The Magnificent Seven

by Cheryl St. John

  That brought her gaze to his. "No."

  "Good." He tilted up her chin and kissed her.

  "Are you?"

  Oh, yes. Sorry that he couldn't say more. Sorry that all they'd ever share would be stolen moments in the night. Sorry she didn't need or want more. Somehow she'd kindled a fire in him that wouldn't be squelched by a few nights of abandon. "No."

  "Good." She traced his jaw. "Did you shave just for me?"

  He nodded.

  "I noticed."

  She caressed her fingertips across his smooth chin, lowered her thumb to the hollow at his throat, then raised her index finger to his lower lip.

  Her arousing touches started his blood pounding.

  He took the tip of her fìnger into his mouth, and she inhaled sharply. She withdrew it and kissed him.

  "It's only fair to warn you that you're starting something," he said with a growl. He pressed himself against her through the barrier of the sheet.

  "That's not a warning." She gave him a flirtatious smile. "That's an invitation."

  Twelve

  The following morning, Heather climbed out of her bed and into the shower, pleasurably sore and completely enamored.

  Mitch spoke about sex. in a frank, down-to-earth way, and he made love in the same manner, unsparingly, energetically.

  As the water sluiced down her newly awakened body, she savored every remembered moment up until he'd sent her back to the house, telling her he wouldn't risk another session until he'd gone into town and visited the pharmacy.

  Dressing, she discovered herself smiling irrepressibly and paused in front of the mahogany-framed mirror, the sight so foreign that she pulled herself up short. She couldn't remember ever being happy in this house. There had never been one cheerful association until now.

  She leaned forward and touched her lips, her neck, her collarbone. She'd lived almost thirty years without the affection of anyone except the children she'd given birth to, and Mitch's attentions would sidetrack her if she wasn't careful. Enjoy it, she told herself, but remember where you came from and where you're going. Don't get caught up and forget.

  Youthful voices alerted her that the kids were awake. She greeted them, then helped the boys dress. "Want help with your hair?" she asked Jess.

  Her daughter handed her the brush and an elastic band.

  "That's pretty," Taylor said a few minutes later as Heather neared the end of the French braid.

  Heather watched Taylor's revealing expression in the mirror. "Would you like me to fix your hair this way?" she asked the girl.

  The child glanced down for a moment, then looked up and nodded shyly.

  "Will you do mine, too, Heather?" Ashley asked, not the least inhibited with her request.

  It was almost a half hour later when Heather helped Andrew descend the stairs.

  "I'm hungry for pannycakes, Mama." Patrick opened the back door, allowing the fresh morning air and sunshine to permeate the kitchen.

  "Pancakes it is," she said, gathering the ingredients.

  "Wanna help set the table?" Jess asked the twins. She showed them how to arrange the plates and silverware.

  "Shall we see if Mitch wants to eat with us, Mama?" Jess asked, her usual thoughtful self. "They only have cereal at the bunkhouse."

  Heather hefted a heavy griddle onto the stove and turned on the burner. "Might as well. Andrew, you stay here with me."

  The girls and Patrick tore out the back door, and returned a few minutes later. "He was still sleepin'," Patrick informed her. "We woked him."

  "He'll be here in a little bit," Jess said.

  Heather imagined him sleeping in after his exhausting night and being awakened by this pack of rowdy hooligans. She grinned.

  The kids were seated and on their second batch of pancakes when his boots hit the porch floor and the door creaked open. Heather's heart tripped irrationally.

  Dressed in worn, clean jeans, a form-fitting T-shirt, his hair damp from a shower, he was the best thing Heather had ever laid eyes on. He greeted the kids with a smile, then his gaze shifted to hers. "Morning."

  "Morning," she managed to say around the erratic beat of her heart in her throat. She hadn't stopped thinking about last night; even her dreams had been sultry and vivid. Seeing him made her throat tight and her chest burn. What was wrong with her?

  Ashley hugged him and Mitch picked her up for a squeeze. She wrapped her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck. "Did you get lonesome last night, Daddy?"

