by Cait London
“Oh. Sorry,” Kylie whispered, releasing him. Reluctantly, Michael forced his hand away from her breast and sat up. It disgusted him that with Kylie, he’d made good his youthful nickname of “Fast Hands Cusack.” Her eyes were wide and silver upon him, her face too pale as he stood to rip away the knitted cap covering the hair he loved to touch, to hold, to smell.
“Why are you here?” she asked quietly as he hurled the cap away, not bothering to conceal his ill temper. “I stopped by your house to check on Leon and Sharon and you weren’t there. Karolina said you were having a beerfest at the tavern, dancing close with Fredricka, and playing poker all night with the Bachelor Club. Karolina suspects there is an orgy brewing. You wouldn’t have any part of an orgy, would you, Michael?” Kylie asked shakily, as if she couldn’t bear the thought.
Michael knew his body, and it wanted slow, satisfying lovemaking with one woman—Kylie. But he wanted promises and tenderness and tomorrows, too. At the moment, he didn’t trust himself with her. He detested his unpredictable, emotional, vulnerable state.
“An orgy. Super Snoop’s expectations are high.” He’d seen Karolina peeking around the corner of the women’s rest room at the tavern. Because Chuck Berry’s rock and roll guitar was vibrating sound loud enough to be heard on the moon, Michael had leaned close to listen to Fredricka’s greenhouse electrical problems. She wanted a new strain of tulip bulbs to sprout faster for display and marketing purposes and correct lighting was essential. Statuesque Fredricka might have been curved and luscious and athletic, but it was Kylie who fitted into Michael’s arms and his heart. He rubbed his hand roughly on his jeans, but the warm softness of her breast remained to haunt him.
“I wanted to apologize for everything, for making you uncomfortable in your own home.”
Michael continued to study her. He didn’t want to think about trying to sleep in his own bed hours earlier, but Leon’s guttural sounds and rocketing, “Yes…yes…yes!” had preceded a shout of male release. To think of Kylie’s body with Leon made Michael want to tear the boards from the wall, the adobe bricks from the building, the heart from Leon’s pretty bodybuilder body. “So he and you were Yin and Yang, were you? Each complementing and supporting the other, fulfilling each other?”
“Not exactly,” Kylie answered, and studied the shadows of the room, avoiding looking at him. She flushed in the shadows. “This place has got so much history. Cattle drovers used to stop here for supplies and research potential brides…Leon and Sharon were quite busy when I stopped in—um…exercising, I think—but Leon asked me for the loan of my pickup.”
“You didn’t—”
“They’re penniless with a baby coming, Michael. I borrowed your mountain bike and rode into town. I needed the exercise. It was a beautiful ride— Stop muttering and scowling. You’re coming home with me. I feel too bad to leave you here when you should be in your own bed. You can ride Jack. No, you’re not staying out at the Boat House, the new building Tanner built for his business. You’re going to be comfortable. We can work on your intimacy and relationship skills. We’ll watch football games and romantic old movies together. I won’t tell anyone if you drop a tear or two.”
“You heard me say I wanted you, didn’t you?” Michael asked unsteadily.
“Yes, of course I did. It’s obvious there is something humming between us by the way my heart starts to flutter at the sight of you and I get all warm and melty inside. But it’s also obvious that my sexual generators are highly charged and you’re an experienced man who knows women. But we can manage a few days at Mom’s until Leon and Sharon find a place of their own. I’m going to borrow money to help them rent a house and—”
Michael’s momentary cherished hope that Kylie could be seeing him as her Yang, her masculine half, her completion, slid into a cold dangerous pit. “Oh, no, you’re not. And they’re not staying with us, either. This isn’t a foursome and he’s not watching you do those yoga exercises.”
Kylie’s eyes flashed in the shadows, her mouth firmed. “I don’t need his advice. There is nothing wrong with my yoga technique. It’s wonderful for centering.”
“He’s a man, isn’t he?” Michael demanded, resenting the Kylie-crack in his control. He blinked as the thought of watching Kylie center within herself smacked him. She’d be beautiful, serene, and her center would be— He realized his voice sounded strangled when he repeated, “‘Centering.”’
