by Karen Anders
No man had ever brought her to such life, had ever driven her to such torment. No man had ever whispered her name as if his life depended on it.
Jenna melded with Sam. She was drowning in him, soaring with him. The frenzy he roused in her belly lashed her, flayed her, whipped her, until sensation sang through her blood, sparkled in her fingertips and toes, danced in her eyes.
She felt his shaft, hard and insistent against her thigh, and she opened for him, spreading her legs wide to take him against the wet, scorching heat of her core. She heard his moan when the smooth head of his shaft first touched her, jolting her with fevered anticipation.
He slid down her body, dragging his mouth over her aching flesh; she arched into his kisses, writhing in the throes of hard-pounding pleasure.
She groaned, groaned again. The peak was building in her, clambering against her belly, jagged and thudding in her. His mouth took her soaring, spinning, balancing her on a knife’s edge. On the verge of fulfillment, she wept with it. Her head lashed from side to side, her body convulsing, shuddering as the pleasure sped through her in exquisite sensation after sensation.
She opened her eyes. She saw the inferno of satisfaction, the need in Sam’s eyes, the frayed limit of control, the gloss of sweat on his forehead and the stunning smile that was hers. And then she reached to him, taking him in her hand. His face contorted in agony, his hard, chest-deep moan echoing against the walls of the cabin. She saw his eyes widen, darken. She smiled then, and guided him to her.
She cried out, the agony of his penetration incredible, the thrusts of his hips excruciating. She clutched at him, dragged her own hands through his hair and demanded her own kisses. She pulled him against her, hard and urgent, and blatantly urged him on.
Sam grasped her hips, increasing the tempo, powering into her, slick and hot and sweet. His thrusts plumbed fathomless depths, more infinite than passion, want, isolation or desire could reach. All Jenna could do was take him deeper. She bowed and swayed, her hands holding him tight, his hands and his mouth devouring her. She felt his cock grow harder inside her. And then, suddenly, like a white-hot storm, the fire whooshed over her in breathtaking waves of flame. Her equilibrium broke into shards, splinters, dust. She cried out to him, caught in a vortex of feeling, sensation, detonation. He cried out and followed her into that storm, a harsh sound of pleasure. She held him tighter, tighter, whispering to him as he buried himself in her, as he, too, shuddered to release.
She gasped against the pulsing aftermath of the passion, and they lay tangled and spent. His forehead connected with hers, his chest heaving from his exertion. She fondled his damp hair, taking pleasure in the heaviness of him, the heat of him, the leashed power of him. She fought the need to pull away; afraid that, once separated, they wouldn’t be able to find their way back.
Sam finally rolled to his side. He cushioned her against him, rubbing his cheek against her hair.
“I think we should make our way to the bed, unless you want to sleep here.”
“I want to sleep here.”
“I’ll get more blankets then.”
After that coupling, Jenna couldn’t imagine ever feeling cold again. But the night would be cold, even with the fire. She wished there was some kind of cover that might protect them from the world, from the dawning of the day and the reality she was going to have to face.
“A good idea,” she agreed.
Sam came back with a couple of blankets, pillows and a featherlight down comforter and they snuggled beneath the warmth, wrapped in each other’s arms. They were quiet with contentment and pleased with understanding, ignoring the world beyond the fire and the rain and what would await them when they woke.
That would be later, Jenna knew, her eyes closed against Sam’s chest, her fingers entwined in his, her leg thrown over his. For now, she couldn’t ask more than to savor these few moments of perfect and intense passion.
11
SAM WATCHED JENNA from the back of the classroom as she conducted her master class. The students asked numerous questions and Jenna handled each one with poise and confidence. She taught them what she called bowing techniques, using musical terminology he didn’t understand.
They had spent the night in the line shack and returned to the ranch at first light. The way she had met the storm and the night roughing it impressed him. She’d also taken to riding as if she’d been born in the saddle, even insisting on managing the grooming of the big Appaloosa herself. He smiled to himself. He had to admit she’d done a damn fine job.
