by Lisa Jackson
“How about you? Do you know you’re a lucky man?”
One dark brow rose insolently and her pulse fluttered crazily. His fingers tightened around her wrist. “At this moment I feel very lucky.” His head lowered and his breath caressed her face. “Very lucky indeed.” He brushed a kiss across her cheek and she gasped. Then he released her. “I think we’d better go now.”
Dear Lord. She nearly sagged against the wall, but rallied. “Just give me a couple of minutes to change—this sweater has had it.” She escaped to her room on weak legs, closed the door and drooped against it for a minute. What was wrong with her? He’d just touched her arm, for Pete’s sake. He hadn’t even kissed her and yet she’d nearly melted, like some idiotic, naive schoolgirl. Just like the girl you once were when you dated him.
“Damn it all anyway!” Suddenly angry at herself, she ripped off the sweater, looked down, saw that her slacks hadn’t escaped their share of damage as well and sighed. From the depths of her closet she found another sweater—a red V neck and threw it over her head and traded the slacks for a long black denim skirt that buttoned up the front. Muttering under her breath, she undid her hair, swiped a brush through it and though it still crackled with electricity, decided she looked fine—good enough for the likes of Thorne McCafferty. She yanked her favorite black leather jacket from a hook on the back of her door and walked into the kitchen where Thorne, still amused, watched Molly throw pieces of popcorn at her sister while Jenny’s attention was distracted.
Mindy shrieked. Jenny responded and Nicole couldn’t get out of the house fast enough. She slid into her jacket, cinched the belt tight and planted a kiss on each twin’s forehead, then did it again when the girls decided to put up a fuss. As she and Thorne walked onto the porch, the twins were wailing loudly, crying, “Mommy…don’t go…Mommy, Mommy, Mommmeee—”
“It’s nice to be wanted,” Thorne observed, holding open the door of his truck as the wind tore at Nicole’s hair.
“Always,” she agreed, glancing to the house where two little sad faces were pressed against the windowpanes of the kitchen nook. She waved but neither girl responded other than to appear woefully forlorn. “This will last less than two minutes. As soon as the pickup disappears around the corner, they’ll be sweetness and light again.”
“You’re sure?”
“Positive.” She leaned back against the seat and eyed him. “Okay, Mr. McCafferty, so where are we going?”
His smile was a slash of white in the darkness. “You’ll see,” he said, ramming the truck into reverse and backing down the drive.
“Oh, so now you’re being mysterious.”
“I’m always mysterious.”
“In your dreams, McCafferty,” she said.
“No, Nikki.” He slid a knowing glance in her direction. “In yours.”
Chapter 8
“Are you out of your mind?” she asked, shaking her head as Thorne turned into the lane of the Flying M Ranch. The last place on earth she wanted to be was anywhere near the McCafferty home. Too many old memories haunted the spread, too many long-forgotten feelings threatened to jeopardize her emotional stability.
“I’ve been accused of just that more often than you’d think.”
“I thought we were going to a movie or dinner or…” She let her sentence drift off as she wiped the condensation on the glass and stared through the passenger window to the wintry, star-spangled night.
Frost clung to the blades of grass, reflecting in the beams of the headlights. Dried weeds and brambles clung to the fenceposts and in the fields, illuminated by a pearly moon, the dark shapes of cattle and horses moved silently. The ranch house itself loomed in the distance. Warm patches of light glowed from a few of the windows and the security lamps gave the outbuildings an eerie bluish tinge.
Thorne parked near the garage and pocketed the keys.
“Don’t tell me, you’re doing the cooking,” she muttered sarcastically.
“Hell, no. Wouldn’t want to poison you.” He climbed out of the cab, rounded the front of the truck and opened the door for her.
“Then what?”
“You’ll see.”
“Once again the enigmatic soul,” she observed, taking the hand he offered and hopping down to the gravel that crunched under her boots as they walked, hand in hand, to the stables. Her heart was drumming by this time, her sense of anticipation spurred by an adrenaline rush that she found difficult to ignore. What the devil did he have in mind?
