The Secret Sister

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The Secret Sister Page 26

by Elizabeth Lowell


  “I’ll help.”

  She inhaled the aroma, sipped, and shivered. “It tastes…too good.”

  “Now who’s the closet Puritan?”

  She made a sound that could have been a laugh or a stifled sob. He stroked her hair once, then went about clearing the table without any fuss or wasted motions.

  “I’ll do that,” she said.

  “You cooked. I clean. Isn’t that the rule?”

  Slowly, she nodded. Then she just breathed in aromatic brandy and watched him move between table and sink with the unconscious grace of a wild animal.

  When the kitchen was in order, he went to the fireplace, dropped a match into the tinder, and stepped back, watching the flames appear. Silently they spread across the hearth, taking delicate bites out of the wood. Soon the smell of burning cedar perfumed the air.

  He returned to the table, picked up the mug of brandy, and looked at her. “Come sit on the sofa,” he said. “Watching a fire is as relaxing as brandy.”

  If it had been more than ten feet away, she would have refused. But it wasn’t, so she pushed herself to her feet. The couch was soft and worn. She sank into its embrace and leaned back. The gentle crackling sound of burning cedar and the chirp of crickets were the only sounds. Flames danced and flickered over the fragrant wood.

  At first she just let the minutes go by as silently as the dance of flames. But finally she drew a deep breath and turned her head toward Cain.

  As she’d sensed, he was watching her, not the fire. Silently he held out the mug of brandy. She accepted it, sipped, and returned the mug. When he took the mug from her, his fingers moved over hers in a light caress that reminded her of the previous night.

  “You look like the adrenaline express just ran over you,” he said.

  “When you handed me the brandy, it reminded me of a lifetime ago, when you caught me on the way out of Hutton’s house and took me to your cabin.”

  “A lifetime?” Cain smiled crookedly. “It was only last night, honey.”

  “It was a lifetime.” Her voice was as tight as the lines of strain in her face.

  “Take another sip,” he said.

  “Are you trying to get me drunk?”

  “Could I?”

  Something in his voice made her turn toward him. He was looking at her hair, her face, her mouth, her breasts, her hands. For an instant she was afraid to breathe, afraid to move from this moment into the next.

  “It’s a little late to be frightened of me,” he said.

  “You haven’t looked at me like that before.”

  He smiled strangely. “I haven’t looked at you any other way. You just haven’t looked back at me. Until now.”

  Deliberately Cain set aside the mug of brandy. Just as slowly, he reached for Christy, giving her every chance to turn aside.

  Instead, she came to him with a soft sigh and a shiver of anticipation she couldn’t conceal. She was too tired to fight the pull toward him that she’d felt from the first time she saw him, an attraction that increased with every moment she spent with him. She knew him better than she’d ever known any other man.

  She knew she could trust him.

  Now she wanted to know all of him. She needed it with an urgency that was consuming her as softly and quickly as fire on dry cedar.

  Another shiver rippled through her when his hard, warm hands framed her face. He looked at her for a long moment with hungry eyes. Then he bent and brushed her mouth with his, just once.

  “Yes or no?” he whispered. “Tell me now, honey.”

  “Yes.”

  She felt sudden tension sweep through him. She smiled against his lips, enjoying the knowledge that she affected him as deeply as he did her. When his hands shifted from her face to her ribs, she sighed with pleasure.

  “I like your hands,” she said. “I liked them the first time I saw them.”

  “Did you? I sure as hell wanted to have them all over you.”

  He lifted her, turned her, and resettled her across his chest. She opened her eyes. He was watching her as though curious whether she would back away from the passion that bound them together as surely as the opposite shores of a river were bound by the water between.

  “I meant what I said,” she whispered. “I’m not a tease.”

  His head lowered even as she rose up to him, giving herself to the powerful currents that flowed between them. There was no hesitation, no subtle adjusting of bodies as they learned how to hold and be held. They blended together like longtime lovers.

