by Romancing the Crown Series (13-in-1 bundle) (v1. 0) (lit)
The dust devil had gone on its way, but the wind still tugged at him, nudging him as though it was trying to get his attention. It came to him in a fierce little gust of exultation: She's not forbidden fruit. She's my wife. My wife!
The thought crossed his mind that, as reprieves went, that one sure hadn't amounted to much.
He watched himself insert a wondering, wary finger under the cord that was supposed to keep her hat from blowing off, and slowly.. .slowly pull it out from under her chin. Questions sprang into her eyes, but she held them back with strong white teeth pressing into the softness of her lower lip. Moving as slowly as he did, she lowered her hands and let him take the hat. But he could see she had no idea what he meant to do. She couldn't hear the blood rushing through his body, like the sound of wind inside his head, or the merciless pounding of his heart.
Her eyes never left his face as he looped the string of her hat over the horn of her saddle, then slowly took off his own hat and hung it right over hers. His breath felt heavy, and seemed to stick in his throat. Nerves jumped and quivered in his belly. And still she didn't know.
He put his hands on the sides of her head and smoothed back her sweat-damp hair with his thumbs. Tiny wrinkles appeared in her flawless forehead, like ripples in satin. He gazed at them, fascinated, while his thumbs stroked gentle furrows above her ears. And now she knew.
A faint sound.. .a tiny movement drew his gaze, and he saw that her lips had opened. He knew the question that must be poised there—he'd heard it once before. Do you want to kiss me? He also knew that she would never ask him that question again.
Remembering the sweetness of that time, the innocence, pain stabbed at him, ruthless and brutal. What have I done to her? With a guttural little cry, he lowered his mouth to hers.
The first shock that came to him then was how familiar she seemed. As if, during all the time since he'd last kissed her, his unconscious mind had gone right on learning the shapes, tastes and textures of her. He wondered now if he'd dreamed of her, those nights in the guest room or in the hotel room in Dallas, when he'd woken up with the sheets in a tangle and his body in a sweaty fever, aching with unfulfilled desire.
How unbelievably good her mouth tasted to him—his very favorite food when his belly was empty.. .cool pure water when he was dying of thirst. Like a starving man, he tried to remind himself to go slowly, to not be greedy, lest he overwhelm himself and her. And so he separated his mouth from hers and pulled back a little.. .but only a little, and only long enough to savor the misty puffs of her exhalations, so soft and sweet he thought it must be like a flower breathing. He thought of that, and of their own volition, just before they touched hers again, his lips formed themselves into a smile.
So caught up was he in his own sensations, he didn't notice right away that she was trembling. When that awareness did penetrate the blissful fog he was in, he felt a bright stab of pain. Like a shaft of sunlight, it melted away the insulating blanket of reason he'd kept wrapped around his emotions, and he felt the burn of desire...unsuppressed, unshielded, inescapable.
He had no defenses for it. He wanted her. Wanted her under him, her thighs making a cradle for him, and her breasts pillows for his chest. He ached to be inside her, to feel her soft, enfolding warmth around him. He wanted.. .he needed her, more than he needed his next breath.
A shudder rocked him from head to toe and a groan rumbled deep inside his chest as he let go of her head and wrapped his arms around her, enfolding her and bringing her body against him with all the restraint he could muster. It cost him dearly, that restraint; he could feel himself tremble. But oh, how good it felt to hold her, that marvelous body he'd never seen, so strong and supple he could feel every line and curve even through the clothes she wore. Avidly, he skimmed her body with his hands like a blind man exploring a new and wondrous gift. Eyes closed, he immersed himself in the sensual banquet of her body.. .the warmth and textures of her.. .the taste and smell, even the whimpering, whispering sounds—
No—that wasn't Leila. The horses. Close on both sides of them, they were tossing their heads and sidestepping, whickering nervously. An instant later there was a deafening boom. Cade jerked as if he'd been shot.
For one moment, Leila wondered if she had been shot. For this was just what she had always imagined it would feel like to suffer calamitous injury—a cold emptiness and no pain at all, only a trembling that would not stop.
