He’d driven her home last night and walked her to the cabin door, leaving Will in the truck. She wouldn’t have kissed Dax even if Will hadn’t been there, she told herself. But a handshake to thank him for the wonderful evening seemed so cold. So she reached up and gave him a quick brush of a kiss on the cheek, then went inside before she could see his reaction.
This was their special time. Time out of time.
Time to enjoy to the fullest, without thinking how soon it would end.
“This country club dinner’s probably the closest thing Shakespeare County has to high living.”
Dax made the announcement as they strolled along in front of the booths displaying handicrafts and information that formed an entryway to a trio of carnival rides. Strings of small white lights dazzled against the western glow.
“Mmm.” She preferred the stars to the electric lights, but she supposed that wasn’t practical for a festival.
“You could’ve gone with someone else.”
That brought her eyes around to him, trying to see if he was serious. He was. Oh, Dax, you idiot. The well of emotion in her was so strong for this man who had more to offer than he allowed himself to know that she had to fight back tears. That would never do. Especially not today.
She moved in front of him, forcing him to stop, then faced him head on and said with great seriousness, “If you give me a ride on the Ferris wheel, all is forgiven.”
He stared at her a long moment before that twitch at the side of his mouth gave him away.
“You drive a hard bargain, Hannah Chalmers.”
A pent-up breath eased out of her when Dax put his head back and laughed out loud.
People passing by smiled at them, as he laughed and she stood there chuckling. From the comer of her eye, she noticed several people shift to openmouthed surprise when they recognized the laugher, but that quickly changed to grins of delight.
Apparently oblivious to anyone else—and to the pleasure seeing him laugh provided some others—Dax pulled her to his side and slung his arm around her shoulders.
“Hannah, you are good for me.”
Before she recovered from that shock, he kissed her. His hat shielded them partly from view. But that didn’t change that he kissed her in front of God and everybody. Didn’t change that his mouth was on hers, in a kiss that proclaimed familiarity, hinted at passion and held out the lure of more.
She hadn’t recovered from the kiss when he raised his head, returned his arm to her shoulders, started them walking again and said, “Let’s go get that Ferns wheel ride. And any other ride you might be interested in taking before we meet up with Will.”
So she sat next to him on the gently rocking seat as it circled high enough for them to see the lights of Bardville stretch into isolated dots in the valley, then give way to the dark bulk of the Big Horns. Next, given a choice of bumper cars or the merry-go-round, she decided she’d skip the jolts right now. But the merry-go-round filled her with a strange melancholy. Perhaps it was the sight of Dax’s steed going down while hers went up and they both went around and around.
Dax seemed to sense her mood, and insisted on a final ride on the Ferris wheel. This time, she focused on nothing except Dax’s warmth surrounding her and the sky above them.
They’d barely arrived at the truck to meet Will when June brought her battered car to a stop, with Sally in the passenger seat and Will already piling out. While Dax gave a general wave toward the car, then concentrated on helping Will get his duffel stowed in the truck without contracting any of its dust, Hannah exchanged hellos with the two women as well as exclamations at how handsome Will looked.
As they drove off, she turned back to father and son standing face-to-face under the parking lot lights’ glare. Will does look handsome. He looks just like his father.
Dax adjusted the shoulder line of Will’s suit jacket, an excuse to touch his son, Hannah suspected. When he shifted the knot of the boy’s tie about an eighth of an inch to the right, she was sure of it.
“You did a fine job with that tie.”
“Grandma helped me with it.”
Dax’s hand stilled an instant. He stepped back, narrowing’ his eyes as if judging the entire effect of Will’s outfit. “It looks good.”
A horn tooted a greeting and a big, new four-wheel drive pulled up with a smiling couple in the front seat and Theresa in back.
“Hey there. Will, you ready?” asked the sandy-haired balding man with a smile.
“Yes, sir, Mr. Wendlow.”
