Jacey's Reckless Heart

by Cheryl Anne Porter

  Once again, Zant spoke before he realized his thoughts had found voice. “Only if you say she’s not.”

  Jacey’s head snapped up. The assessing light in her eyes danced along with the fire’s flames. “You mean, only if I don’t tell her?”

  He’d suspected she was thinking along those lines. “No. But that’s one way. Probably not the best way. But I was thinking she’s not your sister—in your heart, where it counts—only if you start thinking that way.”

  Jacey’s changing expression, to one of frank surprise, riled Zant. Did she think he wasn’t capable of understanding such things? Hell, did she think he didn’t have a heart? He admitted that he’d not given her much of a reason to think otherwise. But the painful truth was, if he wasn’t careful to stay away from one Jacey Lawless, he wouldn’t have a heart left to call his own. Mad at her for making him feel that way about her, Zant snapped, “If you didn’t want my opinion, you shouldn’t have asked for it.”

  She held a hand out, as if to calm him. “No, that’s not what I was thinking. I was thinking you’re right. You are, you know. It’s what’s in my heart that counts. But that won’t be any comfort to Glory. When she finds out she’s not a Lawless. Whew.” Jacey shook her head as if already seeing the scene Glory’d cause.

  His ruffled feathers resettling, Zant asked, “Why? What will she do?”

  Jacey focused on him. “She’ll fall apart, that’s what. She’ll come to realize she’s been orphaned twice in her nineteen years.”

  Anger turned to guilt as Zant picked up a small stone and tossed it back down. “Yeah. And both times by a Chapelo.”

  Jacey sucked her breath in sharply. Zant looked up to see her getting to her feet and walking around the fire … to him. His heart picked up its pace. He shifted his stretched-out legs on his bedroll, moving aside, making room for her … if she wanted it. She did. She lowered herself beside him and said, “You don’t know that…” Zant eyed her, challenged her to say differently about his family’s guilt, begged her to believe better of him.

  “You don’t know that second part’s true, Zant.”

  Zant made a disgusted noise and crossed his legs at the ankles. He supported his weight on his bent elbow. “The hell I don’t. My father killed her real parents. And I’m betting Don Rafael had something to do with your folks’ being dead.”

  Jacey shook her head and put her hand on his knee. The warm shock of her touch traveled up his thigh. “No, he didn’t. Hannah’s letter said Mama’s family—”

  With only a crunching of his belly muscles, Zant sat up, capturing her hand where it lay on his knee. “Listen to me, Jacey. Don Rafael is guilty as hell.”

  Jacey stared at him. Her mouth opened and closed. Her chin quivered. Her black eyes filled with tears.

  “Dammit.” Zant grabbed her to him, drawing her full-out to lie next to him. He held her tight within the circle of his arms. So little. So warm. Her black-silk hair tangled in his hands. Never had anyone ever felt so right. Zant rested his cheek on her head. He’d never comforted anybody before in his life. No one had ever turned to him like this. And he’d never drawn comfort from anyone. So, he had no words for her.

  Her cheek against his chest, her hands fisted atop his heart, her shoulders heaving, she shook her head and blubbered into his shirt, “I’m sorry, Zant. I don’t cry. Usually I—But I don’t have anybody to—”

  “Shh, you’ve got me.” Zant stilled at the sound of his own voice. Those tender words, never spoken before by him, surprised him as much as they seemed to soothe Jacey’s wounded-bird heart. She opened her fists to clutch handfuls of his shirt. Zant rode out the storm with her. He lay there, holding her, a vessel for her fear, her sadness, her torment. And wondered if he’d found someone who could ease his heart from a lifetime of hurt.

  Jacey finally stilled and raised her head. Zant peered down at her. Her tears had spiked her long lashes into star-points. He brushed her hair out of her tear-dampened face. Never before had she been so beautiful to him as she was at this moment. His heart pounded with his need for her. And then stopped between beats when he heard the three words she whispered to him. “Love me, Zant.”

  Zant pulled back, the better to look into her face. “What did you say?”

  Jacey’s head jerked with each shuddering breath she took. But she never looked away from him. Never hesitated. “Love me.”

  Zant went limp, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. “Don’t say that, Jacey. Just … don’t.”

