Rocky Mountain Rose (Rocky Mountain Bride Series Book 3)

by Lee Savino

  “Yes, but you would’ve been killed.” His arm dropped to her shoulder and squeezed. “Rose, what are you thinking?”

  “You’re better off without me, Lyle. You saw how those men looked at me. They wanted me. I’ll bring nothing but trouble to you. Me leaving was the best way to keep you and Jesse safe.”

  “We were safe. At dawn we were going to break camp and hide out in the butte. We planned to watch for our chance to slip away, or take them out.”

  She shook her head. “You should let me go. You can’t put your life at risk to protect me.”

  “That’s my decision, not yours. You need to trust me, Rose.”

  “I do trust you.” She thumped his chest. “But it is my decision. It’s my life.”

  “Wrong.” His arms enveloped her, holding her to him fiercely, until she could feel his breath rise and fall in his chest. He was everything she saw, everything she smelled, everything she touched. His head dropped so his lips almost touched hers, his whisper harsh against her skin. “You’re mine, Rose. No one’s taking you from me, not even you.”

  A pause, while her throat worked and she tried to think of what to say. Then, to her horror, she started to cry. As her sobs shook her, she barely noticed his touch turning gentle, and stirring her hair and smoothing down her back in an attempt to soothe her. She hadn’t cried like this since she was a young girl, and still believed in hope, missing Mary. Tears were fool’s gold, and had never done her any good.

  The whole time, he murmured to her. “Beautiful Rose. Just let it out. You don’t have to carry it anymore.” He held her until her sobs died to sniffles, and then even those subsided.

  She lifted her head, freeing a hand to scrub at her face.

  “Your shirt is wet.” She almost laughed.

  He grinned. “It served a worthy cause.” He waited until she stepped away to take a minute to compose herself, and got her some water. He let her drink then used the rest to dip his handkerchief in to clean her face. She submitted to his touch, sighing at how good it felt. When he stepped away again, she was almost swaying on her feet.

  “Ready for bed?”

  She nodded, exhausted.

  Together they lay down on the bedroll. Lyle stretched out on his back beside her, and drew a narrow strip of leather out of his pocket. He fastened one end to his wrist, then found her hand and used the leather thong to tie her wrist to his.

  Rose raised her head. “What are you doing?” She tried to make her voice sharp, but just couldn’t manage it.

  “Tying you to me. That way, if you try to make a run for it, I’ll wake up.” The leather was soft and supple, but she wouldn’t be able to undo the bindings easily.

  The old Rose would have fought, but the new Rose didn’t have it in her. “I’m not going to run.” She settled back down.

  “Good.” Once their wrists were bound, he tugged her arm across his body so she was forced to snuggle closer into his side. “I’ll keep you tied to me all the same.” She felt him kiss her hair. “Fight me all you want, Rose,” Lyle said. “I’m not going anywhere. And if you do manage to get away from me again...I’ll ride until I find you. I don’t care if it takes another five years, or the rest of my life. You’re not on your own anymore.”

  What he said was so huge, the weight would crush her, but instead, more of her stone fortress crumbled, and she felt a great weight lift.

  He threw his arm out further, drawing her arm with it until she was half sprawled over his body. Reaching down, he hooked her leg and pulled her up over his body. His free arm came around to play with her hair.

  “Get some sleep,” he whispered.

  Draped over him like a blanket, her soft curves molded to his muscled body, she never thought she could, but in the end, she did.

  *

  When Rose woke, the moon was setting in the blue predawn sky. Above her, the trees shook their heads in the wind in a restless sound that called to her. She was still bound to Lyle at the wrist, her body draped over his like a blanket. As she lay there, relaxed against the firm plane of his chest, his words from last night gnawed at her. He was right; the leather wasn’t the only thing tying them together. Their lives were woven together, whether she liked it or not.

  Lyle’s breathing was even, his heart beating its faithful rhythm under her ear. She knew the exact moment his body woke under hers and lifted her head to greet him.

  “Good morning.”

  He smiled.

