  “Let me love you,” Chance said, his voice husky. He nuzzled the sensitive edges of her ear, nibbled delicately on her earlobe, her lower lip. “I’ll be very gentle, as though it were your first time. And in some ways it will be. There’s so much woman buried in you that you don’t even know about.”

  Reba’s answer was a sigh through parted lips, a subtle change in her body against his, a soft movement that said more clearly than words that she had already given herself to him in her mind. She felt the response that shuddered through him in the instant before he controlled it. She found nothing to fear in his deep hunger for her, and much to enjoy. With the shadow of a smile, she touched the moonlight and warmth caught in his moustache.

  “Love me,” she murmured, asking for more than his touch or his hunger or his strength.

  “I will,” he said, answering only part of her words, his hands moving strongly over her. “Nothing could stop me now . . . except you. You’ll always be able to stop me, chaton,” he whispered against the hollow of her throat. “All you have to do is say no. I’ll hear you, no matter how much I want you.”

  Chance shifted position slowly, giving her time to protest as he rolled over until she was partially beneath him, moonlight pouring over her face. His hands found the warmth beneath the cool softness of her hair. He whispered her name as her lips parted for him. Gently, powerfully, his kiss consumed her, slow movements of his tongue foreshadowing the more intimate claiming to come.

  Reba felt her body change, felt unfamiliar fire shimmer through nerve endings she didn’t know she had. With a small sound she softened beneath him, calling to him wordlessly in a language older than civilization. He responded by kissing her even more deeply, his body hard with passion and restraint, his hands gentle as they slid through the moon-bright softness of her hair. Slowly he unzipped her windbreaker and stroked her from throat to waist with knowing hands. She closed her eyes and smiled, enjoying his touch as she had never enjoyed any man’s.

  “When I saw this blouse,” Chance murmured against her lips, her shoulder, the soft skin of her neck, “I had to buy it for you.” His fingers undid the first of the many buttons that went from the neckline over her left breast and down along the length of the blouse. “Tiny buttons shaped like gems. I couldn’t wait to see you wearing this. And when I saw you, I couldn’t wait to undress you. Now”—his laugh was short, almost harsh—“my fingers are shaking so much that I can hardly undo the buttons.”

  The idea of being able to affect his strength to that degree made Reba’s breath stop. Chance loomed above her, his eyes pure silver, radiant with moonlight. She saw a man who was rough, hard, dangerous, aroused . . . and so gentle with her that she had never felt safer, more cherished, more exquisitely alive.

  “It’s all right,” she said, turning to kiss his hand. “Whatever you want is all right. I trust you, Chance. Teach me how to love you.”

  The breath came out of him in an explosive rush. “My God,” he said hoarsely, “you already know how to love better than I ever will.” His lips came down over hers as he kissed her with a deep hunger that sent fire through her. “But I’ll teach you about pleasure, chaton. I promise you that.”

  His hand moved over the buttons, fingers deft, no longer trembling. The dark blouse parted in an ever widening triangle, revealing the warmth beneath. In the moonlight her skin had the purity and sheen of a pearl. His hands had already told him that she wore nothing beneath the soft fabric, but even so, he wasn’t prepared for her beauty.

  Reba sensed his sudden stillness. “What’s wrong?” she asked, her eyes searching his face.

  “Nothing,” Chance breathed, brushing his moustache over the tip of her breast, feeling it swell in response. “You’re perfect, firm and silky, changing as I touch you. Yes, my woman, change for me.”

  She started to speak, to tell him that she felt perfect when he touched her, but his mouth had gently closed over her breast. Sensations radiated through her. She shivered until she felt the velvet roughness of his tongue on her nipple, and then she moaned and her fingers tightened in his thick hair. She didn’t feel the sudden coolness of night as her blouse opened fully. She felt only his touch, the heat of his mouth pulling gently on her breast, teeth delicately tormenting her.

  When Chance lifted his head, Reba made a small sound of protest, wanting more. He laughed softly and teased her with the hard tip of his tongue, then caught her in his mouth again with a strength that made her arch against him in an instinctive response to the fire spreading through her. His hand found her other breast, caressed it. He brushed the nipple slowly, coaxing it into hardness. Then he caught the tip of her breast between his fingers and rolled it deftly, enjoying the shudders that went through her body.

  His mouth roamed between her breasts, licking and biting gently, teasing her until she twisted against him. And then he increased his tender assault, caressing her breasts while he claimed her mouth in a kiss that was as deep as it was powerful. When she arched against him again, his body shifted until he was lying between her legs. He moved once, letting her feel his arousal. When he lifted his head to look down at her, she wore a smile as old as woman.

  “Thank God,” he said, covering her with tiny, swift kisses. “Some women like being petted but are put off by a man’s need. I didn’t think you were like that, but it would have explained why you haven’t slept with a man since your divorce.”

  Surprise showed for a moment on Reba’s face. She slid her hands over his back again, enjoying the resilience and strength of him. “I didn’t want the men who wanted me. But you—I want you, Chance. Being wanted by you is the most exciting thing I’ve ever felt.”

  “Is it?” he asked softly, watching her eyes.

  “Yes,” she whispered. “Yes.”

  She unbuttoned the top button of his shirt, then the second and the third and the rest until he rolled aside and pulled off the shirt with a supple twist of his body. His tanned skin gleamed beneath the midnight hair curling across his chest. Moonlight flowed over ridges and swells of muscle, leaving highlights and shadows that she lovingly traced with her fingertips. When her nails scraped lightly through the mat of hair and over his nipples, a tremor of desire ripped through him.

/>   “You like that,” she said, her pleasure in the discovery showing in her voice. “Do you like this, too?”

  She ran her tongue over his dark male nipple, caught it lightly between her teeth, tugged, caressing him as he had caressed her. The heightened desire that coursed through him was as clear to her as the pattern of moonlight on his skin. She laughed softly and continued her exploration of him until he moved swiftly, pinning her beneath him again.

  “The second time you can tease me,” said Chance, his teeth white beneath his sable moustache, the tip of his tongue glistening as he bent to caress her, “but not this time. There’s too much I want to show you the first time. You make me very hungry, Reba,” he whispered against her breasts, “so hungry I don’t want to wait.”

  His hands devoured her, removing her clothes, savoring the feminine curves and silky firmness of her body. When she was naked in the moonlight, he looked at her with molten silver eyes. For long moments he didn’t touch her, fighting to control the hunger hammering in his blood.

  “Chance?” she whispered.

  “It’s all right,” he answered in a husky voice. “I didn’t know I could want a woman like this. But I know now.”

  He took off his own clothes with swift motions and lay down beside her. When he touched her, it was lightly, a breath of a caress that went from her temples to her toes. The delicacy of his fingers made her burn for more. She arched beneath his hands, asking silently. He answered with a deep kiss that consumed every bit of her mouth. His hand moved from her breast down her body to the springy thickness of her hair. He savored the satin curve of hip and thigh, teased her until she sighed and shifted her body, inviting a more intimate touch.