Michael scrubbed his hands roughly over his face. He had no right to think of Kylie’s perfectly focused center.
“He never noticed when I did yoga exercises in the nine years we were married. He liked to watch his own muscles too much. But then most of that time we were in separate bedrooms. He didn’t like sharing his bed—until Sharon, and that’s understandable. She’s very appealing and pretty…. You’re not telling me what to do, are you, Michael?” Kylie challenged softly, dangerously.
“You’re saying you don’t think you’re appealing?” Michael was disgusted by his tone of obvious outrage, his frustration that another man would not find Kylie as feminine and sweet and lusty and hot and earthy as he did.
He flipped over that thought. He didn’t want another man to be as fascinated with Kylie as he was. He wasn’t certain that he liked the power she had to upset him. Fragile wasn’t his safe and confident zone.
Michael strained for control. For him, marriage to Kylie would mean her in his bed, in his arms, him filling her every night, pledging lives and hearts and— He raked his fingers through his hair. “You’re damned appealing. Perfectly appealing. Always have been. Exciting, provocative, intelligent. There isn’t another woman like you on earth. You’re sexy and smart and talented, to say nothing of great curves—great breasts and hips—and a great mind and a loving heart. I love to hear you laugh, all low and soft, and the way your eyes sparkle and dance… And the graceful way you move—like an earth goddess on the prowl, ready to mate, like fluid, molten… It’s enough to make a man want to carry you off— Now don’t you think all that would make a man take notice?”
Michael closed his lips. His outburst had shattered him. He should have presented his thoughts in a better arrangement, and not laced with the elemental sensual desire rocketing through his veins and lodging hot and hard in his body. Kylie should have smooth, romantic words, logically placed to make her feel attractive.
Kylie spoke breathlessly. “Wow. You see me like that? Even on a bad hair day?”
He thought about how he wanted to bury his face in Kylie’s silky soft curls, how he wanted it to flow over his body as they made love, giving to one another. He pushed those words back into his heart and was grateful for the shadows covering his embarrassed flush. How could he explain how he felt when he was with her, like the world was new and good and would go on forever? How could he tell her how silky her skin ran beneath his fingers? How could he tell her how he might feel if his child were nestling in her body and dreams really did come true? A woman should have romantic words to please her, and Michael’s were stored tightly in his heart, glowing there like sunshine. She was his first love and she frightened him—his emotions frightened him. Fear wasn’t an emotion that sat easily upon Michael Cusack, tough lone-wolf guy. “You’re okay,” he murmured finally.
Kylie watched him with interest, her eyes silvery in the night. She licked her lips and the sensual jolt slammed into Michael’s body. The seductive feminine waves she emitted now were enveloping and tugging him erotically as she whispered, “I don’t think there is anything more exciting than you right now, right here. You seem all quivery, as though your antennae are shifting and sparking like a lightning rod on a barn just waiting for a big bolt to hit. You look as if one touch would set you off.”
“Maybe. From you, just maybe. I’m beginning to doubt my past experiences with zapping. You present a new concept of the word. Let us not talk about rods and big bolts. I’d like to hear more about your overcharged generators and how you get all melty inside. I’ve got some concept—worki
ng with electricity as I do—how electric jolts can zap and melt. But I can’t come home with you tonight, sweetheart,” Michael stated darkly. “And this is why.”
Kylie met Michael’s hot open mouth with her own, grabbing his shoulders to keep him anchored to her, her fingers digging into all the fine, hard muscle. His body flexed as he tore off his shirt and undershirt, tossing them away as the kiss deepened, slanted, tongues enticing, suckling.
She’d never been held like this, desired like this—with hunger and yet with tenderness. She’d never wanted like this. “Michael…” she heard herself sigh over the pounding beat of her blood.
The dancing of her heart, the center of her body heating, quivering, all seemed just the right symphony with Michael’s taste, promising a gift she’d always wanted. She nibbled on his lips, frantically keeping him close as he eased away her jacket.