Will glanced back, and Hannah gave him an encouraging smile. “Have fun, Will.”
Dax took a couple steps with him, then let Will go on by himself. “What time should I pick him up, Harry?”
“No need for that, Dax. We’ll see that he gets home.” Harry Wendlow twisted around to confer with his wife, before adding. “Say by eleven? If that’s okay with you. They’ll be with us the whole time.”
“Sure. But that’s a long drive out for you.”
“Uh, Dad?” Will stood with the door open. “I thought I’d stay with Grandma and Aunt June tonight and tomorrow. Grandma said you might not like it, but Aunt June thought—” His eyes darted from his father to Hannah and back. “You might not want to drive back to get me, and this way the Wendlows wouldn’t have as far to drive and there’s stuff going on tomorrow.”
“Okay, Will. That’ll be fine. If you don’t mind taking him to my sister’s, Harry?”
“Not at all. See you folks later, then.”
Will gave his father a dazzling smile before disappearing into the big vehicle. Dax remained there, watching it pull away.
“Hard to watch them grow up, isn’t it,” Hannah said softly, moving next to him. “When Ethan got ready for the prom and I tried to tie his bow tie, I had so many tears in my eyes I could hardly see the thing.”
Dax put his hand to his open collar for a moment, then let it drop. “My mother never tied my tie in my entire life.”
For a moment she froze. It was so unexpected. Not only that he’d talk about his mother, but in such a way—not bitter, but still revealing.
“Dax, that’s—”
He jerked, as if a muscle had spasmed, then took her arm. As quickly as it had come, the moment was gone. “Doesn’t matter. We’d better get going. The Westons and everybody’s waiting for us for dinner and then there’s dancing and fireworks.”
“But, Dax—”
“We’ll be late.”
* * * *
Hannah flopped into a comer of the cabin’s couch. “What a wonderful, exhausting evening. Those fireworks were amazing against the sky. And the rodeo, I love it. I must smell like a cowboy.”
With his hat still on Dax sat a respectable distance away from her on the couch. “You sure ate like one.”
“Thanks a lot.”
“You’re welcome. I like to see a woman with a healthy appetite. And you worked off every bit you ate with the dancing.”
“Good recovery.” Without raising her head from the back of the couch, she toed off her shoes, drew up one leg and started to massage her arch, groaning. “That’s not dancing, it’s aerobic torture.”
He reached out to cradle her foot in one big hand and used the other to take over the massage. “You had a good time?”
Lulled by the magical kneading that sent warmth and tingling up her tired leg muscles and even more by the husky tone of his voice, she smiled at him from under lowered eyelids. “I had a time I’ll always remember, Dax. Thank you.”
He leaned closer, perhaps to read the expression on her face. His massaging hand slowed; the other one slid up to the back of her calf.
“You’re welcome.”
They stayed like that while her heart beat heavy and slow. She’d tried to deny what she felt. Tried and failed. Desire had hummed between them from even before the first time they kissed. It had only grown stronger over this past week of not acting on it.
She leaned forward. Not much. Just enough to strike
a spark, stir a conflagration, end self-delusion. Just enough to brush her lips against his.
He met her kiss. Not with the desperate power of pain of two nights ago in his kitchen, but with the strength of passion held in check by restraint.
The hell with restraint.
She traced the hard line of his lips and they parted. She stroked her tongue inside and his responded, touching hers, then stroking past, to claim its own heated spot in her mouth.
His hand slid higher, under her denim skirt, above her knee, over the curve of her thigh. No barrier between the slight roughness of his hand and her skin.
That’s what she wanted. No barrier. No restraint. Just Dax.
She spread her hands across his shoulders, drawing closer to him. Their bodies absorbed the rhythm of the kiss, rocking together, pressing in search of what their mouths promised. His hands cupped her curves, drawing her partly into his lap, against the hard ridge under his zipper.