  "Only a little. Your hair is beautiful! Yours, too, Taylor. And Jessica. Have you girls been to the beauty shop already this morning?"

  "No, silly," Ashley said. "Heather did our hair."

  "Your hidden talents never cease to amaze me," he drawled over Ashley's shoulder. "Pancakes, too."

  Heather's face grew hot. "Sit down and eat before they get cold."

  He lowered Ashley and took a seat. After the first taste, he rolled his eyes. "Hot and sweet, just the way I like them."

  His playful teasing was unexpected, but she enjoyed the familiarity of his underlying messages.

  "Maybe you'll feel like making them again tomorrow morning."

  "Maybe I will," she replied. They flirted and grinned and bantered like. . .lovers.

  Heather rolled the word around in her head. Lovers.

  Perhaps that was a trifle too strong for what they really meant to each other.

  What did they mean to each other?

  She caught herself and arrested the thoughts that had buoyed her all morning. A summer fling was not a true test for the reality of a permanent relationship. Losing her head over this sexy man did not justify the loss of herself and her freedom. She wasn't willing to lock herself into the bondage of marriage again, so keeping things in perspective had to be her goal.

  But as he finished his breakfast and sauntered out the door, casting a sexy smile just for her over his shoulder, she knew keeping him in perspective would be no easy task.

  Her seeming aversion to this ranch wasn't consistent with the enjoyment she took in being here, Mitch thought the next day, watching Heather lead their five children home from an excursion in the foothills. She and Jessica carried buckets, which from this distance appeared to be filled with berries.

  From his position on the roof, he watched their approach with amusement. The closer they got, the clearer he could see the stains on all their hands and faces. The older children broke into a run and headed for the swings. Heather picked up Andrew, spotted Mitch and waved.

  He returned the greeting, noting her lips were as red as Andrew's chin. He'd like to taste her right now.

  Glancing over at Ronnie, he wielded his hammer and returned to his work. There was an endearing streak of defiance underlying Heather's precise and orderly character, and he would love to know what made her tick. Her pleasure in caring for the kids and preparing them meals was apparent in every task she performed. She didn't act like a city woman being put out by this turn of events.

  Words were the only expression of her desire to get away from the ranch and go back to California. But words were strong.

  That evening, he had put the girls to bed and was on the porch of the bunkhouse, going over the blueprints by lantern light, when Heather called from her back porch. "Phone for you!"

  He crossed the distance to the house and entered the kitchen. She handed him a cup of coffee, pointed with a blue paint-stained finger to the receiver lying on the counter, then disappeared into the newly remodeled room beyond.

  He wiped a smudge of wet paint from the phone with a napkin. "Hello?"

  "Mitch, how is the project going?" His grandfather's voice greeted him.

  "Just great."

  "Good. Good. I'm planning something for Saturday. A barbecue. I thought it would be good to get you brothers together. Will you be here?"

  "What time?"

  "Two."

  "We'll be there."

  They exchanged a few pleasantries and Mitch hung up. H
e found Heather in the combination laundry and bath. She had taped off the lower half of the walls and was painting a small section blue with a roller. As soon as she got the section painted, she set the roller aside and, using both hands, crimped a rag and manipulated it over the area, taking paint off in a eye-pleasing pattern.

  "What are you doing?"

  "Rag rolling. I saw it on the home and garden channel. It's not as easy as it looks. If you don't roll over it fast enough, the paint dries. You really need extra hands."

  "How about if I roll the paint and you do the 'froufrou thing'?"

  She looked at him over her shoulder. "The 'froufrou thing'?"

  He picked up the roller. "Go."

  They worked that way for about forty-five minutes, until Heather stopped and rolled her shoulders and neck. "This takes arm strength."

  Mitch snorted. "Let me try."

  "This is the section the washer will cover. I guess you can practice."

  He raised a brow as though insulted, and bent to the task.

  She laughed at his first attempts, but once he got the hang of it, the walls were finished in no time.

  "You can add interior decorator to your résumé now," she teased.

