He couldn't even see her lips move, but he could hear her as if she were in his arms.
"I want to make love to you,"
"Ooo, mic sex."
He blinked. Her wide smile told him an in-depth explanation would follow later. He could hadly wait.
"I want you, too. So bad I can still taste you."
He groaned, his body clenching like a fist.
Her expression softened like a cat before a bowl of cream. "I don't think I've ever stopped, from the moment I saw you in the woods."
"I wanted to kiss you then."
Her gaze slid up and down his body encased in dark trousers and a crisp white shirt and she inhaled, the exhale a slow shudder that drove desire down his spine.
"I wish you would now."
But he didn't move, eyes locked across the room.
"I want to explore every part of you, Chris."
He gulped and her words crawled through his blood like the scrape of a hot poker, the memory of her boldness on the mountainside rising to life with unmatched clarity.
"The feel of your skin, the wonderful rich color. It makes my palms itch. Do you know what it's like for a woman like me, to feel that again?"
He didn't know how he did it, but he shook his head.
"It's heaven, Chris." Throaty and thick with honesty.
Victoria leaned against the window frame, watching his physical reaction to her words and reveling in it. His black trousers grew tight across his hips. And she felt her body warming and pulsing with seduction at her own words.
Her breathing increased, and he heard it.
"I'm going to make love to you, Tori. Soon. All night. I'm not going to leave your side, and when we want each other, we'll take."
Her body tingled and moistened as he went on, sculpting
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image upon image of how he wanted to love her. They could go anywhere. Fulfill any fantasy.
And Victoria, weak for him, would let him.
"Wild sex isn't your need," he told her in a husky whisper. "Wild loving is."
Love. Oh God. She did love him. Not because he was the sexiest man alive, but that he wanted her just as she was, wanted to make her happy, that he respected her as an equal and wanted her to stay. He didn't have to say it. In fact, he hadn't in a whiJe, but Victoria wasn't so caught up not to know that's what he needed.
Christopher Swift was a marrying, kids and home kind of man. Solid strong, dependable, generous, compassionate and passionate. And she didn't have an eternity to spend with him.
They stared across the room, suddenly silent, but the message was clear and Chris's heart leapt with hope. I love you, Tori, he thought and wished she was ready to hear the words. I love you madly.
A hard rap sounded and they both jolted, tearing off the mics. He crossed to her, handing the equipment over and she stuffed it into the backpack before he answered the call.
"Dinner is ready."
Abigale glanced between the two. Miss Victoria still looked the essence of grace and loveliness, but Christopher, well, his skin was red, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. And he looked like a child caught in the midst of mischief. She huffed and spun away.
"Hungry?" he said to Victoria, offering his hand.
She slid into his arms like a sleek schooner on a wave and kissed him deeply. "Always," she whispered and Chris smiled, seeking another kiss, but she moved quickly away.
Resolved to the crowding in his trousers, he followed her, his gaze lowering to the wonderful sway of her hips. He caught her arm, whispering in her ear. "What are you wearing under all those petticoats?" Wondering if it was one of those thong things.
"Nothing, except garters and stockings."
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Briefly, he closed his eyes, seeking patience and finding only the picture she created.
"Gonna drive you nuts, ain't it?" She patted his cheek, merciless to his discomfort.
"And you, my luscious time traveler," he whispered close to her ear. "Will suffer for it,"
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Chapter Twenty-Eight
Victoria watched anticipation wreath his tanned face, his smile so boyish that a wealth of love grew inside her as he waited for Abigale to return with dessert.
If he didn't have such elegant manners, she imagined he'd delight in banging his utensils against the table.
Abigale swept into the long dining room carrying an absolutely decadent confection of cherries and glazed chocolate cake on a pedestal plate.
She set it next to Chris, slapping his hand when he swept his ringer across an edge of dripping icing.
"Mind your manners, Christopher."