  The first taste of him went through her like fire. With a small sound, she moved even closer, winding her arms around his neck, needing him as she’d never needed another man. When she gave him her mouth, he took it with stabbing urgency.

  As one they twisted down and around until they lay facing each other on the couch. The kiss turned deep and sensual, feeding the heat that seethed inside both of them. His hands slid down to test the resilience of her waist, then moved up her rib cage with tantalizing deliberation until her breath caught in her throat.

  When he still didn’t touch her, she tore her mouth from his and sank her fingers into the corded strength of his shoulders.

  “Cain.”

  “This?”

  Her breath caught as his thumbs traced the outline of her nipples. Sensation burst through her, surprising her, shaking her. She arched against his caressing hands and felt her body burn with unfamiliar fire.

  Then his hands shifted and the buttons of her blouse slowly began to come undone. With a soft whimper, she sought his mouth again. She kissed him with a hunger so new she didn’t know how to disguise or control it. Yet no matter how deeply she kissed him, his hands didn’t hurry their careful unbuttoning of her blouse. She twisted against him, silently offering him the freedom of her body.

  For long seconds he didn’t take her gift. He simply deepened the kiss even more, until she was dizzy with his taste and with the slow penetration and retreat of his tongue.

  Even after her blouse was finally undone, he didn’t caress the breasts or the nipples that had turned into tight crowns at his first touch. His fingers stroked her neck, the hollow of her throat, her collarbones, her breastbone, until she moaned and twisted with anticipation and need. When his long finger finally slid beneath the sheer lace of her bra, she cried out with pleasure.

  “God,” he said hoarsely. “You’re going to push me over the edge before I’ve really touched you.”

  She barely heard him. His fingertips were plucking delicately at the tips of her breasts, sending streamers of fire from her throat to her knees. Tiny sounds of pleasure and hunger rippled from her throat. When her bra loosened suddenly, she whispered his name even as she arched her back, giving herself to him.

  His hands closed gently, taking the warm weight of her breasts while his thumbs teased her taut nipples. She felt the subtle textures of his palm and the calluses at the base of his long, elegant fingers as he pleasured her until her breathing was ragged and broken. Never had a man been so knowing, so careful with her.

  She arched in sensual reflex against his hands, lifting her breasts to be kissed. The touch of his tongue was agonizing and delicious. When he took the sensitized nipple into his mouth, heat shot through her core. When he drew rhythmically on her, daggers of fire burst through her.

  She moaned her pleasure and his name and felt the shudder that ripped through his strength. Even as he turned to her other breast, she felt the sudden release of pressure at the waist of her borrowed Levi’s.

  Cain’s hand slid between cloth and skin. When his fingers eased between Christy’s naked legs, she shifted, allowing him to touch her. Demanding that he touch her.

  The feel of his warm hand curling around her, cupping her, dragged a hoarse sound of need from both of them. She melted in his hand, moaning softly and lifting her hips in a sensual reflex that was new to her. She’d never offered herself so openly before. She was completely aroused, able to take him deep inside.


  Cain knew it. He could feel it, see it, breathe it. He caressed her slowly, and the sound he made was that of a man in pain.

  She understood, for the pleasure of his touch was so intense it was nearly agony. Blindly she lifted against him. Never had she felt so free and yet so enthralled. His name broke on her lips as flames coursed wildly through her, a fire started by the sweet friction of his hand between her legs.

  Even as pleasure claimed Christy, she drew her nails down Cain’s back in a silent demand that he finish the sweet torment he’d started. He answered with another slow caress, his hand sultry with her passion. The sleek, gliding touch made her cry out.

  “I want you,” she said raggedly. “All of you.”

  His answer was a throttled sound and a deliberate movement of his hand. Before she could draw another quick, shallow breath, she felt a gliding penetration as his fingers probed her with a violent kind of restraint. Her breath came out in a broken moan.