  “Did you see the dawn? It’s beautiful,” she whispered.

  “Yes,” Lyle said, but he wasn’t looking at the sky. He cupped her cheek, smoothing a thumb over her mouth. The look on his face as he was so beautiful, it almost broke her heart. All of a sudden, she was aware of his hard body under hers. Sometime in the night, she’d moved to straddle one of his legs, and now it moved, pressing her lady parts. Her eyes widened as desire flooded through her.

  “Rose?”

  With a sigh, she shifted over him, sliding her aching center over his thigh. At the same time, her head dipped down and she kissed him.

  It started soft and gentle, but one touch of his lips and she knew she could never get enough. Her hand slid up his cheek and dug into his silky black hair. As the kiss went on, she felt alive, tingles spread through her, starting at her nipples and heading lower. Her body moved against him, riding his leg as she unconsciously tried to get relief. She moaned into his mouth.

  Lyle took over, shifting so he was on top of her. His mouth possessed her mouth and plundered it, and she could do nothing but hang on and let him take control. Her skirts ended up around her waist, and she raised her hips and rubbed against him, trying to soothe her aching center. His hands roamed over her, coming down to grip her bottom. It hurt, but the pain just fueled her passion and turned her desire into an inferno.

  She needed him. Suddenly, the gossamer fabric of her chemise was too much; she wanted nothing between them, not fabric, not even flesh. Her unbound hand clawed at his trousers, trying to free him. Lyle undid the thong that bound their wrists, and as soon as her other hand was free, it joined in the effort to rip off his clothes.

  With a growl, Lyle took her wrists and pinned them, then used his hips to nudge apart her legs. She cried out, her body pulsing with desire, begging him to let his weight fall between her legs and press against her. Instead he dived under her skirts and his mouth went to her lady parts. Her legs kicked at the sensation of heat and wet between them. His tongue did a swirl and she almost came off the ground, her hands finding and digging into his dark hair.

  Again he pulled her wrists away, and she writhed in torment. His mouth kissed and sucked, licking and lapping until she wanted to scream. A shudder started growing deep within her, an internal earthquake threatening to break her in two.

  It hit her, and she cried out his name.

  Halfway through her climax, Lyle rose up, face beautiful and savage with desire. Gripping her hips, he slid inside. He was large, and her body stretched around him. Rose heard a pop as her barrier broke. She grabbed his shoulders, crying out in pain, and he stilled.

  “Rose,” he choked out, his expression stricken.

  She gripped the muscles bunched under her hands and pulled him closer. “No,” she said. “Don’t stop.”

  He looked uncertain, she could see sweat beading on his forehead as he held himself over her, unwilling to move.

  But her body pulsed around his member, sending shockwaves through her. Her nipples were tight pebbles and her whole body focused on the hard length inside her, holding its breath at the advent of pleasure.

  “Please, Lyle,” she begged, tipping her head back so he could see she was in earnest. “Please.”

  He dropped his head and kissed her gently, and at the same time started to move.

  Automatically her arms and legs closed around him, drawing him closer.

  She kept kissing him, her whole universe centering around the touch of his lips, the weight of his body, the movement of him inside her.r />
  Her next orgasm came over her sweetly, and she stared up into his blue eyes, wishing she could dwell in that loving gaze for all time.

  *

  When it was over, they lay in each other’s arms, watching the sun rise.

  “That was the first time you attacked me, that I’m glad of the outcome,” Lyle said, rubbing his jaw as if in memory of her slapping him. “I should take the strop to you more often.”

  She pouted at him, and he laughed.

  “Only when you show your thorns, little Rose. If you deserve it.”

  Replacing her pout with an angry look, she pretended to hit his shoulder. He rolled to deflect it, then caught her into his arms, and kissed the frown right off her face. He then pulled her onto her side facing him, throwing one leg over hers.

  His hand came up to stroke her cheek. “You were a virgin.”

  She jerked away from him, fists already rising to defend her honor.

  Lyle was just as quick to catch her wrists and pull her back close.

  “Get away from me,” she hissed, eyes blazing.

