by Cait London
*** ***
There was nothing sweet about “her Hogan” when he stood behind her, his hand on her shoulder, claiming her, and all the Kodiaks stood on the porch studying them.
Tired, aching, and wildly happy, she leaned back against him. After three days away, she was certain that evidence of Hogan’s very thorough lovemaking warmed every part of her body. Her cheeks were still hot from the moments on the trail down to the Kodiak ranch, when Hogan had gently pushed her face down on a warm, sun kissed rock and had lain over her back, lifting her hips and entering her femininity slowly, loving her so quickly and thoroughly that she’d barely been able to stand.
Now— the Kodiak family, the one she loved deeply— Aaron, Dinah, Carley, Mitch, and Ben were standing on the porch, and they knew.
Certain that she wore one big blush from head to foot, she leaned back against Hogan. She knew how she looked— wearing Hogan’s big shirt and jeans rolled up at the cuffs, her hair in wild curls from his wandering hands, and her body weak from pleasure. Jemma looked down to the shirt’s mismatched buttons and groaned.
Hogan’s arm instantly came around her, drawing her protectively to his side.
“Are you ashamed?” he asked in a low voice only she could hear.
“No,” she whispered back. “But I’m a mess, and you know it.”
He let out his breath as if he’d been holding it, relieved by her answer. Jemma glanced up at him. “I was right there with you, Hogan. It wasn’t a seduction or your fault.”
He shook his head, a magnificent man smiling lazily down at her. “Damn, Jemma. I tried.”
Ben was the first to break the silence. “Well, it’s going to be a long day. Can’t stand around here all day. I’ve got work to do,” he said briskly, as though nothing had changed, as though she was still his friend and a part of his family.
Hogan looked down at Jemma, who had turned to look up at him. He’d taken her fiercely, demanded and given, and she’d shattered him. He hadn’t expected the emotions between them, the way he adored her body curling against his as she slept. The fierce drive and pleasure of making love to her, and the tenderness later.
He traced her face, softer, warmer now, a woman who had spent three days making love....
Hogan wanted them to see his mark upon her— a primitive need, to mark this woman as his own. It had shocked him at first. He could have told her about the misbuttoned shirt, her rumpled, well-loved appearance, that fascinating, shy blush. But he’d been too busy enjoying the sight.
She was his missing part, finally in place; all else would fall into place after their lovemaking. The thought hurled down from the Montana sun and staked him.
“Come in, Hogan,” Jemma said quietly, taking his hand. “I want you to.”
Ben watched his son’s expression, that wary dark look of a man uncertain about a woman’s powers. Ben gripped his bad leg— neither youngster knew the wildfire they held in their hands, how easily it could be destroyed.
He noted Aaron’s and Mitch’s stances, the hard, knowing looks at Hogan, and knew that there would be an argument, because of Jemma’s new rumpled and steamed look. The brothers would have their say, and so would Carley, and for the first time Hogan would have to defend himself against them.
“Hell to pay, boy,” Ben murmured, but this time he’d stay out of it. He glanced at Dinah and caught the tear glittering on her lashes with his fingertip. “They’ll be fine, honey.”
“I know, but she was just a little girl only yesterday— and he was so perfect, that little piece of you.” Dinah rested her head upon Ben’s shoulder.
Uneasy with what was expected of him, bringing home the woman he’d obviously claimed, Hogan met the stern expressions of his brothers and Carley. They’d come after him, and he didn’t want Jemma to see the war, because he wasn’t backing down, not after he’d given his heart.
Hogan shook his head, gave Jemma a nice stringer of good-sized trout, kissed her lightly, and swung up onto his horse. His family would be coming soon enough, and it wouldn’t be pretty.
Jemma held the stringer of fish, stunned that Hogan could ride away so easily from her. Her body still ached pleasantly from his larger one, and he gave no indication of what they’d shared.
Then she hurled the fish onto the ground and stood, glaring at him, her hands on her hips. He rode to his house all straight-backed and Western and carefree, as if he hadn’t placed himself in her keeping many times in the past few days.
