by Janet Dailey
"You know where this is leading, don't you?" His thickly spoken question was slow to penetrate her sensation-riddled consciousness. MacCrea lifted his head to look at her face, resisting the pressure of her hands to pull him back to her.
She wasn't sorry he'd partially broken the spell of passion to question her intentions. It would have happened at some point, mentally if not verbally. Very early in her sexual experiences with men, Abbie had recognized that it was invariably the woman who controlled the situation and determined the degree of intimacy. Most men went no farther than the woman let them, stopping, however reluctantly or angrily, wherever she drew the line. Abbie had never made love to any man unless it was what she specifically wanted.
His question hovered in the air. Abbie bridged the space between them and nuzzled his ear, lightly rubbing her lips over its inner shell. When she answered him, her voice was barely a whisper. "I hope it's leading to the bedroom." She darted her tongue into the dark opening and smiled at the raw shudder that quaked his body, enjoying her ability to arouse him sexually.
A second later, his fingers dug into her arm as he forced her away from his ear. Desire had darkened his eyes to black, yet amusement lurked in them, too. "You do, do you?"
"Yes. Don't you?" she murmured.
"It would be a helluva lot more comfortable than this."
"I agree." She touched his face, exploring the high ridge of his cheekbone and tracing the slanted line of his jaw, then directing her fingertips to his mouth, which fascinated her so.
He caught hold of them and pressed them to his lips, then gently scooted her off his lap onto the sofa. As he stood up, he kept hold of her hand, as if unwilling to break contact. Abbie wondered if he thought she was going to back down. She wasn't. Once she made up her mind about something, she never changed it. But she let her actions tell him that as he pulled her up to stand in front of him, actions that she regarded as neither wanton nor brazen, but merely reflection of her feelings.
His arm circled the back of her waist, drawing her against the length of his body and lifting her onto the toes of her boots as he bent his head to reach her mouth. She leaned into him, arching her back and pressing her hips against his thighs, conscious again of the difference in their heights, but more conscious of the differences in their bodies.
After kissing her thoroughly, MacCrea straightened and let her rock back onto her heels. Turning, he kept an arm around her waist to draw her along with him, and guided her toward the bedroom.
Abbie paused, aware of MacCrea behind her, and started to undo the rest of her buttons, the ones he hadn't bothered to unfasten. This was always the awkward time, the moments spent apart undressing. It always took the bloom from her passion and turned it into something calculated.
"No, you don't." MacCrea caught her by the arm and turned her around to face him. Startled, she looked at him in confusion, then he pushed her other hand out of the way and unbuttoned the last two buttons of her blouse. "I'll have this pleasure, thank you."
Abbie doubted that he intended to undress her fully. Maybe the blouse and her brassiere, but after that, he'd become too impatient. Strip and hop into bed, that had been her experience—and that of her friends as well. It didn't matter. This was more than she usually got.
He pushed the blouse off her shoulders, taking the bra straps with it, and bent to nuzzle her neck and the ridge of her shoulder. Abbie shivered at the delicious shudders that raced through her body, ignited by his nibbling kisses. Slowly, he pulled the blouse down her arms, caressing her skin as he went. Then it was free. She caught a flash of white out of the corner of her eye as he tossed her blouse onto a chair.
Then he turned her away from him, but the exciting nuzzling didn't stop. She felt his fingers at the hook of her brassiere and unconsciously held her breath, waiting for its release. It came a second later and her breasts hung free. As the brassiere went the way of the blouse, one of his large hands glided around her ribs and cupped the weight of one breast in its palm. The second one was quickly claimed by his other hand. Abbie couldn't stop the sighing moan of pleasure that rose from her throat.
Fighting the weakness that attacked her limbs, Abbie leaned against him and turned her face toward his chest as his thumbs drew lazy circles around her nipples, stimulating them into erectness. Her stomach muscles tightened, and a hollow ache started low and spread quickly.
All of a sudden she was lifted into the air and turned. Abbie wanted to scream in frustration, knowing this was when it would stop, that his own desire demanded consummation at this critical point when her arousal had just begun. So certain was she about his intentions that she wasn't surprised to find herself seated on the edge of the bed.
When he picked up her leg and started to tug off her riding boot, she stared at him, not knowing what to think. The second boot hit the floor soon after the first one. Her, heavy socks followed them, each slowly peeled away, allowing him to caress her feet in the process. Until that moment, Abbie had never considered her feet to be a part of her body that she wanted caressed, never regarding them as particularly sensual. MacCrea showed her otherwise.
After that, she didn't know what to expect from him. He pulled her upright, then spanned her waist with his hands and lifted her up to stand on the bed. As his hands slid to her breasts, she breathed in sharply and deeply, then couldn't quite release it as he nuzzled one of her breasts, rubbing his lips over its roundness and across the nipple, his tongue darting out to lick it and making it harden even more. Moaning at the exquisite torment, Abbie dug her fingers into his thick hair and urged him closer.