  “Rose, listen to me—”

  “Let go.” She struggled, but his grip was iron, and eventually she slumped against him, eyes squeezed shut, tears leaking from them. More than ever, she hated her tears, her weakness.

  “I didn’t mean anything by it. I just didn’t know.”

  “I’m not a whore,” she rasped, losing her fight with tears. Panic rose in her, telling her to flee. She jerked away and sat up, but Lyle caught her and pulled her back, arms tightening around her.

  “Don’t touch me.”

  “Listen.” He tucked his head over her shoulder. “I know you’re not a whore. Mary was afraid your father would try to sell your body.”

  “He tried to. I escaped out the window and ran away.”

  He sighed. “I wasn’t casting judgment. I just thought, with all the time you spent in saloons…”

  He arranged her in his lap, and she let him, but didn’t meet his gaze. “Most of the time I got away. If not…they made me do...other things.”

  “Rose, look at me.”

  When she refused, Lyle took her chin with gentle fingers and turned her to face him, she closed her eyes, letting the tears stream down her face.

  “Rose, do you know how strong you are?”

  She shook her head, trying to refute his words. Her hands went up to cover her ears, and he drew them down then cupped her face with both hands, holding her still.

  “You’re beautiful.”

  “I’m broken.”

  “You’re strong.”

  “No,” she said, but he kissed her as if he would draw the poisonous words from her lips.

  “You are perfect, you are lovely, you are mine.” His lips pressed hers between each statement.

  And Rose felt the bars around her heart shatter, and with it, all her control. Her hands went to his hair, digging into its thick beauty, pulling his mouth close again.

  She was sobbing and kissing him at the same time, drinking of him like he was water and she was dying of thirst. And he returned in kind.

  When they broke away, she was still shuddering with sobs.

  He held her. “That’s it, lovely, cry it out.”

  “I looked for you,” she whispered. “Every day, for many months. Years even. I thought you would ride up on a white horse and rescue me. Mary always told me that someone would. And then she met you. I believed it was you. It was always you.”

  His arms squeezed her. “You act older than you are, but you had to grow up fast. Rose, most would break under all that you’ve been through. But not you. You’re strong, so strong.”

  His fingers bit into her skin for a moment, squeezing her to tell her how much her words meant to him. He positioned her on her back and gripped her hair, holding her captive to his mouth. His lips left hers and went to her jaw, then her neck.

  She wound her arms around his neck, feeling him feed on her, wishing he would never stop.

  “I saw you in the saloon, and I knew the type of woman you were. A beautiful flower, fighting to live in the rocks. Your life hard as stone, and still you survived. And thrive.”

  And you’re my hero, she wanted to say, but couldn’t bring herself to bare her heart in that way. Not now, when it was just reborn, and fragile.

  Nearby, the horses nickered, and Lyle sighed. “Stay here a moment.” He stood, and she watched him untether the horses and lead them towards the water.

  Suddenly tired, she lay down and closed her eyes. The weight of their lovemaking hit her, and she fell back asleep.

  *

  When she woke again, her lover was gone. She stood, brushing her hair back from her face, and started for the water. As she picked her way past the grazing horses, she heard splashing in the river.

  There, in the center, stood Lyle. He’d stripped down to small clothes and stood waist deep in the widest part of the stream, scrubbing his torso with a scrap of cloth.

  As she watched, he moved to where the water deepened into a pool, and dunked. When he came back up, water flew in shining droplets from his raven dark hair. He looked like a god made flesh, all muscles and masculine beauty.

  “Rose,” he called. “You’re awake.” He stretched out his hand, an invitation.

  “It’s cold.” She stepped up to the bank.

  He stretched, then touched the water, unaware of how the pose set his form off to perfection. Or maybe he was. He smirked at her. “Scared of a little cold?” His eyebrow lifted in a dare.

  Her spine stiffened. Rosie May was never afraid. Then she smiled at her groom. Two could play at this game.

  With the slow, sultry movements she used on stage, Rose stepped on to a flat rock. Her fingers curled around the bottom of her chemise and teased its way up over her body, then let it drop to the rock.

