Sunrise Over Texas

by MJ Fredrick

  “Um, yes. I do.” He stepped back, motioning her inside. “Sorry. You must be cold.”

  She hadn’t noticed, not until he closed the door behind her. Her nerves jumped as he slipped past her to the bed.

  Why was she here? Tomorrow would be more acceptable. They could sit at the table and make their plans in the daylight.

  “I’m sorry. You’re tired.” She reached back for the door just as he turned from the bed, holding a blanket out with both hands.

  She ducked her head as he folded it around her shoulders and stood for a moment, smoothing the rough fabric down her arms. He smelled so good now, like grass and man. Unbidden, his taste flooded her mouth, the taste of his tongue, of his desire.

  She looked up and saw the darkness, the awareness, in his eyes. He had to be curious about why she’d come. Would he guess?

  “I’ll get the map,” he murmured, turning away.

  Kit sat on the wooden chair he’d moved to the end of the bed and fussed with the blanket—truthfully, she wasn’t cold—while watching him through her lashes. He moved with such grace, all lean muscle as he bent to pick up his saddlebag and swung it on the bed. He flipped open the pack and thumbed through before drawing out the folded parchment and a shirt.

  “Not sure how accurate it is.” He drew the shirt over his head and sat on the bed before he spread the map on his lap. “I circled some sloughs on the way, but I don’t remember crossing this river, and I’m pretty good with directions.”

  Her gaze followed the line he drew with his finger over the squiggles of ink on the parchment.

  “Do you remember crossing a river when you came?” he asked.

  “We came by boat to Matagorda and came north. From what I’ve seen of Texas rivers, they aren’t very deep, nothing like the Mississippi.”

  “So we can ford them.”

  She shivered. “In this weather?”

  He scrubbed his hand down his face. “Kit, we don’t have a choice. We can’t stay.”

  “It’s hard to think about. We’re safe here. Who knows what can happen to us out there?”

  Trace shifted and curved his hand over her cheek, drawing her gaze to his. “I’ll keep you safe, Kit. I swear it.”

  She could have looked away then, could have pulled back, excused herself, and left. But what she wanted was his assurance, more than his words. She needed to feel his strength, needed to feel safe. So she didn’t look away and watched the flicker of awareness light his eyes, part his lips.

  Confusion, understanding, then concern reshaped his features.

  “Is this what you want?” he asked, his voice rough.

  “Tonight it is.”

  He hesitated only a moment, then cupped his hand around the back of her head, bringing her face up for his kiss.

  His mouth was softer than it had been last night, sweeter, as if he was afraid he’d scare her off with his need. He teased her lips open with his tongue, and she let her own toy with his, find the taste of him, savor it. Gliding her hands up his broad chest, she rested her palm over the thud of his heart, which was racing just like hers.

  He slid his hand down the curve of her back to stop just above her bottom, bringing her closer. His arousal grew against her belly, and her hunger intensified. She wanted to feel his hands on her skin, wanted to touch his skin again. Her eyes drifted shut at the memory of those broad naked shoulders, the flexing of muscles in his arms. She wanted to feel them around her. She drew back and unbuttoned the top of her dress. Her movement riveted his gaze.

  She reached up to let her hair tumble down around her shoulders. With a guttural sound, he wrapped his hands around her waist and pulled her onto his lap, her knees on either side of his thighs, his hands twining in her hair as he brought his mouth down hard on hers.

  Good. Good. The words played over in her mind as she gave herself to the kiss, letting her tongue meet his, twine with his, absorbing the taste of him, the power, the passion. Passion that burned everything else away—the past, the future, worry, guilt—leaving only the present. His breathing was heavy, the sound filling her ears above her own heartbeat, above her own little needy whimpers. She measured the rise and fall of his chest beneath her hands. The warmth of his skin permeated her own through the fabric of his thin shirt. He tugged her closer on his lap so that her legs parted around his hips. She shifted to feel his arousal against her thigh and he groaned, sliding his hand down to her thigh, over her skirt, holding her still.

