The Legend Of Love

by Nan Ryan

  Never had he kissed her like this.

  West’s searing mouth stayed fused with hers in a savage, prolonged kiss that Elizabeth knew she should find repugnant. She should have been thoroughly insulted and outraged by his fierce caveman brutality. And yet, as his flaming lips moved on hers and his silky tongue thrust deeply, she felt her anger and disgust giving way to rising passion.

  She suspected that West knew what was happening to her when all at once he abruptly lifted his burning lips from hers and looked into her eyes. He said nothing. The only sound was that of the wild, raging storm blowing rain into the open mouth of the shallow cave at West’s back.

  Their gazes were locked. Their bodies were pressed close. Their hearts were galloping. Her rain-wet face was turned up to his. His dark face was bent to hers. Elizabeth saw all the hunger and desire inside him showing clearly out of his hot silver eyes. She knew how much he wanted her. She wanted him just as badly.

  The silence between them was charged with as much electricity as the violent heat lightning of the sudden summer storm. And it was just as dangerous.

  The strained silence continued as both became achingly aware of each other and of the fact that they were alone together in this dim, sheltered mountain cave. Might be here for hours. The others were far across the canyon with a rising sea of water in between.

  “We’re alone,” West murmured, his heavy-lidded gaze settling on her kiss-swollen lips, his hand cupping her wet face. “All alone.”

  “Yes,” she managed, noticing the tiny droplets of water clinging to his long, dusky eyelashes. “The others are—”

  “On the far side of the canyon.” His dreamy silver gaze again lifted to her red-rimmed blue eyes. “Cut off by the flash flood. They can’t see us, can’t hear us, can’t get to us.” His hand moved between them. He began flipping open the clasps going down the center of Elizabeth’s yellow rain slicker.

  “West, we can’t … we can’t do this,” Elizabeth whispered with little conviction.

  “We can’t keep from it, no more than we can keep from breathing.” He pushed the wet slicker over her shoulders and off. It fell in a wet yellow heap to the stone floor.

  Mesmerized by his sultry silver eyes, tingling with excitement and indecision, she said, “We must try to … to … stop before it’s too late.”

  “It’s already too late. It was too late back in Shreveport.” He gently brushed wet strands of auburn hair back off her face, bent, and kissed her. Gently, he sucked her full bottom lip into his mouth. “Too late, sweetheart.” His sharp teeth nipped at the fleshy inside of her lip. “I’m going to make love to you here in this canyon crater”—he brushed a kiss to the left corner of her mouth—“and you’re going to make love to me as well.”

  Elizabeth’s eyelashes fluttered restlessly and her breathing became shallow as his lips, warm and persuasive, moved over her tear-streaked cheek to the sensitive spot just below her ear. Nibbling on the tender flesh at the side of her throat, West said, “Ah, yes. Until the storm passes and the floodtides subside, we are going to make love. If it’s a half hour”—his lips slid lower on her throat—“or all night long, this time is ours alone.”

  “This is so wrong …” she murmured, loving the touch of his lips on her tingling skin, the feel of his hard thighs pressing against hers.

  “Yes, it is,” he agreed as he deftly drew the tails of her shirt up out of her rust suede trousers. His lips left her throat, and he pulled her shirt up over her head. His eyes immediately dropping to the hard points of her nipples rising against her damp chemise, he said in a low, husky voice, “This is the only way. The only thing for us to do is to give in fully.”

  “No … that won’t work,” she said, attempting to keep her wits, to think of a good solid argument against what was about to happen. “We’ve given in before and—”

  “This is different,” he said, deftly relieving her of the damp satin chemise, his silver-gray eyes caressing the bare ivory breasts he’d uncovered.

  “It’s not,” she said, and watched as he pulled his chamois shirt up over his head and discarded it. “It’s the same.”

  “No, sweetheart.” His hands came up, cupped the sides of her throat, and he drew her against him. Elizabeth shivered involuntarily when her naked breasts touched his chest. The crisp black hair felt mildly abrasive and ticklish to her hardened nipples.

  West wrapped his arms around her, pressed her close, and said, “Let me explain, so you’ll understand why it’s different.”