He slid her blouse over her shoulder, exposing her skin to his kiss. He drew lower and lower. She shifted, giving him greater access, wanting his mouth on her, wanting . . . His tongue touched her through the fabric, hardening the tip to an exquisite, tightening ache that both eased and accelerated when his mouth covered her nipple.
“Dax . . .” I want you. I want to make love with you. Those were the words in her mind.
But he must not have heard them. Or maybe he heard the words in her mind but didn’t share them. He stilled; restraint returned. When he raised his head, tendons stood out in stark lines on his neck. A rivulet of sweat gathered between them.
He eased back, putting space between them. “I promised you this wouldn’t happen.”
“You weren’t alone.”
“I made the promise.”
“I asked you to.” To make the promise and to break it.
“I better go, or . . .”
He stood and drew her up, then held on to her hand as he started toward the door. She slipped free and stopped where the wall turned toward the bedroom alcove.
Without turning toward her, he said, “Good night, Hannah.”
Did she hear goodbye in that? “Good night, Dax.”
At the door, Dax turned back. She could see the words of a final good-night forming on his lips.
And she knew she didn’t want him to leave. Not tonight. Not ever.
Chapter Thirteen
He would have kept his promise if he hadn’t turned back.
She stood where he’d left her, watching him go. And he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t leave, not on his own. Not unless she told him to go.
She didn’t.
Two strides closed the distance between them. His arms around her brought their bodies together. She wrapped her arms around his neck and tipped her head back, opening to his kiss. A kiss as hungry for her as if they’d been apart for years instead of minutes. He’d been a fool to think he could walk away.
He crowded her against the wall, using it to press her more firmly against his rigid need. With the wall supporting her back, he lowered his hips and nudged her knees wider to fit more firmly into the cradle of her body. Then he straightened and felt the heat and softness of her even through the layers of clothes. She moaned, a soft sound against his lips that traveled down his backbone and into his groin.
He pulled at the buttons of her blouse. The need to touch her again rushed his awkward hands. More efficiently, her soft hands opened his buttons, then spread wide and warm on his chest.
He pushed the covering material off her shoulders, even with the bottom buttons still in place. Kissing her lips, her chin, her ear, her throat, he overcame the barrier of her bra by slipping his hands inside it to cup a breast in each hand. She gasped, and arched her back, pressing into his hands. Her nipple was hard and still slightly damp. He stroked a thumb across each tip and she gasped again, rocking her pelvis against him. He groaned.
“Hannah.”
Her hands skimmed over his chest. In tempting, tormenting turnabout, she drew a fingernail over his nipple and his hips pressed into her. She followed the touch with her mouth and he felt the flick of her tongue clear to the toes of his boots.
“Hannah, look at me.”
She slowly raised her head, but her mouth didn’t leave his skin, leaving a path of shimmering heat across his chest, to the base of his neck, over his Adam’s apple swallowing hard in a grab at fast-fading control, along his jaw and finally to the comer of his mouth. If he turned his head, no more than an inch, they’d be mouth to mouth and he’d never get this said.
“Hannah, look at me.”
She did. But he couldn’t see what he needed to know. He couldn’t read the clouds in her eyes the way he read the sky. Did the haze of passion cover doubt? If she had doubts, he’d keep his promise if it killed him. And it might.
“It’s gotta be clear. You gotta know—”
“Dax.” She put her fingers to his mouth. “I know. You’ve always been clear—no commitment.”
Why didn’t that satisfy him? Why didn’t that release the leash he’d put on his passion?
She touched the lines beside his mouth and the desire in her eyes flared. “I want you, Dax.”
Prepared to deny himself, he couldn’t deny her.
Balancing her against the wall, he drew her legs up. She wrapped them around his waist and her arms around his neck. He brought her to the bed, dragged down the spread and lowered her gently. Still poised over her, he deliberately held her eyes as he pulled a condom packet from his pocket.
