by Stacey Kayne
He’s going to find out who I really am. It’s time to move on anyhow.
Chapter Seven
A minty scent hung in the air as Garret stepped inside. Grace stood at the pantry, tucking a slender canister onto the shelf. Tooth powder.
“Did you just brush your teeth?”
“Yes,” she said, clutching a quilt around her shoulders as she looked up at him. “I should have offered you a toothbrush. I have a small supply and you seem to be one of the few men I’ve known who’d use one.”
“That I do. I used some of your baking soda before you woke.”
Her pretty white teeth flashed behind her smile as he went to the stove. He stoked the fire and added another log. He turned to find Grace sitting in the chair by the table. Her moccasin-covered feet propped on the chest, her sewing basket on the table beside her. She paid him no mind as she pulled green thread through the cloth.
If she intended to sleep at the table again, she was in for a fight. She’d already worn herself down taking care of him. The woman needed some solid sleep before she ended up sick.
“You’re sleeping in the bed tonight, Grace.”
Her needle paused as she glanced up at him.
“I’ve put you out for long enough.”
“I’m fine right here.”
“Like hell. You’re going to get sick if you don’t get some rest. You’d be warmer here in the bed.”
“You’re the one with a long walk ahead of you tomorrow.”
“All right, then. We’ll share the bed.”
She gaped at him before her eyes narrowed. “We tried that once.”
“I wouldn’t knowingly disrespect you. I swear you can trust me.”
“I’ll be fine right here. Go to sleep, Garret.”
Her haughty tone snapped the last shred of Garret’s patience. Just because her man had treated her with neglect didn’t mean he’d follow suit. He’d weather her rage to keep her warm.
“You’re getting a good night’s sleep,” he said, watching her eyes round as he plucked the cloth from her hands then scooped her slight weight into his arms.
“Put me—”
He dumped her onto the bed. “Scoot,” he ordered, and piled into bed beside her.
“I won’t—”
“Yes, you will.” He latched his arm around her middle as she moved to leap toward the foot of the bed. He dragged her down and locked her against his chest. “The only warm place in this cabin is in this bed. Might as well hunker down because you’re sleeping right here.”
She shoved at his arm and tried to surge up. “If you think I’m going to—”
“I’m going to make sure you do,” he said, shifting on top of her. “You’ve been taking care of me for days.”
“Get…off…me,” she said through gritted teeth.
“I won’t hurt you, Grace.”
“If I thought you’d hurt me you’d have bled out by now!”
Her shouted words eased some of his tension. Fully aware of her blade pressed to his hip, he hadn’t been certain she wouldn’t try to gut him. The woman was a mind-bending combination of compassion and defensiveness.
“If I feared you,” she said in a milder tone, “you wouldn’t be in my cabin, much less my bed.”
“So relax,” he said, easing his hold and shifting onto his side. “I’m not fevered out of my mind. I’m not going to try anything.”
Her eyes flinched. “How reassuring.” She twisted onto her side, but not before he saw the moisture hazing her eyes.
Damnation. He meant to reassure her. “Grace, don’t think for a moment I’d have to be to want you.”
She didn’t respond.
“You’re a real fine woman.”
“If you don’t pipe down, I’m getting up.”
The last thing he needed to do was to elaborate on an attraction he’d been fighting to hide. He tugged up the blankets and turned onto his side, putting his back to hers. Not the most comfortable position, but certainly the safest.
“Good night, Grace.”
Trapped beneath the covers, the warmth of his back pressed against hers, Maggie didn’t answer. So much for his gentle nature. Staring at a spot of light cast by a lantern, she felt like a sardine packed into one of those tin cans. The stone wall sent her breath right back into her face.
She shifted her shoulders, trying to find a more comfortable spot, but it was no use. Garret’s big body forced her to lie straight as a fence post. She couldn’t deny her body’s craving for sleep. She ached to curl up, to curve her legs, to really feel his warmth against her. If she had to lie beside him, she might as well be comfortable.