She’d also done a damn fine job of insinuating herself into his heart. He couldn’t deny it. She was there and it would take time to get her out. She’d slipped under his defenses and made herself at home. She’d even groomed Silver Shadow when he’d returned after the storm. Now he couldn’t imagine sleeping without her, seeing her as he walked through the door, having her smile at him from across the table. But she’d made it quite clear that what she wanted from him was a temporary fling. Nothing more.
It’s what he’d wanted, too, but now he wanted more. Somehow he would have to accept the fact that she didn’t. It was Wednesday, and by Saturday she would be gone. She’d committed to two concerts and the final performance would be on Friday.
He got up from his seat and slipped out of the room. He’d do a few errands and then come back and pick her up.
He was better off, he told himself silently. She might do all the things that Tiffany couldn’t or wouldn’t, but he was aware that she still didn’t belong here. He’d be fooling himself if he tried to make himself believe that she did.
JENNA SAID GOODBYE to the last student and exited the classroom, but Sam was nowhere to be found. She went to the entrance and peeked out, but his truck wasn’t at the curb. He must be delayed. Jenna went back into the college and sat down on one of the couches in the empty lounge. Opening her briefcase, she noticed the red cover of her grandmother’s diary.
She opened to the page she had marked and began to read.
January 30, 1958
Oahu is beautiful and I’m happy to relax after my concerts on the big island of Hawaii. I was invited by the mayor of Oahu to be his guest. His daughter, Kalei, was very kind to me and asked me if I wished to learn the hula. I told her that I thought the dance was very erotic and I’d love to learn.
She gifted me with a colorful swath of material, a grass skirt she had made with her own hands, and a very suggestive, anatomically correct tiki good-luck charm necklace.
One night, after I’d been practicing the hula for about a week, the mayor hosted a luau.
There were many sailors there and Kalei asked if I wished to dance. I offered to sing, too, and learned a beautiful song in Hawaiian that spoke of a forbidden love.
I wore very little, just a simple multicolored strip of material and the grass skirt.
When the drumming began, I could feel the beat deep inside my body to the very core of my sex. I walked onto the stage and began the sinuous, graceful movements. A navy officer sat in the first row and caught my eye. He watched me intently, his eyes following all my movements.
I danced in the traditional way called Kahiko. The style is rooted in tradition, in a culture of survival and the laws of the gods and kapus, which means taboo. When I began to move, I felt the raw life force that rushed through my body. The steps and movements convey power, sexual prowess, sensuality, and a deep reverence for the balancing forces of nature and the gods, who protect or savage at will. I danced for him, sang the song to him. It was very arousing.
Later, after the festivities, I took a walk on the beach and that navy officer followed me. He told me his name is Daniel. He is very handsome and the adventure changed for me. I can’t say how or why, but I knew I couldn’t seduce him out here on the beach, even though I wished to.
He is very sweet and kind and said he was on a month’s leave. He spoke to me about his loneliness and the draw of the sea. I spent all night listening to him talk about his life.
I’m overcome by emotion. I’m surprised that a man would be interested in only conversation from a woman and not want anything else.
I kissed him softly on the lips, using all that I had learned to not seduce, but to connect. His mouth was full and I couldn’t get enough of kissing him.
It was the most amazing night of my tour.
February 28, 1958
I have been so neglectful in writing in my diary, but it’s been such a glorious month with Daniel. The first time we made love was magical. It was on a secluded beach with nothing but a blanket beneath our heaving bodies. His mouth, hot on my breasts, felt so glorious.
My hands kneaded the leashed strength bunched in his muscles. The feel of his hard, thick shaft between my legs made me moan into his mouth. I gently took his full bottom lip between my teeth, nipping it tenderly.
I could feel him trembling and he pleaded with me. “Please,” he said thickly.
The wild urgency of his kiss vibrated through every pore, every cell, and every muscle with a throbbing, reverberating resonance. I thrust my silk-clad breasts against his bare chest.