  "I don't think so." He washed the roller and pan in the deep metal sink he had installed. "How come you're doing this, anyway, if you're just putting the place up for sale?"

  She scrubbed paint from under her fingernails and shrugged. "I wanted the room to look finished. I ordered some wallpaper border that has quilts hanging on a clothesline."

  "I'm sure the new owners will appreciate the touch." He found his cup on a paint-speckled ladder, sipped and grimaced.

  "I can make some fresh," she said.

  "No, don't bother."

  They entered the kitchen, and Mitch placed his cup in the sink. He turned and noted the set of monitor units resting atop the checkered cloth on the oak table. He cast a suggestive glance at Heather, and she blushed.

  "I'd better go check on the girls." He turned away.

  "Coming back?"

  He turned and found her calmly straightening a stack of papers beneath the phone, as though the question hadn't been loaded. "Want me to?"

  She nodded. "You could take the baby unit and leave it beside them."

  "This one?"At her nod. he picked it up and left.

  When he returned, she was sitting on the porch. "You shaved."

  "How'd you know?"

  "I heard you." She lifted the white plastic monitor unit and grinned. Setting it on the porch floor, she stood and moved against him, reaching to caress his smooth jaw. "Nice."

  He kissed her gently.

  "You made a trip to town." She smoothed a finger over his chin.

  He nodded, knowing what she was getting at. "We're okay."

  He kissed her again.

  The surge of sensuality he created with a simple kiss surprised her anew. She wondered if she was exciting enough for him, adventuresome enough. She knew little of flirtation or seduction, and he seemed a man deserving of both.

  He tugged her flush against him and caressed her back, running a thumb down her spine, lowering his hands to her bottom and cupping her through her shorts. "Where do you want to go?"

  She'd thought about it the whole time he'd been checking on the girls and shaving. "My room."

  He turned her in his loose embrace and guided her forward. "Lead the way."

  Thirteen

  Clasping his hand, she led him through the house, to the stairs, and up. He followed her quietly along the hallway and into the room she used. It had been her mother's room, and she'd chosen it because it held no memories. Undoubtedly it would after tonight.

  Mitch closed the door. "Is there a lock?"

  "There's a skeleton key in the lock."

  He found and turned it. "Can we have a light?"

  She hesitated.

  "I didn't get to see you the other night. If all we're going to have are these short times together, I'd like to have more to remember than the feel of you in the dark."

  Her face warmed at his words. Always frank, this man. Always honest. She made her way to the low oak dressing table and turned the switch on the painted glass boudoir lamp, catching her image in the mirror.

  Mitch stepped up behind her and glanced over the few bottles and jars on the tabletop. His gaze raised to hers in the glass.

  He lifted the hem of her cotton shirt, revealing the waistband of her shorts and her skin above. He tugged higher. "Raise your arms."

  Heather obeyed and helped him removed her top. His fingers went to work on the clasp of her bra and had it loose in seconds.

  Her instinct was to clutch it to her breasts, but his breath touched her shoulder and her hands fell to her sides. The garment slid down her arms to the floor. Any confidence she'd gained up to this point wavered. Her flaws were glaringly apparent in the lamplight. Three pregnancies had done a number on her body. But he studied her reflection, his eyes full of appreciation. She wasn't young or girlishly firm, but whatever he saw must have pleased him.

  Smiling, he kissed her shoulder.

  "You're embarrassing me," she said.

  He spanned her waist, caressed her ribs, smoothed his rough palms up her arms, down her back and under her arms to cup her breasts. "You don't have anything to be embarrassed about."

  Sighing, Heather let her head fall back against him. "I don't know how to do this."

  She raised a hand to his jaw, and when he lowered his face, she tipped hers to meet his tender kiss.

  He bent to her neck and nipped her there, bit her flesh, then covered the tingling spot with his warm damp lips. She wanted to turn and close herself against him, but he held her firmly against his chest. "What don't you know how to do?"

  She shook the thoughts away. "The least you could do is take your shirt off."