“Garret?” she said, pushing up.
“What?” He sounded wide-awake and just as irritable.
“I’m not comfortable.”
He muttered a few words beneath his breath before saying, “You can have the bed.”
“No,” she said, reaching over him before he could toss the blankets back. “That’s not what I meant. We fit in this bed when we weren’t back to back.”
His eyebrows shot up, the surprise in his expression nearly making her smile. The heat of his side penetrating her shirt made her eager to snuggle against him.
“I didn’t think you’d want—”
“Just lie back,” she said, her voice surprisingly gruff.
He stared at her a moment then eased against the pillow. “All right.”
The stiff blade at her hip hindering her plans, she released her belt and looped the beaded leather over the bedpost. Burrowing back beneath the covers, she shifted partially over Garret, settling her head against his shoulder. His shirt wasn’t as soft as his skin had been—but he felt nice all the same.
She marveled at the heat of his body as the tension in her muscles melted away. Warmth shimmered inside her, soothing her chill far more efficiently than any blanket ever had. She stroked his chest, her fingers burning to feel the direct heat of his skin.
Staggered by Grace’s display of trust, Garret stared at the ebony crown of her head and struggled to breathe. Her hand brushed over his shirt, her fingertips slipping just inside his open collar. The slight brush of skin turned his sleeping solution into sheer punishment. Did she really think their clothes made all that much difference when they were twined together so intimately?
Apparently so, he thought as she yawned, her firm breasts brushing against his chest. If she moved her thigh a tad higher…
Holy hell.
“Okay?” she asked, seeming snug as a bug and sounding half-asleep.
“Sure.” He forced the word past his desire-constricted throat.
She didn’t suffer any such affliction, her body completely relaxed against his. She’s just exhausted. Or incredibly naive. Or perhaps she meant to torture him.
He tugged the heavy blankets up over her shoulders, knowing full well she didn’t have a clue as to how deeply her innocent movements burned him to the quick. He had to remind himself that Grace didn’t want him in her home and couldn’t wait to kick him on down the mountain.
Her hand moved again, sliding clear down to his waistband. Her fingers found a gap at the bottom of his shirt and burrowed inside. His breath hitched as fingertips trailed across his belly, leaving sparks beneath his skin.
“Grace?”
“What?” she asked, sounding sleepy, her husky voice adding to the wild stir of his blood.
“Your hand is in my shirt,” he said, as if she was somehow unaware of her hand stroking him as though he were a big tabby cat.
“You’re so warm.”
His hand flattened hers, holding her palm to the place where his heart thumped wildly. He shifted to his side, the sudden move dumping her onto the pillow beside him.
She tried to pull her hand away. “If you don’t like my touch—”
“I more than like it! You’re setting me on fire.”
“I am?”
He could hardly believe the surprise in her expression. She didn’t have an
y idea what her touch was doing to him. “It’s damn hard to have your hands on me when I’ve been fighting the urge to kiss you all day.”
Sapphire-blue eyes widened. “You wanted to kiss me?”
“I figured that much was obvious.”
“Not to me. No one’s ever wanted to kiss me before.”
Not wanted to kiss her? “Not even your husband?”
Her expression soured. “No. He wasn’t a tender sort of man.”
Garret had guessed that much, but he couldn’t have guessed the kiss she’d given him a few days ago had been her first. Guilt festered inside him as he recalled just how fully and all the places he’d kissed her. “I must have shocked you, waking you up the way I did.”
“You did.” Her slow smile filled him with the urge to relearn the textures of her mouth. “But I’ve had worse surprises. Like coons in the pantry, a skunk in my cabin—
Garret couldn’t fight his laughter. She tensed and tried to push away from him—not appreciating his humor.
He grabbed her hands. “Don’t get mad,” he said, brushing his lips over her fingertips. She trembled against him. “I’m just happy to hear kissing me ranked above skunks in your cabin.”
