His hands were magic, melting away the tension in her neck, her shoulders, her hips, and lower as he drew his hands down the length of her legs in long, gentle strokes.
She moaned.
And sighed,
And moaned again. "This is sinful," she said, her body so relaxed she could barely force out the words.
"I learned how to do this from a Chinese lady a few years ago."
"For a worldly man, you've missed an important lesson. You're not supposed to talk about other women at a time like this." .
"Not even if she's old enough to be my great-grandmother, and our relationship was platonic?"
She arched her eyebrow. "That may give you some leeway."
He slid his thumbs along her arch and around the ball of her foot, pushing up beneath her toes. She moaned, unable not to.
"I like making you moan."
"This is taxing, but I can bear it a bit longer."
He laughed and kissed the arch of her foot. "Tell me when it becomes too much for you."
She smiled into his feather pillow, basking in the feel of his hands caressing her body. The depth of his kindness and the pleasure he was giving her were beyond anything she'd ever experienced. So was the feeling of his lips kissing a leisurely trail up the backs of her legs. She gasped when he nipped the flesh on her bottom.
"Turn over," he said, his voice ragged, his request gentle.
Her heart pounded as she rolled to her back, exposing herself to him.
He sat on his knees above her, appreciation shining in his eyes as he stroked his hands up her body. "You are an artist's dream. Your legs and curves and smile are a work of art." He leaned down and kissed her lips. "You're perfect." He kissed her breasts. "Enchanting." He kissed her navel. "Ravishing."
He kissed her—where she'd never been kissed before.
She gasped from the shock and the avalanche of pleasure rushing through her. She threaded her fingers into his hair, intending to make him stop, but she couldn't. Within seconds, she was moaning to the point of embarrassment, and praying he would never stop.
As if he sensed her racing toward the edge, he rose above her and stretched out on top of her. The weight of his body pressing her into the mattress thrilled her. She shifted her knees and he settled his hips between her thighs.
She smoothed her palms over his back, loving the feel of his hard body, the crisp hair on his legs that brushed her inner thighs as he pushed inside her.
She released a deep, satisfied sigh. "I've never been touched this way."
He nibbled at her lips. "You should always be touched like this."
"I'm available tomorrow evening."
A smile tilted his mouth, but she saw more than his handsome face. She saw the other, more serious man looking back at her.
She lifted her hips, making him groan and bury his face in her hair. She flattened her palms across his smooth, tapered back, savoring the feel of him, the weight of his body shifting and pressing into hers.
She would never get enough of him, this playful, serious man who was kissing her senseless and stealing her heart.
How would she manage to love him for only one night?
His kisses grew deeper, his thrusts firmer, until they were both half-crazed, gasping and clinging and squeezing—and then she was there: leaping from the peak of the mountain they'd been climbing, hurtling into turbulent currents that shuddered through her body, twisting and spinning her out of control. She cried out, grasping at his sturdy shoulders as he lunged hard and followed her into the vast blue sky.
She soared away on the wind, gloriously, wonderfully free.
o0o
As Boyd's heartbeat calmed, he watched Claire's breathing slow, and her lashes flutter as she drifted into sleep. She lay on her back, her body flush with his, her hair splashed across his pillow like rays of sunshine.
He'd always prided himself on maintaining control of himself both physically and emotionally, but this woman, this vulnerable widow, had shaken his control and moved him beyond his wildest imaginings.
Her daring had stunned and impressed him. Her lusty, playful participation in lovemaking had thrilled him. Her confessions had torn his heart out. What man could touch her soft skin without wanting to give her pleasure? How could this energetic, passionate woman be too unhealthy to carry a child?
He stroked her silky hair, knowing he could make love to her a million nights and not get enough of her. Even now, he yearned to wake her with a kiss.
He held her in his arms for hours, stroking her hair, watching her sandy lashes twitch against her creamy skin, knowing he was completely and utterly trapped by his need for her.
It scared the hell out of him.
But it scared him more to think she could get hurt again. He couldn't let that happen. She'd suffered too much already. She was a beautiful, giving woman trying to do good in the world. He didn't agree with her methods, but he admired her for standing up for what she believed in. He would stand beside her. He would protect her in the only way he could.
Chapter Twenty-six
"Are you awake?"
Boyd's warm breath caressed Claire's temple, and she snuggled against him, loving the feel of his warm skin against hers. "No."
He chuckled and ran his hand over her bare hip. "Then I'll have to find a creative way to wake you up."
Her skin thrilled to his warm palm as he skimmed his hand over her body. She leaned her forehead against his collarbone, reveling in the smell of him and the hint of soap that lingered on his skin. She rubbed her cheek against his chest, basking in the softness of his springy chest hair.
She'd come to his saloon in hopes of understanding him better. But she'd found herself last night. She'd unlocked the cage. She was free—blessedly, wonderfully free.
She'd taken a lover.
And what a lover he was, with those artist's hands that sculpted her body with a tender persuasion, and those honey-brown eyes that drank her in with every glance.
She wanted more.
"I think I'm waking up," she said, her voice muffled in his chest hair as she nibbled his small hard nipple with her lips.
