by Cait London
Roman’s long fingers circled her wrists and his thumb smoothed her skin as he smiled gently. “Honey, you’re a softhearted woman and you don’t make a good cattleman. I’ll buy them back, for my ranch, and that would suit Boone’s instructions. When you decide you want them, they’re yours for the same price.”
Later with the calves in the same cattle trailer they had come to market in, and cattlemen grinning and chiding Roman’s silly purchase, Kallista glanced at Roman. “If I’ve embarrassed you, I’m sorry. The men at the auction were teasing you.”
“You haven’t. I’ve been teased before and they’re my friends. I think Boone would have liked you to want those calves. I think he’d want you to plant flowers or a garden, too.”
“I’m not staying, Roman. I like potted plants, and I give them away when I leave,” she reminded him, while men with big Western hats grinned at Roman.
“You came back. The bleeding hearts you planted are blooming. Did you know those were Boone’s mother’s favorite?”
“Yes. He told me. She taught him how to crochet. That’s a strange thing for a mother to teach a small boy, isn’t it?” Boone had tried to teach her, his big rough hands moving her small ones, but she had been too impatient to learn.
“There were other things. It was a sharing.” Roman’s gaze lingered onto a small boy riding a bicycle and he waved. The boy grinned back, front teeth missing.
“You want children, don’t you?” she asked as Roman drove away from the auction barn.
“With all my heart,” he said solemnly. “But the woman to go with them is just a little problem right now. And she’d be the one to decide if she wanted my baby in her.”
Because she was uncertain, Kallista taunted him, “That old-fashioned ‘seed’ thing, then?”
“You’re in the country now, Miss Bellamy.” Then his black eyes slowly traveled her body, down to her stomach. She could almost see the dreams in his eyes, the treasure of a child added to his life. “But making a baby is the best that a man can do in this lifetime. That and loving a woman. When and if it comes my time to add to the Blaylocks, I want a marriage certificate over the bed.”
His sincerity, spoken in a deep soft tone, was almost a promise—one she couldn’t afford. She wanted to find an evil, selfish lust in his plain words, but she couldn’t.
It was dark when his pickup parked beside her red sports car. “It’s been a good day,” he said formally, looking across the seat to her. “I’ll make certain that the calves are logged into my farm account. You saw me write the check. I have the receipt. It was a good price for them. When I have the auctioneer’s payment for the calves, I’ll show you the deposit to Boone’s account.”
She was ashamed then, of how closely she watched him pay for the calves, the questions she asked the auctioneer as to payment methods. Roman’s explanation was too careful; he wanted her to know exactly how he handled Boone’s money. He leaned closer, scanning her expression in the dim light of the street lamp. “You’re shy of me now, your eyes all round and filled with me. Why?”
“I don’t know who you are. You upset me, Roman Blaylock.”
He toyed with a strand of her hair, wrapping it around his finger. “Is that good or bad?”
“I’m afraid of you,” she whispered, aware that no other man except Boone had made her feel so secure—but with Roman there was that sensual edge, the need to experience him and tug away all those shields to find that man beneath. How could he be so raw, so tender and honest? Was it all an act? How real was Roman Blaylock?
“No more afraid than I am,” he admitted and shifted to give her a lingering, tender kiss.
Kallista latched her fingers to his shoulders as the flick of his tongue touched her lips. She waited, entranced with the light, asking touch. “Open your lips for me, honey,” he whispered roughly against her mouth.
For a moment, she fought other images of another man rudely pushing at her.... The familiar panic slid away as Roman’s touch was seeking and gentle and letting her adjust to him. Testing, trusting him in this physical need, she placed her hands along Roman’s cheeks; she parted her lips slightly, allowing him entrance. The gentle seduction of his mouth playing upon hers, molding, shaping, slanting, brushing, soon wasn’t enough and Kallista wrapped her arms around him firmly.