Her fingers curved around his as her smoldering blue eyes lingered on his mouth. “Can’t imagine your wife would have objected to kissing.”
“I haven’t had a wife in nearly three years, Grace. You’re the first woman I’ve kissed in a long while.”
She drew a deep breath and slowly released it, the minty scent tempting him.
“You didn’t really kiss me,” she said. “You thought you were dreaming.”
“It was a good dream.” Watching her eyes widen, he leaned in, pausing a breath away from her lips. “Grace, would you like to be kissed?”
Her hand slid into his hair and tugged him to her lips—incredibly soft lips that parted beneath his, welcoming the deep kiss he hadn’t stopped thinking about. The desire he’d been trying to suppress burst to life as she kissed him back without hesitation, her cool, minty tongue stroking against his. For being half out of his mind with fever when he’d kissed her last, his memory of her generous mouth and alluring tongue sure hadn’t dimmed. His hands remembered the path they’d followed, the curve of her hip, swell of her backside, the firm, resilient flesh of her thigh still hidden beneath soft buckskin.
Her moan was captured inside his mouth as his hand began a slow ascent up her body until her breast filled his palm. Layers of wool and cotton didn’t hide the tight peak rising to his touch.
She whimpered against his mouth, her short nails biting into his shoulders.
Unsure of her response, he pulled back.
“Grace, if you want me to—”
“I do,” she said, her breath ragged as she pulled him back to her lips. “I want you.”
She took possession of his mouth, his mind. Every stroke of her mint-tinged tongue pulled him deeper into a rush of passion exceeding anything he could have conjured in a dream. She arched against him, her breast pressing into his palm, seeking more of his touch. He groaned as she shifted beneath him, her thighs sliding over his hips as she pulled him more fully on top of her. The contact was like a jolt of lightning straight into his veins. Hunger roared through him, shaking him.
Returning her fervent kiss, he caressed her fully, but it wasn’t enough. He sought the buttons on her shirt but she combated his attempt. He moved back just as her hands stole inside the shirt she’d discreetly unbuttoned. Watching her eyes burn with pleasure as she combed her fingers over his chest enchanted him. She shoved the fabric toward his shoulders.
“Get this off.”
He definitely loved that demanding tone. Unable to resist, he recaptured her mouth, his hips shifting against hers as he drew her flushed lower lip between his teeth. She moaned, her body flexing against him, shuddering from the rhythmic caress of his hips. She was like a flower blooming beneath his touch. He ached to give her the pleasure she’d been denied.
“Kissing you,” he breathed against her mouth, “holding you…it’s like discovering spring.” He leaned back to comply with her wishes to remove his shirt.
Maggie couldn’t deny the feelings he awakened inside her were akin to springtime. Watching sculpted ripples move in the lamplight stirred a wave of flutters low in her belly, like a thousand rose petals opening at once. Every flex of muscle doubled her need to feel him press against all the parts of her body aching for his touch. She reached up, smoothing her hand across the contrast of his pale hair and deep bronze of his skin. Her fingertips traced a thin, darkening trail down his belly to the waistband of his trousers.
He groaned and moved over her. “You’re amazing.”
“It’s you.” She’d never felt this way before. The mere thought of pressing her skin to his made her shiver all over. To have his gentle hands on her body again…
She tugged at her wool undershirt but his hands stopped her.
“Let me.”
Maggie stared up at the warm green eyes intent on hers as he caressed her waist while making a slow ascent. She trembled as he brushed the sides of her breasts, his gentle fingers searching into the sleeves of her shirt, caressing and lifting the fabric away from her body.
“You’re soft as a spring blossom.”
Maggie knew she wasn’t, and tensed at the sudden thought of Garret seeing her body in the bright light, exposing years of hard-learned lessons with hair-trigger traps and unruly critters.
“Garret—” Her shirts enveloped her as he pulled them up.
