Wyoming Strong

by Diana Palmer

  * * *

  THAT NIGHT, SARA was back in the past again. She was with her stepfather, backing away, her clothing half torn off her, the big man threatening and vulgar and explicit as he groped her. Then the dream changed into something astonishing. She let out a cry and sat straight up in bed, the shock still in her eyes.

  She glanced beside her. Barbara wouldn’t wake if a freight train came through the bedroom, she mused, and that was just as well. She hoped nobody else had heard her. The scream must have carried.

  She got up and went to the bathroom, bathing her face. Then she opened the door to go toward the kitchen.

  The hall was blocked by a very tall man wearing nothing but black silk pajama bottoms.

  She looked at him with pure lust. He was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen, broad-shouldered, his body muscular without overt muscles, his chest covered with thick hair, arrowing down his narrow waist into the low-slung pajama bottoms. Her breath caught at just the sight of him.

  She was wearing silky pajamas, royal blue, pants that fell to her ankles and a button-up shirt with a collar and long sleeves. She looked prim, but her nipples were standing up like little flags under the fabric.

  He groaned and picked her up in his arms, crushing her to his chest as his lips moved in her hair.

  She clung to him. Tears stung her eyes.

  “Nightmares?” he whispered.

  “Yes.”

  “Me, too.”

  He carried her into the kitchen and held her very close for another minute, until he could regain the control he’d almost lost.

  “Want coffee?” he asked softly.

  She looked past him at the wall. “It’s 3:00 a.m.”

  He shrugged. “I usually watch YouTube in bed while I drink coffee and eat dinner rolls or croissants when I can’t sleep. But I heard you. God knows how, the walls are pretty thick.”

  She buried her hot face in his throat. “You have nightmares about Ysera, don’t you?”

  “Yes. And yours are...pretty evident.” He lifted his head. “Did I say something, do something, this afternoon to cause them?” he asked worriedly.

  “No. It doesn’t take a trigger,” she confided. “They just happen.”

  He nodded. “Mine, too.” He levered her over a chair, but hesitated to put her down.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “I want you to know that I don’t mean to be a threat to you,” he said gently. “Will you keep that in mind when I put you down?”

  She nodded, although she didn’t understand what he meant until he let her go and stepped back.

  He was already capable, and he’d barely touched her. He was much more aroused than he’d been, even the night they were intimate. Her eyes were like saucers. The silk pajamas did nothing to camouflage him.

  He laughed hoarsely. “Sara, could you stop staring, please?” he asked as he turned away, uncomfortable, and started to make coffee.

  “You really are...magnificent,” she said huskily. “Sorry!”

  He lifted an eyebrow and chuckled as he glanced at her. “You’re a virgin. You aren’t supposed to notice things like this, or understand them if you do.”

  “Some movies are very explicit,” she said primly. “And we won’t even mention romance novels.”

  “You read those, do you?”

  “Well, yes. It was the only substitute I had for a physical relationship. Until you came along, anyway.”

  He glanced at her with darkening eyes. “We don’t have a physical relationship,” he pointed out. He turned back to the coffee. “I made a dead set at you and destroyed your life.”

  “You brought Emma down here to fix me. To fix you, too.” She smiled. “It’s the first real peace I’ve known in years.”

  “But you had a nightmare.”

  “Well, yes, but it was sort of odd.”

  He started the coffee and sat down at the table, leaning his elbows on it. “Odd, how?”

  “This time, when he started toward me, I picked up a chair and knocked him out,” she said. She laughed. “I screamed, like always, but this time it wasn’t out of fear. It was out of, well, triumph.”

  His eyes softened. “Progress.”

  She smiled. “Real progress.” She searched his eyes. “How about you?”

  He shrugged. “Same damned dream. Same agony.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I hoped Emma could help you, too.”

  “I think she will, eventually.” He studied her. “It’s just that I can’t open up with her, the way I can with you.” He grimaced. “It’s difficult to talk about it with a woman.”

  She understood. “I can’t tell Gabriel,” she agreed. “And he’s my brother.”

