by Jill Gregory
“Forget it, Emily.” In an instant he had climbed up to the loft and vaulted into the hay beside her. “There’s unfinished business between us and this time I’m going to finish it.”
“What does that mean?” Even as she spoke, she edged away from him, deeper into the small, dark space of the loft.
“It means I’m not leaving until I’m good and ready—and neither are you.”
“Stay as long as you like, but don’t you dare touch me.” Despite her cool words, her breath was coming fast. Too late, she remembered she was wearing only her nightgown. And this stupid shawl. She wrapped it more tightly around her, draping it over her breasts, but to her amazement, Clint Barclay reached out in one lightning motion and snagged it from her. With a grim smile, he rolled it into a ball and threw it down into the barn. It landed in a tangled heap on the floor between the workbench and the horse stalls.
“You … you …” Fury strangled her and she couldn’t even force the words out.
“You’re free to get it—if you think you can get past me,” he invited. “But I’ve got to warn you, Emily, I have every intention of touching you. All over. Unless you tell me not to, that is.”
“I already did,” she cried. “Damn you, don’t you listen?” She started past him, twisting her body so that her feet would touch the top rung of the ladder, but Clint yanked her back toward the loft, tossed her down into the hay, and flipped her over. He threw himself across her before she could roll aside and stared down into that beautiful, astonished face.
“You didn’t mean it,” he said roughly. He smoothed a heavy lock of ebony hair from her eyes as he held her pinned beneath his body, despite her efforts to wriggle free. “Tell you what. If I kiss you, and you don’t kiss me back, that’ll be the proof. I’ll not only let you down the ladder, I’ll open the barn door for you myself.”
“What a gentleman!” Emily pushed futilely at his iron chest. “But I don’t want you to kiss me, and if you did I would never kiss you back—”
“You always kiss me back,” he corrected.
He kissed the tip of her nose. “That one doesn’t count.” He brushed his mouth across her cheek, then his lips traveled slowly to the shell of her ear. “Either does this,” he said, flicking his tongue over the delicate skin.
Emily shivered all over. Despite her intentions to steel herself against him, the most delicious sensations were sweeping through her. Her body came alive, vibrant with heat and desire and urges that had nothing to do with reason.
Oh, what was he doing to her? She was on fire, beset with a fever, and yet shivering. She was angry as hell that he’d trapped her here, frightened of what would happen to Uncle Jake, determined to avert a disaster… and she was melting right here in Clint Barclay’s arms.
“This has gone far enough,” she managed to bite out in what was supposed to be a hard tone, though it sounded shaky and weak to her own ears.
“No, sweetheart, it hasn’t gone far enough, not nearly enough.”
“What do you want from me?”
Something in those vivid silver eyes cut him deep. “Damned if I know,” he admitted.
For a moment they just stared into each other’s eyes.
“But I think we should find out—find out what we both want—from each other.” Clint touched her cheek. “Or live the rest of our lives wondering.”
He was right, she thought, staring into his face as if she would memorize everything about it, from the hard slant of his jaw to the electrifying intensity of his eyes.
“We owe that to each other, Emily. Even if it’s only for tonight.”
Only for tonight… could she do that? Make love to him … only for tonight…
“I… won’t… kiss … you back …” she murmured, her heart hammering painfully. One last time, she tried to squirm free, but Clint held her fast.
Then he leaned down and his lips were only a breath away.
“Let’s see.”
He kissed her then, deeply, richly, a hot potent kiss that rocked the night. The world spun away. There was only the sweet tang of the hay, the texture of his mouth against hers, the heat and power of his body seeming to flow inside her skin …
And a kiss that sizzled through her like none she’d ever experienced before.
Sensations broke through her, sweet and hot. Before she knew what was happening her arms twined around him and she was drawing him down to her, closer and nearer, returning his kiss with an urgency that she couldn’t control—turning it into something even deeper, hungrier, more intense.
Their tongues met in a dark, musky battle that made her moan, and it was a long time before Clint pulled back, his eyes glinting.
