Wyoming Legend

by Diana Palmer

  He drew her close, his lips in her hair. One big hand went to the buttons of his shirt and loosened them, pushing the edges apart, revealing hard muscle thick with curling black hair. His breath came quickly, roughly, as he eased the wide straps of the gown down her rounded arms, gently pushing it to her waist.

  He dragged her against him, feeling her nipples go hard at the contact, feeling her breath jerk, her nails biting into his shoulders as she experienced the intimacy of the way he was holding her.

  His mouth ran down her cheek to the soft curve of her throat. He put his lips against the throbbing artery there, where her life force lifted to meet them.

  “Oh...gosh,” she whispered shakily.

  He brushed his mouth against her soft parted lips and lifted his head to look down at her. She lay in his arms like a doll, soft and responsive, and...shocked. He frowned as he searched her eyes.

  “You haven’t done this before,” he said with sudden knowledge of her.

  She swallowed, hard, and shook her head. Her body was trembling against him. He drew back just enough to let him see the hard-tipped little breasts buried in the thick hair of his chest. She had beautiful breasts. They were taut, topped by a dusky hardness that made him ache even more.

  His hand smoothed over one of them, enjoying the silky feel of her skin, the warmth of her young body. It had been a very long time since he’d wanted a woman so much. He thought of babies. How odd. He never thought of them with Lindy. But, then, Lindy wanted bright lights and loud music. She didn’t like children. She didn’t even like Janey.

  He bent his head to her yielded body, smoothing his lips over the taut rise of her breast, enjoying the faint scent of roses that clung to her, the way she lifted to him, shivering and hungry. He liked making her hungry. He liked being the first...

  His mouth opened on the rise of her breast and took it inside, his tongue rough against the hard nipple as he suckled her.

  She arched up to him, gasping for breath, drowning in pleasures she’d never known in her life, hungry for something, anything, that would ease the ache he was increasing with every movement of his mouth on her body.

  “Micah,” she moaned, digging her nails into his shoulders.

  His mouth grew rougher. The sound of his name on her lips incited him. She made it sound sweet.

  She wanted him. He felt the need in her, as he felt it in his own body. He dragged her to him, wrapped her up tight and felt for her mouth with hungry lips.

  Her head went back against his shoulder, driven there by the devouring pressure of his mouth, biting into her own. He groaned. A little more, he thought, and he wouldn’t be capable of stopping at all. He was wildly aroused already, throbbing with hunger.

  In his arms, she trembled, her breath escaping into his mouth with little jerks as she yielded completely to his ardor.

  It was hard to draw back. It was almost impossible. He throbbed all over. It was painful, the arousal he couldn’t, didn’t dare, satisfy with her. It was like that night he’d found her in the kitchen, making coffee, and his ardor had burst its bonds. She was sweeter than honey. She wanted him. He could have her. She was a virgin. A virgin!

  He lifted his head and looked down at the soft treasure in his arms. There was a faint tremor in his own. He sucked in a rough breath and the eyes that met hers were glittery with hunger.

  She didn’t try to cover herself. She let him look at her, transfixed by the purely male appreciation she saw in his face. He loved looking at her. She felt it.

  “Beautiful,” he whispered as he drew his fingers over one pretty little breast, reddened by the hungry pressure of his mouth. “I left marks. I’m sorry. I haven’t been so hungry in...well, in a long time,” he confessed quietly.

  “It’s all right,” she whispered back, surprised at the admission.

  He traced around a hard nipple, making her shiver. “I haven’t wanted Lindy since you walked in the door and upset my life,” he murmured.

  Her heart jumped.

  He smiled slowly. “Are you surprised? So was I.” He bent and kissed the pale flesh tenderly. “I want you.”

  “I know,” she said huskily.

  “And do you know what I’m going to do about it?” he asked.

  Her lips parted. “What?”

  He bent and kissed her soft mouth. “Absolutely nothing,” he said against her lips.

