A Husband for Christmas: Snow KissesLionhearted

by Diana Palmer

  “Some men,” he agreed. He glanced at her.

  She looked down as he looked up, and her eyes drowned in his dark, intense stare. Her hands stilled on his arm, and time seemed to go into a standstill around them. She was remembering another night, another time, when she’d lain on this very bed in his arms and experienced her first intimacy with a man. But Cade had changed since then. The easygoing, humorous man she’d once known had been replaced by a far more mature man, a harder man. He’d never been easy to read, but now nothing showed in his expression.

  He reached out without warning and caught her around the waist, pulling her down on the bed beside him.

  “Cade!” she gasped, too shocked to struggle.

  He rolled over on his side and one bare arm arched across her body to hold her there while he leaned on an elbow and watched the expressions cross her face. Her eyes dropped to his chest, and she wanted to touch him so desperately that she closed them to resist the impulse.

  “Afraid?” he asked softly.

  Her fingers touched his hard face, sensitive to the rough texture of it where he needed a shave, to the feel of his cool, thick hair against them. “I’m with you now. I’m safe.”

  “Not so safe,” he said with a faint smile. “But protected, for what it’s worth. Suppose I kiss you half to death and then I can grab a bite to eat and go back out.”

  “Suppose you just kiss me half to death and forget about going back out?” she asked, tingling all over as she waited to feel that hard, warm mouth over hers.

  “Because,” he breathed, fitting his lips slowly, sensitively to hers, “as sure as God made little green apples, Calla’s going to be knocking at that door any minute to make sure you’re safe. And once I’m fed, she’ll want to make sure that I’m too tired to find my way to you.”

  “Calla wouldn’t...”

  He kissed her slowly, softly. “Calla would. She’s not blind. She sees the way I look at you.”

  Her heart was racing. “How do you look at me?” she asked.

  His mouth smiled mockingly against hers. “Haven’t you noticed? Hush. I seem to have waited half my life to get you in bed with me like this....”

  She felt his lips nibbling at hers, nudging at them with exquisite slowness, and she relaxed, letting her fingers curl into the hair at his nape.

  His tongue teased its way into her mouth and she gasped sharply at the sudden intimacy, even as she felt his body moving sensuously against hers. His mouth softened and became coaxing with expert sureness as his chest scraped abrasively, teasingly across her breasts until the tips hardened. She moaned softly and he lifted his dark head to look into her eyes, searching them quickly. “Was that fear or pleasure?” he whispered.

  Her lips parted involuntarily. One slender hand moved from the back of his head down over his chest and stroked him, smoothing the curling dark hair over the warm muscles. “I’m not afraid of you,” she said in a breathless whisper, searching his dark eyes.

  “I could make you afraid, though, couldn’t I, Abby?” he asked, as if it mattered. “You’re still very vulnerable.”

  “You make me sound like a terrified virgin,” she replied.

  His warm fingers stroked the long, pale hair back from her flushed face. “I’m doing my damndest to remember that you are one,” he said softly. “It’s hard for a man to make love like this, Abby. To remember not to kiss too hard, not to touch too intimately....”

  Her eyes betrayed the surprise she felt at what he was confessing. “Have you been deliberately holding back all this time?” she asked, searching his eyes. “Because you thought you might frighten me?”

  He drew in a deep breath, and she felt his chest expand against her breasts. “I couldn’t bear to hurt you,” he said. His voice was like velvet, deep and dark and softly textured. “I’ve treated you like porcelain since you’ve been here. I’ve damned near worked myself into an early grave to keep away...and tonight, I caved in. I kept remembering how you were this morning, how you begged for my mouth....” His eyes closed, his face tautened. “Oh, God, Abby, what am I going to do about you?” he groaned.

  She couldn’t even speak. He looked so incredibly vulnerable, as if he were at the end of some imaginary rope. Her fingers stroked his broad shoulders, loving the very texture of his skin. She loved everything about him, every line and curve of him.