"Are you okay?" Cade was holding her by the arms, looking down at her with dark, smoky eyes.
"Yes, of course." And she could not imagine how her voice could sound so okay when she was anything but. It was the night on the terrace all over again; she could not imagine how she would stand alone if he let go of her. Deciding she did not want to find out, she reached behind her with a surreptitious hand and grasped a stirrup for support.
"That lightning was close. We'd best get off of this hilltop before the next one comes." His voice sounded as if he needed to cough.
Leila nodded. Without another word she turned her back to him and reached up to grasp the saddlehorn as he bent down to make a stirrup for her with his hands. A moment later she was sitting in the saddle, calmly adjusting her hatstring under her chin as thunder rumbled and growled in the vast roiling sky above her head. That is how I feel, she thought, gazing up at it. So much darkness and tension and tumult.
She was glad to follow Cade down the slope into the sandy wash, then quickly up the other side.. .glad to break into a gallop when the first raindrops came. She had known thunderstorms, of course, but to actually be outside in one was very different from watching from the calm and safety of the royal palace, or Cade's solid brick house near Houston. Suddenly those endless vistas she'd longed for, that vast sky that had seemed to promise freedom and limitless possibilities, now was filled with violence and danger, forces powerful beyond imagining. It was awe-inspiring, yes, but frightening, too. And Leila was glad. Glad that her mind was all taken up with awe and fear and coping with powerful forces of nature, and that, for the moment, at least, there was no room left for thoughts of Cade, and what had just happened to her.
The first little shower passed quickly, hard pelting drops that stung like pebbles. But the storm seemed to be following them—chasing them, Leila thought. Spiteful Nature, bellowing and grumbling at two thoughtless trespassers and hurling handfuls of stinging raindrops at their backs. The day seemed to grow darker, until it seemed as though day had become evening. She could see the lightning flashes now, not just hear the thunder that came after, and she was glad when they reached the live oaks that told her they were coming close to the ranch.
They had been moving at an easy gallop, a gait Cade had told her was called a lope, riding single file, following a well-worn path through the trees because the sandy ground there was all but covered with clumps of low-growing cactus. As she followed along behind Cade, for some reason—perhaps because they were nearly home and shelter was not far off—Leila's thoughts began to creep back to the terrifying thing that had happened to her, there on the hilltop. Her thoughts were still full of awe and fear and powerful forces of nature, but now those things had a name, a face—Cade's.
She stared at his back as they loped along through the twisty, gray-green trees, thinking how strong and powerful he looked, with his broad shoulders and long, lean body, admiring the way he sat so tall and straight, with his butt firm in the saddle, the American—the Western—way. Like a cowboy. And her heart began to pound almost with the same rhythm as the horses' hooves. What is happening to me? she wondered. Something had happened to her when he kissed her, something awesome and frightening. Something wonderful. She had trembled with it.
And then, like a lightning bolt, it struck her. It happened to him, too. I know it did. Because I felt him tremble, too.
Seized by a tremendous exhilaration, she urged her mount forward until she had caught up with Cade. There was barely enough room on the path for two horses to go abreast, but she nudged her roan mare rig
ht up beside the chestnut, until her leg brushed Cade's. She looked over at him, not smiling, her gaze intent and searching. He looked back at her....
There was almost no warning at all. Just a sizzling sound. An instant later a flash and a tremendous Crack.
Leila's mount tensed, then lunged forward in full stampede. It took Leila only a few seconds to bring the terrified animal back under control, and as she was walking the mare in calming circles, crooning to her in Arabic and patting her sweat-slick neck, Cade's chestnut mare came galloping past her, eyes wild, white-ringed with panic. Without Cade.
Chapter 11
Leila stared after the riderless mare, refusing to accept the evidence of her own eyes. Then her heart grew cold and she wheeled the panting roan sharply on the narrow path and raced back the way she had come. As she rode she called Cade's name and whispered prayers under her breath. Oh please, God, most merciful God, please let him be all right...