  He broke the kiss to scrape his teeth over her jaw before dragging suckling kisses from beneath her ear to the neckline of her dress, finding every nerve in between alert and eager for more. She craned her neck to encourage him, and he slid back up, adding his tongue, tasting her. A flood of passion coursed through her and she curled her hands through his hair, guiding him.

  He chuckled against her skin.

  “What? What is it?” she asked breathlessly. Had she done something wrong?

  “I should have known you’d want to be the boss here too.”

  She stiffened. “I don’t.”

  He smoothed her hair from her face with both hands. “It’s not a bad thing, Kit. Not if you know what you want.”

  “I know what I want,” she assured him.

  Amusement lit his eyes. “Yes, ma’am, you do.”

  “I want to feel your skin.”

  The amusement darkened into hunger as she busied her fingers at the buttons of his shirt, spreading the fabric, her gaze on the hard muscles of his chest. Hands splayed there, she leaned forward and imitated what he’d done to her, taking his earlobe between her teeth, drawing a gasp from him, pleasing herself for having that power. She touched her tongue to the hollow just below his ear, then nibbled her way down the line of his throat. She must be doing something right because he tossed his head back, his breathing deeper, his arousal growing more insistent. She licked his skin and his groan vibrated beneath her lips. Then his hands tightened on her waist and he pulled back, his own fingers clumsy on the buttons of her dress. She pushed his hands away, aware of his smirk—yes, she was taking charge—and unbuttoned her own dress to her waist, leaving the fabric drooping, inviting his touch.

  He slid his hands inside, over her chemise at her waist, then up to cup her breasts. She let her head fall back as he held them, his thumbs circling her nipples, bringing them to hard peaks. He lowered his mouth to the hollow of her throat, then down to the swell of her breast, before drawing her nipple between his lips.

  Pleasure washed through her, from his warm wet mouth to the core of her, the part of her she never thought about. Now she couldn’t think of anything else. She wanted to touch him, wanted to convey her urgency to him. She threaded her fingers through his hair. He opened his mouth wider, at the same time dragging the fabric of her chemise down with his finger, baring her breast. He brought her deeper into his mouth, his tongue curling around her, drawing on her. Her whole body reacted. His name escaped her lips on a moan, and he dropped his hands to her hips again, pulling her flush against him. She cursed the bunched fabric of her skirt that kept her from feeling him as she bumped her hips against his.

  He stood, holding her against him so she had to wrap her legs around him. He turned and lowered her to the bed, coming down over her.

  Kit reached for him, curving her hands around his strong neck as he slipped his fingers beneath her skirt, under the leg of her pantaloons, over the sensitive skin of her thigh, where the skin jumped beneath his callused touch. His gaze met hers as he coasted his fingertips over the soft skin to the curls at the apex of her thighs, then deeper, sliding between her legs. Her head fell back as he caressed the slick flesh, up and down, and her entire body tightened in anticipation of the pleasure he promised.

  He slid one finger into her, and another, only a little way. She shifted, her body resisting the invasion. He murmured something as he braced on one arm over her, and his thumb circled at the center of her pleasure. Her body tensed like a bowstring and she squeezed her eyes
shut, waiting, waiting.

  “Open your eyes, Kit. Look at me.”

  She did, though it took effort. He leaned closer, trailing his lips down her cheek to the corner of her mouth, then back to her jaw, and he slid his touch deeper. He kissed the swell of her breast until her nipple rose to entice his mouth, and he pushed deeper still. He captured her nipple between his lips and she arched her hips toward his touch, moving against him, pushing against his hand that curved around the most intimate part of her.

  He lifted his head from her breast and watched her as his thumb circled that magic place, as his fingers played inside her body, as she moved into his touch like a wanton, the pleasure building, tightening everything in her until she thought she would snap, before his thumb gave her a gentle brush that sent her over the edge, flying apart, knowing he would catch her.

