Creede removed his gunbelt and set it aside, then knelt beside her. He noticed her toes curling and wrapped his hands around her cold foot, intending to warm it. She jerked, but didn’t try to draw away, and he massaged her sole and the velvety softness of her upper foot. When that one was warmed, he switched to the other foot, rubbing heat back into it.
Although Laurel didn’t speak, he detected the gradual relaxation of her muscles. Creede continued to caress her feet, one in each hand now. They were long and slender, a reflection of her tall, willowy figure. He grew hard at the intimate contact but ignored his body’s insistence. Laurel needed a friend, not a man pawing at her.
“It was so real,” she whispered.
Creede didn’t push her. She’d continue if she trusted him.
She raised her head and swept her hair back from her face. “I thought I was back at the hospital. I could hear and smell and see everything, just like it used to be.” A visible shiver passed through her.
“Has this happened before?” he asked gently.
She nodded. “I-I’ve been having nightmares for weeks, and a few times I woke up to find myself out of bed. But this time was the worst. I’ve never wandered so far before.” Her breath hitched and a small sob escaped. “Why can’t I forget?”
The aching vulnerability in her voice brought a lump to his throat. “You saw horrible things, Laurel, things most people can’t even imagine. Your mind just can’t forget so easily.”
Her expression became distant. “I saw soldiers who couldn’t forget. Some would just sit and stare for days on end. We had to force them to eat and drink. Others would lose their temper at the smallest thing. The doctors thought it was because of what they’d seen and done on the battlefield.” Her eyes swam with tears. “But I wasn’t a soldier. I didn’t have to kill others or watch friends die.”
Creede freed her feet and moved up to sit beside her. “No, but you saw other terrible things, including men dying painful deaths. Personally, I don’t know how you were able work in those conditions.”
She managed a small, watery laugh. “Obviously, I didn’t handle it well or I wouldn’t be going crazy.”
“You’re not going crazy.”
She studied him, her eyes softening, and rested her hand against his cheek. “You’re a good man, Creede Forrester.”
He recalled the lives he’d taken, not caring if those men had mothers, fathers, wives, or children waiting for them. “No, I’m not.”
“You’re not the same man you were then.”
Her words did little to ease his conscience, but the tenderness in her expression and the womanly curves revealed by her thin undergarments brought other thoughts to the fore. “Maybe not, but what I’m thinking right now isn’t exactly what a good man should be thinking on.”
She tipped her head to the side. “And what are you thinking?”
“That I want to kiss you.”
Her eyes widened and the dark circles within them reflected the firelight. Then she leaned forward and pressed her pliant lips to his. Unable to stop himself, Creede wound his arms around her and deepened the kiss. He swept his tongue across her mouth and she opened, allowing him to enter her warm depths.
Laurel placed her palm on the center of his chest, reminding Creede he hadn’t buttoned his shirt. However, he felt no repentance when her touch sent sparks racing through his body. The fire settled in his groin, in the erection that pressed against his trousers.
Although he’d known her for only a month, he’d wanted her for most of that time. But the want was different than the relief he craved from the few women he’d paid since he lost his wife. No, he wanted every part of Laurel that she was willing to share with him, and, greedy bastard that he was, even that which she didn’t want to share.
He leaned back to catch his breath and she followed him, like a flower seeking the sun. Wanting to draw out the pleasure, he took control gently. He eased her down on the bedroll and lay over her, his legs straddling hers. Laurel pushed his shirt off his shoulders and he shrugged out of it, letting it fall to the ground.
“I’ve dreamed of this,” Laurel confessed as she splayed her fingers across his chest. “Of me loving you. You loving me.”
The knowledge that she desired him made him throb in response. She smiled and thrust her hips upward, obviously detecting his interest. Suddenly uncertain, he raised his body, his weight balanced on his hands and knees.
“What is it?” Laurel asked.
“Do you know what you’re doing?”