Laughter swept around the table, masculine laughter, and Victoria glanced at the men lining the table. They all looked mildly amused.
"Didn't know you have a sweet tooth, Chris," she said as Abigale slid a plate in front of him,
"Hell, he's got ten of 'em." This came from Caleb Peabody, a long drink of water with a soft voice and a shyness that was endearing. And even as she looked at him, he dropped his gaze and a flush crept into his cheeks.
"Tell me you don't eat like that every night." "It's a curse, I swear," he said with false honesty, then Chris plunged his fork into the gooey cake and shoved a portion
into his mouth.
Abigale stood by, awaiting comment. Chris closed his eyes and moaned, chewing slowly, savoring every flavor exploding
in his mouth.
"Magnificent again, Abby." He rose enough to peck a kiss to her cheek, then ignored everyone to the feast of sugar and
cherries.
' I have never seen a man eat so much sugar and not become fat." Joquin patted his own round stomach. "It truly is not
fair."
"I agree." She passed a slice to Lucky who sat to her right, constantly gazing up at her with undisguised adoration. "I'd have to run twenty miles to work that off." "Want bite?" Lucky said, offering some. "Do you want a bite," she corrected and he repeated the sentence slowly, then smiled.' 'Yes,'' she said with feeling and tasted from his fork. She hummed her praise and the little boy grinned, so bright and happy, and the room full of people followed. "Go on," she whispered, urging him. "Kids are supposed to have cake."
"And I'm not?" Chris looked insulted and she smiled. "Within reason. He'll burn it off. With exercise," she clarified.
"So will I." He winked at her and her cheeks flooded with color. A soft chuckle from the ranch hands made it even worse. Abigale whacked Chris on the shoulder as she passed and Randel, even Randel, the stoic butler who never spoke, fought a grin. Victoria schooled her features into a polite smile, then promptly kicked him under the table. The jolt brought another burst of laughter and Chris chuckled, leaning back in the chair
and sipping coffee.
"I likes Miss Toria." Lucky spoke to no one imparticular, chomping into his food without looking up.
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"Do you?" Chris said, his gaze shifting between the warm motherly look on Tori's face to the boy. "She beat up the marshal."
"Lucky, how could you say such a thing!" Abigale spouted. Victoria looked at Chris and shrugged. "Seen it."
"I saw it," Victoria corrected automatically. "Saw what?" ' 'On the mountain.''
Her eyes flared and she didn't dare glance at Chris. Please don't let it be today. "Looking at the train." Victoria gagged with relief.
"Beat you up, din' she, Marshal?" This Lucky directed at Chris.
All eyes turned to him.
"I wouldn't say that exactly," Victoria began.
"Yes, she did."
"Christopher!"
He glanced left at Abigale, where she was serving Garrett, his iron man.
"It's true. Whipped the stuffing right out of me." Victoria nudged him under the table. He was oblivious. "Those feet are deadly." She glared at him now. "I'm pretty g
ood with a knife, too. Care to have me demonstrate?"
His gaze flew to hers, his features tightening at the fury in
her eyes. His expression clouded briefly, then he sighed heavily,
mashing his hand over his face. She ignored him, sipping wine
and talking with Lucky. But the conversation in the dining
room had suddenly ceased. *
He left his chair and went down on one knee beside her. He gazed into gold eyes sparkling with hurt. She hadn't wanted anyone here to know that side of her. She was dressed with elegance and carried herself so and it was as if she'd sought to smother the expert hunter for a little while. And he just ruined it. "I'm sorry."
"You say that to me a lot, Christopher."
"And will you keep forgiving me?"
She held her response back, then sighed, her smile light. "Oh get up, for crying out loud."
"Forgiven?"
"Of course. God, you're hopeless, you know that?"
Hopelessly in love with you, he thought as he straightened, the back of his knuckles grazing her cheek before he bent and kissed her full on the mouth, her hand coming up to lightly touch his jaw.