  He lifted his head and pulled up her bodice, smoothing the straps into place with an odd tenderness.

  Her pale gray eyes looked into his with wonder and something more, something deep and mysterious.

  “I don’t seduce employees,” he said, hating the words even as he said them. He put her back under the covers and pulled them up to her chin.

  “Oh,” was all she could manage.

  His lips made a thin line. “Don’t let me do that,” he said firmly. “I’m engaged. Even if I wasn’t, you work for me.”

  She nodded mutely.

  “Besides that, you’re what, twenty-three? I’ll be thirty-four my next birthday.” His face was solemn. “There’s no future in this. It’s just a flash in the pan.”

  She tasted him on her mouth. He looked very sexy with his shirt open down the front, those hard muscles layered in thick curling black hair. She remembered how it felt against her bare breasts and she had to stifle a moan at the pleasure the memory prompted.

  “It doesn’t help when you won’t stop leering at me,” he said.

  Her cheeks colored, but she managed a smile. “Sorry,” she murmured.

  He smiled tenderly. “You’re not like Lindy,” he said softly. “She really doesn’t like being touched. She just wants it hard and quick.” He shrugged. “I feel like a paid stud sometimes.” He watched her face color even more. He grimaced. “Sorry. That isn’t something I should be discussing with you.” He cocked his head. “You’ve never had a man, have you?”

  She shook her head and her eyes fell.

  “Why?”

  She looked up, her eyes wide and surprised. “My...my parents were very religious,” she said. “We went to church, even though it’s not something a lot of people still do.”

  He pursed his lips. “I see. Sex is a sin.”

  “Outside of marriage, yes,” she said simply, and hated the amusement in his face. “Please don’t make fun of me,” she added with quiet dignity. “We’re all products of our upbringing. We inherit attitudes.”

  He sighed. “I suppose we do. My father raised me like a soldier. It comes in handy sometimes, that discipline. But it makes it hard for me to deal with people. With some people,” he added, staring down at her. “I’m patriotic. That’s almost my religion. I’m conservative, in a liberal world.”

  She smiled. “Me, too.”

  “Puritan,” he accused, but he smiled. His eyes sketched her face. “Do you want children?” he asked abruptly.

  Her lips parted on a jerky breath. “Yes,” she said. She hesitated. “Someday, I mean. Right now, skating is my life...”

  “Skating,” he scoffed. “You’re living wrapped up in dreams. I know about ice skating. It was all Lindy talked about when we first started dating. She won a regional competition. It took years for her to work up to it, and she couldn’t go any further. She gave it up for me.”

  Her heart skipped. She stared at him with dying dreams. “I can’t. Give it up, I mean,” she faltered. “My parents sacrificed so much for me. Skating is very expensive, if you go into competition. They mortgaged everything they owned, to keep me going.”

  He made a face. “Honey,” he said, and she melted at the unfamiliar endearment, “there are hundreds of skaters who dream of winning medals. There are only a handful who ever do. You’re living a lie. You’d be lucky to win even a local competition. You’re worlds away from the high stakes stuff.”

  Her face fell. He didn’t believe in
her. He thought she was a rank amateur, just starting out. He didn’t understand. How could he? He lived in a black-and-white world. Hers was gray, full of imagination. His was solid and he never wavered.

  “I’m not giving it up,” she said stubbornly.

  His expression hardened. “I don’t remember asking you to,” he said with icy sarcasm.

  She flushed.

  He got to his feet, lazily fastening his shirt as he looked down at her. His eyes narrowed. She played the virgin well. But was she really one? Or was she playing a part? She’d said that skating was expensive. He was rich. Was she looking for someone to stake her, to pay her way into the big time?

  “Are you really innocent,” he asked, “or is it an act that you put on for men, to make them feel protective?”

  She averted her eyes. “You can think whatever you like.”

  “I like the taste of you,” he said blatantly, “but I’m still engaged. And I don’t spend money on skaters who can’t cope with reality. You’ll have to find someone else to keep you while you waste your life hoping for gold medals.”