As his mouth opened to take in the point of her breast, a searing pleasure rocketed through her. She forgot all about his hands until her lower stomach muscles contracted sharply with their contact with his flesh. He'd unzipped her jodhpurs. Shot with frissons of raw passion, Abbie knew she'd never felt so weak with desire in her entire life. He pushed the pants off her hips and the weight of the material slid them partway down her thighs. A boneless feeling nearly overwhelmed her as his hands glided over her bare bottom and paused to knead the soft cheeks, then moved on, down the backs of her legs, dragging the jodhpurs with them. She felt her knees start to buckle under the warmth of his hands. When he swung her off her feet, Abbie instinctively wrapped her arms around his neck and curled her body against him. One final tug stripped the jodhpurs from her.
Totally enraptured, she studied his profile, his face so close to hers she could see every pore in his leather-tan skin, his hair all rumpled and furrowed by her fingers, and his mustached mouth still moist from sucking her breasts. The slanted angle of his forehead continued along the straight ridge of his nose and ended with the natural thrust of his chin. Despite all the aggressive lines, MacCrea suddenly seemed incredibly handsome to her.
She watched his gaze wander over her nakedness. When he turned his head to look into her face, she saw the desire that darkened his eyes and weighted their lids. She wanted him. She wanted all of him. Slowly he set her onto the floor, his hands trailing over her skin as if reluctant to release her.
"Now, it's your turn." His voice was low and deep, its huskiness belying an otherwise even pitch. "This is the part I enjoy."
For a split second Abbie didn't catch his meaning, then realized she was supposed to undress him. Her own desire was so strong at that moment that she wanted to protest the delay in consummation. But she knew she wasn't being fair.
Trying to speed up the process, she practically ripped the buttons from his shirt, but when she bared his chest, she was overwhelmed by the need to touch him, to press her own body against his muscled torso and feel the wall of his chest flatten her breasts. She discovered how exciting, how stimulating it could be to run her hands over him, to let her lips explore his hard flesh, and to taste the faint saltiness of his skin.
As she slid his shirt down his arms, she began to appreciate the sensual joy to be found in unveiling him a little at a time, feeling for herself the bulge of his b
iceps and the sinewy cords in his forearms. She could tell that he was enjoying it, too, by the faint tremor that shook him when she unfastened his jeans and unzipped his fly.
At last the moment came when his Jockey shorts were the only article of clothing that remained. She was conscious of the trembling of her hands as she slid her fingers under the elastic waistband and pushed them slowly down—conscious, too, of his erection straining against the confining cloth. Her throat was tight as she watched it spring free when she slid his shorts down.
Bending, she continued to pull the shorts down his legs, not stopping until he stepped free of them. She straightened and lightly, very lightly ran her fingers down the underside of his shaft, smiling at the convulsive leap it made into her hand, and the hiss of his indrawn breath that muffled his half-curse.
He grabbed at her hand and yanked her against his body, naked and hard, the heat of his flesh firing her skin. "Who taught you that?" he growled.
"You did," she whispered. "Just now."
Abbie wondered if he realized just how much he had taught her. Before this moment, she'd never known so much pleasure could be derived from exploring a man's body, that it was something to be enjoyed as much as the kisses and caresses.
With a twisting motion, MacCrea lowered her onto the narrow bed and followed her down to lie along her side. She turned to him eagerly. "Make love to me, MacCrea," she urged, more than ready for him, she thought, only to have him show her how wrong she was as he kissed, fondled, and caressed her body, building the aching tension inside her until she was raw with need, while he resisted the stimulation of her hands and the urging of her lips.
At last, when the throbbing ache was almost unbearable, he shifted his weight onto her and entered her as smoothly as a blade into its sheath. A storm of sensations drew her into its vortex, everything centering lower and lower, the fusion culminating in a glorious explosion that sent her soaring, for a few shattering seconds transported to a purely physical plateau where all was sensation.
Then it was over and she lay nestled in his arms, her head on his chest. After all that she'd learned about MacCrea in the last hour, she wasn't surprised that he continued to hold her instead of rolling over to light a cigarette or climbing out of bed to get dressed. This intimacy after the act was part of making love, too. She was so content she wasn't sure she ever wanted to move.
But she rubbed her cheek against his chest and sighed. His chin moved against the top of her head. "You know you are damned near perfect, Abbie?"
"And I thought I was perfect," she mocked, smiling.
"Maybe if you were a little taller."
Like Rachel, she thought and immediately wished that name had never come to her mind. All her contentment seemed to flee, as if a moment ago it hadn't even existed. Abbie stirred restively, her peaceful mood gone.