A soft whistle came from one of the ranch hands.
"Now, Christopher," Abigale said. "There's a child present."
Lucky beamed at the couple.
"You two are the kissin'est pair I ever did see." Peabody
laughed.
Chris stepped back and cleared his throat before sliding into his chair. He ate the cake without tasting it.
And Victoria was proud of the way she sloughed the whole matter off and started the conversation in a different direction— especially with her ears ringing. Christ. It wasn't bad enough that all through the meal he was undressing her with those dark eyes, now her mouth throbbed for more.
"What's an Iron Man," she asked Garrett.
He set his fork down and wiped his lips with a napkin, slow deliberation in his moves. He was a gunfighter once, Chris had said. It wasn't hard to imagine. He had long hair flowing over his shoulders, a droopy moustache and a patch over one eye. She didn't want to know how he'd lost it, but beneath the patch, the scar slanted from forehead to cheekbone. But one thing was for sure. He was drop dead gorgeous, scar or not.
"Iron man brands the livestock, ma'am."
"Call me Victoria, please."
His one penetrating blue eye flashed to Chris, and he nodded.
"Miss Victoria."
She wasn't going to argue. With these men, that's as casual
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as it got. "I know about chicken ranches, but zilch about cattle or sheep, so please go on." "Chicken?"
She glanced at Chris. "I was born on a chicken ranch. Smelly business—"
His gaze combed her, a wondering smile ghosting his lips.
There was a lot he didn't know about her, Chris realized. And
he intended to spend years finding it all out.
"—though I can't imagine branding a chicken."
"I do believe it would fry it, ma'am," came from Randel
as he cleared dishes. Victoria blinked at him, then smiled. She
hadn't heard him speak before and decided she like his droll
delivery.
"These three—" Garrett gestured to Peabody, Joquin, and the ever silent, Batista, a Navajo Indian "—Round 'em up, and I brand 'em." He shrugged as if that's all there was to it. "Mostly, I do it on the range. 'Cept the horses."
Victoria poured a glass of milk and handed it to Lucky, motioning him to wipe his mouth. He did, then drank, leaving a white moustache behind. With loving care, she blotted it away.
"Who catches the horses?"
Joquin raised his hand. "They like me," he said with a bashful shrug.
"Caesar loves Victoria," Chris told them with great relish. "What!" came from around the table. "She's ridden him."
"Oh, Miss Victoria, that be dangerous!" Abigale whispered.
"That ornery pile of horseflesh," Garrett sneered, looking
mean and nasty. f
"I got scars from that beast," Peabody added, rubbing his shoulder.
"You be careful, senorita, he will turn on you." "Oh, chill out." They frowned, the room silent. "Relax," she said. "He's a boy. He like girls." Batista's smile lit up his scarred face. "Me too," Chris whispered.
"Really?" She peered at him. "I hadn't noticed." "Coffee on the porch," Abigale announced and everyone rose, filing out of the house, the fine meal making their moves
slow. "Abigale, that was wonderful. Can I help you with the
dishes?'' "Certainly not!" She shooed the girl, practically pushing
her and Christopher out.
"Me go, too?" Lucky said, tugging on her skirt.
She smiled down at him. " 'Can I go, too?' " she corrected and he repeated obediently. "Sure, a few minutes, but then it's
bedtime."
He nodded and Chris was amazed at the change in the boy. Scrubbed clean and wearing fresh clothes, he didn't look at all like the ragamuffin everyone remembered. He obeyed Victoria without question, his eyes bright with adoration as he gazed up at her, and Chris felt that stirring again. The same that he'd had while caring for Sable's nephew, Little Hawk. He wanted children. After Camille, he'd simply dismissed the prospect from his mind, but now he wanted babies—with Victoria,
"Why are you looking at me like that?" she said as Lucky scampered ahead of them out the door.