  Weakened by the feel, the heat, the scent of his body, Elizabeth clasped her hands around his trim, hard waist and laid her head on his shoulder. Her face turned inward, she stared entranced at his slick brown throat while he spoke in a low, calm voice, the sound vibrating from his chest. She could feel it against her breasts.

  “When I was a boy,” he said, stroking her back, “I loved hot peach cobbler. It was my all-time favorite. Nothing else could compare.” Elizabeth smiled and snuggled closer. He continued, “I loved peach cobbler so much, my mouth would start to water anytime I saw it, smelled it, or even thought about it.”

  “Mmmmm, it is good,” murmured Elizabeth.

  “I never could have as much as I wanted. I always had to make do with one small serving and all that did was leave me starving for more. Ravenously hungry for more delicious hot peach cobbler.”

  Elizabeth stirred, started to speak, but he stopped her. “Let me finish. One morning when I was walking into Hopkinsville, I passed the preacher’s house and there on the window sill sat a hot peach cobbler. I stole that peach cobbler from the window, sat down under a shade tree, and ate the whole thing.”

  “West Quarternight!” Her head came up off his shoulder, and she looked into his eyes to see if he was teasing.

  “I ate every last bite of that peach cobbler and I haven’t wanted any since.”

  “You should have been severely punished,” she said, lifting a hand to stroke his woolly black beard.

  “I was. First by the preacher. He blistered my butt with a willow tree switch, then told my daddy. Daddy whipped me with his belt. Hurt like hell. I had to stand for a week. But that’s not the reason I never wanted any more peach cobbler.”

  “I … I’m not sure I understand.”

  West’s hand covered hers as he drew it to his lips, kissed the palm, and said, “I knew when I stole the pie I’d get a licking for it, but I didn’t care. I wanted that pie so badly, I didn’t care what happened when I got caught. The reason I’ve never wanted any more peach cobbler is I ate so much that morning I got sick. Finally I’d had my fill of hot peach cobbler. I never wanted any more.”

  Again he kissed her hand, then drew it down between them to the rigid erection straining the fabric of his tight, rain-dampened buckskins. “Every time I see you, smell you, touch you, I want you so badly this is what happens to me. I’ve had a couple of tastes of you, but not nearly enough to satisfy my hunger.”

  Her hand shyly toying with the hardness throbbing against his damp trousers, Elizabeth said, “So I’m to be your stolen peach cobbler?”

  Trembling from her touch, West nodded. “I don’t care what happens if we’re caught. I don’t give a damn what punishment waits for me. All I care about is having my fill of you just once. If this storm lasts long enough for us to make love again and again, if you’ll let me love you in every way and any way I want, then I’ll finally be satisfied and never want you again.” He paused, and added, “And you’ll never want me again.”

  Elizabeth realized that his twisted logic should seem farfetched and out of the question, but at this time and place, it didn’t. She understood fully. Knew exactly what he meant, how he felt, because she felt as he did. She felt that if she could completely get her fill of him just one time, then maybe her heart would no longer pound whenever he came into view. Maybe she would be able to look at his sensual lips without wishing she could kiss them.

  Maybe if here in this dim, cozy hideout high up in the
Guadalupe mountains with a summer thunderstorm raging, she made love to this dark, bearded man over and over again, she could purge herself of him once and for all and be free. Maybe if, as he suggested, she allowed him to love her in any way and every way he wanted, she would be so repulsed and sickened by his lovemaking she would never want him to touch her again for as long as she lived.

  Her hand left his erection, moved up to the tied laces going down the fly of his buckskin pants. She pulled on one end of the leather string and the laces came untied. She crooked a forefinger underneath and began loosening the laces. West caught his breath when her other hand came up to help. His lungs starving for air, he watched transfixed as the beautiful red-haired bare-breasted woman unlaced his pants, pulled them apart, then hooked that same forefinger into the low-riding waistband of his underwear.

  Elizabeth watched, too, as slowly, with that one finger, she pulled the white linen down, down his wet brown belly until the huge tip of his surging masculinity popped out.