“I know that I want you.” Blunt honesty shown in her face and in her voice’s husky timber.
“Are you sure?” He glanced away. “Or is it only because of the nightmare?”
She considered his question. It was true that if she hadn’t had the nightmare, they wouldn’t be lying face to face, their denied desire and lust straining to be set free. Yet she’d been fighting the attraction since the beginning, and all the reasons she’d done so seemed empty now. “I’m certain, Creede.”
With one last probing look, he made his decision. He leaned down to kiss her brow, her cheek, and ended up nuzzling her jaw. She squirmed, shocked by the sensitivity beneath her ear. Her body felt like a stranger, striving to meet Creede’s kisses, begging to be touched … and to touch.
She slid her hands up his chest, reveling in the coarse hairs sprinkled sparingly across it, then slipped around to his back. His muscles rippled beneath the smooth skin.
Suddenly she was aware of his hand cupping her breast. Although the camisole’s sheer material was little barrier for the fingers that played with her nipple, she wanted the undergarment gone … wanted Creede’s hand on bare skin. She nipped at his whiskery jaw.
“Let me up,” she whispered.
Creede drew back onto his knees, panting slightly. His expression was puzzled until he saw her reach for the hem of her camisole. Smiling, he pushed away her hands and tugged the garment off over her head.
His admiring gaze settled on her breasts and Laurel fought the urge to cover them. During the time she’d been married to Robert, he’d never seen her this way. He’d always ways sought release under the cover of darkness, as if seeing her nakedness was a sin. She wondered if she should be ashamed by her wantonness, but Creede’s fiery expression melted away the shame.
He leaned down and flicked his tongue across her nipple. She sucked in her breath while arching upward, seeking his mouth. Skimming his hands down her torso, Creede laved first one breast then the other. Laurel bit her lower lip to stifle a passionate cry.
Untying the ribbon at the waist of her drawers, he slid his hands inside them and pushed them down to her ankles. He traced the bend of her leg, where it met her hips, and she shivered at the contact. Need pulsed through her, coursing through her veins and gathering at the juncture of her thighs. She had forgotten how good it felt, had forgotten the all-consuming desire that demanded completion.
She gazed at the top of Creede’s head as he dropped kisses on her belly and lower, to the center of her passion. When he swept his tongue inside her, Laurel’s hips bucked upward. Not even her husband had been bold enough to do such a thing. The mind-robbing sensation stole away any thoughts of the past and she buried her fingers in Creede’s thick dark hair, urging him to continue the exquisite torment.
He continued to lick her in the most intimate—and exciting—manner she’d ever experienced. He was giving her a gift, something she would never forget. Her passion rose swiftly and overtook her without warning. She screamed hoarsely, everything forgotten but the intensity of pleasure.
Before she could regain her breath, she felt the drawers tugged off her ankles. Through a kaleidoscope of colors, she watched Creede remove the rest of his clothing. His masculinity curved upward, hard and glistening in the fire’s light.
Creede settled between her legs and framed her face in his large palms. “You don’t have to do this.”
She placed her own hands on his. “Make me feel alive,
Creede.”
He kissed her and she opened to him. As their tongues met, Creede shifted and entered her, moaning in his throat at the snug fit. He wasn’t surprised when she thrust up to meet him. She wasn’t a woman who did things halfway.
She gently bit his lower lip then soothed it with her tongue. “I won’t break,” she whispered.
“Like a willow, bending never breaking.” He withdrew and thrust his full length into her. She raised her legs, fitted them around his waist, and pulled him in even deeper. The sensation made him harder, more eager to love her as she deserved to be loved.
“Please, Creede. I need you.”
Her words shattered whatever remnants of self-control he possessed and he moved with her, falling into an exhilarating rhythm he’d never found with anyone, not even Anna. The inescapable caught him earlier than he’d anticipated and he buried himself deep as he emptied himself within her wet heat. She cried out again and pulsed around him, signaling her second release.