She found him without any trouble at all. Cade was only a short distance from the path, lying on his back on the ground with the upper part of his body raised and his weight on his elbows. Once she was assured— both by his position and the glare of helpless fury on his face—that her prayers had been answered, Leila's next impulse was to laugh. As she had laughed when her brother Rashid had been thrown from his pony once while they were racing on the cliffs overlooking the sea. Oh, how she had laughed to see the regal and arrogant Rashid flat on his backside in the grass! But crown prince or not, Rashid was only her brother. Cade was her husband! She should not laugh at her husband!
Horrified—and helpless to stop it—Leila clapped a hand over her mouth as she reined the roan mare to a halt. She was snuffling with mirth as she hurled herself from the saddle.
"Cade—what has happened? Are you all right?"
"Not...really." His voice sounded airless and strained, and she realized that he was trying to hide a grimace of pain.
She started to go to him, feeling even more terrible for laughing when he must be hurt after all. But he threw up a warning hand with an urgent gasp. "No—don't come any closer. There's cactus everywhere." His lips drew back over tightly clenched teeth. "I think I must have landed in a patch of it."
This time her hand flew to her mouth in time to muffle her horrified cry. "Oh, Cade—what must I do? How can I help you?" She was bending over him, having disregarded his warning and picked her way through the cactus to his side.
He shifted in an experimental way and then grunted. "Not.. .much you can do to help. Unless you think you could throw me over your shoulder and carry me home." He flicked her a glance and a crooked, embarrassed smile.
Cade Gallagher—embarrassed? Only this morning such a thing would have seemed impossible to her, but now.. .oh yes, she could see it very clearly. Her so very imposing, intimidating, commanding husband was embarrassed. Quite humiliated, in fact.
Realizing that, she felt a surge of feeling so alien to her that it was a minute or two before she understood what it was. Power. For the first time in her life, Leila felt.. .powerful.
"No, I do not think I would be able to carry you," she said as a strange, protective tenderness began to layer itself with the newfound strength inside of her. "But perhaps the horse—"
He snorted disgustedly. "Don't think I'm going to be sitting on a horse—or anything else—not until I get these damn spines out of my backside, anyway."
Leila smiled, gently sympathetic. "I was not suggesting that you should sit. But I think, if you were to lay yourself on your stomach across the saddle—"
"Hell no!" He reminded Leila very much of an unhappy child. "I'm not about to be carried home like a sack of oats—no way."
She lowered her eyes. "I am sorry. I was only trying—"
"Look—" He touched her cheek, and she felt a stirring of pleasure, understanding then that he was only gruff with her because he was so frustrated. "I told you—there's nothing you can do, okay?" But he made a liar of himself by adding, "Just.. .give me a hand up."
"Forgive me, but I must ask," said Leila, when he was more or less on his feet again and working himself carefully inch by inch upright. "If you cannot ride, how doyou propose to get back to the ranch?" Before he could answer, she touched her fingertips to her lips and exclaimed, "Oh! And your poor horse, will she be all right? Should I not go and look for her?"
He gave her a sideways, reproachful look. "My 'poor horse?' Hell, she's long back at the barn by now. Bibi." He snorted, then muttered, "Never did like that horse."
"What happened to her? I heard such a loud noise—"
"Lightning struck a tree," said Cade, and his voice was tight with pain as he cautiously eased his weight from one foot to the other. "Pretty close by, too. Didn't you feel it?" As if to underline the question, thunder grumbled and rolled across the grove of trees, and leaves rustled in the rising wind.
"Well, yes, but then I was too busy trying to control my Kamilah, here—yes, and you are my 'perfect one,' yes, you are..." Leila crooned, as the roan mare, perhaps recognizing her name, began to nibble at her hair. The mare had been waiting on the path—like cow ponies, all of Cade's horses were trained to "ground tie," or stand still when their reins were dropped to the ground—and she was growing impatient for Leila's return. "Kamilah was also very frightened—weren't you, my sweet? She tried to run away." Leila took great care not to mention the fact that she had not landed in the cactus.