  Blindly her hands sought the waistband of his jeans. She fumbled with the metal button for only an instant before his hand shifted, catching her fingers beneath his, preventing her from undressing him.

  At first she was too wild with need to understand why she couldn’t get the stubborn fastening open. Then she realized that he was preventing her from undressing him.

  “Cain?”

  There was no answer.

  She tilted her head back so that she could see his face. His eyes were golden slits and his mouth was bracketed with effort. His expression was unreadable.

  “What—what’s wrong?” she asked. “Did I do something wrong?”

  He closed his eyes and slowly dragged her hands up to his chest with a grip so harshly restrained it was numbing. Then he said something savage beneath his breath and opened his eyes.

  “No, Red.” His voice was rough with frustration and pent emotion. “You did everything right. Too damned right. I’ve never been so close to losing control with a woman in my life as I am right now.”

  The cold reflection of fire in his eyes made her uneasy. “Isn’t that what making love is supposed to be about? Losing control?”

  “Christy—” He swore bitterly and looked away from her flushed, bewildered face. “You’ve made it clear how much you love your sister. Most people care shallowly, if at all. You don’t. You care all the way to your soul. It’s a great strength.”

  Christy waited and felt an increasing chill that no hearth fire could warm.

  “That kind of caring is also a great weakness,” he said bleakly. “Jo-Jo figured that out and used it against you. I can’t bring myself to do the same thing.”

  When Christy understood what he was saying, she felt like she’d been dropped into ice water. “You think I’m a whore.”

  The shock on his face would have been amusing if she hadn’t been so coldly furious.

  He grabbed her chin. “I never said anything like that.”

  “Really? What else do you call a woman who trades sex for something she wants?” She jerked free of his hand.

  “Honey, all I meant was that you have a soft spot in your heart—and your head—for your sister. You’d do anything to—”

  Christy wrenched herself free of his touch. Ignoring her open blouse and unbuttoned jeans, she reached in her pocket, dragged out a nickel, and flipped it.

  “Heads,” she snarled.

  She caught the coin and she smacked it down onto the back side of her left hand. Without bothering to look which side was up, she jammed the coin back in her pocket.

  “You lose,” she told Cain. “Now get the hell off my bed.”

  Chapter 42

  Abiquiu

  The next morning

  The crowing of a rooster in the corral came as a relief to Christy. She was beginning to wonder if she was the only thing alive on Ghost Ranch. The sun had pushed night from the sky what seemed like hours ago. The rooster was a late riser—and proud of it, if the continuous crowing from the corral was any indication. Or maybe she was just bitter because she’d spent too much of the night awake, her thoughts chasing around in smaller and smaller circles.

  When she couldn’t bear thinking about Jo-Jo any longer, she thought about Cain. Never had a man taken her up so high.

  Never had she been dropped so hard.

  Even now, in the clear light of dawn, her body seethed with anger and with memories of what it had been like to be fully aroused for the first time in her life.

  Too bad he didn’t feel the same way.

  Tired of her own thoughts, she rolled out of bed. The air in the room was chilly enough to show her breath. Outside, in the open truck bed, Cain must have been cold.

  I hope he froze his ass off.

  She grabbed the coffeepot, filled it, and banged it down on the burner so hard that water sloshed over. With a hissed word, she moved the pot to another burner, scraped a match against the stove top, and turned on the gas.

  By the time the coffee was perking cheerfully, she had a fire going on the hearth. She went back to the stove and began making scrambled eggs. While they cooked slowly, she wrapped the remaining tortillas in a damp cloth and warmed them in the oven.

  Sun streamed in the back of the cabin, which had been built to take advantage of the southern exposure. An old wooden glider chair sat on the back porch. She opened the door, found the air delightfully warm, and went outside. Balancing breakfast in her lap, she ate and rocked slowly in the glider, letting the warmth of the southwestern sun chase the chill of the night from her body.