  The air exploded from West’s tight chest when Elizabeth, awed by the size and heat of him, pressed all five fingers to the smooth head of his pulsing flesh, lifted her eyes to his, and said boldly, “I’m famished, Quarternight. Promise you’ll fill me so full I’ll never want peach cobbler,” her fingers gently caressed him, “or this again.”

  Hoarsely, he said, “I promise.”

  39

  WEST DREW HER HAND away, placed it on his pounding heart, bent and kissed her with such sweet tenderness it was almost impossible for Elizabeth to believe he was the same man who had just kissed her so violently. The feel of his warm, soft lips caressing hers with such unexpected sensitivity was utterly devastating.

  Sighing, Elizabeth lazily slid her arms up around his neck and thrilled to the feel of muscles rippling across his smooth broad shoulders, the pleasant tickling of his woolly beard against her face. His hands were as gentle as his lips as they lightly spanned her naked waist and drew her close.

  Their lips melding in a soft, liquid movement, the pair stood there kissing for a long lovely time while the summer storm worsened. Gale-force winds howled down through the canyon and bright bolts of lightning crashed on the steep rocky walls above. Answering thunder boomed with deafening loudness and the wind-driven rain continued to pour from the cloud-blackened heavens.

  The embracing pair didn’t care.

  The heavy deluge provided a concealing curtain across the mouth of their cupped-out crater, ensuring total privacy. The noisy din of the turbulent thunderstorm could drown out even the loudest cries of ecstasy this afternoon of uninhibited loving might produce.

  Grateful for the continuing violence of the sudden rainstorm, West stood with his back to the roar and the rage, holding Elizabeth close yet gently in his arms, purposely kissing her as if she were a young, treasured sweetheart whom he had just begun to court.

  He had her here, was going to have her here, all to himself, for the duration of the storm. His intent was to squeeze a complete relationship into the course of the afternoon. To start at the very beginning and see it patiently to its end while time and opportunity were his. To tenderly woo and win the beautiful flame-haired woman as if she were totally innocent.

  As if she were totally his.

  In this high hidden place with her on this night-black afternoon, he would take the time to make all the careful steps. He would lead her from this first tender kiss all the way to the final ultimate ecstasy. He would live a lifetime in a few golden hours. He would kiss and hold and arouse her so completely, Elizabeth Curtin would be totally his for as long as this stolen interlude lasted.

  As West continued to kiss her with such heart-stopping tenderness, Elizabeth tried hard to keep in mind some intentions of her own. She, too, was resolved to take full advantage of this turbulent afternoon. And of this turbulent man.

  She was ready, even eager for him to take her right now, this minute. Wished that he would. If he was brutal and violent in his lovemaking, so be it. If he did wicked, shocking things to her, fine. If he forced her to do base things to him, all the better.

  And the sooner the better, because when the furious storm passed and they left this mountain grotto, she meant to leave her unhealthy attraction to this man here as well. She aimed to end this unforgivable madness once and for all. She was going to have her fill of the darkly handsome West Quarternight.

  She would touch him, kiss him, make love to him until his touch turned her stomach, his kiss made her gag, and his body made her flesh crawl.

  That was Elizabeth’s firm intention, but already she was forgetting her well-laid plan. The way West was kissing her, the way he was holding her, made her feel warm and safe and wonderful. His hands—those gorgeous lean brown hands—were caressing her bare back with such gentleness and care she felt she might swoon. It was as if he found her fragile, breakable, so precious he was taking the utmost care not to hurt her. His warm, smooth lips moving on hers were just as considerate, just as caring.

  Swaying helplessly to him, feeling as though she could never get enough of this maddeningly paradoxical man, Elizabeth lifted her hands up into the wet, raven hair at the back of his head. Combing through the damp, silky locks, she eagerly pressed her naked breasts against his bare chest and trembled when she felt the hot hardness of his half-exposed erection stabbing against her stomach.

  The kiss West meant to keep feather-light immediately deepened when Elizabeth rose on tiptoes and provocatively pressed herself closer. He couldn’t help himself. The taut, tempting crests of her breasts grazed his chest and through her wet trousers her flat belly rubbed against his aching tumescence. His hands slipped from her bare, slender back to her narrow waist, then moved quickly along the flare of her hips and down over her rounded buttocks. Spreading his long fingers, he clutched the twin cheeks of her firm rounded bottom and drew her more fully to him.