  “You said this morning,” she reminded him softly, “that a few kisses wouldn’t hurt either one of us. Didn’t you?”

  His eyes opened, and they were like black fires. “And that’s the whole problem, little one. I want more than a few kisses.”

  Her eyes fell to his chiseled mouth and she felt her body begin to tremble. “Cade...I don’t mind if you touch me,” she whispered.

  His face moved against hers, his breath sighing out heavily at her ear. “That could be dangerous.”

  With a surge of fearlessness, she caught one of the hands beside her on the bed and lifted it in hers. Before her courage gave out completely, she took it to her T-shirt and eased it hesitantly over the soft curve of her breast.

  She wasn’t prepared for the sensations it caused. She drew in a sharp breath and bit her lip to keep from crying out.

  Cade lifted his dark head and looked at her, holding her eyes while his hand pressed softly against her. His thumb moved onto the taut peak and teased it. His heart slammed wildly against her with the action, and she could see the desire that was smoldering in his eyes.

  “Four years,” he said in a hunted tone. “And I haven’t forgotten a second of it. I remember the way you looked, the way you cried out when I touched you like this.”

  “Do you think I don’t remember, too?” she asked under her breath. “I lived on it for years, Cade—” Her voice broke, her mouth trembled as she looked up at him.

  “So did I,” he breathed out shakily. He bent again and let his mouth brush warmly against her parted lips. “You were so young. You still are. Years too young, and a world away from me. Abby, are you wearing anything under this?”

  She wished she were more sophisticated. She blushed, feeling her body stiffen as he slid his hand under the hem of the shirt and up to find the answer himself. He caught his breath when he touched her, really touched her, and felt the helpless response of her soft, bare flesh.

  Her own hands reached up to stroke the tangled mat of hair on his chest. “I used to dream about touching you like this,” she confessed, watching him. “Feeling you...”

  “Oh, God!” he ground out, trembling. His free hand cupped her head and held it still while his mouth devoured hers in the static stillness of the room. She felt his other hand moving over her bareness in a long, aching caress that made her arch up and moan with exquisite pleasure.

  She protested once, gently, drawing away to breathe.

  “Come back here,” he murmured, “I’m not through.”

  “I have to breathe,” she whispered as he turned her mouth back to his.

  “Breathe me,” he murmured against her soft, eager mouth. His hands smoothed over her back, pushing up the shirt as they swept with warm abrasiveness across her soft skin.

  “You told me once that you’d never let another man touch you this way. Did you mean it?” he asked roughly.

  “I meant it,” she whispered, her voice trembling. Her fingers were clinging at the nape of his neck, her body arching to give him freer access to it. “I’ve never, ever wanted a man...after you.”

  Breathing like a distance runner, he lifted his head and looked down at her where the shirt was pulled up. His eyes darkened with a hunger she could actually see. Against her pale golden flesh, his hands were as dark as leather.

  “You can’t imagine how it feels,” she breathed, her eyes loving him.

  “Being touched?” he asked, lifting his eyes to watch her rapt face.
>
  She shook her head slowly. “Being with you...like this. Oh, Cade, I’d be embarrassed with my own sister, but I love it when you look at me...this way.”

  His breathing, already ragged, seemed to freeze inside him. His thumbs edged up, dragging softly against the rigid peaks, and she moaned sharply, looking straight into his eyes.

  All at once he removed his hands and sat up, his big body shuddering with the force of his heartbeat, his eyes reckless and faintly dangerous.

  “That’s enough,” he said roughly.

  But it wasn’t for Abby, and without even thinking, she followed him, kneeling just in front of him. She placed her trembling hands on his shoulders and swayed close, brushing her body softly, slowly against his hair-roughened chest, watching her own paleness disappearing into the curling hair with awe.

  “Abby,” he whispered shakily. His hands moved to her bare back and brought her slowly against him, prolonging the contact, easing her closer with a rhythm that made her tremble all the way to her toes.

