by Stacy Reid
***
Sheridan sank down on his length, face furrowed in deep determination and lust. She wriggled her hips trying to rock on him, easing his penetration. Elijah bit back his snarl as fiery fingers of pleasure danced up his spine. He cursed himself for being unable to resist her potent lure. It had been too long since he’d been in her body, too long since he’d had those berry ripe nipples in his mouth, too long since he’d heard her cries of rapture.
She cried as he surged to his feet with her and tumbled them onto the bed in the far corner of his room. He hoisted her legs high on his hips and thrust deep. Her sharp cry froze him. His balls burned with the effort to hold back. She rippled over him impossibly tight, stretching thin over his length.
“Elijah.” Her moan was one of entreaty, her eyes dark pool of desire.
“Wrap your legs high around my back.”
She complied and he shafted deeper. Her nails bit into his skin.
“Am I hurting you?” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss at the corner of her mouth. The last thing he wanted to do was cause her pain.
She nodded hesitantly, and her tongue moistened her lips. He snaked his hand between their bodies, shifted through the wet curls, finding her knot of pleasure. His thumb circled and pressed hard causing her to shiver. The movement sent ripples of fire over his cock into his balls. She tightened further at his growl. Her hips arched into him, and a needy moan slipped from her and travelled straight to his groin. Unable to help himself, he inhaled her scent deep into his lungs, hoping he could trap her delightful fragrance inside him forever.
He gripped her nape and tilted her neck. He kissed her lips, her neck, and the corners of her mouth, eyes, lips, soft kisses meant to sooth and relax. Cream pulsed from her and he slid in deeper, claiming her lips at the same time.
He sank more into her heat with a groan of satisfaction at the flutter of her muscles on his cock. He held himself rigid and continued pressing her pleasure spot. A part of him was shocked that he held her in his arms, this woman that he had burned for, for so long. His skin was rough and calloused, and the harsh friction against her nub only serve to inflame her. His balls burned and throbbed as he held out. He needed her wild and hot in his arms before he could take her how he wanted.
Her hips rocked tentatively, nails sank deeper and she strained upward. “Elijah…I need more.”
That was all Elijah needed. He gripped her buttocks hoisting her deeper and thrust up to the hilt.
“Elijah!” she cried, a keening sound of pleasure.
Her flesh gave way under his strength and her hot cries sliced through the cold night air. He surged into her hard and sure, his need driving her high on the bed. She clenched around him like a hot fist, convulsions wracking her frame.
Her moans echoed into the dark of the room, wrapping him in more than heated sex. Her cries against his lips, and the familiar heat of her clasping him were comforting. Her slender legs circled his waist tighter and she clung to him as he rode her. After being without her for over a year, he thought he would spend quickly. Instead, the need that crammed his gut made him insatiable.
Her hips jerked in time to his thrusts as he sank into her over and over. He kissed her, and she exploded in a rain of pleasure. He touched, kissed and loved her for what seem liked hours. And before the long night was over, he wondered if he had exorcised her, or bound himself even tighter to her.
***
The night air washed over Sheridan’s skin, cooling the sweat that dampened her hair. She drew the quilt over her naked flesh. Her lips felt swollen and bruised, and she was shattered. She’d erroneously assumed when they had been lovers he had taught her everything about loving. She was not sure how to feel about the realization that she was still woefully ignorant about what encompassed a man and a woman coming together.
In the time they had been lovers, he had never taken her with such intensity, with such rawness. Before, he’d seemed more patient, always ensuring her pleasure, his touch loving and tender. Her breath strangled at the realization. In the past, he had touched her with love. Even though he had never said the words to her, she had felt like he had claimed her with love. What he just took her body through had been shocking.
She had never felt such mind-numbing pleasure, had never reveled so much in the heat and sultriness of making love. But it had been different from how they had previously come together. It had been raw and primal, yet at times gentle. He had tenderly kissed the welts on her back, and the memory of how she had gotten them had swirled around them. Through touches and fleeting kisses she had felt his regret.
He rolled from the bed and drew on his pants. “Go to your room, Sheridan.”
She flinched, her body still pliant from the violent pleasures he’d introduced her to.
She slid from the bed wrapping the quilt tightly around her body. “I...”
“You tempted, I caved. We fucked. That is all there is to it, do not try to let it be more,” he said gruffly, with a hint of regret in his tone.
Sheridan absorbed the pain that slammed into her and schooled her face into a blank mask. She fought the tears that burned beneath her lids. Fuck. He had never referred to what they shared before so crudely. She knew what it meant. She heard the ranchmen sometimes discussing the saloon girls when they thought no one was about.
Do not try to let it be more.
It was clear he would not offer marriage, and she feared deep in her heart she’d known he wouldn’t have. She accepted that she still loved him, that she was still vulnerable to him, and he had the power to destroy her.
“You are being a right bastard, Elijah,” she said quietly.
He stood staring at her, his mien even more unreadable than how it had been earlier. “We have an early morning before us. Get some sleep.”