  She didn’t lift her eyes. She had a gold medal. She was a world champion skater. But she wasn’t telling him that. Let him think she was a dreamer. She didn’t care.

  He saw her face close up. He was being deliberately insulting. He knew it, but he couldn’t help it. He was thinking of impossible things. She was too young. She was ambitious and silly, chasing rainbows. She worked for him. He was engaged.

  He felt guilty at what he’d done. Whether or not she was innocent, she worked for him. He drew in a breath.

  “You okay now?” he asked curtly.

  “I’m fine.”

  She wouldn’t look at him. She seemed genuinely embarrassed at what had happened.

  “Don’t let it go to your head,” he said with faint sarcasm. “Any woman can arouse a man. It’s not love’s young dream. Just hormones. We have some sort of mindless obsession with each other. I won’t let it happen again. I already have a woman. I don’t need another.”

  She forced a smile. She couldn’t lift her eyes past his collar. “Don’t sweat it, Mr. Torrance. I’ll file it away under impossible dreams. Like a skating medal.”

  “You do that,” he snapped.

  He turned and walked out, closing the door roughly behind him.

  She let out the breath she’d been holding. She touched her bodice and grimaced. He’d been a little rough, and her nipple was sensitive. She couldn’t believe what she’d let him do. She must be out of her mind!

  She lay back down and turned out the light. She had to keep her distance from him. She felt ashamed of herself, letting him be so familiar with her body. He was engaged. He was her boss. It should never have happened.

  But it had been sweet. So sweet. She ached to have it again. She turned over and pulled the cover over her head. Sleep was what she needed. Just sleep.

  * * *

  WHEN SHE WOKE, it was barely dawn. She’d had only a few hours’ sleep. She wanted coffee, but she wasn’t about to go in the kitchen, in case he was there.

  She had a shower and fixed her face. She heard footsteps but they weren’t his. She knew his quick, hard tread very well, even after just a few weeks.

  She stuck her head out the door. Burt was in the kitchen, making breakfast. At least she’d have company if the boss showed up.

  She went into the kitchen, pretty in a yellow sweater with black jeans, her hair down her back like a pale waving curtain.

  “Good morning,” she said brightly.

  Burt grinned. “Morning, sunshine,” he teased. “Hungry?”

  “I could eat. But I’ll settle for coffee while you cook.”

  “I just made a pot. Help yourself.”

  She poured herself a cup. She sat down at the table, noting that there were only three places set. She let out a faint sigh of relief. It would be embarrassing, seeing the boss after last night.

  “Boss gone again?” she asked, working to sound casual about it.

  “Gone, and good riddance,” he muttered. “In a temper he was, slamming things around and cussing a blue streak.” He made a face. “I guess Lindy got to him again. She called first thing this morning. Needed a ride to a meeting in Minnesota. He went with her, just for fun, he said.”

  Her heart jumped. Then it sank. Lindy again. Well, he was engaged, wasn’t he, after all?

  Burt glanced at her and frowned. “You better this morning?”

  “Much,” she said. “It was just a twenty-four-hour thing, apparently.”

  “Boss said you woke up in the night. Had a nightmare.”

  His face was bland, but he was making assumptions. She could see them in his expression.

  “I dreamed about my parents,” she said, averting her eyes. “I was in the plane with them all night, after the crash.” She swallowed. “They were both dead. My leg was broken. I couldn’t move.”

  “Dear God,” he said huskily. “I didn’t know. I’m so sorry.”

  She fought tears. It had been three years, but the dream brought it back with a vengeance. “It’s a bad memory. Paul and I disappointed them at the Olympics. They never said a word, but I could see it in their faces. They spent a fortune helping us get there.”

  “Parents love their kids. I’m sure they were proud enough that you just made it that far,” he said, trying to comfort her. “I guarantee they weren’t disappointed for themselves. Just for you.”

  “You really think so?” she asked.