  His careful plan to slowly take the step-by-step path from sweet romance to blazing passion was immediately forgotten. The caress that had begun so gently, so sweetly, ended in an explosive kiss of unrestrained hunger.

  His lips had hardly left hers before he began undressing her. Elizabeth didn’t mind; she was glad. She helped with the stubborn wet laces at the side of her suede pants and wriggled her hips as West knelt before her and peeled the soaking trousers down her body.

  “God, honey, you’ll freeze,” he said, when she stood naked before him, wet from head to toe from her dunking in the raging stream. “Stay right here,” he commanded, urging her up against the crater’s low-ceilinged back wall. Nodding, Elizabeth hugged herself while West retrieved his discarded chamois shirt, hurried back, and used the shirt for a towel.

  The stone ceiling was too low for West to stand erect, so he crouched on his heels before her and began blotting the wetness from her slender ivory body.

  Elizabeth wasn’t chilly for long.

  While she wound her wet hair into a long rope and squeezed the excess moisture from it, West dried her breasts, her belly, her long legs. As he was in all things, West Quarternight was adept at this task, and Elizabeth wondered idly if he were enjoying the exercise as much as she. Those marvelous hands of his kept pressing, rubbing, swiping the soft chamois shirt to her flesh in an excitingly erotic way.

  “Turn around,” he said finally and Elizabeth slowly pivoted to show him her back. She sighed heavily and pressed her hands to the stone wall while he dried her shoulders, her back, her buttocks. He went down each leg, toweling away any lingering traces of water while she closed her eyes and relaxed. Or tried to. When he had finished with her left heel, he said, “That about does it.”

  Elizabeth started to turn, but his hands at her waist stopped her. She gasped in startled surprise when she felt his bearded face tickle her buttocks. Then shivered involuntarily when she felt his smooth warm lips settle briefly on the twin dimples at the base of her spine.

  “West …” she murmured, thrilled, embarrassed.

  “Turn around, sweetheart,�
�� he said softly. “Let’s see if you’re completely dry.”

  Blushing, Elizabeth turned to face him. His silver eyes swept slowly, searchingly up her body.

  “I believe you’ve done a thorough job,” she said, her own eyes helplessly drawn to the opened fly of his buckskins. What she had boldly exposed was covered once more, but it surged against the restraining white underwear, as awesome and exciting as ever.

  “I missed a spot,” announced West, as if glad.

  “You did?” Her throat was dry.

  She followed his eyes to her left breast where a lone bead of water clung to her tight nipple. West didn’t lift the chamois shirt to wipe the tiny diamond drop away and when Elizabeth started to brush it off, he gripped her wrist and stopped her. He dropped his damp shirt, rose to his knees, and drew her to him. He looked directly into her eyes as his mouth opened and moved unerringly toward her left breast. His long sooty lashes lowered as he put out his tongue and delicately licked away the errant drop of water.

  Elizabeth shivered, then sighed with pleasure when his mouth stayed to suck on her sensitive nipple. It was glorious, wonderful, nothing could be better. She brought her hand up to nestle in his damp raven hair. She smiled dreamily, pressed her breast closer to his bearded face, and murmured, “Yes, oh yes” when his sharp teeth teasingly bit at the distended nipple, and his tongue flicked tormentingly over it.

  When West moved to her right breast Elizabeth thanked him and then shuddered deeply when his expression of “You’re welcome” was to playfully nibble on the diamond-hard tip and then suck on it so forcefully she felt the fierce pulling all the way down to her lower belly and between her legs.

  When at last his warm, wet mouth allowed the shiny nipple to pop free and his bearded face moved down over her ribs, Elizabeth regretted its departure. But not for long.

  West’s dark face never lifted from her flesh. His lips tracked her fragile ribs, kissed a line across her waist, then went to her flat stomach and began slowly moving downward. On fire, urgently excited, wanting him to wait no longer to take her completely, Elizabeth clasped a handful of his hair and murmured, “Please, West. Make love to me.”