He was so hard and uncompromising he made her want to scream. She nodded jerkily and staggered towards the bedroom door. Her throat burned. She wanted to feel anger at his bald treatment, instead she only felt foolish. Foolish because she’d fantasized about him declaring his love and how much he’d missed her. She had gone about it the wrong way. She had climbed into his bed like the wanton hussy Thomas had labeled her. The pleasure had been scorching, but she needed to give him something other than her body.
He was like the mountain lions that roamed the forest, fierce and wild, and if she was not careful he could shred her to pieces. Sheridan clutched the buffalo quilt to her chest. What she needed to do was seduce Elijah’s heart. She had to court him. And she knew she had never been committed to a more daunting and frightening task.
Chapter Six
Elijah was comfortable with the silence. No words had been exchanged between them all morning. The silence was only now broken by the rhythmic beating of his horse’s hooves. He’d hardened himself against the surge of need when Sheridan had exited his cabin fully dressed in another of his shirts and the too tight damp pants. He only had his stallion with him at the cabin, so she had to ride with him. The feel of her against him as they descended the mountain trial was a torture he bloody deserved.
He was impressed with her silence. She had always been a vibrant thing, constantly chatting and laughing, bringing light to drive back the darkness that had tried to claim his soul. When he had left the ranch, for months he had woken up in the mornings feeling incomplete. The need had slowly dissipated, and now for the first time in weeks he felt the same niggle of dissatisfaction. She had always been responsive to his every touch and last night she had damn near killed him. She had been perfect. Too perfect. Her passion for him had been the same. Sweet, hot and wild, just a fleeting thought had his cock stirring. The texture of her skin had been so smooth and silky. All the resolve he had built against her had buckled the minute she had stepped into the room. He had felt sick to his stomach this morning, when he realized that he had emptied himself into her several times. He’d never figure
d himself to be such a weak man. It had nothing to do with the fact that he had been without a woman for more than a year. He had been into the town. The saloons girls were always offering and not once had he been tempted. It was Sheridan herself.
He was not falling into that trap ever again. But, his plan to purge her from his system had certainly backfired. Instead, he was craving her even more, hungering for her smiles more desperately. He had been a bastard to her last night, and the way she had walked out, obviously torn, but head held high, had gutted him. He had called himself all kinds of fool for wanting to go after her. He should be pushing her away from him and this savage life. Yet…
“I was an ass last night.”
She stiffened, then a few beats later she relaxed into him. “That you were,” she said with a mocking western drawl. “And you admitting you were an ass is not an apology.”
He couldn’t help smiling at the bite in her voice. “I’m sorry, I did not intend to bruise your feelings.”
A soft scoff escaped her. “What do you intend…to offer marriage?”
When had she gotten so bold? “No,” he said gruffly.
Her shoulder lifted in an inelegant shrug. “Then we should perhaps discuss something else, shouldn’t we?”
He allowed his hands to tighten across her waist, and reflexively she clasped his forearms. She had changed. He could see it—stronger, less vulnerable, and less shy. He was not sure what had wrought the change and he gritted his teeth, furious with himself for he wanted to know. “I’ve missed you,” he admitted.
“Will your missing me change anything?”
“No.”
“Then why tell me?”
“Because it’s the truth…and because I did not want you to believe I did not miss your presence in my life.”
He froze as he noted something he should have observed earlier. There were tracks. And they did not belong to him or Sheridan. He pulled on the reins and studied the forest floor.
She twisted around slightly. “What is it?”
“There are several tracks on the trail to the cabin. They did not find the fork but they came close.”
She clutched the reins in a tight grip. She was nervous.
Back tracking his horse for a short distance, he noted when they lost the trail to his cabin. Elijah studied the tracks. Some were deeply grooved in, indicating they stood waiting for a while. He counted three distinct horse tracks. A fourth horse had joined them, but it had not stopped. It had only circled, and the watchers had moved with him. He saw the point where they got confused at the fork and had turned back.
“They were trying to find you,” he murmured, deep in thought.
“Mr. Sullivan’s goons are persistent. The bastards,” she swore softly.
They came to the point where he’d found her. There was a pool of blood on the forest floor and then spatters that wetted the trail they rode on. He analyzed the blood trail. The man his knife had found had not died. The rains last night would have removed all tracks, so they had been there only a few hours ago.
He kept the pace slow and steady, even though awareness rippled through him.
“Elijah I…”
He squeezed her waist gently. “I need to be able to hear the forest.”
She nodded once. He listened and watched everything as they rode the trail. They came to the mesa overlooking his outfit. Elijah surveyed the scene below the rise. He could barely make out anyone in the distance. Their ranch spread across the valley in a neat organized sprawl with the three-story massive log ranch house settled in the middle.
He glanced at the tracks that peppered the forest floor once more. They had waited at the mesa as well before heading back down the trail. It had been years since he had to fight anyone for his land. The Whispering Creek was not as vulnerable to raids by the Comanche, because they were nestled deep in the valley. But his outfit was rich. Water gushed off the mountain in droves, filling up the creek. Below the ranch lay thousands of acres of prairie able to graze many cattle. They had hay and timber for cutting, and shaded areas scattered throughout.