  He nodded. He smiled at the faint relief he saw on her strained face. “Yes, I really do.”

  She drew in a breath. “Thanks, Burt.”

  “You’ll go all the way this time,” he said firmly. “I know it.”

  She brightened. “Okay.”

  “You just give it your best. Practice and work hard. Muscle memory will pull you through every time.”

  She frowned. Muscle memory. She’d heard that from a skating coach, long ago.

  “Like in the service,” he said, going back to the stove, where the bacon was just about done. “We were taught self-defense. Muscle memory was part of it. They said when we got in desperate situations, we’d remember what to do. They were right,” he added, and his face was bland for a minute. “Yes, they were.”

  “You were in combat,” she guessed.

  He nodded. “Years ago, in the Middle East.” He smiled sadly. “I don’t speak of it.”

  She smiled back. “I wouldn’t ask you to. We all have our traumas, of one sort or another. We live with them.”

  “We do. Some are harder than others. Boss crashed the plane and Janey’s mom died. He has to live with that. He has nightmares, too.”

  “I remember.” She shivered inwardly, remembering how angry the boss had been when she woke up Burt to see about him. He’d been furious with her. Last night, he’d talked about it, even more. She wondered if he’d ever told Lindy how he felt.

  He glanced at her, reading, accurately, the discomfort in her expression. “Boss can be a pain,” he added. “But he’s a good man. Too good for that Lindy creature,” he added curtly. “Hates kids. The boss would like more kids than Janey, but he’ll never get them. Lindy already told him she wasn’t risking her figure or her business for the sake of a squalling baby.”

  She winced. “That’s sad. He loves children.” She recalled Micah asking if she wanted children. She did. But first, she had competitions to get through. She couldn’t let Paul down. She couldn’t let her parents down. She was torn.

  “What sort of business does she have?” she asked to break the awkward silence.

  “Real estate,” he muttered. “Goes all over, selling big properties. Won’t even handle anything under two million.”

  She sighed. “It must be nice. There would be quite a commission on a sale that big, right?”
<
br />   He laughed coldly. “She’s never sold a damned thing. Boss pays her way. She uses her license as an excuse to get him to take her places. Then it’s casinos or shows or Broadway theater. Boss likes opera. She hates it.”

  “I like opera,” she said softly. She smiled. “My parents took me to the Met one night, long ago, when I was skating in competition in New York State.” She had a dreamy look. “There was a man playing bagpipes, behind a huge potted plant at a hotel. We were on our way there, walking. It was a haunting sound, in the darkness. We never got a good look at him.”

  “New York City is a magical place,” he agreed. He ladled bacon and scrambled eggs onto a platter, and put fresh biscuits on another. He put them on the table. “Which opera did you see?”

  “Semiramide,” she said, making a face. “I don’t like Rossini, but the sets were beautiful. We sat in the dress circle. It was really something to see!”

  “I saw Madame Butterfly there,” he replied. “I’m a Puccini fan.”

  She laughed. “Me, too. I liked Turandot even more. That song, ‘Nessun Dorma,’ was my favorite. I loved the way Placido Domingo sang it.”

  “So did I. Did you get to see it onstage?”

  “Well, once, but it wasn’t in New York. I can’t remember where I saw it. A local theater company from a college staged it. The sets were gorgeous, and the singers were very good, though.”

  “You must have traveled a lot.”

  “All over the country and around the world,” she agreed. “I’ve seen places that still haunt me with their beauty. Kyoto comes instantly to mind. We visited a lot of temples.”

  “You skated in Japan?”

  “Yes. And all over Europe. I’ve had enough bright lights and society to last me a lifetime,” she added with a laugh. “It was wonderful. But I’m just as happy here, out in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by cattle.”

  “Cattle and bears,” he added, laughing. “You and a stick and a bear.” He shook his head. “They’ll be telling that story two generations down.”

  She colored. “I had to save Dietrich. Janey would never have gotten over losing him.”