He gasped for air, pleased to see Laurel panting with him. After his heart settled to a slower pace, Creede lay down by her side. Curving his arm around her waist, he pulled her supple body close to his. Sweat sheened their skin and Creede couldn’t resist tasting a droplet above her breast. A tremor skated through her.
“I need more than a minute to regain my strength,” Laurel said.
He raised his head and saw a teasing smile on her swollen lips. He grinned in return. “Usually I do, too, but with you, I seem to be more than ready.”
She lifted her head and glanced down the length of his body. Meeting his gaze, she arched an eyebrow. “Didn’t you know men your age aren’t supposed to be so randy?”
Creede nearly choked on her blunt question. He’d never met another woman as brash as Laurel, yet he found her sassiness intoxicating. Just as he found the rest of her impossible to resist.
He proceeded to show her what a man his age was more than capable of doing … again.
Laurel awakened early the following morning. For a moment, confusion reigned as she tried to recall why she was so stiff and sore. Then she realized her head was pillowed by a muscular chest and her legs were entwined with masculine ones.
Her pulse shimmied with the memory of making love with Creede. Being a married woman as well as a nurse, she thought she’d known everything about sexual relations there was to know. However, Creede had shown her things she’d never known could be done between a man and a woman.
Remembering those things, she squeezed her thighs together. But that only rekindled the desire and she shifted again.
Creede moved and she raised her head to meet his half-lidded eyes. His crooked smile brought a mirroring one to her lips. “Morning.”
“Good morning, sleepyhead.”
He eyed the sun, which had already cleared the horizon. “Guess I am later than usual.”
“We had a busy night.”
He stirred and his morning erection brushed her thigh, making her inhale sharply.
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
The question held a number of meanings with an equal number of responses. “Fine,” she simply replied.
“Do you remember the nightmare?”
Her burgeoning passion evaporated and she sat up, careful to keep her breasts covered by the blanket. “Parts of it.”
Creede rose up to sit beside her. “I found you about a hundred yards from the camp. You thought you were back in the War taking care of wounded soldiers.”
Restlessness seized Laurel, but she wasn’t sure how to extricate herself from the blanket … and Creede. “That wasn’t the first time I’ve dreamt about it.”
“But it was the first time I’ve seen you walk in your sleep.” He scrubbed a hand through his sleep-tousled hair. “You scared me, Laurel.”
I scare myself.
“I’m sorry. I’ll try not to let it happen again.”
He cursed under his breath. “I don’t want an apology.”
She turned to face him. “Then what do you want?”
“I want to help you.”
His plaintive reply misted Laurel’s eyes and she glanced away. “And how can you stop my nightmares?”
“I don’t know, but there’s got to be something …”
Laurel sighed, suddenly tired even though she’d slept soundly—without nightmares—after making love. “Don’t you think I’ve tried? They’ve only been getting more frequent and more real.”
Creede seemed at a loss. “Isn’t there somebody—some doctor—who might be able to help?”
She smiled without warmth. “I tried that, too. Do you know what he told me? He said that women shouldn’t have been allowed to work so closely with the wounded soldiers since our nature is too sensitive. If my ‘condition’ worsened, he said he could remove my uterus. Do you know what that is?”
Creede shook his head.
“It’s my ability to have children. What does a woman’s uterus have to do with having nightmares?” she demanded although she wasn’t expecting a reply.
He appeared stunned. “Is there anything else that could be done?”
Laurel liked the doctor’s second option even less, although she suspected it was her eventuality. She kept her voice free of fear. “I could be put in a sanitarium for the rest of my life.”
There, she’d told him. Now he knew why she couldn’t marry or have a family.
Feeling sick, she grabbed her undergarments and pulled them on. Picking up her folded clothing, she donned those and her shoes, all the while keeping her back to Creede.
She wondered if he was revolted, knowing he’d made love to a crazy woman. If only she’d had more willpower. If only she’d been strong enough to resist him.