  “So it looks like if I need counseling in that department, you’re going to be it,” he said flatly. “You can tell Emma what I tell you and ask for advice,” he added. “But I’m not telling her exactly what Ysera did to me.”

  She was immensely flattered. “Okay,” she said softly.

  His high cheekbones flushed. He studied her closely. “I have to stay away from you for a little while,” he said. “I don’t like the idea. But I won’t put you in danger, you understand? She’ll target anyone close to me.”

  “So I can’t be close.”

  He nodded.

  She drew in a long sigh. “Okay.”

  “I didn’t say I like the idea. Or that it’s what I want.”

  She smiled.

  The coffeepot shut off. He got up and poured them cups. “You like opera, don’t you?”

  “I love it.”

  “Come with me.”

  “You’re taking me to a concert in my pajamas?” she asked, with the first flash of humor she’d felt in days.

  “I can’t let you get dressed. You might let the flying monkeys out to get me,” he teased.

  She laughed and hit his arm. “Stop that.”

  He felt the change in her with delight as he led her into the living room.

  CHAPTER NINE

  WOLF TURNED ON the television, but not to a channel or even to the Blu-ray player he had on the big entertainment platform. He turned on his Xbox 360 and moved to YouTube. He sat down beside her and pulled up a 2012 YouTube video of a young man and woman and started playing it.

  “They’re kids,” she said.

  “He’s seventeen in this. She’s sixteen. Listen.”

  There was an interview. The boy told of being picked on by other children, of his loss of confidence. Then he told how his partner, a beautiful young woman, had given him back that confidence and led him to go on the stage to audition for Britain’s Got Talent.

  He walked out onto the stage with his partner. One of the judges asked the name of the duo and was told “Charlotte and Jonathan.” There were a few questions. The boy was shy and said little. The judges, and the audience, seemed less than impressed.

  Then the music started. And the boy opened his mouth and began to sing “The Prayer” with his partner. By the end of the first stanza, the entire audience was on its feet applauding.

  Sara watched with tears rolling down her cheeks as the last tremulous notes faded away.

  Wolf cut off the video and looked down at her. “Triumph after tragedy,” he said softly. “Can you imagine how he feels, to have the audience on its feet applauding him, after being put down again and again for his appearance? Like his partner says, you really can’t judge a book by what you see on the outside.”

  “He’s amazing,” she said. “Absolutely amazing.”

  He nodded. “One day we may see him at the Met.”

  “We?” she asked softly.

  His pale eyes narrowed. “We.”

  She wasn’t sure what to say. She searched his eyes with faint hope.

  He averted them and turned off the television and the game box.

  “You game,” she said, surprised.

  He shrugged. “It’s the only real hobby I have.” He glanced at her. “Do you game?” he ask
ed and laughed as if he thought it was a ridiculous question.

  She thought of Rednacht and the warm friendship she had with him. She was reluctant to put that on display, even to Wolf. She just smiled. “I’m not much of a gamer,” she lied.

  He shook his head. “To each his own, I guess. Come on. I’ve got croissants in the fridge. I’ll heat us up a couple.”

  * * *

  THEY WERE DELICIOUS with strawberry preserves. She savored every bite and sipped coffee with them. “You make good coffee,” she said.

  “I like it strong. In most cafés you get hot brown water. Not at Barbara’s Café,” he added, chuckling. “She likes good coffee, too.”

  “She’s been very kind, to stay out here with me. She likes Fred, did you notice?”

  He laughed softly. “He must like her, too. He spends as much time in the café as he does here. Funny, I didn’t notice until she mentioned it.”

  “Neither did I.”

  He smoothed his long fingers down the side of the coffee mug. “Think you can sleep now?”

  She started to speak, hesitated.

  “Can you sleep?”

  She winced.

  He put the empty dishes and the cups in the sink. “I may have a solution,” he said.

  Before she could ask what it was, he bent and lifted her in his arms and carried her into the living room. He grimaced as he put her down on the sofa where he’d been so ardent days before.