Nevertheless, Cade gave her a dark look and grunted like a bad-tempered camel. "At least yours took off in a straight line. Mine went sideways. Next thing I knew, my butt was bouncing through the cactus." He paused as if listening to the words he had just spoken, then grinned crookedly at her, in a way that made her heart feel fluttery and soft. "This is probably going to seem funny as hell to me someday, but right now it hurts too damn much to laugh."
Leila didn't feel like laughing, either. She realized that what she wanted more than anything in the world was to put her arms around him—or at least touch his face.. .stroke and soothe him. But she sensed that would be the last thing he would want from her now. Still, she could not resist asking, in a voice husky with concern, "Are you.. .in very much pain?"
Then, of course, being a man, he must try to be heroic and act as though he was not. "Oh, hell—I'll live. I guess I' ve been in worse shape." He paused in the middle of hobbling back to the path to tilt his head sideways. "Been awhile, though."
Leila gave a small gasp. "Do you mean that this has happened to you before?"
"No, no—" his laugh was dark rather than humorous "—I was thinking of the last time my dad tanned my backside with his belt. I guess I must have been twelve."
"You do not mean—he beat you?" Her tender heart was appalled. "But.. .that is terrible!"
He paused to look down at her. Her heart jumped nervously, then began to beat with a quick and painful rhythm. "Hey, what can I say?" he said softly. "He was a drunk. I guess I never told you that, huh."
No, Leila thought, precarious and wondering. Betsy did, but you didn 't. And little else about yourself, either. And she held her breath and prayed that he would not stop now.
He lifted his head to gaze beyond her. "Actually, he was a pretty decent guy when he wasn't drinking. Of course, he was drunk most of the time. Although to be honest, on that particular occasion—from his point of view, anyway—I probably deserved the licking."
"What did you do?" Her voice was hushed; she did not believe he could have done anything that would deserve a beating.
He gave a bark of laughter and his eyes came back to her. "Took my bike apart. Brand new—just got it for my birthday. Don't know what it cost, but it had to be expensive. I'd been begging for one for months, knowing my parents couldn't afford it." He shook his head; his eyes seemed to glow with remembering. "I couldn't believe it when I went out that morning and there it was." He paused, but Leila did not interrupt.
After a moment he drew a breath that seemed to hurt him, but inside, not where the cactus sp
ines were. And when he tried to smile again, there was only the slightest flicker at the corners of his mouth. "Anyway, when my dad came home that evening, I had that bike in a million pieces. Had 'em all spread out on a blanket on the floor of the garage. I thought he was going to kill me. Darn near did. Then he rolled all those pieces into the blanket and threw 'em in the back of his truck and drove off. Last I ever saw of my bike." He drew the pain-filled breath again. "That hurt worse than the licking."
"But, why?" Leila dared to whisper. "Why did you do such a thing to this bike you wanted so much?"
He shrugged. "I just wanted to see how everything worked, find out how it all fit together. I was going to put it all back. It's just the way I am—the way I've always been." He frowned, looking past her again. "My mom understood that, but for some reason Dad..." After a moment he brought his eyes back to her, and the pain in them almost made her cry out in instinctive response. Because, as before, she knew this pain was not caused by the cactus spines, but by memories carried deep in his heart. "Anyway, my folks split up a couple months after that. For years I thought it was because of me. Silly, huh?" He gave his head a rueful scratch.
Then, in what even to Leila seemed an obvious attempt to escape these "unmanly" emotions, he gruffly muttered, "Where the hell's my hat?"
No, she thought, I do not think you are silly at all. I think you are a very strong and imposing man with a little boy inside you. A little boy who has been very much hurt. And I love that you have told me these things, even here in the middle of a cactus patch. I wish that you would not feel embarrassed that you have told me. And I wish that you would not stop.
But all she said out loud was, "There it is. Wait—I will get it." And she ran to scoop up his cowboy hat from the path. "Now it is my turn to rescue your hat," she said in a bumpy voice as she held it out to him, and as she did, touched his eyes with hers. And with that look, with all that was in her eyes, she was offering her compassionate woman's heart to the hurt little boy she had seen in his. Offering her newfound strength to him as she might have given her hand to a child.