His mouth slipped down my neck to my collarbone where he lightly ran his tongue over the velvet ridge. I had twisted against his hold, when I felt the moist teasing of his tongue glide over my skin. His hands settled on my rib cage and I was caught up in a whirlwind of sensation when his hands moved up my rib cage, each delicate wedge of bone by each delicate wedge of bone, until he cupped my breasts, his thumbs caressing the hard tips. His mouth closed over my flesh and I gasped at the sharp, electrifying sensation.
When he entered me I climaxed hard. He thrust into me in an out-of-control passion. Never before have I experienced such a deep, abiding emotion for a man. Never before had I wanted to take a moment in time and freeze it for all eternity.
Afterward I lay in his arms, spent, satisfied and determined to—
“I hope you haven’t been waiting long.” Sam’s deep voice broke her concentration and Jenna jumped, hastily closing the small book.
“I got caught up jawing about longhorn breeding and lost track of the time.”
With trembling hands, she replaced the diary and stood. Reaching for Sam by the back of the neck, she brought his mouth down to hers. She tasted his lips slowly and languidly, needing the scent of him in her nostrils, the feel of his big body against hers.
This tough, tantalizing man made her want things that weren’t possible. There was no way she would fit in here. No way she could stay here and be true to her music. No way.
And she couldn’t bear it if he ended up like her father. To be broken, stamped into the dust under the heel of her mother’s unfeeling shoe. Jenna wouldn’t destroy Sam. She couldn’t give him what he wanted, either—home, hearth and children.
When she broke the kiss, he gave her a long, assessing look. She avoided his gaze and looked at anything but him. She experienced a hefty shot of guilty conscience. She wasn’t here for this, the unprecedented emotion she felt for this man. She was here for the diary, and she’d been too long in getting her hands on it. To hell with her gran’s search for the perfect passion. The last entry in her gran’s diary had been special. She could tell by the depth of emotion in the passage. That encounter had touched Jenna more than she was willing to admit because it seemed that the search wasn’t about passion at all. Unlike her gran’s encounters, her relationship with Sam wasn’t casual. She had tried to make herself believe that, but it wasn’t true. This wasn’t fun and games, no matter what Jenna thought she was doing.
He held her and made her look at him. “Boy, Jenna, I should be late more often.”
Her cheeks heated with a flush. If only she didn’t want more from him—more than an easygoing friendship spiced with hot sex. But she did want more. She wanted so much more. Drawing a tremulous breath, she slid her arms around his waist. “Don’t get a big head, Winchester.”
They walked out of the college into the sunlight. Sam held her door open and she stepped up into the truck.
Sam went through the center of town, and, for the first time, Jenna really looked around. She spotted Lurleen and waved as they passed the Kellar Mercantile and the diner. It was a town rich with history and full of friendship and camaraderie. Just as they were turning a corner, a structure caught her eye. Windy Bill’s Honky-Tonk and Saloon was printed on a big neon sign that wasn’t lit.
“Sam, what’s that? A bar?”
“You could say that. That’s the honky-tonk.”
“Honky-tonk?”
“A country-western bar and nightclub.”
“Do they have dancing there?”
“Sure, the Texas two-step and swing.”
“Could you take me?” she asked, intrigued.
“It’s not the kind of place you’re used to.”
His voice was laced with censure and reluctance. He was starting to draw away and she should let him, but it hurt inside. “I’d like to go, unless you’re busy tonight.”
“I’m not, but if you can wait, Saturday is the best night to go.” He took his eyes off the road to look at her.
She met his eyes evenly. “I’ll be leaving on Saturday,” she said.
“That’s right. You are. I forgot,” Sam said flatly.
“Are you angry with me?”
She could see an odd play of emotions cross his face in the sunlight. “Why would I be angry?”
“I told you I was staying two weeks. I’ve got a tour to finish up. I have to be in Rome on Monday. Besides, I’ve taken up enough of your time.”
He held his jaw firmly, his lips compressed, his eyes carefully on the road. “Tooter would agree.”