  His hands caught her hips and ground them against his, and she cried out as she felt the force of his hunger. Trembling, her arms locked around his neck as they fell sideways on the bed. He was beside her, then they shifted, and she felt his full weight evenly distributed along the length of her aching body. She could feel the abrasiveness of his wiry hair against her bareness where they touched, the scent of the liniment becoming as potent as perfume as they kissed wildly, and she wondered at the depth of her own love for him.

  Feeling unusually reckless, she began to move. Her hands slid down his back to the base of his spine, and the mouth crushing hers groaned harshly. Against her body, he was warm and hard and she could feel every steely muscle in him. Even all those years ago, it had never been like this between them. The feel of him drowned her in sensation, in need and half-awakened hunger. She wanted to be closer than this, she wanted all the fabric out of the way, she wanted his eyes and his hands to touch her. She shifted restlessly, hungry as she never had been in her life, needing him...!

  She touched him with hands that trembled, delighting in the feel of his smooth back muscles. Her fingers moved around to caress the thick mat of hair over his chest, and hesitantly, softly, traced the arrow of hair that ran below his belt. I love you, she thought silently. I love you....

  Cade’s big body contracted as if he’d been shot, and all at once he seemed to come to his senses. He muttered a harsh curse and jerked himself away from Abby, rolling over to lie on his back. His body shuddered with frustrated need; his eyes closed, his jaw tautened. His breath came wildly. Watching him, she felt guilty that she’d let it go so far, because they’d both known all the time that Cade wasn’t going over his own limits. Only she’d forgotten, and he hadn’t.

  Fumbling, she pulled down her shirt with shaking hands and sat up. She took a deep breath and threw her legs over the side of the bed. “Excuse me,” she said in a barely audible voice, “I didn’t know where the limits were.”

  “Well, you found out, didn’t you?” he shot at her.

  She got off the bed and glanced toward him. He was pale, and his face was drawn as he sat up and reached for his shirt.

  “I’m sorry,” she said unsteadily. “I...I know it’s unpleasant for men to...well...”

  “Don’t turn the knife,” he said. His voice was cutting. He dragged a cigarette from his pocket and lit it with unsteady hands. “Damn it, Abby, I can’t handle it when you do unexpected things like that! You knocked me right off balance.”

  She tried to smile. “And after I promised not to try and have my way with you, too.”

  But he didn’t smile. His face grew harder. “You’re tearing me inside out,” he said, standing. “If I’d thought I could stand Calla’s infernal sarcasm, I would have let her put the liniment on!”

  “Next time, I’ll remember that,” she shot back. She whirled, her eyes simmering with anger. “You started it!” she accused childishly.

  His nostrils flared. “Yes, I started it,” he said under his breath. “Nothing’s changed. Nothing! I touch you, and we both start trembling. It was that way when you were only eighteen, and I carried you in here, wanting you until I was just about out of my mind!” He ran an angry hand through his thick hair and glared up at her. “But I didn’t take you then, and I won’t take you now. There’s no future in it. There never was.”

  “What an ego,” she threw back. “My God, you’re full of yourself!”

  “That’s what you think,” he said harshly. “I went through the motions of work all day, but all I could think about was how it felt when we kissed this morning. I remembered your mouth the way a man dying of thirst remembers ice water, soft and sweet. Just how much do you think I can take?”

  “Well, don’t strain yourself,” she said, turning away with a hot ache all the way to her toes. “I’ll be gone soon enough.”

  “I know that,” he said. His voice sounded hollow. The mattress creaked as he got to his feet. “Sex is a lousy foundation for a relationship, Abby. We’re not going to build on it.”

  She flushed in spite of herself, but she wouldn’t turn and let him see it. “Amen,” she agreed. “If you want to call off the picnic tomorrow—”

  “No,” he said unexpectedly. “No, I don’t want to call it off. It will be the last time we have together.”

