Surrender A Dream

by Jill Barnett

  "What are you looking for?"

  "Tools." He moved a barrel aside, swearing. And a bull and a wall.

  "I saw some stuff in there." She pointed toward a small doorway, hidden in a dark corner.

  He strode forward. It was too dark to see anything. He took another breath, glad for a moment that he couldn't see her. But the sooner he found the cutters, the sooner he could get rid of her, at least for now. And he needed the light to find the cutters. "What are you standing there for? Bring that light here."

  "I thought you wanted me in the house," she said, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

  No, he thought, that's not where I want you.

  He waited a long, long moment. "Well, now that you're here, you might as well be useful."

  Light preceded her into the small workshop. He turned, expecting her to mouth off again, but she stood there, looking aghast at the room. "Lord, what a mess."

  He grabbed the lantern and hung it on a hook from one of the low rafters, well away from her small, perfect body. He looked around the room. She was right. Rakes, shovels, and hoes were scattered over piles of farm and shop tools. Wooden-handled planes lay on the damp ground, with hammers, rusty saws, and every other tool imaginable strewn chaotically across the room. Nails and screws spilled from a barrel, and tangles of rope crisscrossed the room.

  He shoved aside an overturned wheelbarrow and found a wooden chest. He kicked the top open and found the wire cutters. He grabbed them and walked past her. "Follow me."

  "Of course, master."

  "Knock it off." Or, he thought, I'll master you, all right.

  He made it a few feet into the dark barn and remembered the light. He swore, spun around, and ran right into her. His hand shot out, instinctively grabbing for something to hold.

  He held a soft, full breast. The nipple hardened. Sweet Jesus. So did he.

  She gasped, then slapped his hand away.

  Their breathing echoed through the silence of the room.

  He didn't dare look at her. He stared over her head, focusing on a harness that hung on the shop wall. She didn't move, and he could feel her staring up at him. He didn't want to see her face. "Move. I need to get the lamp."

  He heard her step aside, and he walked by, grabbed the lantern and left the room. He could hear her shuffling behind him, her mouth quiet. At least there were no more "master" comments. He set the lamp down inside the stall and cut the baling wire; then he began to break up the hay for his horse. "You don't have to stay."

  "No… I don't… do I?"

  He counted slowly to ten. It took forever. She fought him, every damn time.

  He kicked a flake off the hay, waiting for a smart remark. It never came. Unable to resist, he said, "What's wrong, no more master comments?"

  She looked away. He followed her example and tried to ignore her as he uncinched the saddle and lifted it off the horse. He looked around, then set it on the stall rail. He next removed the bridle and Jericho went straight for the hay.

  The Pinky woman stood next to it. Jericho closed in and she gasped, jumping back. She stood plastered against the stall, her eyes as scared as a bug in a chicken yard. He felt sorry for her, for about a second.

  "Where's all that fight now, Miss Pinky?"

  She didn't say a word.

  "He won't hurt you. Come on."

  "Uh-uh." She shook her fool head.

  "If you'd learned to ride, you wouldn't be so afraid." She looked skeptical and fearful. He'd try one more thing. "It's just your ignorance."

  That did it. She glared at him. "I'm not ignorant."

  "Then how come you never learned to ride a horse?"

  "I don't like them." Her chin shot up, but she still hugged the stall. Jericho's tail swished while he ate, and she kept one eye on him while she moved her head out of the path of the bushy, black tail.

  "Well, I don't like dances, but that doesn't mean I never learned to dance." He shook his head, unable to reason like this crazy woman. "Come on." He started to leave the stall.

  She didn't budge.

  "For Christ's sake!" He spun around and grabbed her arm, almost peeling her away from the stall. He made for the barn doors, pulling her along with him. "Come on, now, you need to get back to the house before the farmyard floods." And I'll be damned, he thought, if I'll stay stranded in the barn all night with her.

  True to form, she fought him, digging in her heels and pulling back. He stopped and scowled at her. She glared up at him; then, when she knew he watched her, she pointedly looked at her arm, clamped in his left hand. He pulled her over to the discarded slicker.