Ben shook his head. He had his own problems with Dinah’s blue, blue eyes and the unexpected, sensual lurch of his damaged body when he looked at her.
*** ***
On a road nearby, a driver put away his binoculars. The sun would reflect upon the glass surface and give away his location.
The Kodiaks were hunters, and one flash could pinpoint the observer. His car wasn’t unusual, and passed by this road routinely; he was safe, wrapped anonymously in his everyday passings.
Jemma Delaney had serviced Hogan Kodiak; she wore that look— her face rosy and excited, her hair tumbling down from where it was knotted on top of her head.
Hogan’s expression had been grim and wary, until Jemma touched his shoulder and laughed at him. Then Hogan had smiled slowly. Hogan Kodiak, lone wolf, had changed.
An impure, lowly woman, Jemma didn’t matter. Only Carley mattered, the observer’s Celestial Virgin. He stroked himself, thinking of how he would tear away her maidenhood and how she would worship him.
*** ***
Chapter Eleven
“You should have left Jemma alone, Hogan. Dammit, she’s Carley’s best friend, and she doesn’t play around,” Aaron said, slamming Hogan’s front door behind him.
Hogan had been daydreaming about how to romance a woman— specifically Jemma— what to say to her, how to give her those softer words telling of his heart.
He’d known without doubt that he was placing his claim, taking Jemma as his woman, his mate. Making love to her burned away all doubt that he had a heart, that warmth could glow within him, that he could be happy. That lock had clicked, and now it was a matter of laying all the components in line, because Jemma was not an easy woman.
Mitch jerked open the door, stepped inside, and crossed his arms. Carley entered the room and glared at Hogan as Mitch said, “I second that. Jemma didn’t stand a chance. You hauled her off and she came down from that mountain looking like she’d been steamed and rolled in the bushes. Both of you standing there, glowing like idiots. But you wanted that, didn’t you— to get at Ben. He thinks of her as a daughter.”
“Ben doesn’t come into this.” He’d been thinking about Jemma, the way her hair slid through his fingers and webbed across his skin, glistening in the sunlight. The drowsy soft gray of her eyes, her breath on his skin.
Hogan blinked, surprised that he was daydreaming about Jemma, talking with her, enjoying the high lift of her chin—
He’d sensed that he was giving not just his body, but his essence to her care. That thought jarred as he met his brothers’ glares.
Carley pushed Mitch aside and added her glare. “Jemma is my friend, not some cheap pickup— someone to fill your bed when you feel the need.”
“I didn’t say she was. Family, welcome to my abode, by the way. Try not to wreck anything costly.” He’d had experience with his brothers and sister running him down with fire in their eyes, but back then, it was about Ben.
Aaron had a sizable temper, so did Mitch, but they were nothing compared to Carley, who had a penchant for throwing anything at hand.
For the moment, he was saved by the ringing phone.
Simone’s soft French accent purred over the lines. “I’ve missed you, cher. When are you coming to see me?”
Hogan smiled, watching his siblings’ out-for-blood expressions as he spoke to Simone. “I’m enjoying myself. I’ve needed this for a long time.”
After a quick necessary discussion about the showing of his new collection in Paris, Hogan igno
red Simone’s sexual invitation. Jemma had pushed all other women from his mind, his body. That thought nettled as he replaced the phone.
“Nice day, isn’t it?” he asked his scowling siblings.
Aaron picked up a pencil sketch of Fire Feathers and studied it. He lifted an eyebrow at Hogan. “You wouldn’t be feeding on Jemma? Using her for ideas, would you? This design reminds me of her, instantaneous— burning and yet soft— not your usual sophisticated jet-setter design.”
Hogan didn’t lie. “She is the inspiration for that design, and others.”
“You vampire. I’ve seen you gather ideas before, harvesting them, taking sights into you and turning them into profit. You’re selling her in pieces,” Aaron exploded.
“Lay off,” Hogan said slowly. He didn’t like the image, but it was true. The design was his best, drawn from deep inside him, without thought to marketing what sold, or women’s tastes. Fire Feathers seemed to ripple in a sunlit breeze, but they were also boldly tempestuous like a hot summer storm. The emotion in the design had startled him. In contrast, his other work looked good and saleable, but the intensity didn’t compare.