“Grace.” Her hands caught over her head in a tangle of fabric, making her completely vulnerable, powerless against his roving gaze. Gasping for breath, she watched as he noted every imperfection.
Her eyes hazed. Before she could protest, his mouth was on her, dusting her body with kisses, showering her with tenderness. The thrilling caress of his lips melted away her apprehension as heat swirled inside her.
His lips brushed the tip of one breast and then the other, sparking tendrils of new sensation.
“I like that,” she said, the words escaping her lips.
He smiled against her breast and the coils tightened.
“Me, too,” he whispered, his tongue grazing the tight, tingling peak before drawing her into the warm, wonderful wetness of his mouth.
Her back arched. She fought the fabric from her hand and plunged her fingers into his hair. His roving hands overwhelmed her as he caressed and molded, pushing away clothing until she felt his fingers caressing every inch of her skin.
He kissed a slow trail to her other breast, the hands stroking her thighs adding to the wild strumming of her pulse. She cried out as his mouth closed over her, welcoming the brightness, the beauty of being wanted, cherished.
His hand grazed the juncture between her thighs where an ache flared into an unquenchable need. She pressed her feet into the mattress, her legs quivering with tension as she strained against the pressure of his hand. His long finger stroked her shockingly sensitive flesh, each gentle glide startling her with a sting of pleasure.
She’d die if he kept on. She needed more of him. Breath escaped her as he suckled and stroked, each new burst of color and sensation bringing a deeper yearning.
“Garret!”
His weight settled over her and Maggie reveled in the feel of his skin against hers, her hands feasting on the corded muscles of his back as he kissed her. She twisted against him, sliding her fingers just beneath his waistband, trembling from the volatile combination of intriguing textures, the hair on his chest, his smooth, firm backside. He broke the kiss and pulled away from her.
Stunned by his sudden retreat, she sat up, ready to haul him back against her. He stood and stripped off his trousers in a few deft movements.
Maggie’s breath stalled at the full sight of him. Her Viking, powerful, beautiful—ready to conquer. She suddenly felt very small, dainty even.
The mattress sank beneath his knee, and Maggie swallowed hard,
her body flooded by a rush of anticipation and apprehension at the thought of lying with him.
“Grace?”
She shivered, the gruffness of his voice stirring the wonderful sensations he’d conjured with his mouth and his hands. He tugged at the tie holding her hair and she felt the loose strands spread across her shoulders.
“Beautiful,” he said, his arms circling her as he eased her back.
She reached for him, her hands framing his handsome face, stroking his short beard. She couldn’t have known the “something more” Ira had told her about was a kind of spring in winter, melting away the ugliness of life. Nothing mattered but this man dusting her with gentle kisses as though she truly were the delicate woman of his dreams.
Desire gripping his body, Garret settled over Grace. The friction of her skin against his burned through the last strand of his control. Taking her mouth in a hard kiss he pushed home with a single thrust. Her pleasing moan didn’t go any further than his mouth as her welcoming warmth surrounded him. He held her pressed to the bed, the tight sheath of her body about to undo him.
Her hands stroked down his back until her fingers closed over his backside. Her hips shifted, seeking, caressing him so completely he groaned against his body’s unbearable demand for release. Not yet.
Grace shoved against his shoulders. “Am I…hurting you?”
The alarm in her voice broke through the wild surge of sensation. How could she think she’d hurt him when he’d never felt anything so incredible as her generous heat? The combination of passion and concern in her bright blue eyes answered his question, reminding him of the abuse he knew she’d endured. That she had opened her trust to him, her body, moved him beyond physical pleasure.
“No,” he said, brushing his lips over hers. He rocked against her and she trembled, her eyes widening with surprise. “No more than I’m hurting you.”
Focused on the desire brightening her eyes, he repeated the slow, deliberate caress. Her thighs moved higher on his hips, silently asking for more of him, and he gave it to her, every thrust deeper, harder as pleasure expanded between them.