  "Put that back on." He heard her breathe. "Now!"

  She jumped, then bent down, pulling the huge slicker around her small shoulders.

  Finally she obeyed him. Satisfaction swelled through him.

  She straightened and turned around, a defiant look still creasing her features. She took one deep breath and her lips quirked slightly. "Yes…"

  His eyes narrowed.

  "…master."

  That did it.

  His arms shot out and around her. He slammed her up against him. She looked up, surprised yet a little bit triumphant.

  The battle was on. He bent his head, staring into her glistening eyes.

  "Shut up." His mouth hit hers, hard, intending to punish her silent. She gasped. He buried his tongue in her warm mouth. He tasted her as he'd imagined. For once she didn't fight him, so he ran his rough tongue over hers, waiting to see what she'd do. Damn if she didn't stroke back.

  He bent his knees and clamped his right arm under the slicker and beneath her bottom, lifting her so her mouth was even with his. Their tongues battled. Her hands gripped his shoulders and his left hand spanned her damp head, holding it so he could thrust deeper. She groaned and gripped him tighter, moving her lips. He stroked her teeth, pulled back and licked at her lips.

  His mind flashed with the thought that this was heaven, but she tasted like sin.

  Slowly, like rainwater, he let her warm, little body slide down his. It took forever for her feet to touch the ground. All the while his mouth mated with hers. His hand still held her, gently kneading her butt and pressing her closer. He raised his hand and slowly drew the tips of his cold fingers over her neck, remembering the gun trailing over it and pausing to let his fingers feel the pulse beat in her neck. Her skin was smooth, like cornsilk, and softer than a ripe cotton bud.

  He watched her, rainwater beading near the curls that framed her face. Her lids closed, her lashes black and thick, her cheeks colored. The Pinky woman had passion, hot lusty passion. He wanted more. His mouth left hers and her breathing labored. He smiled and drew his lips across her forehead, kissed her eyes. He bent lower and rested his open mouth against the pulse in her soft neck. He licked her, then blew a small slow breath on the damp spot. She moaned. She moved. His lips brushed her ear. He wet it and sucked in a breath. She cried out and shook her head away from the thrust of his tongue.

  Her black eyes shot open. Panting, she stared up at him as if he'd just grown horns.

  "Oh, God!" Her hand covered her mouth and she spun around, out of his arms. Before he could gather her or his senses, she'd fled to the door and run out into the storm.

  "Addie, wait!"

  The barn door banged shut.

  He ran to the doors and shoved them open. The kitchen door slammed shut and he caught a flash of yellow through the window. He gripped the door, and stared out at the rain for a very long time, calling himself every kind of a fool. He'd forgotten. In his need to battle with this woman, he'd gone and forgotten the purpose of their fight. His land.

  Nothing was going right. He'd foolishly thought he could drive her away. She'd proved that wasn't the case, so far. She'd proved to have a stubborn streak as wide as his. There were times, however, when he'd actually looked forward to goading her. Fighting with this woman was… stimulating. He laughed to himself, thinking about his physical reaction to her. Sometimes it was too stimulati
ng. Something about her fueled his ire, and an odd need to make her react. He liked to see her mad, good and mad.

  But he had to admit that part of his interest was because she could surprise him. Just when he thought she'd do one thing, she'd turn around and do just the opposite. He was intrigued, and a little worried. She, unlike anyone he could remember, came close to touching a part of him that was better left untouched.

  He watched the rain, his face thoughtful. The lights went out, one by one. Montana stared at the dark windows, wishing this could be easily done. The house should be his. It was on his land. He didn't need to have some little female causing him trouble. He needed to rid himself of her before he started to care about what happened to her once she was gone.

  He tried to think, to conjure up his anger at the whole situation. Then he could direct that anger at her. Instead his mind flashed with the image of her face, lost in a world of feeling. Within a second, though, her passion had changed to horror. Her face had worn the same look she'd had when Jericho scared her. She was frightened, all right. He had finally frightened her, or his lust had. But now she was safe inside her farmhouse, protected from him.