He knew only a little about Jericho Sullivan. The man had never crossed Elijah’s path or his brothers’ so there had been little need to know any more than that he was powerful. If Sullivan wanted their ranch, he could buy the men to take it for them.
After another fifteen minutes of riding, they cantered into the range. In the distance, he could see four men standing in loose formation between the house and the barn. They were unfamiliar. Questions that he should have asked the night before buzzed inside of him. He had been too damn distracted by her sudden presence in his mind to focus on all that she had said.
“Sheridan.” He felt the caress of her eyes as if she had touch him. “Are they new hires?”
“No. They are not ours.”
“Who do they belong to?”
Swallowing, she faced forward once more. “I am only familiar with the large, swarthy man in the middle. He is called Cassidy Bartley. The others I saw for the first time yesterday when they came here. There are whispers in town that Mr. Bartley has been employing hired guns for Mr. Sullivan, most of them from Santa Fe.”
“I am not familiar with Bartley.”
“Mr. Bartley is the cousin to the town judge. He came in a little over a year ago and has made himself into a powerful man in that short time. He and his brothers own the Crazy T outfit. He has also approached me for watering rights. He is…he is scary.” Her voice dropped to a whisper and when he glanced down at her lowered head, her face was red.
He analyzed her reaction and buried the flare of rage. “He touched you?”
She lifted her chin almost defiantly. “Would it matter?”
“If you were willing, no.” His gut burned at the thought of her in another man’s arm, but Elijah was careful to keep his face emotionless.
“I was never willing, but he only kissed me. Since Mr. Sullivan has made it known to the entire town of Blue Lagoon that I belong to him, Mr. Bartley has been very polite.”
He said nothing for a few minutes, his mind shifting and calculating their surety. “They know nothing of me and my stake in the ranch?”
“I do not think so. Mr. Sullivan seems very sure that he will control the ranch through me. Thomas hardly ever mentioned you after—.” She cleared her throat and continued, “After what happened between us.”
Elijah saw no sign of the ranch hands or his foreman. “Where is Miguel?” He had entrusted more than the fate of his ranch to the foreman’s hands when he left him in charge.
“He is not yet recovered.”
He glanced at her sharply. “Recovered?”
“He was caught in a stampede on the last round up to Abilene. Something spooked the cattle and he was caught in the mix of it. With Miguel down, things became very uncomfortable.”
He observed the fiery blush in her cheeks, and her reluctance to meet his eyes. “How uncomfortable, Sheridan?”
“Mr. Sullivan is very persistent.”
“Is there something I need to kill him for?”
Her shoulders stiffened. “No.”
His instincts were his best friend and he had learned to trust them. They had kept him alive more times that he could count. Sheridan was more than apprehensive. He assessed the situation with infinite care. The air was still, and a kind of waiting was present in the men stationed in the path of the house. No cowhand loitered and the place seemed deserted. He did not like it at all. “Where are the rest of the ranch men?”
“After Thomas died, they did not want to work for a woman, especially one that Thomas treated with contempt. With Miguel injured, they soon drifted and many went to work at Bartley’s spread. The few that remained are driving cattle to the markets.”
“How many remain?”
“Less than thirty, and all but six are on the cattle
drive.”
Elijah’s gut hardened. A spread this size would need a team of at least one hundred men to be efficient. A sharp whistle pierced the air as they were detected. His horse jerked when one of the men raised his pistol in the air and fired a single shot.
“Easy,” Sheridan murmured, rubbing his stallion’s neck with soothing motions.
Elijah scanned the prairie, looking for who they signaled. He saw no one. He kept their pace slow and steady as they met the men coming towards them. Those that approached them were killers, with flat cold eyes, easy rolling strides. Three mounted their horses, but the one she had identified as Bartley continued on foot.
She exhaled a nervous breath. “Mr. Sullivan plans to return with the preacher.”
Elijah summed up the situation with cold calculating thoughts. A fifth man strode from the main house and Elijah recognized Sullivan.
“Beth!”
Sheridan urged the horse forward and Elijah grabbed the reins, slowing his horse.
“Easy. Let them come to us,” he murmured, watching the tall man stride toward them. Sullivan’s walk was arrogant, and assured. Not the assurance of a man who hired those with power, but one that wielded power himself. The three approaching men flanked Elijah, and he assessed them carefully.
Sheridan tried to hide her fear, but her knuckles were clenched in a tight grip.
“Sheridan.”
Her eyes were a wide pool of fear when she glanced up at him.
“Why do you fear, Sullivan?”
At her silence he grew cold. “Did he attack you?”
She inhaled shakily. “No, not in the way you mean. He kissed me rather forcefully, but nothing beyond that. But he means to have me…at any cost it seems. I don’t want him, Elijah. Don’t let him take me, please.”