Solemnly, Hannah watched his every move as he placed the packet on the nightstand, then her gaze came back to his face. She put both hands to the center of his chest, then skimmed them down, past his waist. Holding his eyes with hers, she unsnapped the waistband and drew the zipper down with a quick hiss.
That galvanized him. Jerking his boots off with more speed than care, he dumped them on the floor, a blatant noise of heel on wood that might have undercut his promise of “We’ll take this slow, Hannah.”
“Do we have to?”
Her sweet question brought his head around.
She had nearly finished shimmying out of her denim skirt, and she was smiling at him. A little shy, but with no clouds.
He grinned, but only for a moment. He shucked the rest of his clothes and helped with hers.
She didn’t help a bit—not with his promise to go slow. She did a lot more than help in pushing his body to aching, pulsing readiness and beyond as he drew on the condom.
Kissing him, openmouthed and deep, she cradled him between her legs, shifting and opening when he stroked a gentle hand to the incredible softness of her upper thigh, and higher to where moist heat met his fingers.
“Yes . . .” she breathed.
Positioning himself, he entered her in one, long stroke.
She cried out and he froze to absolute stillness, cold overlaying the heat consuming him. After an instant, he raised his torso on straightened forearms.
“I hurt you.”
“No. No, Dax.” She touched the side of his neck, where he could feel a trickle of sweat. “It’s okay.”
She rocked her hips slightly, then bit her lips on a gasp.
“Hannah—”
“It’s not pain, Dax.” She pulled in a breath. “Not pain. Truly.”
He looked at her another moment, then bowed his back and dropped his head to take her hardened nipple between his lips. He drew on it, rimmed it with his tongue, then drew on it again. And again.
He felt the shudders welling up from her center, breaking over her—and him—in long, rocking waves. He courted those shudders, tended them, enticed them until Hannah called out again. And he took that sound inside himself and poured it out in return as his body stroked into hers.
* * * *
Dax held her and breathed in her scent and their scent.
She’d be leaving Monday.
He’d known passion before. His body had ached before. But Hannah brought him more, and de
manded more.
He’d always believed in dealing with what was, and not wasting time wishing for what he couldn’t have. But now he did indulge in a wish. He wished he were the man who could give her what she deserved.
Repositioning her slightly, he freed himself. When he came back from the bathroom, she had a pillow behind her head and the spread drawn up over her breasts. He sat beside her, and drew the spread over his legs, too.
“Are you okay, Hannah?”
“I’m fine. I—oh!” She jolted as he stroked the damp cloth he’d brought over her.
“Sore?”
“No. I didn’t expect—” She tried to shift away from his caress.
“No sense being shy now, Hannah.” His movements showed as ripples in the spread.
Her hold on the material over her breasts eased and she met his eyes fully for the first time. “No, I suppose not.”
“So what’s bothering you?”
“I don’t usually . . . I mean, I’ve never . . .” She ground to a halt, then started again in a small voice. “I was awfully, uh, vocal.”
“I like it.”
“You do? Do you mean that?”
Her gaze followed his as he looked down at a new development disturbing the smooth flow of the spread. “Safe to say I mean it, as long as I’m not hurting you.”
“I told you, it wasn’t pain.” She smiled—slow, heated and private—and he reached for her.
She’d be leaving Monday.
* * * *
She pretended to be asleep when he got up and dressed in the diffused gray light before full dawn. His quiet movements paused, then a warm, moist imprint touched her temple. She listened to him cross the floor in his stocking feet and quietly open the door. She heard it squeeze closed, then the thud of feet sliding home in boots on the wooden porch floor. In another moment, a truck engine turned over. And he was gone.
Then the tears came. One slid from the comer of her eye to the rumpled pillowcase, then another. She didn’t move. She didn’t try to stop them.
She wasn’t crying because he’d left. She wasn’t crying because he’d stayed at all.
The Rancher Meets His Match Page 19