  The rain had lessened, and he listened to it flicker on the wooden roof. The water that drizzled from the farmhouse roof changed to a fine trickle. He really looked at the wooden farmhouse, feeling deep inside that it was rightfully his. It wasn't a woman who should be dominating his thoughts. He needed to secure complete ownership of the farm. In the past few hours his goal had been forgotten, waylaid.

  But not now. He knew he had to drive off this woman—this woman who fought him at all the wrong times. And he had to do it soon. He leaned against the barn door, letting the water cool his face. Maybe it would help him think of how to get rid of her once and for all.

  The gun hadn't worked. Neither had the horse. She seemed immune to her own fears. He'd learned that he could only push her so far. Then she fought back. Now he had learned something new—the Pinky woman had passion. It was something new he could use against her.

  An idea sprouted in his mind. He smiled, and stared at the bedroom window. It might work, using her own passion against her. Suppose he chased her, like some love-starved fool. Suppose he scared her with his advances, hot lusty ones. She was inexperienced, that much he could tell from the caution in her kiss. It was great ammunition.

  A devious smile creased his face. His eyes glowed golden. He turned back, closing the barn doors, and suddenly he laughed out loud. It was a great plan. After the way she'd run, he was sure it would work. He'd start tomorrow, very slowly, and he'd build that fear to new heights. It would surely send her running. But if it didn't work, he was sure of one thing. He was going to have one hell of a good time.

  Addie sat in the dark parlor. The wet rain slicker hung on a wooden hall tree, and she could hear the water drip onto the wooden floor. The plop, plop droned on. It soothed her, and Lord knew she needed soothing. She tried to rub some warmth into her cold face. She ended up slicking back her wet hair. Water drops trickled down from her hairline, trailing over her mouth. The water felt cool on her warm, swollen lips; they still burned from his kiss. She ran her fingers over them, feeling the sensitive surface. She wondered if they'd ever be the same. She closed her eyes.

  Her emotions warred. Part of her was embarrassed, part of her puzzled. All of her was confused, and a very little, very wanton part of her was still shaking, because she liked it. She shivered, despite the fact that she sat in a soft chair, in a warm room, with a warm throw slung over her damp clothes.

  Never, as long as she lived, would she be able to look at that man without remembering the way he'd kissed her. With his tongue. No pursed lips, no puckered mouth. The devil had descended on her open-mouthed and used his tongue the way one savored a treat.

  When he'd kissed her, she'd felt like a dish of ice cream on a hot Fourth of July. And nothing, not the chaste smooches of a college classman, not the freewheeling joy of her first bicycle ride, not even the thrill of Mr. Ferris's wheel, had ever made her feel the way she felt in that barn. She grabbed a copy of Harper's and fanned herself. Just the memory had her all hot and bothered.

  Addie, girl, are you ever in trouble. Toad trouble.

  Her fist slammed onto the padded chair arm. Why him? She'd been held in a man's arms before. She sprang out of the chair and paced the small room. She'd been kissed, and those experiences had been pleasant and cozy, like the men who had done the kissing. Those men had slowly courted her. They had been gentlemen, with neat, trimmed hair. Men who smelled of bay rum, instead of rainwater, leather, and something else, something earthy.

  Tossing the throw on the chair, Addie went into the bedroom, changed into a dry nightgown and crawled under the downy covers of the feather bed. She laid back, thinking of her first kiss. It had come from an upperclassman named Sam, who had spent most of their six-month courtship sitting on a proper settee in the dormitory parlor, fidgeting like a three-year-old in church. She'd finally got tired of waiting, so she'd asked him to kiss her. She had thought for a brief moment that he was going to run out the door. He twisted his tie, pulled at his collar, and nervously swallowed big gulps of air. It still took him ten minutes. Then he'd plastered his dry, tightly closed lips on hers; but not for long, because he pulled away, burping from all the air he'd swallowed. Addie could remember thinking that it was like kissing a wall, a belching wall.