“Oh, honey,” Roman murmured before he eased her down into the seat. His trembling hand swept down to her hip, locked firmly to it as he moved over her. His hands swept up again, found her breasts and he groaned, his warm face moving into her shoulder and throat, gently nibbling on her skin, causing her bones to vibrate within her flesh. There in the close confines with Roman Blaylock, she was just where she wanted to be, without a notion of moving on.
Thrilled by his touch, by his hungry and tender look down at her, Kallista barely breathed as Roman drew away her sweater and lowered his head to her breasts, kissing the softness as he eased away her straps. He stared so long at her breasts, touching, exploring them that Kallista fought crying out, a heated desperation rising, a need as basic as air. Then his mouth took one breast, sucking and nibbling gently at the peak, and she did cry out, holding his head to her as he found the other.
Then just as quickly, Roman pushed up and away from her, his big hand locked flat to her stomach. He rolled down the steamy window and flashing red lights hit his face as he said, “Nice night, Mike.”
Humor wrapped around the sheriff’s voice as he said, “Don’t let those alarms go off and spoil my love life again, Blaylock. Annie and I are coming to an understanding and if I pay, you pay. Good night, Kallista. This is going to be real interesting—”
Roman rolled up the window, his hair rumpled as he ran his fingers through it. He stared down at her. The look held and sizzled and Kallista placed her hands over his on her stomach. He lowered his touch until his palm rested upon her heat and Roman shuddered. “I’d better go.”
“In the moonlight, I can see you on your horse, just sitting and looking at my house, Roman. Why?” She had to know.
His look was tender as he took her hands and tugged her upright to sit while he replaced her sweater. “I’ve got restless notions where you’re concerned, Kallista Bellamy.”
Then he wrapped his arms around her and with a long sigh, settled his cheek along hers and simply held her, rocking her gently.
He terrified her more than the bullies she had known.
Six
After a fitful night in which she dreamed about Roman Blaylock’s hungry, yet tempered good-night kiss, Kallista stopped yawning. Beyond her kitchen window, night was turning into gray. A big man jogged on the pasture bordering the pines. The predawn light slid over his graceful, tall body, sheathed only in loose shorts. He ran smoothly, a powerful athlete settling in for a steady run across the pasture. The elemental need to run Roman down, to hunt him, leaped within her. After all those sweet kisses, he could be running to another woman for satisfaction. “Typical. I should have known. So, he’s got places to go, does he?” Kallista muttered as she hurried to dress in a T-shirt and jogging shorts.
She whipped the laces of her running shoes into bows, yanking them tightly. Roman had no right to walk her to her car, his arm around her waist, and to give her that sweet, dreamy kiss—to bring her hands to his mouth, smoothing the backs with his slightly parted lips, his dark eyes smoldering upon her face, promising... In that moment, she had been certain that she was all Roman Blaylock wanted.
In the cool of the August morning, Kallista stretched her muscles expertly, ready to track Roman. He was too delicious, too practiced not to have a woman waiting for him, arms open. “The man has secrets, and I’m going to get them,” she said, settling into an easy run across the field.
The calves called to her, hurrying along and wanting petting. She stopped briefly, surrounded by churning calves with rough, wet, licking tongues. They nudged her bare legs, and Kallista laughed before hurrying after Roman. In her restless life, she’d had little to do with animals and found
she enjoyed the welcome.
She spotted Roman’s powerful body still running easily, though he had started up the mountain trail. Kallista picked up her pace. Lettie Coleman, a petite, packed and sexy single mother, a manhunter, lived just over the rise and...
Kallista ran freely, enjoying the stretching of her muscles, the hunting of Roman Blaylock in the fresh fir and pine-scented mountain air. She smiled grimly. The only man to interest her, Roman couldn’t possibly know how much she loved puzzles, seeking answers and running.
She glanced at deer, watering at the stream, and felt her lungs resent the pace. She stopped, braced her hands on her knees and forced herself not to pant as she listened. A descendant of mountain men, Apache, Spanish and sturdy settler blood, Roman knew the well-used path. She didn’t know the path or her heritage, other than she was restless and had black hair like her “old man.” She had one love in her life, Boone Llewlyn, and Roman wasn’t giving her the answers she needed.
