Tom was absolutely right about her, she thought as she rode along in the crisp air of a high-country morning. Career was her top priority, as it always had been for her father. Her mother had been a handy convenience. Growing up with that role model, Cleo had seen the advantages for the dominant person in the marriage, and she’d made up her mind to be that dominant person.
There was nothing wrong with her plan, she thought belligerently. Men had been working the system that way for years, so why shouldn’t she turn the tables, find a docile man to play the supportive role, and get on with becoming famous? For the next few days all she needed to do was concentrate on her calendar and her husband-hunting. Not every cowboy in this valley thought like Tom. And if they didn’t appeal to her quite as much as he did, well, that was the sacrifice she’d have to make. He wasn’t the man for her.
Unfortunately, she wasn’t making any progress getting Tom to pose for her calendar cover, either. In fact, after their blowup in the meadow, she doubted he’d want anything more to do with her, whether she had a camera in her hand or not. Well, good. She needed to forget him and get on with her work. Maybe Jose would make a good cover.
The sound of a trotting horse alerted her to someone coming from behind. Wondering if it could be Tom wanting to smooth things over, she turned expectantly and discovered Laura drawing alongside.
Pleasure glowed on Laura’s fourteen-year-old face. “I ditched the mom and dad units. I found a wide place on the trail and rode around the wagon, but then the trail narrowed again and they’re stuck behind it”
Cleo couldn’t help laughing. It was so like the sort of thing she would have done at that age. “Parents can be a trial sometimes.”
“Really. They treat me like a kid.”
Cleo made sure she didn’t smile at that. Fourteen was a very tough age, as she well remembered.
“I’m buying one of your calendars when I get home,” Laura said. “I think what you do is so cool.”
“Thanks.”
“I can hardly wait until I can get a job. And my own apartment” Her young jaw firmed. “And I’m going to college where I want to, and not where they want me to.”
Cleo understood that tone of rebellion well. She’d used it herself enough times. “It’s tough when they try to control your every move.”
“Did your parents do that?”
“Oh, you bet. I’m an only daughter, too, and I know the pressures you’re under. Your parents remind me of mine, always after me to be perfect.”
“I know! I hate that!”
“Well, you’re their only shot, Laura. They get to concentrate all their hopes on you. Part of the time I loved being the center of attention, but most of the time I wanted a brother or sister, just to take the heat off me.”
Laura giggled. “I used to beg them to adopt a kid. I went into this whole routine about the poor children in the ghetto. But they never went for the idea. I think they count how many times I breathe each day.”
“I used to think that, too. I used to think I couldn’t sneeze without them knowing about it, and telling me how I could sneeze better next time.”
“Yeah.” Laura grinned. “Anyway, I’ll bet your parents don’t control you anymore. You’ve got your life, your career, everything.”
Laura thought of her father’s latest offer, to use Montana Men as a premium for his customers. The hell of it was, she was tempted to go along with the idea. “They still try, Laura,” she said. “Believe me, they still try.”
WHEN SHE RETURNED to the ranch, Cleo called Bozeman and arranged for a rental convertible to be delivered. She should have reserved a car in the first place, she thought. Bernie had thought she’d get lost out here in the wilds, but she’d begun using the mountains to guide her in the same way she used the Chrysler Building and the Empire State Building in New York.
Of course, if she’d driven herself from Bozeman to the Whispering Winds, she would have missed seeing the pair of bald eagles. But she also would have missed that first intoxicating dose of Tom, and maybe she wouldn’t have become so enamored of him so quickly.
She threw herself into her work, photographing Jose shirtless, his arm looped over the neck of a dark bay gelding. It was obvious from the expression she saw through her camera lens that Jose was no gelding, however. He was currently unattached, so Cleo put a star next to the interview notes, indicating Jose was a potential husband candidate.