  She posed naked, turning her body to its best angle, and smiling. His blue eyes burned. He stretched out his hand and repeated the gesture for her to come to him.

  Biting her lip at the cold, she picked her way across the water. Halfway to him, she slipped and almost fell. She shrieked a little, but Lyle was at her side, drawing her up as she clutched at him.

  “You all right?”

  “Yes.” She was shivering, with cold but also nervousness. “Just, please, no further.”

  “Can you swim?”

  She shook her head.

  “Then why did you come into the water?”

  “To be with you.” She pressed her bare flesh against his warmth.

  In answer, he swooped her up into his arms. She wound her arms around his neck, and he moved into the deeper water, grinning at her when the water touched her bottom and she squealed. “I won’t let you fall.”

  He lowered her into the pool and she hissed, feeling it lap against her lady parts.

  “Sore today?” he asked.

  “From what, the coupling or the whipping?”

  “Both.”

  She rolled his eyes at his proud tone, and nodded.

  “I have some balm that will help.” He raised a brow at her surprised blink. “Bad girls don’t get balm after punishment, but this morning you were so good.”

  Reaching down, she cupped some water in her hands and threw at him.

  He responded by dunking them both. As they came back up, she was shrieking, and he threw back his head and laughed. He clasped her closer and waded through the water, stopping every once and awhile to turn in a circle, lowering her enough so that her feet dipped in the shining surface. When she was finished shivering, she realized the cool water felt good against her sore bits and told Lyle so.

  He walked them both to shallow water and let her down. “Let me see, Rose.” She leaned on him and bent over for his inspection. His hands were gentle as he examined the marks on her bottom, but she still trembled under his touch.

  “You’ll heal up, good as new.” He faced her, looking smug, and let his hands drift down her back to cup her bottom lightly.

&n
bsp; “You seem awfully pleased with yourself, Mr. Wilder.”

  He grinned, unapologetic. “I am, Mrs. Wilder. I might mark you like that often. The sting will fade.”

  She shook her head at him. “Why don’t you just brand me like your cattle?”

  “That has merit.” He pretended to think on it, and she pretended to punch him.

  He caught her fist and kissed it, then let his tongue swipe her knuckles. She didn’t know whether to roll her eyes, laugh, or throw herself at him.

  She rolled her eyes.

  “Kiss me, Rose,” he commanded, and she pushed herself up to reach his mouth. Her arm twined around his shoulders, stroking his wet hair.

  When they broke apart, she noticed the little drops of water on the muscles of his shoulders and chest. They were so fascinating. She lowered her mouth and sucked them up.

  “Rose,” Lyle murmured.

  “Mornin’,” someone called, and Rose and Lyle’s head whipped around. There on the bank, stood Jesse, arms crossed, broad smirk on his face. With a whimper, Rose whirled, huddling against Lyle, who turned them both, angling his body to shield her naked form.

  “Move along, Jesse. We’ll be out in a moment.”

  “Damn fool,” she muttered against her husband’s chest.

  “Hey,” Lyle chided. “I’m the only one who gets to call my brother names.”

  “Is he gone?”

  “Yes.”

  Mood broken, she turned and started for the bank. “We better get dressed.”

  Lyle sighed. “My brother’s a damn fool.” Shaking his head, he followed.

  *

  Halfway finished with dressing when Lyle came up to her. “Good news. Jesse’s riding off with the stagecoach and will meet us at the homestead later.” He grinned. “We should have a few days of privacy.”

  Rose kept on packing away her things. “Did you tell him to knock before he barges in on us?”

  Lyle chuckled. “I may have threatened him with a thrashing, but Jesse has a mind of his own. Besides,” he came to stand behind her, hands on her hips, “not many men can resist a glimpse of the lovely Rosie May.”

  “Mmmmhmmm.” She ignored his teasing. Laughing, he dropped a kiss on the back of her neck and went to shake out a bed roll. “Here, Rose, kneel on this. Hands and knees.”