He traced her curves and slid his hand down to cup her bottom. "I want to talk to you before I take you home."
"Why talk?" she asked, brazenly sliding her hand down his hard stomach and into the thatch of dark hair at his groin.
"Ummm..." He nuzzled her ear and fit his naked body against hers. "Who said anything about talking?"
She lifted her face and kissed his gorgeous mouth, wanting more, wanting it all.
He gave her everything she wanted and more—so much more that she couldn't contain her fierce desire for him. She kissed his firm lips and stroked his hard, muscular body, sliding her skin over his, pressing her breasts to his hungry mouth, clamping her legs around his hips and taking him with her when she cried out in a shattering climax.
They clung to each other, their skin damp, their chests pounding, their breathing ragged.
"Stay with me tonight," she said, lifting her hips and squeezing her legs around his thighs.
"I'll stay with you every night." He kissed her, then gazed down with the heat of their lovemaking still in his eyes. "Marry me."
She waited for his teasing wink to let her know he was playing with her, but his eyes were earnest.
"Marry me, Claire."
"You're jesting."
"I'm serious. Dead serious. Seriously serious."
She stared at him. "You can't be. I mean, we don't need to marry. You can stay at my boardinghouse. Or I can come here. No one has to know about our...private moments."
He brushed her hair off her face. "What if the doctor was wrong? What if you can get pregnant?"
"I can't."
"Circumstances change. Doctors make mistakes."
"The doctor wasn't wrong." Jack had taken her to bed several times after her miscarriage and she had remained barren. Still, a flicker of hope burned in her heart. What if the doctor was wr
ong? What if someday she could have a child?
"It doesn't matter to me." Boyd cupped her breast. "I want you."
"I want you too," she admitted, because she did want him. She wanted him in her bed, in her life—but not as her keeper. She had too much to lose if she married. She would lose her property, her boardinghouse, and her independence. Her husband would take ownership of everything, including her.
She couldn't lose her freedom again, especially now that she had passion in her life.
"I can't," she said, and the light in his eyes receded. She cupped his strong jaw and drew her thumb across his chin.
"Your proposal is noble, Boyd, but unnecessary. I want to spend my private time with you. This can be the beginning for us, for all the exciting things we can share when we're alone," she said. "No one needs to know about this."
"I'll know about it. And you deserve better."
She slid her feet down the backs of his hard calves and rubbed her toes against his heels. "What's better than this?"
"Marriage. Honesty. Safety for you. Take my name and let me keep you safe," he insisted. "No one in this town would dare to harm my wife."
"Oh, Boyd, you can protect me, but you'll own me. How safe is that?"
His head jerked back as if she'd slapped him, a wounded look in his eyes.
"Don't be offended. Please," she said, rubbing her palms over his back. "Taking you as my lover has set me free. We can have this every night without being married."
She needed his touch, his kiss, the feel of his naked body against hers. He was a tender, considerate, and passionate lover. During the night, she'd fallen asleep in his arms with a sense of contentment she'd never before experienced. But she could make love with Boyd without locking herself back in a cage.
He rolled off her and lay on his back, his forearm draped across his forehead. "It's not right for you, Claire."
His simple statement touched her. Boyd was a tender and honorable man, and so handsome she could barely look without wanting to make love to him. But she wouldn't marry him.
Ever.
Not even if he was professing his love, which he wasn't.
She propped up on her elbow and looked down at him. "You're letting our attraction lead you into a marriage proposal that isn't necessary."
He lifted his arm, his dark eyebrows slashing downward. "You think I'm proposing simply because I like making love with you?"
She shrugged because his frown warned her not to say yes. "I'm saying that things will change for us. After the newness of my marriage to Jack wore off, I became a responsibility to him. One he resented."
"Do you honestly think I'd be that cold and callous?"
"No. You wouldn't be that cruel." She knew that. His changes would be more subtle. "But after a year or so, you'd lose interest in me. You would change." And she would be trapped.
He tossed the covers back.
"Where are you going?" she asked, watching him climb out of the warm, rumpled bed.
"To get dressed so I can take you home."
She reached out and caught his wrist. "Don't be angry."
"I'm not angry, Claire. I'm insulted that you would compare me to a man like Jack."
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to insult you."
"Well, you did," He wrenched away and reached for his trousers. He sat on the edge of the bed and shoved one foot into his pant leg, then stopped to look at her. "You're willing to share my bed but not my life. Does that mean you don't trust me? Or does it mean you don't care enough to marry me?"
"Oh, Boyd." She got to her knees and cupped his face — a face she adored, a man who touched the most vulnerable part of her heart. "This isn't about you at all," she said. "It's about me. I'm not the woman you think I am."
"You're stubborn and determined. You care about people and champion causes to help them. You love your family. You take in strays. What else is there to know?"
She gulped, knowing she needed to tell Boyd the truth, but dreading his reaction. "I let my husband drown."
As if he'd been gut-punched, Boyd sagged away and stared at her.
"I was in the river with Jack when he drowned." She raked her hair out of her eyes, then pulled the quilt around her shoulders. "We were living in a ramshackle room near the docks in Pittsburgh. I'd just received the deed to my grandmother's house, and Jack wanted it. I knew he'd gamble it away, so I ran out of the apartment and refused to tell him where I'd hidden it."