“Some kiss,” he muttered thickly, and then his mouth dropped to her throat and rained warm kisses against the vulnerable whiteness of her flesh. Emily was lost. Lost in a world of deep pleasure and spiraling desire.
When his hand cupped her breast through the thin cotton of her nightgown, Emily tingled with hunger and delight. But that wasn’t enough for Clint—he stripped her of the nightgown and surveyed her, all of her, his eyes gleaming in the darkness with admiration and what she could plainly see was raw desire.
“So beautiful,” he said huskily. Her body was lush, creamy, perfect—the sight of it filling him with an agonizing need.
Emily saw his intentions, knew what was going to happen, and wanted it to happen, wanted it more than she’d ever wanted anything—but at the same time a pulse of fear threaded through her.
“I’ve never… no man ever …” She paused, swallowing, not sure how to explain, but Clint, after one moment of stunned silence, smiled very gently, a smile that magically softened the hard planes of his face. He leaned down to touch his mouth to hers, kissing away her fears.
“I’ll try not to hurt you,” he vowed, his lips warm against hers. “My God, Emily, the last thing I’d want to do is hurt you.”
It was the truth, she saw it in his face, and a crazy happiness leapt through her. “I know,” she breathed wonderingly. “I… trust you.” Somehow, here in this darkened loft, alone with him and the hay-scented night, she did.
“We’ll go slow.” Raging need throbbed through him, and he would have loved to take her now, quickly, satisfying the roaring in his blood, but he steeled himself to control his passion, to curb the powerful urges and bring her, wild and needy, along with him. “Slow as you want, sweetheart.”
He unbuttoned his shirt and Emily slid it off him. Next came his boots, his pants, and then he was as naked as she, his magnificent body looming over her in the darkness.
Emily reached for him, and he grinned, then kissed her mouth—long, lingeringly—then, slowly, each of her breasts. Heat shot through Emily in an aching spurt of fire. She writhed and dug her hands into his shoulders as he began to toy with her nipples, ruthless as an outlaw plundering gold. He rubbed and caressed them until they were diamond-hard rosy peaks at the mercy of his hands and his tongue.
A gasp came from deep within Emily’s throat—who would have known that Clint’s big, rough hands could do such gentle, wondrous things to her? She moaned, half in torment, half in ecstasy, and he grinned down at her with a purely male triumph that made her burn for more of him.
She strained against him, her body hungering for more as he stroked her, kissed her. A tension built in her, everywhere, especially low in her belly, and between her thighs.
“Clint. What… are you doing to me … I can’t think…”
“I told you, Emily, thinking’s no fun.”
“But…”
He went still as stone at the hesitation he heard in her voice. Every nerve in his body straining, the tension coiled tight within him was so powerful it hurt to breathe.
“You don’t want to stop, do you?” he asked quietly, his eyes on hers.
Emily gazed up into those eyes, those somber blue eyes that seemed to crackle with their own brand of lightning, and felt a depth of emotion and need she’d never known before.
“I’ll die if you stop,” she whispered. She felt the surge of his heart.
“Just for tonight,” she went on softly, fervently, holding fast to his broad, muscled back with hands that trembled. “I want to forget who I am, who you are. I want to forget about everyone and everything else. We’re just… Emily and Clint—nothing more. Nothing less.” Her eyes were pleading, soft as mist in the dimness. “Can we do that?”
“We sure as hell can.” His hands roamed over her. “I’ll show you how.”
And he did show her.
He stroked her and kissed her and loved every inch of her body until she was nearly blind with pleasure and Emily clung to him with a need that swiftly matched his own. Her delicate hands moved over him shyly at first, then boldly, exploring those hard splendid muscles, touching the great thickness of his manhood, reveling in his grunting reaction to her touch, to the sweat sheening his face.
She felt her own power and beauty through his fierce response to her touches, knew with a rich happiness that he needed her as much as she needed him. And she did need him, all of him.