The rough intake of his breath was just what she wanted to hear as he swept away her sweatshirt to leave her unbound breasts exposed to his gaze. His hands trembled as they slowly moved to cover her, cupping her. “You’re beautiful,” he whispered. “Perfect.”
When his head lowered, his lips pressing against the softness, Kylie cried out, holding him tight against her. His open mouth suckled gently, tightening the heated cords running throughout her body, weakening her knees. The textures of his rough skin, the lick of his tongue, the gentle pressure of his teeth tore through her.
“Hold me, Michael,” she whispered against his hair. “Hold me hard against you.”
He gently treated her other breast before straightening and easing her body against his. The cords and muscles of his body melded hotly against her softer one, and the sensation was perfect as Michael’s caresses lowered to her bottom. Then he tugged the knot at her sweatpants waistband, loosening it and her pants fell to her ankles, leaving her body without the shield of underclothing.
Michael’s hands cupped her bottom instantly, fingers slightly squeezing, and his voice was raw and uneven against her throat. He stared blankly at her bare stomach, the juncture at her thighs and his breath seemed to shatter even as it hit the air between them. “Kylie. Kylie? Aren’t you missing something?”
Everything was right in place and aching. “Laundry,” she explained hurriedly, not wanting to break his lovely concentration, his hunger. “I was doing laundry before going to your house, so I took them off and dropped them in the washer. I’ve been working so hard that I’m behind in housework.”
He breathed unevenly, his hands cupping her bottom tightly. His violent pulse rocketed against her lips as he trembled. He muttered something as though he were helpless. Then he sighed roughly as if giving up the battle and one hand slid to press against her stomach. His touch lowered to cup her, gently invading and Kylie held very still adjusting to the unique smoothing of his fingers. He supported her weight, giving her pleasure— “Michael?”
“Kylie. No. You should have—”
“You. I want you. Now.” She found the snap of his jeans and unable to open them, she cried out, “Help me, Michael.”
Over the layer of denim, her hand found him and Michael held very still. Then one touch of his hand sent her reeling, rocketing, tightening… She took the sensations into her, hoarding them, feasting upon the exquisite pleasure and letting it burn her without restraint until the fire gently died and she leaned against him, drained and floating and wonderful. She snuggled to Michael, her safe port in the storm, kissing his chest, inhaling his fragrance, smoothing his trembling body to keep him warm and close.
“Kylie?” Michael whispered against her ear.
“Don’t move. Don’t breathe. Just hold me,” she returned, holding her pleasure close and tight inside.
“I’m taking you home.” Michael’s tone held amusement and as he eased her away from him, his hands trembled. His sweeping hot stare down her body pleased her.
Then, unused to the prolonged intensity, Kylie crossed her arm over her sensitive breasts. She lowered her other hand to conceal her femininity. “It’s rude to stare,” she whispered, her throat drying.
His eyes tore through the shadows, burning an upward path to hers, raising a prickling heat upon her skin. She breathed unevenly, willing him to come to her, to take what she had to offer. Unsteady, Michael said firmly, “That’s why I can’t go home with you.”
She’d just offered her heart and her body and her home, and he was tossing logic into the magic between them, tearing it apart.
“You don’t think I can manage this? That I don’t have control over my own—body?” She bent to jerk up her sweatpants and when her shaking hands failed to tie the waistband knot, Michael took over the task.
Holding her hand, he bent slowly to retrieve her sweatshirt. He stuffed her arms into it, and tugged it over her head as if she were a child. “I can almost hear you thinking, Michael,” Kylie whispered as he eased her arms into the sleeves of her jacket and zipped it closed as she would her heart. Her marriage to one man had been a lie. She’d given herself—all of herself too easily—not leaving enough to preserve her pride. With Michael, she intended to have honesty and her due as a woman.
“What am I thinking?” His tone was detached, cool, guarded, his expression hardening.
She watched him draw on his shirt. “That I’m Anna’s daughter, and Tanner and Miranda’s sister. That you’re going to try to take care of me. I won’t have you on those terms. I want what runs true between us. I want magic and my dreams.”