“I bet he would.”
“I’ve got to stop at the feed store and pick up some nutritional supplements. Do you mind?”
“No. Go ahead.”
The feed store parking lot was packed with trucks. Some men were loading; others were leaning on the side of their pickups, talking. Sam parked the truck and Jenna opened the door and dropped down to the gravel. Sam was greeted by almost everyone there. He smiled warm and friendly, a smile that crinkled up his eyes and showed the stark white of his teeth against his tanned features. He held out his hand again and again, greeting this neighbor and that with questions about relatives or animals or occupations. And he brought Jenna right along with him, so that she was enfolded into the warmth of the group of men and women.
Jenna could see that each person he greeted was truly glad to see him. The men showed respect, and the women showed the kind of natural maternal pride that tends to hover around a hometown boy who’s done well.
And Jenna knew this was where Sam belonged. He was part of the landscape, ingrained in the community, one with the land and the people in a town that he took as his responsibility to nurture.
He was as grounded as she was transient. She had no ties in New York now that her gran was dead, and only an agent friend who cared about her as a person. She’d never really had time to make lasting friendships like this. She’d never find this kind of connection when she returned to her apartment building. In fact, she’d be surprised if anyone even realized she’d been gone.
This kind of connection pulled at her heart and she suddenly longed to belong as solidly as Sam did. She craved it. His arm was around her shoulders and she received plenty of curious looks and speculative glances.
This kind of connection also terrified her. Music had always been her touchstone and she wouldn’t—couldn’t—allow herself to need anything else. It was her life’s work and she wanted no other ties. Ties that bind, ties that would require her to expose her heart, ties that would require her to keep Sam’s heart safe. She wasn’t up to that task. She didn’t want him to love her.
It all came down to a choice. Her gran had chosen love and her mother had chosen music above all else, even her daughter. And that hurt more than Jenna would ever let her mother see. She would be strong and untouchable, not responsible for anyone else’s happiness.
Sam straightened and nodded. “Right. Gotta get along.” He tipped his hat and went into the feed store. Jenna headed back to the truck, unsettled about her tumbled, jumbled feelings for Sam, the land, and this slice of small-town life. As she pulled open the truck’s door, Sam came out of the feed store, a small bag in his hand. He smiled at her. As he came up alongside her, a man called his name and Sam turned to speak with him.
Jenna was struck by the strength of his profile. Clean, hard lines, his nose straight and fine, his chin strong and solid, his jaw like granite. When he turned to include her in the introductions, his eyes were deep, mesmerizingly blue. Honest, rough-hewn features gnawed at her composure in a way no others had before. He took off his hat, toying with the band. She quelled an urge to run her fingers through his thick hair and smooth it off his forehead. She turned away to keep from falling headfirst into the pulling effect of his eyes.
“Hey, Sam,” the man said as they shook hands. “Been meaning to give you a call. I wanted to come and take a look at your stock of quarter horses. Millie needs a good barrel racer.”
“I saw where she won the junior competition. That’s impressive, Mike.”
The man’s voice was full of pride when he spoke. “She’s a pistol, my Millie. Seems like she’s twelve going on thirty and not one cowardly bone in her body. Keep trying to talk her out of rodeoing. Plumb near stops my heart to think of her on some mean ol’ bull. Barrel racing is safer.”
“Sure is. But what about the horse she rode in the competition?”
“Pulled a tendon and, I have to be honest, he’s already peaked. She won by a tight margin and used most of her skill. I want her on a better horse, one of yours.”
“My horses can hold their own.”
The man turned to Jenna and huffed. “Can you believe this guy? Acting as if his animals are just no slouches in the competition business. I heard that Jigsaw’s progeny Jigsaw’s Puzzle won the roping competitions across the board. Hell, ever since Tuff McGee won the roping title on the circuit, riding Jigsaw’s Puzzle, roper enthusiasts have been knocking down your door for Jigsaw’s foals. Your daddy would be proud.”