  He said that as if it meant forever—that they’d never spend another minute alone—and she wanted to scream and cry and beg him to try and love her just a little. But she clenched her jaw and drew in a steadying breath. “Calla’s going to scream about fixing a picnic with those new hands to feed.”

  “We’ll risk it,” he said shortly. “Right now, I’ve got to get back to the barn. That damned bull’s improving a little, but I want to see what the vet has to say when he checks him for the night.”

  “I could pack you a sandwich and some coffee,” she offered.

  “I don’t want anything.”

  She opened the door and paused. “Especially me?” She laughed shakily and ran down the stairs with tears shimmering in her eyes.

  9

  Calla was cursing a blue streak when Abby walked into the kitchen the next morning at six, wearing a yellow sundress with an elasticized bodice and tiny straps that tied over each shoulder.

  “Having to fry bacon and chicken all at once,” the housekeeper muttered darkly as she stood over the stove. “Picnics, with all I got to do!” She glared over her shoulder at Abby. “Well, don’t just stand there, girl, go set the table!”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Abby said smartly and curtsied. The dress was one she’d designed herself, and with her loosened blond hair, she looked like something out of a fashion magazine. Calla stopped muttering long enough to give her an approving stare. “Nice,” she said after a minute. “You make that yourself?”

  “Sure did.” She whirled around for Calla’s benefit, her skirt flying against her long, smooth legs. “It’s cool and comfortable and it doesn’t bind. I’ll make you one, if you like.”

  “I can just see me in something like that.” The older woman sighed, indicating the dowdy housedress that covered her ample figure. Then her watery blue eyes narrowed. “You watch Cade while you’re out there alone with him, you hear me? I ain’t blind. I saw how you looked when you came out of his room last night. You make him keep his distance.”

  Abby felt her cheeks go hot. “Now, Calla...”

  “Don’t you ‘now, Calla’ me! I know Cade. He hasn’t been the same since you walked through the front door, and it ain’t because of the cattle.” Her chin lifted. “You and I both know how he feels about weddings, Abigail,” she added gently, using the younger woman’s full name, as she rarely did except when she was serious. “You’re my lamb, and I love him, too, but I don’t want you hurt. Melly told me what happened. Don’t you jump out of the frying
pan into the fire. All you’ll find here is heartache.”

  Abby smothered an urge to hug the concerned old woman, knowing it wouldn’t be welcome. “You’re sure about that?” she asked softly.

  “He looks at you like a starving man looks at a steak smothered with onions,” Calla replied. “But once he’s fed, young lady, he’s just as likely to find he’s lost his taste for steak. You get my meaning? Wanting ain’t loving.”

  “I know that,” she said on a wistful sigh.

  “Then act accordingly. He’s been sticking close to the ranch for quite a while now,” Calla added gently. “A hungry man is dangerous.”

  “I’m a big girl,” Abby reminded her. “I can look out for myself—most of the time, anyway.”

  “And what time you can’t, I will,” came the fervent promise. “Now go set the table.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Abby said, grinning.

  She carried two place settings of everyday china into the dining room and helped put the food on the table. Cade was uncharacteristically late getting downstairs, and she was almost ready to go up and call him when he walked into the room.

  He looked as if he hadn’t slept a wink. His dark hair was damp from a shower, and he was wearing a tan patterned Western shirt over rust-colored denims, and polished tan boots. He looked rugged and formidable, and so solemn that he intimidated her.

  “I thought you were going to fix fences,” Abby remarked.

  “I am,” he muttered. He sat down at the head of the table and stared at her for a long moment, taking in every line of her face and body. “When you finish your breakfast, go back upstairs and get dressed. I’m not taking you on a picnic half-naked.”

  The sudden attack left her dumb. She gaped at him with wide, hurt eyes before she put down her napkin and got up from the table in tears. She’d worn the sundress especially for him, to please him.