He threw open the door to the stables and drew Nicole inside. They weren’t alone. There, hitched to the top rail of their stalls were two horses, bridled, saddled, liquid eyes watching them approach. “You’re crazy,” she whispered.
“You think?”
“Certifiably.”
“Come on, Doc. Where’s your sense of adventure? Take your pick. The General here, is docile as a lamb,” Thorne said, indicating the tall chestnut gelding with a crooked blaze. “Or, if you’d prefer, you can have Mrs. Brown, but I’ve got to warn you, like most women, she’s got a temperamental streak.”
“Chauvinist,” she said.
“Always.” His grin was expansive as she, refusing to back down, deftly untied the reins of Mrs. Brown’s bridle. The horse’s dark eyes appraised her. “It’s been a while since I’ve been in the saddle,” Nicole admitted to the high-strung mare as she patted the animal’s soft muzzle, “but I think you and I will get along just fine.” Mrs. Brown tossed her dark head and the bridle jangled loudly.
“You’re sure?” Thorne was skeptical.
“Positive.”
“It’s your funeral.”
“Then be sure to send flowers.”
“I think I already did. Well, at least one flower.” Thorne laughed as he tied a thick pack and roll to the back of The General’s saddle, then clucked his tongue. They led the horses through a back door that opened to a group of paddocks that led to a field crisp with hoarfrost.
“This is absolutely insane,” Nicole thought aloud as she undid a few more buttons of her skirt and swung into the saddle. Mrs. Brown sidestepped and fidgeted while the staid General waited patiently as Thorne mounted.
“Where, exactly, are we going?” she asked, holding tight to the reins so that her horse wouldn’t immediately spring to the lead. “And don’t tell me ‘you’ll see.’”
“Take a guess.”
“I couldn’t,” she lied because deep in the very most inner part of her she knew the answer, as certainly as if he’d said the words. Through a series of gates they walked, the animals anxious, the moon a shining platter over the dark hills, the creek running through the foothills. Nicole’s heart thudded and she bit her lip as, at the final gate, Thorne kneed the gelding and The General broke into a gentle lope. Ever eager, Mrs. Brown bolted, stretching her shorter legs, trying desperately to take the bit in her teeth.
“Take it easy, girl. All in due time.” Leaning forward Nicole patted her mount’s shoulder but as the words passed her lips she wondered if she was talking to the horse or giving herself some hard but necessary advice. What was this all about, this moonlit ride alone with Thorne?
Wind streamed through her hair. Cold air brushed her cheeks. Her skirt billowed behind her and exhilaration lifted her spirits. Oh, so easily, she could be swept away in the romance, the pure cheeky thrill of this night ride. But she wouldn’t.
Because of Thorne. The man wasn’t trustworthy. He’d proved it once before and she would be a fool of the highest order if she were ever to give her heart to him again.
“Never,” she vowed aloud.
“What?” He turned his head and astride the taller horse, his face thrown into relief, his hair rumpled in the wind, he appeared more dangerous and dark than ever. No longer a corporate big shot, but a forceful man, as wild and unbending as this sweep of harsh Montana land.
“Nothing. It—it’s nothing,” she said and, in an effort to get away from the questions he might hurl at her, kicked her little mare an
d gave the animal her head.
Mrs. Brown exploded forward. Her hooves pounded. Her legs stretched and retracted. Faster and faster, flying past the larger horse as if he were plodding.
Nicole laughed out loud and cast all caution to the wind. The moonlit night played with her heart and mind. The wind brought tears to her eyes and tangled her hair. She felt freer and younger than she had in years—a girl in the rush of love. Over the rise she rode with the gelding bearing down on them. She cast one glance over her shoulder and spied Thorne, hunched forward, his eyes drawn like a rifle bead on her, his mouth a line of satisfied determination.
“Oh, God,” she whispered, then shouted, “hi-ya!” and slapped Mrs. Brown’s shoulder with the reins. The little horse shot forward even faster, the ground whirling by in a rush. Over the flat land, across a rise, onward until the trees surrounding the creek appeared— great, black towers bordering the field and looming ever closer. Nicole drew back on the reins and heard The General snorting and blowing as Thorne, too, pulled his mount to a stop.