  She floated back to herself, sprawled on the bed beneath him, his gaze intense as he watched her. The blush spread all over her body when he tugged her pantaloons down her legs. Then his hand went to the front of his trousers and unfastened them. His arousal thrust out, large and blunt and eager. He sat back to shed his trousers and the shirt she’d already unbuttoned, then he turned to her, magnificent in his nakedness, the firelight casting shadows over the planes and ridges of muscle.

  “Will you take off your dress? I want to see you.”

  He’d seen all the intimate bits of her naked, she wanted to say, but could already imagine the slide of his skin against hers and hungered for it. She sat up, trapped a moment by the bunching of her skirt under her, and pulled the dress over her head.

  His reverent gaze was fastened on her breasts. “You’re beautiful,” he murmured, and parted her legs around his hips before lying over her.

  He was so big, his shoulders blocked the light from the fire and took up the width of the cot. The idea of his large sex entering her body, pushed by his weight, froze her in panic. He eased back and frowned.

  “What is it?”

  “I need to be in control.”

  “I know that.” Confusion creased his brow.

  “Now. Can you—will you let me?”

  An unidentifiable emotion erased the confusion and he flipped so that he was on his back and she was over him, straddling his thighs. “Good?” he asked, his voice rougher than usual.

  “I think so.”

  He was beautiful himself, and she dragged her hands over the planes of his chest, over his flat stomach, following the line of hair to his sex. She didn’t stop to think about it before she trailed her fingertips up its length and then closed her hand around him to slide back down.

  His groan filled the room. “No teasing,” he managed.

  “All right.” She shifted to her knees, bringing the blunt tip of him to her opening. “Slow, all right?”

  He gritted his teeth so hard the tendons in his neck stood out. “All right.”

  She let him guide her hips as she took him into her body, the width of him stretching her, the length of him filling her, her own body so slick with desire that pleasure surpassed pain. Already she could feel contractions of pleasure tighten her flesh around him, and she took more of him. She opened her eyes and leaned over his chest as he pushed until he was seated to the hilt, her body stretched around him like a glove, pleasure twinging through her.

  “Will you move?” he asked. “Can you? I need you to, Kit.”

  She needed to also, to find that point of pleasure that would send her flying again. With one hand braced on the windowsill and the other on his chest, she shifted her hips, sliding up and down the length of him, her body squeezing, protesting his absence before welcoming him into her again.

  Her rhythm was erratic, but he guided her with his hands on her hips. He sat up, bringing her against him, as he buried his face in her throat, teeth and stubble and lips and tongue heightening her desire. He cupped her breast, his thumb flicking, and she moved harder against him, wanting the pleasure he promised, needing it.

  “Will you let me take over?” he murmured against her skin. “I need to be deeper. I need to—”

  “Yes. Yes. Please, Trace.”

  He tucked her hips against his and tilted her onto her back, driving into her body, stilling a moment when she whimpered. She reassured him with kisses, her hands in his hair, down his back, closing over his buttocks as she lifted her hips into his, matching his rhythm. The pressure built, every stroke sending sparks through her blood, igniting her nerves. Finally she cried out, her head back, her fingers digging into his muscles, her body clenching around his until she felt him follow her with a groan of his own.

  He collapsed over her like a sweaty blanket, and she felt the aftershocks of his pleasure and hers where they joined.

  Finally he shifted, easing onto his side, still pressed along her body on the narrow cot. She turned to face him, resting her hands on his damp chest, her thumbs toying with the light hair there. Her whole body hummed with the pleasure, with the warmth of his hands, his body against hers. He smoothed her hair, brushing his lips over her forehead, his hands resting on her naked back as his breathing eased. She wanted to spend the night with him, wanted to wake up with him and do this all again.

  Heaven help her, was she in love with him?

  She looked up into his face, at the curving lips, the gentle brown eyes. Oh, stupid, stupid girl. She was. And loving anyone was going to open her up to pain all over again. She’d barely recovered from last time. She should run. She should get up and get dressed and go back to her own bed.