The bedroom was chilly, but it was her memory of that terrifying night that made her shiver.
"We argued, then we fought—physically, I mean,"
Boyd's brow furrowed and his fists clenched around the trousers he was still gripping.
"Jack hit me with the back of his hand like usual, but I refused to tell him where I hid the deed. So he slugged me with his fist."
"Jesus, Claire."
The memory of her husband, whom she'd given herself to body and soul, striking her without the slightest sign of regret, made her eyes mist.
"The second time Jack hit me, our feet got tangled up and we plunged into the river." A tremor shook her stomach, but she forced herself to finish the story. "He pulled me under the water, and I thought he was trying to drown me. I kicked away from him and swam to shore,"
"Which sounds intelligent to me," Boyd said, his earlier look of irritation replaced with one of concern.
"But Jack couldn't swim," she replied, regret and shame poking at her conscience. "I knew that, but I swam away anyhow."
Boyd squeezed her hand and she met his eyes. "He beat you. He would have killed you. You know that."
She nodded, acknowledging the heartbreaking truth. Her own husband would have killed her.
"Come here," Boyd said softly, pulling her over to straddle his lap. She went willingly into his arms, seeking solace and safety from the horror of watching Jack drown.
"I'm not a good person," she said. "That's why you shouldn't ask me to marry you."
He grinned. "I've been meaning to bring that to your attention. You've not only destroyed my desire to remain a bachelor, you've stolen my dog and completely ruined him as a saloon hound."
A small laugh escaped her, because Boyd was good and true, trying to bring humor to the mess she'd made of her life. But an instant later that little spark went out and hot tears filled her eyes. She was confused and scared.
"I can't marry you," she whispered. "I can't."
He rubbed her back, patient and kind. "What you're saying is that you don't trust me enough to marry me," he said. His tone was guarded, despite the warm caress of his hands.
"I don't trust myself," she said, and she didn't. She made too many bad choices and wrong decisions. "I'll never marry again, Boyd. I can't,"
His hands on her back paused, and she knew she'd hurt him, and had maybe even made her worst decision yet. But how could protecting her independence be wrong? Marriage was a cage, love a trap, and trust merely an illusion.
Only passion was real. Boyd's naked flesh pressing against the peaks of her breasts was real. Her desire for him was real. She would show him the difference, and make him want the passion.
o0o
Claire leaned against her kitchen counter, clutching a cup of strong coffee in her hands, hoping it would ease her headache. Boyd had turned away her last attempt at lovemaking. He'd been gentle but firm in denying her, cordial but silent as he helped her dress and walked her home. She'd rejected his marriage proposal. He'd rejected her offer of an affair. Her need for self-preservation wouldn't allow her to change her mind. His integrity wouldn't let him change his.
Sailor pushed against her legs, wheezing and begging for her attention.
"Yes, you're staying with me for a few days," she said, rubbing his knobby head. When Boyd had walked her home, he asked her to keep Sailor while he went to Buffalo. She'd agreed immediately, loving the idea of having the silly dog in her home, and hoping her gesture would thaw the coolness shrouding Boyd.
Only after h
e left her foyer had his words struck a nerve. He was going to Buffalo?
And Anna was going to Pittsburgh this morning with Sheriff Grayson to testify at Larry's trial.
"Claire?"
She looked up to see Anna setting her valise by the door.
Sailor scurried across the room and sniffed the woman's small bag.
Anna stroked Sailor's ears, but eyed Claire. "Are you all right?" she asked with concern.
Claire nodded. Anna knew she'd been with Boyd all night, and must suspect how they had spent the time. "Are you sure you want to do this?" Claire asked, fearing her friend was making a deadly mistake.
"I saw Larry kill that man. I can't pretend I didn't." She sank into a chair and rubbed Sailor's back. "Everyone, including me, will be safer if I can help keep Larry in jail."
"But what if he finds a way to get out of jail like he did last time?" Claire asked. "He'll hate you for testifying against him."
"He hates me already." Anna's shoulders drooped. "If he gets out of jail, he's going to find me and hurt me. He's going to hurt other people too. I talked with the sheriff, and he agrees that I should do everything I can to make sure Larry stays in prison."
Even though Anna was going to Pittsburgh to testify against her husband under Sheriff Grayson's protection, the bold move unnerved Claire. Larry was mean to the bone. If he ever got free, he would come after Anna. And if Anna was living here, Claire feared that Boyd's shooting lesson wouldn't be enough for her to protect them.
"The sheriff is going to take me to see my family after we go to Pittsburgh. If you prefer, I can stay there. As long as Larry's locked up, I should be safe with my family."
Claire admired Anna's courage, and was glad she would be able to see her family again. But from the tiny hints Anna had dropped about her parents and siblings, they hadn't exactly stood by her when she needed them.
"I'd be lost without you, Anna." Claire crossed the kitchen and gave her a hug. "Stay safe and hurry back."
Anna returned the hug. "Thank you."
"How long will you be away?"
Lips That Touch Mine Page 25