"You're so wonderfully patient with him." "I try." Her expression went bleak with quick pain. "My daughter was like Lucky. Handicapped. Special. Impatience only frustrates them. It's hard enough to survive and learn when you don't have the advantages of a sharp mind. And an adult harping on their inadequacies only makes them turn inward." Chris caught her chin, tipping her face up and brushing a soothing kiss to her lips, and it swept away the painful memories. He was so good at that, she thought, stepping onto the porch as Lucky wiggled into a wicker chair. He gazed at the cowboys with undisguised awe and her sadness cleared into a smile. Was this orphaned boy her second chance, she wondered fleetingly, then left Chris to sit on the edge of the porch rail. As Chris settled into a fan-shaped wicker chair, Joquin adjusted a guitar on his lap, strumming idly. Abigale and Randel
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appeared, serving coffee, but it was Randel who offered her a cup.
"Cream, no sugar, miss," he said as she accepted it.
"Thanks for remembering, Randel,'
Chris eyed Randel from the back, then watched him leave.
Victoria met his gaze arid shrugged, sipped,
Joquin tried to play a tune, which was difficult since he was missing three fingers on one hand and two on the other. And though she didn't recognize the melody, she sensed what he was trying to achieve.
"Hold the fret down for two more bars, then change," she said.
All eyes turned to her.
"You can play, senorita?"
Great. Confession time. "A little, yes."
He offered her the guitar.
She shook her head.
"Come on, Tori. Joquin has been entertaining us for months."
' 'And I am certain they are weary of my poor talent, senorita. Please."
Victoria met Chris's gaze, and he saw her apprehension. She likely wouldn't know any common tunes, and he was suddenly uncomfortable for her. And as she handed Chris her coffee cup and took the guitar, he could tell her mind was racing for a solution.
"Do you know Clementine?" Peabody asked. "Sorry, no." She strummed, tuning the guitar with deliberate practiced moves.
"Lived on a ranch, can play the guitar, what else^am I going to discover about you?"
Only her gaze shifted. Maybe how much I love you, she thought, then said, "I can carry a decent tune, too."
A pleased rumbfe erupted from
the group. Lucky clapped. Chris straightened, grinning hugely, and Victoria glanced around at all the faces. A command performance. AH men. Any girl would be loving this attention—except her.
It had been an extremely long time since she'd sung, even for herself. She always made a point of never revealing too much of her personal nature to anyone. She was supposed to hang back, be a wallflower.
They were all staring at her. Waiting. Christ. What the hell was she supposed to play that wouldn't leave a ripple in history? Then she considered that since there weren't any recording studios, or CDs for that matter, she was pretty much on the
safe side. But what would please them? Something slow and somber,
she decided right then. Cowboyish.
Her fingers brushed over the strings, the intro like a soft hand pushing each man back into his seat. Chris propped his booted feet on the low table and stretched himself out. Victoria liked the way he looked, anticipating, long and sleek like a
dozing panther.
And although she sang a twenty year-old James Taylor ballad for the odd ball crew of strays Chris employed when no one else would, she couldn't keep her gaze from lingering on him.
"There is a young cowboy. He lives on the range. His horse and his cattle, they're his only companions . . ."
Her voice, sultry like her, sank into his skin like the rays of the sun and he felt his smile widen.
"He works in the saddle and he sleeps in the canyons, just waiting for summer, his pastures to change . . ."
She didn't notice Abigale or Randel emerge from the house, nor two other ranch hands, astride horses, ride up slowly and
stop to listen.
"And as the moon rises, he sits by the fire, justa thinkin' 'bout women and glasses of beer . . ."
Sappy smiles ringed the collection of weathered faces. Even Garrett rocked to the sweet poignant rhythm. And Chris realized that without paint and masks, without spirit gum and padding or the bounty of a lifetime to chase, Victoria was blossoming before his eyes. In only a few hours, Chris saw the transformation. It wasn't just the dress or the styled hair but she was allowing herself to feel again, sinking herself into life and the
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