Except for Tom, there was no one else on the Whispering Winds she wanted to photograph, so for the next several days she toured the neighboring ranches. She soon became known as the “camera lady,” and cowboys began to seek her out and offer themselves as candidates. She had to gently reject a few, but she ended up with a good list of prospects, both for the calendar and for her matrimonial scheme. Stu, a red-haired wrangler with great buns, got a star, as did Bo, who was part Native American and had a mysterious sexuality that Cleo knew would drive women crazy. He could probably drive her crazy, too, she thought, if she could get Tom off her mind.
In trying to accomplish that, she stayed away from the Whispering Winds as much as possible. Several evenings she stopped for dinner at a steak house a few miles south of the ranch and didn’t park her convertible beside her little cabin until bedtime. On one such occasion, when she’d put in a particularly long day and only wanted to get home and relax, she returned to her car after dinner and discovered it wouldn’t start.
“Hey, camera lady!”
She glanced up to see Robert Henderson coming out of the restaurant He was one of the cowboys she’d had to reject for the calendar because his round baby face wouldn’t have photographed well.
“Looks like you got car problems,” Robert said.
She smiled at him. “I’m afraid so.”
“It’s a rental, isn’t it?”
“Yep.”
“I could try to fix it, but you might get in trouble with the rental agency. Why don’t I give you a lift to the Whispering Winds, and you can call the company from there? Let them deal with it.”
“Great idea. And thanks.”
Robert questioned her endlessly about life in New York for the entire drive home. By the time he finally dropped her off, and she’d thanked him profusely, she was completely drained. Nothing sounded better than a good night’s sleep, unless...she glimpsed the row of decorative path lights that led behind her cottage to the area that contained a hot tub she had yet to use.
Moments later she slipped off her bathrobe in the privacy of the darkened forest, took her candy bar out of the robe pocket and mounted the steps to the steaming hot tub. She deserved this, she thought, climbing into the bubbling water with a sigh of contentment. She’d been working damn hard, and as always when she was in the midst of a project, the sexual frustration was building with each photo shoot.
As she settled onto a smooth bench and water swirled over her breasts, she sighed again. Somewhere in the darkness an owl hooted and a small creature scrabbled through the underbrush. Cleo leaned back and rested her head against the wood as she munched her chocolate. She was too tired to care what lurked in the forest. Unless Trixie started going crazy, she refused to worry about bears or cougars.
She just wanted the warm, bubbling water to ease her fatigue and mellow out the sharp edge of her desire. Damn that Tom McBride, anyway. Always before, her sexual hunger had been unfocused, but now, instead of longing for some anonymous lover, she wanted Tom. She compared every cowboy she photographed to him, and she found every one wanting.
Sliding in deeper, she murmured with delight. She’d been in Jacuzzis before, but never in natural hot springs. The soothing mineral water and the dim glow from the path lights coaxed her gently into an almost hypnotic state. “Don’t fall asleep and drown, Griffin,” she muttered to herself as her eyes threatened to close.
Yet there was an erotic nature to the experience that kept her on the edge of awareness. Maybe it was being outside, with the scent of pines and the soft whisper of the wind tha
t made her feel a primitive oneness with nature. Finally she gave in to the mood, closed her eyes and allowed herself to drift closer and closer to sleep.
On the outer edge of consciousness, she sensed the presence of another, but felt no alarm, no thrill of danger. Floating in a fantasy world, she imagined that a warm breeze touched her eyelids, then her cheeks, and finally her mouth. The breeze became a brush of lips, and she didn’t question, didn’t open her eyes. For she knew. He was here.
9
TOM HAD SPENT the last few days stringing fence with Stan. He’d given himself the relentless task to keep thoughts of Cleo at bay, and his muscles were complaining. He’d noticed that Cleo didn’t hang around the ranch much, either, and he figured she was trying to avoid him as much as he was trying to avoid her.
When he didn’t see her convertible parked beside her cabin that evening, he assumed she was out again, as usual.
He didn’t like thinking about that, but he couldn’t exactly stop her activities, whatever they might be. The night had turned out to be fairly warm for Montana, so at least he could pamper his aching muscles by taking a nice long soak in the hot tub going to waste behind her cabin. He’d walked down the path from the ranch house wearing only his jeans and boots, with a towel slung over his bare shoulder.