If only she could be normal and dream of a future with him.
“I won’t let that happen.”
Creede’s low voice shocked Laurel into motionlessness. She swallowed and turned to look at him. “What?”
He stood and the blanket fell to the ground. Despite herself, she couldn’t help but admire his body. Her heart missed a beat and reawakened passion surged through her blood.
“I won’t let them put you into one of those places. You’re not crazy,” Creede said.
She focused on his words instead of the tempting expanse of his chest and the hair arrowing down the center of his torso to his groin. “You have no say in what happens to me.”
He stepped toward her, his hands outstretched, and she retreated hastily.
“I would if you were my wife,” he said softly.
Panicked fear shoved aside her growing desire. As noble as his offer sounded, she wasn’t going to destroy his life along with her own. “I have no intention of becoming your wife.”
“I can protect you, Laurel.”
Although she wanted to shout, she kept her voice calm and steady. “No you can’t. Nobody can.” She held up her trembling hands. “We both wanted what happened last night, but that doesn’t mean you owe me anything. In fact, you can leave this morning. I can find my way to Texas alone.” She quaked at the thought of him leaving her, but she’d never expected him to stay with her this long.
Creede’s jaw muscle flexed. “I said I’d get you safely to Texas, and I won’t go back on my word.”
Unable to show her gratitude, she nodded tersely. “Fine. But I don’t expect anything else from you.”
She spun around and marched toward the privy, ignoring the temptation to take one last look at Creede’s exposed charms.
TWENTY
The cool morning breeze reminded Creede to dress before one of the Hudsons came through the trees and spotted him. Grumbling under his breath at Laurel’s stubbornness, he donned his clothing. By the time he buckled on his gunbelt, his annoyance with her had faded to concern.
Did she really believe she was going crazy? He hadn’t spent any time around crazy people, but she didn’t strike him as the type to lose her mind. She was too strong, her will too formidable. Surely her nightm
ares were only memories of what she’d seen during the War. Reliving them at night didn’t make her crazy, did it?
The thought of her in an asylum surrounded by insane people brought a ball of ice to his gut. As sure as he was that his name was Forrester, he was certain Laurel didn’t belong there.
She hadn’t actually told him that was what would happen to her, but he saw the belief in her haunted eyes and haggard features. She’d disappear into one of those places and nobody would be the wiser. Her family didn’t care, and all those families she visited would remember the final words she brought them, but would forget her.
What about me? Would he be too busy selling his gun to the highest bidder … until the other side’s hired gun was faster?
Disgust boiled in him and he balled his hand into a fist, striking a nearby tree. Pain radiated in his hand and up his arm. His knuckles stung and blood welled up where the bark had scraped off the skin. He held the throbbing hand in his other one, grateful to have something to take his mind off Laurel.
He wrapped the injured hand with a bandanna from his saddlebag and took care of his morning tasks. Just as he finished shaving, Todd entered the camp.
“Mornin’,” the boy said.
“Morning.” Creede wiped his face free of the remaining soap.
“What happened to your hand?”
“Me and a tree had a disagreement.” He smiled ruefully. “The tree won.”
Todd seemed puzzled, but didn’t ask anything more. “Ma says breakfast is almost on.”
“Thanks. How’s your grandfather this morning?”
Todd grinned. “Miz Laurel says he’s on the mend. She said Grandda has the constitution of a mule.”
“That’s good news, son. So, Miss Laurel is at the house?”
“Yes, sir. She’s helpin’ Ma with breakfast and Grandda.”
That sounded like Laurel, always putting others first. “I’ll be up as soon as I’m done here.”
“I’ll tell Ma.” Todd disappeared through the trees.
Five minutes later, Creede entered the cabin and Laurel glanced at him, her gaze dashing to his wrapped hand. But other than a tightening of her mouth, she didn’t acknowledge him. He knew her well enough by now to recognize her damned stubborn pride.
A Reason To Live (The Forrester Brothers) Page 23