He tried to push his unsettled emotions down and return to the routine of his life. The sound of grinding coffee beans tore through the airy, sunlit room, and he ran water into the pot, ignoring his family.
He glanced at them and knew he would pay a price before their outrage settled down. Hogan poured the ground beans into the coffeemaker and smiled briefly. Jemma had been worth the payment he was about to feel from his family.
“You’re a little old to be collecting notches on your bedpost,” Mitch stated, and that thought slapped at Hogan. He didn’t want Jemma to be in anyone’s bed but his. And that thought grated. He intended to keep the pledge that he’d made on the mountain, a vow to a woman he respected.
“Men!” Carley slapped the counter.
“Maybe you need to be reminded of how to treat a lady, Hogan,” Aaron offered darkly.
“You? And who else?” Hogan didn’t know how to treat Jemma, not when he’d wanted to keep her up on the mountain longer, making love to her. Those three days were the sweetest in his life, and he wasn’t certain how they would impact his life.
He hadn’t expected the passion surging from him with enough power to bruise her wrists; he’d never hurt a woman while making love, never wanted to linger and to play.
He gauged Aaron and knew that his brother’s ripe temper matched his own. While he didn’t like his dark storms and nettling guilt about Jemma, a good brawl might ease the pressure.
One truth ran through him: He’d given her his heart and his vows up there on the mountain.
Aaron met Hogan’s narrowed look and stood slowly, matching him for size. “Maybe it is time you got taken down a notch or two, big brother.”
Carley scrubbed her hands over her face, her pale straight hair swinging around her face and settling against her flushed cheeks. Her blue eyes sliced at the males, one by one. “Does anyone care how awful it is to live with this much testosterone waiting to show off? Hogan, you’ve got to keep your hands off Jemma. She’s my friend and while she may seem to be experienced, she’s not. Her marriage was a nightmare.”
“Under all that fast-talking, brassy mouth, she’s inexperienced.” Mitch said darkly, backing up Carley’s appraisal of Jemma. “You took her up there to have her. Not quite a penthouse bedroom, so she came cheap, didn’t she?”
That deepened Hogan’s anger, because it was true. He should have courted her, given her bouquets and gifts and taken her more gently. But the urgency to have her, to bind them together, had ruled him. He really did not like being at the mercy of his emotions. Now, confronted by his family, he didn’t like the “defiler of sweet, innocent thing” label plastered on him.
“She knows what she wants,” Hogan said, defending himself. Jemma had wanted him fiercely, but there was that softness in her, too, holding him close and sweet.
“What about good old Simone?” Aaron asked. “You’re used to traveling in an amoral set. You took Jemma because you were bored, needed a playmate, and wanted to push Dad.”
“Did I? Maybe Ben needs pushing.” Feeling surly now and not liking that emotion, Hogan didn’t like being the offender, or striking back.
In those first years out of Montana, he had been amoral, pairing with women just as careless of what making love should mean. Now he knew the difference, and he didn’t like the picture of himself in earlier years, out to devour the world and set it on fire.
“I hope you got it all out of your system, because you’re not using her. She’s not up to a threesome with Simone D’Arcy.” Aaron jabbed a finger into Hogan’s chest.
*** ***
Ben looked down the supper table at his glowering family and at Jemma, who looked as if she could kill anyone who spoke to her. He’d seen his family wearing the same expressions over the years, but they’d never stopped loving one another. Ben took comfort in the love they still shared.
This time, Hogan was in the midst of it, like it or not, and he couldn’t play peacemaker when he was obviously the offender.
Dinah’s hand moved onto Ben’s damaged leg, taking his hand beneath the table. She squeezed his hand gently and he wondered if she could feel the prosthesis, if it offended her.
“Well. This is a nice meal, isn’t it? Baked chicken, dressing, and a lovely green bean casserole. We’ll have the fish Jemma caught tomorrow night. Baked with lemon, I think,” Dinah said lightly, trying to make the dinner pleasant.
Ben stared down at the slender pale hand that had somehow inched higher on his lap. He knew he trembled, that his look at Dinah was hot and hungry before shielding it from his children.