When he reached the clearing, he’d stopped in amazement, wondering if he’d started seeing visions in his desperation for a woman he couldn’t have. But no, she was real enough. Maybe something had happened to her convertible and she’d gotten a lift back to the ranch.
He could tell she had no idea he was standing there. Her eyes were closed, and the sound of bubbling water had muffled his footsteps on the path. If he could have conjured up the most tempting image of Cleo he could imagine, this would be it. He’d always been intrigued with the way a woman piled her hair haphazardly on top of her head when she planned to soak in a tub. He found it endearing the way little tendrils fell out of that sort of arrangement, and how kissable a woman’s neck seemed, when all her hair was pulled away to expose her soft skin.
Her shoulders were bare, and he suspected the rest of her was, too. After all, she’d announced that was the way she liked hot tubbing, and so did he, for that matter. He should turn around and walk back up that path and leave her to her solitary soak. He should...but even before he started across the little clearing, he knew he’d lost the willpower.
She didn’t stir as he undressed and climbed slowly into the swirling water. He remembered how she’d seemed to play possum when he thought she was asleep that morning a few days ago at the campsite. She could be doing that now. A woman as headstrong as Cleo might have to pretend she was in a helpless trance before she could drop her defenses. Yet on some level, she knew what was happening, and she trusted him. He wouldn’t betray that.
The steam surrounding them carried the citrus scent of her cologne, and he breathed deep as he eased down beside her on the wooden bench. Her face was flushed from the warmth of the water and her mouth curved slightly, on the brink of a smile. He leaned over and allowed his breath to caress her face. The barest of sighs parted her lips.
His heartbeat thundering in his ears, he touched his mouth to hers with the lightness of snow falling. Her lips were pliant and warm...receptive. Her mouth tasted of chocolate, and he smiled. She’d been snacking again. He sought firmer contact, and she responded, opening to him, inviting him deeper. He followed where she led, desire throbbing within him at the blatant suggestion of her kiss.
Yet his feathery touch betrayed no urgency as he trailed a finger down her throat and felt her pulse hammering in concert with his. For many long moments he stroked her throat, her shoulders, the nape of her neck, as if he were gentling a skittish filly. At last, when he felt she was ready for it, he slipped his hand beneath the water and cradled her breast. He captured her soft moan against his mouth as he continued his slow assault.
Ah, but the weight of her breast felt good in his palm. Her nipple was already taut with passion, as he’d thought it might be. As he stroked his thumb back and forth across the pebbled tip, he loved hearing the subtle hitch in her breathing.
Drawing out the newest stage of his seduction, he fondled her breasts, kneading and stroking as he lazily explored the moist recesses of her mouth with his tongue. Laying his hand over her heart, he could read the tumult he’d created as her chest pounded against his palm. Slowly, so as not to break the connection, he slid his lips away from hers. Her eyes remained dosed, but her lashes fluttered. Her lips were parted, swollen from his kisses, and her breath came in agitated little puffs. Ah, Cleo.
Resisting the urge to return to the wonders of her mouth, he followed a path along her jaw and down her throat. He reached the surface of the water and lifted her breast until the water foamed just over the surface of her skin. With flicks of his tongue, he teased her nipple in tandem with the bubbling water, gratified with the way she trembled in his steady grip. At last he drew her, moist and quivering, into his mouth.
She gasped and arched upward, bringing both breasts out of the water. He needed no more invitation than that. Cupping her with both hands, he tasted and savored, raking her gently with his teeth, laving her with his tongue. Touching him for the first time, she combed her damp fingers through his hair and held his head, silently urging him on.
When she began to whimper, he returned to kiss her whimpers away. Then he slid his hand slowly downward, parting her thighs. He marveled that she gave him no resistance. Taking her would be so easy. And such a mistake. She was swollen and ready as he slipped his fingers deep inside. He shook with the need to bury himself there, protection or no protection. But the consequences could bring him to his knees.