Nicole tried to catch her breath.
How long had it been since she’d been here? Seventeen years? Eighteen? But it had been summer then, a time of youth and hot, breathless days, when the touch of Thorne’s lips against the nape of her neck was as sensual and welcome as a cool breeze.
Her throat swelled at the thought of their lovemaking, so hot, so uninhibited, so long ago. Why had he brought her here now, in this shadowy night with winter as close at hand as summer had been years before?
He climbed off his horse and stood on the frozen ground looking up at her. “Need help?”
“No…I…” She cleared her throat and gave herself a swift mental shake. For God’s sake, she wasn’t the tongue-tied teenager she once had been. She was a grown woman, a mother, a doctor for crying out loud! “I’m fine,” she said, inwardly cringing at the lie because the truth of the matter was that she wasn’t fine at all. In fact she was far from it, but she swung down from the saddle and landed on the hard ground only inches from him and determined not to show one sign that any part of him intimidated her. Dusting her hands, she hoped to appear more collected than she felt. “So…why did you bring me here? Just for old times’ sake?”
“Something like that.”
“Gee, and I didn’t think you were nostalgic.”
“Maybe you were wrong about me.”
Her throat tightened. “I…I, uh, don’t think so.” She offered him a smile filled with a bravado she didn’t really feel. Her skirt was tugged by a gust of wind that rattled through the leafless trees and shivered the longer blades of grass. “I’m just surprised that you seem to feel a need for a trip down memory lane.”
“Don’t you want to sometimes?” His voice was low, his eyes silver with the moonlight and her breath was suddenly trapped in the back of her throat.
“No.” She shook her head. “As a matter of fact, I think it would be a bad idea.”
“Oh?” His arms surrounded her and he drew her close, his nose touching hers. “Well I think it’s a damned fine one.” His lips found hers and she gasped, her mouth opening and granting his tongue easy access. She told herself that she was being foolish, that being with him was emotional suicide, that getting involved with a man named McCafferty was sure to break her heart all over again and yet she couldn’t stop herself. Emotions old and new enveloped her and desire swept through her veins. As if of their own accord her traitorous arms wound around his neck, her eyes closed and she sank against him.
Oh, Thorne…it’s been so long....
His lips were sweet warm pressure, his hands big and strong as they splayed against her back, and the combination of the cold starry night and his hot skin was seductively erotic. A small moan escaped her throat only to be answered by his own husky groan.
Don’t do this, Nicole, she told herself to no avail. She sensed the horses wandering off, heard, over the ever increasing drumming of her heart, the soft plop of their hooves and the chink of their bridles as they tried to pluck at the frozen blades of grass. Somewhere in the distance an owl hooted and a gentle breeze rushed through the dry leaves of the aspen trees guarding the creek.
“I’ve wanted to do this from the first time I saw you again,” Thorne admitted, his fingers catching in her hair. He tugged, pulling her face away so that he could stare at her. His features were shadowed, his eyes a silver reflection of the moonlight.
“From the first time you saw me again.”
“Yes.”
“At the hospital?”
“At the hospital.”
“Liar.” Her breath fogged in the air.
“Never.” He kissed her again and this time she responded without the shackles of the past. She kissed him with the same abandon she had as a young girl. It felt so right to have his strong arms drag her to the ground, so natural to turn her head so that his lips and tongue found that spot in the curve of her neck that caused her entire body to convulse.
Warm, liquid sensations streamed through her. Her blood heated, her heart thudded and he kissed her as if he would never stop.
She felt the knot of her belt loosen, noticed when her jacket opened and his hands reached beneath the hem of her sweater. Her back arched as his skin brushed against hers and as he kissed her he scaled her ribs with warm-tipped fingers.
A dozen reasons to deny him screamed through her mind.
Twice as many silenced her doubts. Why not make love to this man? What would it hurt? It wasn’t as if she’d never lain with him before, never felt the seduction of his kiss or the power of his body joining with hers.