  “I know, bad memories,” he said gently. “Maybe we can erase them, a little.” He lay down beside her and pulled an afghan over them. He reached up and turned off the table lamp, leaving the room in darkness except for the glow of lights on the entertainment center.

  “Ground rules,” he said softly as he drew one soft little hand onto his chest. “No intimate touching, no moving closer than you are right now. And most important of all,” he said, turning his head toward her, “no snoring. Got that?”

  “I do not snore,” she said with mock indignation.

  “I’m going to find that out.” He smiled in the darkness. A deep sigh moved his chest under her fingers. He moved restlessly, because the feel of them was intoxicating.

  “You stop that,” she said. “No moving closer than you are right now,” she quoted him.

  He laughed. “I’m trying. I like your hands on me.”

  Her heart jumped.

  He felt that. His teeth clenched. “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea,” he bit off.

  She rolled over toward him and pillowed her cheek on his bare chest. Her heart was absolutely throbbing. But she was still. Her small hand reached up and smoothed his thick black hair.

  “Go to sleep,” she whispered. “We’ll keep each other safe.”

  He had to fight a mist in his eyes. He’d never had a woman be tender with him. Passionate, yes. Even demanding. But never, never, tender. He drew in a shaken breath and closed his eyes. He loved the feel of her soft body against his, the calming stroke of her fingers in his hair. He was sure that he was too aroused to sleep...

  * * *

  HE CAME AWAKE QUICKLY, with the reflexes of a man who’d spent his adult life in dangerous places.

  He looked toward the doorway into the hall and found Barbara standing there, trying not to laugh at the picture they made. Wolf, with Sara asleep in his arms, covered with a soft afghan.

  “She had a nightmare,” he said softly.

  “I’m sorry,” she said at once. “I sleep so soundly.”

  “It’s all right. I woke up, too.” He didn’t want to admit to her that he had nightmares, as well. He looked down at Sara and smiled softly. “She slept soundly.”

  “I imagine you did, too,” she replied. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  “I’m a light sleeper,” he said. “I’ve had to be.”

  She nodded. “I’ll go make breakfast. Anything special?”

  “I’ve got croissants in the freezer. She likes those with strawberry preserves. But I’d like eggs and sausage. Fridge is loaded with raw mats.”

  She lifted both eyebrows. “Mats?”

  “Sorry.” He grimaced. “Materials. It’s a gaming term.”

  “You guys and your video games.” She chuckled. “They’re even turning our police chief into an addict. And he’s taught Tris how to play! Tippy has to sit and monitor her now, so she doesn’t get in trouble online.”

  He grinned. The thought of Cash Grier with a wife and a young daughter still blew his mind. He knew Grier from times past.

  “I’ll get started,” Barbara said, casting a last smile at Sara’s prone body.

  Wolf nuzzled Sara’s face with his nose. “Wake up, sleepyhead,” he whispered. “Barbara’s making breakfast.”

  “Breakfast. Mmm.” She sighed and rolled over. And there he was, bigger than life, so handsome that he made her heart jump, looking down at her with an expression she didn’t quite understand.

  “Beautiful Sara,” he said in a low, tender tone. “Like the sky at dawn. Breathtaking.”

  Her eyes opened wide. “Have you been drinking?” she asked abruptly.

  He threw back his head and roared with laughter. “Serves me right, for getting poetic before breakfast,” he mused. He got to his feet, stretching hugely.

  Sara sat up. She was barely awake, but she remembered going to sleep in Wolf’s strong arms. She smiled at the picture he made, with those hard muscles taut as he stretched his powerful body.

  He glanced down at her and turned, amused. “And I was worried.”

  “About what?” she asked.

  He slid his arms under her and lifted her, afghan and all. “Men are dangerous early in the morning. Didn’t you know?”

  She searched his pale eyes. She shook her head.

  He drew in a long, deep sigh and smiled at her. “The house is going to be empty,” he said, and his smile faded. “All the color will leave with you.”