  She shifted in his arms. He looked down at her when she pulled herself up on an elbow. “Don’t you want me?”

  Just the words, those words coming out of her mouth, being said by her—this one woman of all women—in the velvet softness of a starry desert night, left him breathless. He took a deep breath and huffed it out raggedly. “I want you more than I should, Jacey. More than I have a right to. But I’m not sure you understand what you’re asking. Do you?”

  She eyed him levelly. “Yes.”

  Zant stared at her, believed her, and withdrew his arm from around her so he could lie flat on his back. He closed his eyes and listened to his heart thudding and felt his blood pumping. If she said it one more time, if she spoke those words again, he’d be lost.

  Jacey fell across his chest, her hands gripping his torso as best she could, her black hair covering him like a blanket, her cheek pressed to his heart. “Please, Zant. I need you.”

  Zant opened his eyes, stared at the stars, and stroked her hair. Why in the hell was he hesitating like this? He’d never made another woman beg him to make love to her. Hell, he’d been more than eager. But with her, with Jacey? It wouldn’t be simply a physical act with her. Because he cared, damn it. Damn her. He cared. And caring took away his edge, left him wide open. To what? Hurt? As if he hadn’t known that before. But not this way. Not like this.

  And suddenly Zant knew. He loved her. It was the worst thing he’d ever admitted to himself in his whole life. Her—Jacey Lawless. And he loved her. She could either uplift him or destroy him. Her. One tiny little spitfire with a Colt and a temper. He grinned but it quickly faded. He had the same power over her, didn’t he? He could either uplift her or destroy her, too. And knowing himself as he did, he’d destroy her. Like he had everything else in his life.

  Zant felt her sweet little body move against him. Felt himself harden. Couldn’t he just quit thinking and make love to her? He thought about it for a moment, considered doing just that. Her words said she wasn’t asking for anything but this one night of loving. She said she needed him. One night only? Why, then, couldn’t he just give her this night?

  Zant, you’re a rotten son of a bitch for even thinking that. Making love to her tonight would only make things worse, come the morning. Because it would only make things worse between them. With his body voting one way, his heart another, and his head still another, Zant broke his silence. “No, Jacey. I can’t. We can’t. It’d be for all the wrong reasons. You’re upset tonight. You just want the … closeness. I can understand that. But what you’re really asking—”

  “Is for you to make love to me. I know what I’m asking.”

  “No you don’t.” He had to make her understand. Any way he could. Gripping her arms, he pulled her off his chest as he sat up. He then cupped her chin in his hand and looked right into her eyes. “Don’t think I’m being noble. Don’t think I have some dignified reason not to do exactly what you want, Jacey. Because I don’t. I’d love to oblige you. Believe me, I would. But I won’t. Not you. Not like this.”

  Jacey’s expression hardened. She jerked her head, releasing her chin from his hold. “Yeah? Then how about like this, outlaw?”

  Before he knew what she was about, Jacey rose to her feet and, staring him right in the eye, began undressing. A muttered curse escaped Zant as he hung his head and searched his soul for a last shred of self-control. If he had any sense, he chided himself, he’d turn her Lawless butt over his knee and spank the sass right out of her. Bu
t he knew he wouldn’t be mad anymore if he got her in that position. Especially if she was naked. He looked up. She was damned near naked already.

  He couldn’t look away. In the moonlight, in the firelight, her bare skin shone pearly where it wasn’t tanned. She was every bit as little and slender as he knew she’d be. She tossed her hair back and lifted her blouse over her head. Zant’s breath came in shuddering gusts. Her dainty undergarment was unexpected. The lacy, ribboned thing did little to cover her high, rounded breasts. And Zant remembered how those breasts felt in his hand.

  His breathing quickened as she slipped the delicate fabric over her head. Her full breasts arched with her movement. The firelight caught and reflected the silver chain around her neck and its spur pendant. There it was. The best reason in the world not to touch her. He started to stop her, but froze when her nipples hardened into little buds within their dusky-rose circlets.