  Unlike tonight. Chills tingled up her neck. She prayed they were from her damp clothes. She knew better. Just like she knew she'd been asking for it, pushing him like she had with her smart mouth. But she'd gotten far more than she'd asked for. She'd done it to irritate him; it never really crossed her mind that he'd react so ruthlessly. She'd forgotten, because of the chicks, how he'd treated her before. She should have trusted her instincts. The first time she laid eyes on him she'd seen the wildness in his eyes. She'd seen it again at the dinner table. Her mind flashed with the image of his eyes just before he kissed her. They hadn't been the same. His eyes had burned with anger and power. The look wasn't lethal, as the others had been. It was dominant.

  And the last thing Adelaide Amanda Pinkney needed was to be dominated, especially by him. She had a farm to mind, chickens to raise, and a few more meals to ruin. And now she had a man to avoid, intriguing or not. It didn't matter that he made her feel odd. It didn't matter that he sparked in her a need to be a woman, a cherished, respected woman. It didn't matter that he kissed her senseless, with his tongue. What mattered was her future and her farm, and she'd just have to learn to ignore him, for her own good.

  A hard hand hit her smack on the backside. "Whack!"

  Addie screamed and shot straight up. Her hand covered her burning bottom.

  "Time for breakfast… Addie."

  The toad prince stood by her bed, grinning. It was the most lecherous grin she'd ever seen.

  She jerked the covers to her chin. "What do you think you're doing?"

  He loomed over the bed, his hair brushing his shoulders, his fists pressing into the bed, his leering face closing in. "I'm hungry…''

  "Get away!" Addie scooted back.

  His knee edged onto the bed. "…so hungry."

  He crawled closer, his mouth was parted, his gold eyes half closed. His expression that of an animal, seeking its mate. She dodged his lips. They landed on her neck, nibbling. She dropped the sheet and tried to shove him away. "Stop that this instant!"

  He pulled her hand from his shoulder and lifted it to his warm lips. "You don't mean that… sweet Addie." He held her hand fast, planting little kisses all over it while he grabbed the other one. He nuzzled open one palm. She tugged back on her hand.

  "Don't fight this," he mumbled into her hand. "It's stronger than both of us." He licked her palm.

  "Stop that!" She kicked at him, but the covers restricted her. His other knee eased onto the bed and he crawled closer. All the while, his lips trailed over her wrist, sending traitorous chills down her weak spine. She managed to j
erk one hand away and swatted at him. He dodged her swishing hand and buried his hot face in her neck. He made deep little wheezing noises into her neck, and she could feel his shoulders shake. Did men laugh when they were in the throes of passion? She'd never been in the throes before, so how would she know?

  "Get off me!" She shoved at him and kicked furiously beneath the covers, afraid of what was going to happen.

  He put a knee on either side of her legs, pulling the covers so taut that her legs were pinned. He bent over her, resting on his elbows on either side of her stiff shoulders while his face and mouth chased hers.

  "I'll scream," she threatened.

  He blew in her ear, then whispered, "Do it. Let all that passion out." His tongue circled her ear. "My sweet…''

  Chills whisked down her neck and she twisted her head away.

  "…hot…''

  Desperate, she grabbed fistfuls of his hair.

  "…Addie…"

  She pulled, hard.

  He grunted, then swore under his breath. He twisted his head.

  She wouldn't let go. "Get off me!"

  He kept his mouth against her neck. He began to suck on it.

  She pulled his hair again.

  His hands splayed over her breasts, and squeezed. "Such soft, pearly globes," he said through gritted teeth.

  She twisted his hair. He reached up and grabbed her hands. He lost his balance and fell, full force, on top of her.

  A loud crack sounded. The mattress buckled and they crashed to the floor, the iron foot and head rails collapsing.

  He was still sprawled over her, one knee wedged high between her legs. He moved it.

  Addie's eyes flew open. Feathers floated everywhere, and the more she wiggled to get free, the more they puffed up into the air. She waved them away and Montana began to sneeze. Addie wormed free and crawled over the remains of the bed, tilted at an odd angle with the floor. Just as she reached the edge, the last side rail gave way, dumping her out onto the feathered floor.

  She heard his muffled voice between sneezes. Grabbing half of a broken wooden bed slat, she scampered up and raised it high over her head.