She pushed herself into a fast run, leaped across a fallen branch, came into a low curve, sailed around it and plowed right into Roman’s arms, sending him backward and off balance. He shoved her away, protecting her. He sprawled onto the brush and lay still as rabbits scurried away. When Roman’s eyes didn’t open, Kallista hurried to crouch by his side, and leaned down to study him.
The sweat and stubble on Roman’s cheeks did little to make him seem civilized, nor the damp red bandanna tied around his forehead. His big hand swept out and latched around her upper arm, anchoring her. He opened his eyes and stared up at her. “You. Figures. I knew someone was following me.”
“Sorry I’m not one of your women?” she taunted, trying to pull her arm away. Roman’s grip was firm, yet not painful.
He came to his feet and braced his hands on his hips, looking down at her, ignoring her taunt and waiting.
She hadn’t been forced to defend her actions to anyone, not for years, and now Roman clearly expected answers. “You’re on my path,” she tossed at him, and reached out the flat of her hand to shove him away, to shove away the unsteady emotions he caused within her.
Roman wrapped his hand around her wrist, tugged slightly, and when she was off balance, scooped her up until they were eye level, his arms supporting her bottom. The rough warmth of his thighs brushed against her smoother ones and Kallista inhaled sharply as Roman’s gaze shot to the damp cloth covering her chest, to the hard nubs pushing at the cloth. “Why are you all revved up?” he asked curiously, peering down at her hot flush.
“Why are you out here this time of morning? Don’t you have chores?” she shot back, unwilling to tell him how he fascinated her, how she ached for his mouth against hers, on her.
“Running cuts the tension I’ve been feeling lately. But you know about that, don’t you?” The words were more of a statement than a question.
The fresh mountain air simmered like a firestorm between them and Kallista studied Roman’s hard-boned face, the tension riding him...and her. Against her thighs, his body was hard, aroused. She’d been sickened by the men who had tried to force her, but Roman’s arousal called to the wild, heated storm brewing within her. “Do you want me?” she asked carefully.
He’d said taking a woman’s body was a promise, a bond a man should respect and honor. Could she believe him?
“You know I do. This is for you to decide.”
“You’re holding me off the ground. I think better on my feet.”
He smiled wryly. “I’m afraid if I let you go, you’ll run from me, and you’re darned agile. And fast. And in shape for a soft woman. I’ve come to appreciate a fine, strong woman.”
The curve of his lips enchanted her, his amused indulgent expression that made her feel safe...a friendly man playing with her, teasing her. She touched his cheek, ran her fingertips across the warm desire riding his skin, strolled to his eyebrows and studied the sleek black thickness. This man was incredibly gentle, and leashing what ran hot and wild within him. She’d known men who didn’t restrain their passions, and this man honored women, respected the sexual bonding of bodies as a promise to be kept. She’d known few men with such honor, and one of them was Boone. “Who are you, Roman Blaylock?” she whispered.
“Who hurt you?” he returned so gently that he terrified her, opening scars that she’d hidden for years.
“Does it matter?” she asked, fearing the tears welling inside her.
“I won’t hurt you, honey. But I’m sorry for the rest. I’d give it back to you, if I could.” His kiss was only a nudge against her lips, and she tasted the salt of his sweat, the honesty of his heart, the promise of his body, thrusting intimately against hers.
She didn’t want emotions for this man, to trust him though he grasped Boone’s estate and left her with unanswered questions. Yet she did trust him on a level that frightened her. Could she trust herself?
“Let me down.” Kallista pushed gently against Roman’s bare shoulders, her fingertips stroking the smooth damp skin while the dawn became pink and sweet and new around them.
She stood free, braced her legs apart and considered the possibility of Roman Blaylock as her first lover. From the top of his sleek rumpled hair down his long powerful body to his worn running shoes, planted firmly on the well-used trail, Roman was a definite possibility.
“Well?” he asked, amused. A full two minutes had passed and a deer ambled by a red-bark pine and a chipmunk chattered, awakening to the day. Birds chirped overhead, leaves rustling as mountain creatures prepared to forage and live and...