  Rational thought fled Zant. He burned now, as primitively and as dangerously as the campfire in the black night. He could only watch … and feel. Feel himself harden again, feel his heart thudding, his blood rushing like a torrent through his body. And feel his soul crying out for Jacey. He fisted his hands against the wrenching urge to grab her and throw her down and under him, and shove himself—

  No. His pounding heart beat painfully. No. Any other woman and he would have. Any other woman who played with him like this, who tormented him with her nakedness, who stood just out of his reach.… Yes, any other woman would get the rough treatment she was begging for. But not Jacey. She was innocent. Untouched. Womanly, yes. But so damned achingly still a child. A brave and wounded little bird who needed … love—something she couldn’t even name. Something he wasn’t sure he had in him to give her.

  How will you ever know if you don’t try? Zant nearly jerked around to see who was behind him before he realized the words had come from his heart. It begged to love someone. Before it was too late. Still watching Jacey, still enchanted with her innocent sensuality, Zant took a deep breath and sat up straighter. All right, by God—his hand fisted tighter with his declaration—he’d try. But, he swore to himself, if he did only one thing right, one thing pure, in his whole stinking life, then this act … with her … would be it.

  Zant’s promise to himself almost fled before he finished pledging it, when Jacey undid her split skirt and slid it, along with her bloomers, down her sleek, slender hips and stepped out of the pooling garments, carelessly toeing them aside. Zant’s gaze was riveted on the dark and curly-crisp hair that covered her womanhood. Then he saw her knife, still sheathed, its case circling her slim but rounded thigh. Her last defense. He looked up into her eyes.

  Wordlessly, Jacey bent her right knee and leaned over. With the silver spur bobbing between her full breasts, she unfastened the beaded sheath and dropped it onto the sandy ground between her and the fire. Zant met her solemn gaze. Jacey then lifted the silver chain over her head, freed it from her hair, and sent it the way of her knife. Zant understood. There would be nothing between them this night. Not the past. Not the future.

  Her simple act humbled him and terrified him like nothing else could. Did he have it in him to accept this sacred trust? He stared at her, searched his own soul. And knew he had to try. His chest expanded with this new and powerful resolve. He was wanted. Needed. A guttural noise escaped him. He felt a primitive energy seize him, an urge beyond time that told him to claim this woman. Giving himself over to this new emotion, allowing it to flood his senses, Zant watched Jacey again with hot and hungry eyes.

  * * *

  Jacey stood proud and defiant, and trembling inside, as she looked down on Zant. It was a reckless thing she’d done, just jumping up and shedding her clothes like this. Gooseflesh puckered her exposed skin in the cool night air, despite the fire’s crackling warmth. Every virginal nerve in her body screamed at her to cover her nakedness. But her modesty surrendered to her fighting spirit. She was going to do this, go through with it, because it was what she wanted. With him. And only him. Right here. Right now.

  But still, her quaking heart warned that if he didn’t make a move in the next few seconds.…

  Zant came to his feet, stood before her. He touched her nowhere. But his gaze traveled over her, memorizing her every line, her every curve, her every hollow. Jacey breathed through her partially opened lips as she looked up at Zant’s strong, unshaven face. Dear God, she loved him. How could she ever forgive herself?

  He reached a hand out to her. Jacey’s thoughts and breath hung suspended in midair as his fingertips touched her flesh. He caressed her cheek. His touch was hesitant, as if he expected her to fade into the night like a spirit. His face a storybook picture of wonder, he smoothed his long fingers along her jaw, down her neck, hesitating there to feel her swallow and draw a shuddering breath.

  Jacey’s knees nearly buckled, but she stood her ground, even when he skimmed his hand down the center of her chest, between her breasts. No man had ever—Her muscles contracted when he flattened his hand over her belly and smoothed his fingers around in slow, sensuous circles. A sound, a moan she’d never uttered before in her life, tore from the back of her throat.

  As if that sound was what he’d been waiting for, Zant grabbed her to him, spanning her waist with his large hands, holding her tightly, roughly, whispering her name as his nipping kisses followed the still tingling path his hand had just blazed. “So damned small. So tiny. I’m afraid I’ll break you.”

  Jacey shook her head in denial. She clutched his thick hair as his head dipped down. Unmercifully, he nipped at her collarbone and slid his moist kisses across her chest. With every movement, his rough beard rasped across her skin, abrading it, marking her as his own. When his lips closed around the tender flesh of a nipple, Jacey cried out hoarsely. She never knew—Her back arched, her knees buckled.