That effort was unnecessary. The brood glared at one another and passed the food. Carley slapped a spoonful of dressing on her plate and punched Mitch’s shoulder, just because it was there.
Ben settled back to enjoy his children and his wife’s hand in his. For once, he wasn’t at the bottom of the problem. Clearly, his eldest son had stepped over a line.
When the plates were filled, and his children and Jemma were eating slowly in simmering dead silence, sliced by meaningful glares, Ben couldn’t resist asking, “Who’s behind all of this?”
Hogan leaned back, hooked one arm over the back of his chair and stared at Jemma, not shielding his anger. He rocked back on the chair’s legs and studied her.
“Here,” he said, plopping glittering citrine-and-carnelian earrings onto the table in front of Jemma.
It wasn’t the presentation of a lover’s gift, rather a challenge. Ben suspected that Hogan had meant to gift Jemma with more romance, but with eyes the color of thunderclouds, she’d been glaring at him across the table.
“Wear them yourself. Simone called here today just after you left. She’s in Paris and needed you. She was looking for you. I think she has an itch. Maybe you’d better fly off and—”
“That’s enough,” Hogan snapped, scowling at her. “What’s your problem?”
“You left me with those damn fish to clean and right now, I’d sooner kiss one of them, than you.” Jemma stood up, hurled her cloth napkin onto the table, and stalked out of the room and ran up the stairs.
“That is one hot-blooded woman,” Ben heard himself say, before he clamped his lips closed and settled for a grin.
His son was definitely simmering, Ben thought, appreciating the hot look of a man who didn’t know how to handle the woman he’d claimed, and who obviously was in a snit. From his brooding expression, Hogan was trying to decide if he should go after her, or let her cool off, or just walk out. Ben had been there enough times to recognize the dark, uncertain look on his son’s face.
“Excuse me. Dinner was good. Thank you, Dinah.” Hogan got up and stalked after Jemma. The sound of his footsteps tramping up the stairs echoed over the dining table, and Maxi sighed dreamily, placing her hand over her heart.
After Jemma’s outraged scream, Hogan’s footsteps
tramped down the stairs again. This time, on his way outside, he carried a squirming Jemma over his shoulder. One dark look at his family said he intended to keep the argument with Jemma very private.
*** ***
In the moonlight, Hogan held Jemma’s arms to her side, locking his arms around her. “Cool off.”
“One woman wasn’t enough, was it? Not when she’s in Europe and you’re needing a— I won’t have jewelry you made for another woman— They all know, Hogan. They all know what we did up there— and that you’re just bored here and that—” Jemma clenched her lids closed against the burning tears that brimmed and trailed down her cheeks.
“I made the earrings for you this afternoon. The color reminds me of your hair in the sunlight. Are you ashamed of what we did?” He feared her answer.
“I found it entertaining,” she said coolly, temper simmering beneath the surface as she licked away a telling tear.
“ ‘Entertaining?’” He stood, riveted by the meaning of the word. Jemma had hurt him, pierced his protective shields, ripped him apart.
Since Hogan was holding her arms at her sides, Jemma pushed her face against his chest and rubbed it to dry her tears.
Then she lifted her face to burn him with a dark look. “An entertaining diversion. I haven’t had much time to think about it, but I’m certain I can be ready by July. I’ve been working hard— no time to remember something that didn’t matter— you know, phone calls, deals to make. Oh! Hogan, don’t you dare try that neck-massaging trick on me!”
He couldn’t resist touching her, not when she’d wept for what they’d shared, and he was feeling tender and soft and aglow. He bent to brush his lips across hers.
“Simone hasn’t been my lover for years,” he whispered against her ear, gently biting the lobe.
“I don’t believe you,” she blazed and walked back into the house, slamming the front door behind her.
Hogan stood for a long time, staring at the closed door. He wanted to tear it from the hinges and go after Jemma— And what? Prove what an idiot he was? Have his family see that she’d undone his control, laid him open? Unused to the raw emotions jolting him, Hogan locked his boots to the ground and hooked his thumbs into his pockets.