  So why couldn’t she make herself? Instead, she nestled closer, listening to the beat of his heart, his contented breathing, and let herself doze.

  ***

  Trace heard her breathing even out, felt her body relax, and tried to wrap his mind around what had just happened. Last night, he’d been primed. The attack, the danger…he’d wanted to celebrate their victory in her arms. All day, when he’d been wandering the plains, he’d thought about her mouth and her body and her spirit. He thought about her sorrow, too, the heartbreak he’d never suspected because she was so headstrong and determined. While she’d filled his thoughts, he’d assumed their opportunity had passed, since privacy would be non-existent. He never thought she’d come to him.

  He never thought she’d give herself so completely to the act. The memory aroused him all over again, when he’d thought her energy had completely drained him.

  Her mother-in-law would throw a hissy if Kit didn’t get back, though. He pressed a kiss to her forehead and then to her cheek to wake her. She moved against him sinuously, those beautiful full breasts against his chest making him hard. She turned her mouth to his chest, kissing softly, her hands sliding around his back to bring herself closer to him. She lifted her face and he didn’t even try to stop himself from kissing her, his hand gliding down her side, over the soft skin of her hip to urge her thigh over his hip, opening her to him.

  Her eyes widened in alarm for just a bit, and then understanding, then pleasure. He was able to enter her, but not deeply enough, not until she rose up on her elbow, urging him onto his back and straddling him, bringing him deep, hard, her movements slow and deliberate. Her tight, slick body gripped him and then released him in a rhythm that spun the pleasure out, so that every stroke was a pleasure of its own, arousing and satisfying at once. Between her braced arms her breasts swayed with her movements, and he cupped one, caressing it briefly before sliding down her stomach to touch her sex, to touch that little bundle of flesh above where their bodies joined.

  He watched the slow slide of himself disappearing into her a moment, the sight making everything in him go tense with the need to pound into her body, to bring her to pleasure, to find his own. Instead, he parted her sex and stroked that little button. She clenched around him, growing wetter with each stroke, her movements growing erratic as she braced for the climax. He watched her body bow and her brow furrow, but as the nub softened beneath his touch, pleasure washed over her face, relaxing it, brightening it
. Her sex clenched around him, pulsed, throbbed. He grasped her hips then and drove up into her soft flesh, over and over until he found his own release and gave into it with a shout, emptying into her.

  She leaned down to capture his mouth, drawing him into a kiss as the intensity faded, leaving only a delicious languor.

  But this time when he slid out of her body, she climbed to her feet. He was gratified to see her shaking legs and reached to pull her back onto the cot with him. She pushed his hands away affectionately and picked up her dress.

  “I need to get back.”

  “I don’t want you to go.”

  “I don’t want to go.” She slipped into her chemise and wriggled until it fell into place, then reached for her dress, flashing him a regretful smile. “But I can’t hurt Agnes like this. She still mourns John, and I should too. I just can’t anymore.”

  He wanted to ask why, but he didn’t want to talk about her dead husband tonight, or his dead wife. He’d managed to forget all of that in the hour she’d been here. “Will you come back tomorrow night?” he asked.

  She dropped her dress over her head and held his gaze while she buttoned it, then tugged her pantaloons into place under the skirt. “I want to.” She stepped toward the bed and curved her hand over his jaw, looking into his eyes before dropping a sweet kiss to his lips. She scooped her wrap from the floor, tossed it over her shoulders and hurried out, making him feel lonelier than he had in months.

  Chapter Seven

  The next few days were consumed with preparing for the trip and not thinking about the past or the future. Every night Kit made an excuse to slip over to Trace’s room, and she had stopped thinking she was fooling anyone. She had stopped caring. He made her feel, which was at once scary and liberating.

  Two nights after their first time, she snuggled against him in her favorite position, one leg around his thigh, her cheek and hand on his chest as he stroked her hair.

  “So everything should be ready to go by mid-morning?” she asked.