  Just as she was eating the last bite, Cain appeared silently at the corner of the house. He was carrying a towel over his shoulder and his hair was wet. He was dressed in different clothes. The heavily faded chambray shirt might have belonged to Constable Moore, but the jeans had come from another source. They fit like a faithful denim shadow, reminding Christy of just how male Cain was. Her mouth turned down and she looked away. She didn’t need any reminders.

  She didn’t want any either.

  “Good morning,” he said.

  “It’s morning.”

  He stopped at the corner of the little porch and looked out at the ranch. “The shower inside is broken, but—”

  She interrupted. “I figured that out last night.”

  “—there’s a small stream just up the canyon,” he said, ignoring the interruption. “It’s not as warm as the hot springs at my cabin, but it gets the job done.”

  “I took a basin bath last night.”

  “About last night. It—”

  “Forget last night,” she cut in ruthlessly.

  He looked at her. “Impossible.”

  “Not at all,” she shot back. “I’m quite easy. Scared the pants off you, didn’t it? Well, not the pants. You hung on to them valiantly. Be sure to stick a gold star on both cheeks, if you can reach around that far.”

  With a muttered curse, he swiped a hand through his wet hair. “I shouldn’t even have kissed you.”

  She lifted her coffee cup. “I’ll drink to that.”

  “It’s a bad idea for us to get involved. There’s too damned many distractions in both our lives at the moment.”

  “Not to worry. Unlike some people I could mention, I’m not a tease.”

  His mouth flattened into a grim line.

  “And I won’t be a distraction in your life,” she said. “So far as I’m concerned, last night is a nolo.”

  “What?”

  “Lawyer talk. Nolo contendere. It didn’t happen, and I promise it won’t happen again.”

  “When this whole mess is cleared up, we—”

  “Not in your lifetime,” she said, cutting across his words. “Not even in your dreams. I’m not a closet masochist.”

  He muttered something brutal beneath his breath.

  “Amen,” she said clearly. Then she let out her breath. When she spoke again, her voice was nearly normal. “Your breakfast is in the oven.”

  “Honey, we can’t act as though nothing happened.”
<
br />   “Why not, honey? Nothing did!”

  She saw that he was on the edge of losing his considerable self-control. She smiled like a cat and waited for the explosion.

  For a tense minute, Cain stared into the morning sky. Overhead a pair of hawks circled slowly in a rising column of warm air. Against the cobalt blue of the sky, the wild russet of their tailfeathers burned like fire.

  The exact, beautiful color of her hair.

  He turned on his heel and walked away. “We better get on the road,” he said without looking back. “There’s a lot of ground to cover between here and Santa Fe.”

  Chapter 43

  Santa Fe

  Midmorning

  The plaza at Santa Fe and the streets around it were crowded with cars and motor homes. Flatlanders jostled one another for the best view of the Navajo jewelry vendors who had spread their velvet blankets on the shaded sidewalks in front of the Governors’ Palace and the Museum of Fine Arts.

  Canyon Road did business more sedately. The high-ticket galleries didn’t hang out welcome signs or wait with open doors and cash registers. Canyon Road galleries invited only the most discriminating to enter and do business.

  Or the most wealthy.

  Cain cruised past the Sherberne Gallery twice before he circled the block and found a parking spot on a side street.

  “Good,” he said to himself, because he was the only one talking to him. “I was afraid it wouldn’t be open for two hours.”

  “Do most of the galleries open after noon?” Christy’s voice was hoarse, like someone just waking up or a person who hadn’t talked for hours. Both were true. She’d slept on the way and hadn’t said one word otherwise.

  “The snotty ones keep whatever hours they want,” he said, looking at her almost warily. Apparently, when it came to business, she’d talk to him. It made a nice change.

  “They’re not going to be happy if you just walk in and start asking about stolen artifacts.”

  “As my cellmate used to say, if you can’t do the time, don’t do the crime.”

  She grimaced.

  He opened his door. “I’ll be back in—”

 

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