So he would settle for this—stroking her until she quivered and arched, touching her until she cried out and exploded in his arms. Perhaps this was all they’d ever share. He wouldn’t think beyond this moment, which had appeared like a precious gift.
He lifted his head and spoke for the first time.
“Open your eyes, Cleo.”
She shook her head. Her breath came fast and shallow.
He pushed in deep and stilled the movement of his hand. “Feel how close I am, Cleo?”
She nodded.
“You let me touch the fire deep inside you,” he murmured, kissing her jaw, her cheeks. “Let me see the fire in your eyes when I take you over the edge.”
Slowly her eyes opened, pale yet glowing in the dim light of the clearing.
His breath caught in his throat He’d maintained control of his grinding need to take her fully...until now.
Now he wanted it all—the joining, the pleasure, the sweet release, the mating. From a nearby ridge a wolf howled, and the primitive cry echoed in his heart.
But he was a man, not a wolf. He would finish this and leave without taking what his body screamed to have. He increased the pressure, quickened the rhythm and watched with a fierce sense of possession as the flame leaped in her eyes.
“Yes,” he whispered as he felt the contractions begin. Whether she knew it or not, he was staking a claim tonight.
Her eyes darkened. With a soft cry of surrender she lifted her hips, allowing him even deeper penetration as she shook with the force of her climax. He kissed her, plunging his tongue into her mouth as he absorbed her convulsions.
Gradually, she relaxed in his arms. He could bring her to the brink again, he knew. She was ready for more, and the slightest movement of his fingers would be enough to start all over again. She might be able to take it, but he couldn’t.
He withdrew his hand, gave her one last lingering kiss and climbed out of the hot tub.
“Tom?” Her voice was dusky with spent passion.
Between being wet and aroused, he had a hell of a time getting his pants on, but he managed that and his boots, too. If he didn’t get dressed, he wouldn’t be able to look at her without wanting to jump back in and finish the job good and proper, the way it was meant to be done.
“You�
��re...leaving?” she murmured. “But...”
He slung his towel over his shoulder and glanced at her. For a brief second he considered pulling her out of that tub and sitting her on the edge while he unfastened his jeans and...no. He wasn’t taking those kinds of chances.
“I’m leaving,” he said.
“But you didn’t...”
He gazed at her. “A smart cowboy lets a filly get used to him before he tries to ride her for the first time.” Then he turned and walked as best he could up the path. As an exit line, it was one of his more clever ones, he thought. Apparently, Cleo didn’t appreciate it, though. A heaved stone landed somewhere behind him on the path. Maybe she wasn’t as grateful as he thought she’d be.
CLEO HAD NO IDEA how she’d face Tom again. She slept like a zombie that night, though, and she’d always been an insomniac. She overslept, in fact, and as birds twittered outside and sun streamed through the window, she lay in bed and considered the ramifications of what she’d allowed to happen.
It was a murky ethical question. She’d hadn’t actually slept with Tom, so technically she should be able to continue her husband hunt without feeling guilty. Oh, sure. What kind of woman would allow one man to caress her so intimately that she’d probably never forget the experience, and then within days ask another man if he’d be interested in marriage?
Maybe on this trip she could narrow down the prospects. Then in a few weeks she’d come back to Montana, staying somewhere else, of course, and look up the cowboy she’d set her sights on. In order to approach him with a clear conscience, she needed to put some distance between herself and the hot-tub incident
As for photographing Tom for the calendar, she hadn’t quite broken her rule there, either, but she couldn’t imagine being able to maintain her professional demeanor after what they’d shared. Maybe shared was the wrong word. He’d played her like a concert pianist seated at a grand piano. It had been... awesome.
She threw back the covers and leaped out of bed. If she stayed there thinking about Tom’s hands on her, she’d be in the same state in no time, and that would never do. Then she stood in the middle of the floor, astounded at her behavior. She never leaped out of bed. Crawling out, complaining every inch of the way, was more her style.
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