His tongue was sweet persuasion as his fingers found the few buttons that were still holding her skirt closed. She gasped as his fingers brushed the bare skin of her thighs. Stop him, Nicole! Are you nuts? You can’t make love to him. You can’t! And yet as certain as it was that the sun would rise over the eastern horizon, she knew that she would love him again.
Within minutes both her skirt and sweater were disposed of, dropped in a pool on the ground and Thorne was lying above her, kissing her, touching her, causing the blood in her veins to tingle and dance. When she opened her eyes, she looked into a face she’d once loved, a face etched by the years, a face of bladed angles and hard edges, yet in the depths of his eyes and the set of his mouth she saw regret—the tiniest hint of remorse.
The ice around her heart cracked and she blinked against the sting of sudden unwanted tears. Through their soft sheen she saw the moon above him, a bright, frigid disk surrounded by thousands of twinkling stars and she heard the soft babble of the creek.
“I never said I was sorry.” His voice was a hoarse whisper.
“Shh.” She placed a finger to his lips. “You don’t have to say—ooh.”
He drew her finger into the warmth of his mouth.
“Oh, no—”
But she didn’t pull away as his hot, wet tongue drew anxious circles on her skin as he sucked.
“Thorne—please—”
She intended to deny him but didn’t get that chance.
In a heartbeat he released her finger and kissed her hard. Any thoughts of refusal were suddenly stripped away. Her hands found the zipper of his jacket and the buttons of his wool shirt underneath. Her skin tingled, her blood was on fire.
They kissed and touched. Callused fingers caressed her bare skin and she, too, touched him intimately, kissing him and tugging at his clothes, touching him as his jacket and pants fell away. Her fingers traced the deep ridges of his muscles, thrilling to the hard, tight flesh beneath his skin. She kissed the thatch of springy hair upon his chest and was rewarded with the same heart-stopping sensuality as he traced the fragile bones at the hollow of her throat with his tongue, then lowered himself to her breasts where he caressed one button-hard nipple and suckled at the other.
“You’re more beautiful than I remembered,” he claimed, his breath cool against her hot flesh.
Don’t listen to this, don’t believe him.... But a
lready she was lost.
Heat burned through her and her mind spun in delicious circles of lovemaking. Deep in the most private part of her she tingled and became moist. Desire thrummed in her blood and seemed to shimmer in the crisp winter air. His breathing was as heavy as her own, his skilled hands rubbing and touching and creating a maelstrom that caused her to gasp.
“I’ve dreamed of this,” he said, lowering his face and kissing her abdomen.
Deep inside she convulsed. Her fingers shot through his hair. Lower still he slid, his tongue rimming her navel. She bucked upward, then quivered with the want of him and bit her lower lip as he kissed the inside of her thigh. Her eyes were closed but as his fingers found the feminine folds of her womanhood and he touched the most sensitive spot within her, she groaned. His fingers were bold, his breath feather soft and seductive, his tongue quick. She arched again and cried out, her fingers digging into the cold, hard dirt as the first spasm hit. Her eyes flew open and the sky seemed to blur—stars and moon blending in pearlescent shards as sensation after sensation rocked her. She was dragging in each breath, spiraling downward, floating....
His fingers dug into her buttocks. He held her close and assailed her again and again, his tongue working exquisite magic, sending her soaring again and again until she was certain her heart and lungs would burst.
“Thorne…”
He came to her. While she was gasping, barely able to move, the sweat of her body drying in the cold night air, he moved upward, spreading her bare legs with his own, kissing her abdomen, her breasts, her throat.
“Now?” she whispered, her blood stirring again.
“Mmm.” He kissed her and she responded, felt the male hardness of him pressed against her mound.
“But—”
“Now. You can do it, Nikki.” His mouth cut off any further protest. With one quick thrust he claimed her. “We can do it.”
She stared up at him and as their gazes locked, he moved, slowly at first, taking his time as the fires within her stoked all over again. Her skin broke out with perspiration and liquid heat seared her. She heard a roaring in her ears, felt the pressure build again. Her mind spun in endless circles and she caught his rhythm, meeting each of his thrusts, opening to him, clinging to him.