  She bit her lip and fought tears. “Don’t you go after that horrible woman,” she said abruptly. “Let somebody else go.”

  He brushed his mouth over her nose. “Afraid for me?”

  “Of course.”

  “Even after what I did?” he asked, and winced.

  She snuggled close, burying her face in his warm throat. “I was remembering that I slept in your arms,” she whispered.

  Those arms contracted suddenly, bruising her soft breasts against him in an agony of grief and regret.

  “Wolf!”

  He drew back at once. “I’m sorry. Did I hurt them?” he asked softly. He looked down at taut little breasts with very hard tips. His face changed.

  She saw the intent in his eyes. “You wouldn’t dare,” she said. “Barbara’s right in the kitchen...”

  He turned, marched her into the guest bedroom, closed the door and brought his mouth down right over the tip of one hard breast and suckled her, hard.

  She arched, shuddering.

  “Yes.” He put her onto the bed and went down with her, flipping buttons out of buttonholes with amazing dexterity. His mouth was on her bare breasts then, making a banquet of them while she shivered and arched closer and made not even the slightest appearance of protest.

  After a minute, he lifted his head and looked into her wide, soft eyes. “You’d let me,” he said through his teeth.

  “Yes,” she whispered, shivering.

  His hand cupped one soft little breast. His eyes were blazing, like blue flames. “This is hopeless,” he ground out. “Absolutely hopeless!”

  “Why?”

  He lowered his mouth to the hard tip and brought it inside his warm mouth. He drew on it, harder and harder, until he felt her body stiffen, heard her soft little cry. He increased the pressure and felt her go off a cliff. His own body was racked with need, but he wouldn’t listen to it. This was for her, only for her.

  When he felt her relax, he lifted his head and looked at the red marks he’d left. Love bites, he thought with possession. She was his. She belonged to him. He looked into her
wide, shocked eyes.

  “I know,” he said heavily. “I’m a rake.”

  She shivered. “It embarrasses me when that happens.”

  “It shouldn’t. Your breasts are very, very sensitive. I like sending you off the edge,” he whispered. He smiled, but it wasn’t a taunting smile. He searched her eyes. “And I didn’t watch.”

  She colored.

  He drew in a breath. “I’ve got issues. You’ve got issues. I’ve hurt you badly, when I never meant to.” He smoothed his hand over her soft little breast. “Maybe a few weeks apart will be a good thing. Because if we keep this up, Sara, surgery or no surgery, we’re going to have each other.”

  “I know.” Her face was sad as she looked up at him, her black hair rayed around her beautiful face on the comforter. “You don’t want it to go that far.”

  “No, I don’t,” he said seriously. “I’m thirty-seven. I hate to keep harping on that, but you’re very young, even for your age. You haven’t known physical pleasure with any man except me. These days, that’s not really a... Why do you look like that?”

  “Do you think I could ever, ever, let another man touch me the way you do?” she asked, absolutely aghast.

  His face went very hard, without expression.

  “What does that have to do with age?” she asked, miserable and unable to hide it. “I get sick when I think of other men touching me. I always have.”

  “Dear God,” he whispered, and there was reverence in the way he said it.

  She sat up, pulling her pajama top together. “Yes, I have issues,” she confessed heavily. “Lots of them.”

  He sat beside her, staring at the carpet. “Me, too.” His face was unreadable.

  “I guess it’s different with men,” she faltered. “You said you don’t, well, do things with other women. But after you’ve talked to Emma for a few weeks, that might change. You might not have problems...”

  He wasn’t listening. His mind was on what she’d just said. He thought about it with subdued joy. She wanted him. Even after he’d made a total fool of himself, hurt her, damaged her pride, she still wanted him. He could have burst into song.

  “What?” he asked, suddenly coming back to the present.

  “I need to start packing,” she said.

  He got up. “If you see anything suspicious, you call me,” he said firmly. “Watch who you’re around, watch what you do. I’ll have men watching you, but you won’t see them. If you do,” he added darkly, “I’ll fire them on the spot.”