Passion gripped her, making her breath come in short, fitful gasps. It was hard to breathe, impossible to think. Swept up in a whirlwind of pleasure, all she could do was touch him and hold him and writhe beneath him as he stroked her hair and kissed her lips, and his hand slid between her damp thighs.
“Emily, I want you. I want you so much it’s killing me.” Taut with the effort to remain in control, he stroked her, watching her face, and inhaled the sweet lilac scent of her skin. Gently he kissed her wildly cascading hair. “I want you … now …”
“I want you too. Please … oh, please …”
Clint groaned, need pounding through him in nearly painful waves. Emily Spoon’s blazing temper had been his first clue to the passion running deep and wild within her, a passion that flowed like potent brandy in her heart and her soul and blazed like flame in her luscious body. Gazing into her face, that exquisite face, breathing in the sweet fragrance of her skin, and feeling her writhing, desperate movements beneath him, was rapidly sending him over the edge. She was warm, moist, and ready for him, and in her glazed eyes he saw a desire as fervent as his own.
He covered her body with his and spread her legs with his thighs. He entered her carefully, stroking and kissing her all the while. At the moment when she gave a stifled scream of pain, his entire body went still, only his heart thumping against hers.
“Emily, Emily,” he whispered.
How tender her name sounded on his lips, she thought, and it made the last of the pain fade away. She couldn’t tear her gaze from him, couldn’t breathe as she clutched at him. His next kiss was the gentlest yet.
“Hold on, sweetheart, we’re going for a ride.”
He eased farther inside of her, deeper, taking control as he passed the last barrier between them and began to thrust within her. He plunged deep, deeper, thrusting again and again with powerful movements that were sure and strong and possessive, sweeping her into a maelstrom of pleasure. Gasping, Emily’s hips began to writhe in rhythm with his taut body. A whirlwind of sensations enveloped her and she clutched at him, her fingers sliding through his thick hair as Clint kissed her until she was dizzy. Scraping her hands down his back and lower still, to his hips, she frantically wrapped her legs around him, bucking and twisting as his movements came faster and harder than ever and a sweet bursting pleasure built and built within, sweeping her into a rising storm unlike any she’d ever known.
Wild frenzy rose within them, and together they held each other and rode the storm, swept up in wildfire and wind and thunder that roared through their blood and made them one. Higher and higher, faster and faster, the chaos spun, and finally the universe fell away and they soared to the brink of heaven. Release brought joy and sweet fulfillment, and slowly, entwined in each other’s arms, they drifted like feathers back to earth.
At last they lay sated and dazed in each other’s arms. Emily felt as if she were floating, or perhaps dreaming … but it was better than a dream. She nestled close to Clint, her head upon his chest, and together they drifted toward sleep.
She didn’t really want to sleep. She wanted the night to last. To put off the morning …
Suddenly there was a rasping sound and the barn door cranked open. Moonlight flowed in and Emily jolted awake in Clint’s arms. She felt every muscle in his body tense and his arms closed around her.
“Shhh,” he breathed into her ear as Jake Spoon led his gelding into the barn below.
Emily thought her heart would explode as they lay there together in the loft while Jake unsaddled and tended his horse. When she suddenly remembered her shawl, panic rushed through her.
What if he discovers it lying on the floor? She clenched her hand around the taut muscles of Clint’s arm, scarcely daring to breathe.
But in the darkness he didn’t discover it. Jake worked quickly, silently, and at last stomped out of the barn and slammed the door behind him.
For a long moment there was no sound but the beating of their hearts.
Finally Clint sat up, gazing down through the darkness again into her pale face. “That was close.” He gave her a ghost of a grin and twined a finger in her mussed and silken hair.
“T-too close.” Emily couldn’t match his smile. Icy coldness washed over her as the beauty of the night dissolved and dark reality returned. Shuddering, she pushed herself up to a sitting position, all too aware of her nakedness, and shifted away from him.