“Mmm,” he murmured without confirming her statement. “What makes you think I can give you those?”
“You just can and you know it. You’re too mulish to admit that you have dreams, too.”
“Dreams are for the innocent. I’m not.”
He was retreating into his shields again, all that lovely heat and emotion slipping away. Kylie followed her instincts to keep him close and placed her hands on his cheeks. She spoke from her heart, out of desperation to keep him from his shadows. “I can’t bear to think of you here…that you’re here because of me. Come home with me, Michael. You can sleep in Tanner’s old room. It’s just a temporary situation.”
“‘A temporary situation,”’ he repeated thoughtfully. He smiled softly, and toyed with her hair, arranging it on her shoulders. “Across the hall from yours?”
“I’ll protect you from gossip, Michael. You have to come home with me now.” She had to claim him for her own, to keep him close.
“Are you saying you want to adopt me because I’m temporarily a man without a home, an orphan? Or are you saying you want to be with me?”
He’d torn apart her magic a moment ago, and this time she guarded her heart, giving him little to destroy. She’d have him on her terms, in good time. “Does it matter?”
From lips that had been soft and hungry against her skin and demanding, Michael’s words were harsh. “Call it.”
She didn’t want to be pushed, not after such heaven. “Be reasonable.”
“I’m feeling plenty—and none of it is reasonable, sweetheart.”
She searched his scowl, that muscle running taut and furious along his jaw. “It’s that ‘man’ thing, isn’t it? Oh, I wish I understood better.”
“It’s simple. I want to know where I stand.”
“Well, it isn’t sympathy, I can tell you that. You don’t deserve sympathy,” she tossed back hotly at him. “But I’ve got my pride, too, you know. I’ve caused you an inconvenience and I want to make it up. Neighbors do that here in Freedom Valley.”
“Is that all?” His words were dark and cutting in the night.
“No,” she answered truthfully. She followed her need to place herself in his care, to lean softly against him, to nestle her face against his warm throat. “There’s more.”
Michael tilted her face up to his. “Show me.”
The demand was soft, yet age old and she met his lips with truth and hunger. There was just that satisfying tensing of Michael’s body before he took her mouth with a passiona
te certainty that couldn’t be misunderstood.
On the ride home, seated upon Jack, Michael behind her, he slid his hand beneath her coat. He held her close and tight against him. He caressed her gently bobbing breasts as if touching her gave him pleasure and ease. She felt erotic, seductive, desired and at peace with being a woman who a man liked to touch. Then, when she’d turned to capture his wonderful mouth, to breathe that dark scent upon his skin, his touch had lowered to gently pleasure her again. Warm and limp, she slid from the saddle into his arms and he carried her into the house. At the foot of the stairs leading to her bedroom, he put her firmly away from him. “Good night, Kylie. Go to bed. I’ll unsaddle Jack and be in later.”
She’d had that much, those callused but tender hands giving her back a part of the magic she’d found earlier. She treasured the taste of his mouth, the hard pounding of his heart, the desperate hunger for her leashed, and she vowed to tear it from him, to make it her own.
From her upstairs window, the lace curtain drawn aside, she watched him. Outlined in the moonlight, he’d been too alone, the cold wind whipping at him. She’d wanted to run to him, to give him her heart and hold him safe, but she knew he wouldn’t appreciate comfort now, not while he was fighting himself. She stood at the top of the stairs and waited, listening to him move through her mother’s house—the closing of a door, water running in the downstairs shower. It didn’t surprise her, as she waited, to hear him open her mother’s kitchen cabinet, and glass clinked as he poured bourbon kept to ease dark storms. Kylie knew then that Michael had likely visited her mother, and had been offered more than blackberry wine for comfort.
Kylie looked down at the man, dressed only in his jeans, at the bottom of the stairs. In the shadows, Michael met her gaze. The air shifted and tingled and prickled; with each breath her nipples dragged upon the rough inner texture of her sweatshirt reminding her of his caress, the need rocketing through them both. “Good night, Michael,” she whispered unevenly, glad for the sight of him standing there, when he could have ridden away. “You’ll be coming up to bed soon then.”