Kallista inhaled, and decided to trust her instincts. She didn’t have time for Roman to come courting; she’d always taken what she wanted. She ripped off her long black T-shirt to expose her sports bra. She hurled the T-shirt at him, and Roman’s big fist crushed the material. His sexy, amused look vanished, replaced by shock and frustration. A tiny muscle began contracting in his jaw, and he frowned at her. “What the hell are you doing?”
She stepped out of her shorts and stood in her running shoes, dressed in her bra and her briefs. She threw her shorts at him and his other hand shot out to grasp the material. His stare down at her clothing in his hands was desperate, wary, and raw with desire. She wanted the truth Roman offered her, the raw honesty of a man and a woman tangled in desire, simmering with it, easing into sensuality.
“No,” he said firmly, then dragged his hand through his hair and glanced at a hawk soaring into the morning sky.
He was perfect then—wary, uncertain, and hers.
She walked slowly to him; she studied the thrusting proof of his desire and the taut muscles of his thighs. This was her way—she trusted her instincts when they hit her, she made her decisions and explained to no one.
“No. Not like this,” he said again, as her eyes raised to meet his. His gaze locked with hers and darkened. Roman tugged her into his arms and fused his mouth to hers, taking, demanding everything.
When her legs were weak, he scooped her up against him. He ran his hand along her leg, locking it around his hips, then the other, anchoring him to her, her arms around his neck.
Day and dawn hovered, spinning coolly around them. But wrapped in Roman’s arms and his desire, Kallista had never been so warm and safe. As Roman poured his hunger into her, she fed upon his need. Her fists wrapped in his stark black hair, his body thrusting intimately against the shield of lace protecting her. His groan swept roughly across her cheek, the desperation of his tone pleasing her.
Still carrying her, Roman moved off the trail into a shadowy cove covered with lush, sweet grass. He tossed her clothing to the earth and eased to his knees, his mouth slanting, fusing, and hungry for her. There in the shadows of the pines, amid the clearing’s lush grass and larkspur, Roman looked primitive, skin almost gold in the dappled sunlight, ridges running along his shoulders, muscles bunching. Slowly he lowered her to the clothing, tore away his own and pushed them beneath her to add to the pallet.
“I want you,” he said roughly, as if the truth
had been unwillingly torn from him and eased his body over hers. He smoothed away the band from her hair and gently arranged the silky length around her head, then his face rested against her throat, as if he waited to be denied. The gesture was humble and cautious and beautifully unique.
“I want you more,” she returned huskily, certain that this was a moment of truth, that she would know Roman Blaylock’s essence, that she would have him. She smoothed the taut muscles of his back, absorbed the rippling shock into her palms.
For those racing heartbeats, damp skin against skin, Roman simply rested lightly upon her. She slid her finger under the damp red bandanna and eased it from his head.
What caused her to smooth his hair, to want to comfort him? Was it the reverence and the tenderness with which his hand slid to hold her breast, as if it were a treasure he would hold forever?
Slowly Roman slid away her bra and her briefs, replacing them with the warm, trembling caress of his hands. When she shivered beneath him, he braced above her, tension rippling through his broad shoulders. For a time he looked down at her, frowning as if he couldn’t believe she was lying in his arms, that her body lay open to his, that his arousal just touched the heated damp entrance of hers.
“Are you afraid?” he asked in an uneven whisper as his taut body shuddered. “We can stop—”
“Don’t you dare stop,” she returned, lifting to bite his lip. She would tear him from his leashes and devour him—find what she needed....
He jerked back, startled. Then his expression slid into tender amusement. “You want to play, do you?”
“Is that what this is?” she asked softly, smoothing her hands over his tense shoulders. Then she drew him down upon her.
Roman smoothed the side of her throat with his parted mouth, his breath rushing to warm her. “I wanted you in my bed, not here. You deserve—”
He inhaled sharply as his hand found her intimately, caressing her. Ripples of pleasure circled her and she arched to his touch, wanting more.