Her uncle’s return had banished every last vestige of passion and fire and sweet gentle peace. It had reminded her of everything she’d been trying to forget. She didn’t know where he’d gone tonight, but she knew his actions were suspicious—and where there was smoke, she’d learned from the past, there was always fire.
Clint was no fool. Why wasn’t he questioning her? Why had he stayed with her instead of following Uncle Jake?
The answer sprang to mind, chilling her. Because he already knew where Uncle Jake was going. He knows what he has planned. He’s just waiting for the right time to move against him, to spring a trap …
Alarm suddenly flooded her. Clint Barclay was a man who liked to be in control of himself and his surroundings. She should have known he wouldn’t do anything without a good reason.
She couldn’t trust this man—not where her family was concerned. He despised the Spoons and everything they were—just as much as they despised him.
And as far as her heart was concerned?
He had only wanted one night, she reminded herself desolately.
And now that night was over. Dawn was coming; she’d seen the first opal shimmer of it when Uncle Jake opened the barn door.
She reached for her nightgown, her nakedness suddenly a painful thing, her vulnerability to this man, in every sense of the word, too overwhelming to endure.
“Emily, don’t go yet.” He grabbed hold of the nightgown and gazed at her, his eyes sweeping over her breasts, up the sleek column of her throat, locking on those eyes that looked too big and heavy and haunted for her delicate face.
“Please, Clint,” she said quietly. “It’s nearly morning. You saw the sky, didn’t you?”
This time as she tugged at her nightgown, he released it. Emily donned it, her hands shaking, but her lovely mouth was set. During all of the passion they’d shared in this loft, he hadn’t once said he loved her. Hadn’t mentioned a future.
That’s because we don’t have one, she thought. We never did.
Watching her expressive face, Clint’s throat went dry. Let her go, a voice inside of him warned. You have a job to do. And love and duty don’t mix.
Love? What was he talking about? Shock jolted through him.
Love.
He couldn’t be in love with Emily Spoon. No way. But… the hell of it was, he didn’t know what he felt. He only knew he didn’t want her to leave.
But it would be better if she did. Before he got himself—both of them—into
something that they couldn’t get out of.
Clint felt sweat bead on his brow. The one woman in town who always seemed ready to walk away from him was the one woman he wanted to stay. In this loft, in his arms. In his life.
He started yanking on his clothes. She slipped down the ladder without waiting for him.
“Emily …”
She turned as he descended the ladder, clad only in his pants, his shirt open, revealing the powerful muscles of his chest.
“When can I see you again?” Hell, he sounded like some idiotic schoolboy.
Emily looked as closed as a flower that has given up on water and sunshine.
“What would be the point?” she whispered. She held herself together with every ounce of her will. Don’t let him see, don’t let him know, she told herself wearily. At least you can salvage your pride, if not your heart.
The truth was, she had come to love him. To love this man to whom honor was a duty. A man who was as gentle as he was strong, who believed in upholding the law, who dedicated his life to it. A man who had made it clear he was not looking for love or for a wife, or ties of any kind.
A man who went his own way and answered only to himself.
She had to do the same. She had a duty to follow too.
That meant talking to Uncle Jake, demanding to know what was going on. She intended to stop him—whatever he was doing—before Clint Barclay had another chance to throw him in jail.
“Good-bye, Clint.” Her voice was soft. Cool. Final.
Part of her prayed he would run to her, grab her, tell her … what? That he loved her? That he would try to accept her family, get along with them, that he wouldn’t arrest them if given half a chance?
Absurd. His sense of honor and duty would never let him look the other way. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself. And she couldn’t live with herself if she didn’t try to protect Uncle Jake.
She went out into the pale shadows of dawn and closed the barn door behind her.
H, IT’S YOU, MISS SPOON.”
Agnes Mangley’s voice was colder than a Rocky Mountain stream as she stood in the doorway of her splendid white frame house at the edge of town, frowning at Emily. “I see you have our gowns—at last. Another day would have been too late!”