  "Impatient?" he asked, and she liked his torturous teasing. His hands went to her waistband where he unbuttoned and unzipped her shorts. Flattening his palm, he stroked her abdomen, then beneath the elastic of her panties. He withdrew and slid her remaining clothing down her hips to the floor.

  Heather kicked the soft pile aside.

  His heated gaze absorbed her flesh in the mirror, adoring her, kindling her. He massaged her hips, stroked the globes of her bottom and pulled her back hard against him.

  The denim of his jeans was a foreign texture, a nuisance and an erotic incitement to her bare flesh.

  "Sit and let me brush your hair."

  He turned her inside out and she couldn't stop herself from following his gentle request. He pulled out the bench and she stepped around it to sit on the cool brocade padding.

  Mitch picked up a hairbrush and proceeded to draw it through her hair, from the front to the back, the roots to the ends. He was quite good at it, and she remembered he had two daughters to tend to each day. This was no morning duty, however; this was an arousing stage of foreplay he carried to its fullest.

  Tears smarted behind her eyelids, and Heather blinked them away and closed her lids. No one had ever been so tender with her. She'd never known beauty or gentleness such as this man bestowed. She'd believed she'd known what sex was about, but she hadn't possessed a clue until now. With Craig it had been a joining of bodies, but with Mitch it was mating of spirits. A touching of souls and hearts that equally amazed and frightened her.

  "Did I hurt you?" The brushing stopped and he spoke against her ear, his voice ragged with repentance. "I'm sorry."

  "No." She opened her eyes. He was looking at her, not in the mirror, not at her nakedness, but at her, with concern and genuine regret. She turned her head and met his eyes. "You didn't hurt me. Far from it. I'm sorry. . .it's just all so different."

  "But the tears. . ." With an unsteady thumb, he brushed away moisture she hadn't realized had made its way to her cheek.

  "Tears of desire," she said softly, unwilling to admit even to herself how deeply he touched her. "How long will you make me wait?"

&nbs
p; He tossed the brush onto the tabletop and reached for her. She stood and he gathered her close. Taking her hand, he led her to the bed. As Heather pulled back the comforter, Mitch removed his clothing and met her in the middle of the soft mattress. He wasn't the least bit inhibited about his desire for her, nor did he hold back in showing her what he liked when she reached to touch him.

  Heather's experience grew by leaps and bounds at his unrestrained tutoring. She'd always thought sex was more enjoyable for men, but he blew that theory out of the water. At last he stretched out over her and entered her. Heather grasped the sheets while he relentlessly rocked her up against the mahogany headboard and into damp, rumpled ecstasy.

  She enjoyed the weight of him as he caught his breath and his heart rate gradually returned to normal. Trailing her fingers over his back, she marveled at how right they were together, how nothing else mattered at that moment, but the fulfillment she felt in his arms.

  Moving to her side, he pulled her into his embrace and held her. The entire universe revolved inside that room at that moment.

  "You're so full of wonderful surprises," she said sleepily.

  "What's so surprising?" he asked.

  "You.Me. Us. This."

  "Think you could explain in more than one-word sentences?"

  She smiled against his warm skin. "No."

  They lay that way, with him lazily rubbing his thumb up and down her spine. After a time, Mitch roused and looked into her eyes. "I'd better go check on the girls."

  She chuckled against his chest.

  "You think I'm nuts."

  "Not at all." He moved to a sitting position and she propped her head on her hand. "I understand completely. Go ahead. We'd have heard something if they'd made a sound, but you should be assured."

  "Okay." He leaned forward and gave her a brief kiss. "I'll be right back. I just need to double check."

  "Go."

  He stood, located his jeans, and quickly pulled them on. With a sheepish expression, he leaned over and gave her a sweet kiss before unlocking the door and disappearing into the dark hall.

  Heather pulled the sheet up and rested her head on the pillow. Beneath the crisp cotton her skin was still alive and hypersensitive. She'd abandoned her inhibitions and made glorious, intoxicating love with the man. He approached the act as he did everything else, with consideration and energy and an obvious amount of experience under his belt.