  Zant raised his head. Jacey opened her eyes. His black eyes burned with an intensity that frightened her. His voice was low, husky, animal. “This changes nothing.”

  A thrill of fright raced across Jacey’s numbed consciousness. She shook her head, felt the curling ends of her long hair brush feather-light over her bottom. “No. It changes everything.”

  With a growl, Zant half lifted her, half carried her, lowering her and himself to his bedroll. Lying beside her, supported on his bent elbow, he again smoothed his hand over her body, like a blind man memorizing her shape, her texture. Only this time his touch wasn’t so much tender as urgent, demanding. Laid out before him like she was, Jacey knew her first moment of fear, of womanly vulnerability, when he slipped his hand down to her … there.

  His touch was hot but petal-soft, wanting but yielding, giving yet taking. Jacey gasped and thrashed about, trying to pull his hand away. But she was no match for his strength. She’d known that all along. But never as she knew it now. She wanted to turn on her side, draw her knees up, and cross her arms over her breasts. She wanted him to stop. She was on fire, burning. Couldn’t he see that? Couldn’t he feel the slick clutching of her inner muscles?

  When a cry of protest spilled out of her, Zant removed his questing fingers from her and pushed himself to his feet. Jacey looked up helplessly at him. Was he even now going to turn her away? No. With lightning-quick movements, the man shed his clothes like a molting snake in a deadly hurry. Not in all her girlish imaginings had Jacey ever thought this moment between a man and a woman could be funny. But Zant’s fumbling fingers and flying clothes—some of them landing dangerously close to the leaping flames of the campfire—were rib-tickling.

  She grinned and put a hand over her mouth. But her hilarity lived a brief life. Her gaze dipped. She sobered, felt her eyes widen. Down went her hand. Oh, my God. Her courage fled. Her desire cooled. That couldn’t—He wouldn’t—No. It was so … big. She tried to swallow her fear, but the painful lump in her throat seemed to be stuck there.

  It reminded her that for all her yapping about the cattle drives Papa took her on and about having bedded amongst men an
d lived with them for months at a time, she hadn’t seen a single one naked. Not because of any lack of curiosity on her part. But because of Papa. He would’ve killed any man who dared—She looked up at Zant’s strong and handsome face. Her heart beat irregularly with the realization that Papa would’ve killed him—a Chapelo—for sure. Long before he ever got anywhere close to skinning out of his clothes around her.

  That thought, and the wrenching ache in her heart over just the idea of Zant being hurt or killed, overrode her guilt, her family loyalty, and even her fear of what was to come. Traitor she may be, betrayer of her blood oath with her sisters, yes. But, dear God, forgive me, I want him. Sure she was forsaking her soul, but equally sure she could protect him with her embrace, Jacey raised her arms to the man she loved.

  And he came to her. With her name a whisper on his lips, he lowered his warm and heavily muscled, smooth-skinned, sculpted body down onto her. He settled himself between her spread legs, covered her against the night, and held his full weight off her by resting on his elbows. Jacey reveled in this man’s scents and textures. So foreign, so new, so right and tantalizing was the feel of him atop her.

  She breathed in deeply. Clean and rugged, smoky and seductive. That’s how he smelled. That was his musk. Desire and awareness pooled in Jacey’s core, setting off a thrumming in her womb like that of a plucked guitar string. Closing her eyes, a smile on her face, she slipped her arms under his and flattened her splayed hands over the rigid muscles of his back.

  She held him tightly. His hands cupped her head, drew her up to him, drew her up to his kiss. His lips, firm and moist, slanted across hers, rubbed them lightly, sharpened her tingling response, until Jacey cried out and drew his head down to hers. Zant kissed her with a savage yet tender ferocity that stole Jacey’s breath. She opened her mouth. His tongue found hers and claimed it.

  Jousting, thrusting in and out, he bade her fight back, follow his lead. With his heated breath steaming out of his nostrils like a dragon breathing fire over her, exciting her, Jacey matched him stroke for stroke, plunge for retreat, until he was the one to break their kiss. Breathing hard, he looked down into her face. She looked up at his heavy-lidded expression. So this was passion. She wanted more of it.