"What's the matter?"
Abbie pretended to glance at the curtained window and the blackness of nightfall beyond it. "It's later than I thought. I'd better be going." She left the warmth of his arms and swung out of bed, reaching for her clothes scattered around the room.
"There's no hurry, is there?"
"Momma doesn't know where I am. I don't want her to worry." She finished tugging on her jodhpurs and sat down on the edge of the bed to pull on her boots. The mattress shifted as MacCrea sat up.
"She'd probably be more worried if she knew."
"Probably." Abbie smiled at him.
He combed the hair back from the side of her face. "I still say you have the bluest damned eyes."
So does Rachel. Dammit, Abbie railed silently. Why was she thinking about her? Trying to block out the unwanted thoughts, she leaned over and kissed him. She waited for him to say something, to indicate that he wanted to see her again. But he made no response.
She left the trailer a few minutes later without knowing whether she'd ever see him again.
Chapter 14
One more bale of hay would do it. Pausing to gather the needed strength and breath, Abbie wiped the sweat around her mouth onto the sleeve of her blouse, every limb trembling from her overworked muscles. But no matter how sore and weary she was, the horses had to be fed.
Bending her aching back, Abbie slipped her gloved fingers under the baling twine and attempted to heft the heavy bale onto the flatbed with one mighty swing. But she rammed it against the edge of it instead, unable to lift it high enough, and quickly used her body to pin the bale against the flatbed. Then grunting and straining, she struggled and shoved to push it over the edge. Almost immediately, she collapsed against the flatbed trailer, letting it support her, too exhausted to stand on her own and too tired to cry. She didn't even feel human anymore, just an itchy mass of hay chafe glued together with sweat.
"Why do you not wait for me to help with those bales?" At the sound of Ben's scolding voice, Abbie hastily straightened to stand erect. "What you think? That you are Superwoman?"
In no mood to be lectured about her strength or lack of it by an irritable old man, Abbie swung around to snap at him. But one look at his tired and wan features reminded her that these last six back-breaking days had taken their toll on him as well. They were both cranky and out of sorts from the mental and physical strain of trying to take care of all these horses, working practically from dawn 'til dusk. Even then there'd been tasks they'd had to neglect, like the training of the yearlings and two-year-olds, and the cleaning of the empty stalls in the barns.
I was trying to save time." Abbie lied rather than hurt his pride by telling the truth, that he was too old to stand up under this kind of heavy labor. "How is Amira's foal?"
Problems just kept coming their way. One of the new foals had come down with a severe case of scours, a relatively common occurrence when the dam came back into season. They had isolated the pair immediately to avoid the risk of spreading the diarrhetic condition to other sucklings in the pasture.
"She is not good."
He needed to say no more. Abbie knew how critical it was. Foals had little reserve. If the lost fluids weren't replaced, the resulting dehydration could kill them or weaken them so badly they'd contract other diseases.
Abbie glanced toward the house. "Maybe we should call Doc Campbell."
"We will see."
She opened her mouth to argue with him, then closed it, deferring to his judgment. If Ben didn't believe the foal's condition was critical enough to warrant calling in the vet, there was no point in questioning his decision. He had years more experience than she did. And, Lord knows, they probably already had a huge outstanding veterinary bill that had accumulated over the spring foaling and breeding season.
Judging by the barrage of phone calls they'd received in the last few days, they owed practically everyone in the whole county. Abbie sighed dispiritedly, Nothing could be done about any of that until the estate was settled, so there was no use thinking about it, not when they had so many horses to feed before dark.
In an attempt to cut down on the amount of time spent distributing hay and grain to all the horses, they had turned most of them into the pastures for mass-feeding from wooden troughs. This meant that some of the horses would be bullied out of their portions by the more dominant members of the herd, but it couldn't be helped.
"We might as well get on with this." Abbie turned and faced the flatbed trailer and laid her hands on its wooden floor, preparing to jump onto it, but her weary muscles simply refused to make the effort. "Will you give me a leg up, Ben? I can't make it." She didn't even try, and instead stepped onto the cupped hands he offered and let him boost her onto the trailer. As he walked toward the tractor hitched to the flatbed, Abbie stopped him. "I meant to ask you if they're going to deliver that grain tomorrow. We don't have much left."
"They wanted to speak about the bill to your mother first."
"That's right. You told me that." Abbie frowned, irritated with herself for forgetting. "I meant to call them this afternoon. As soon as we get done here, I'll phone Mr. Hardman at home toni
ght."
And this time she vowed she wouldn't forget. She let her legs dangle over the side of the hayrack and leaned against the bale behind her, too grateful for its support to mind the bristly stalks that poked her back. The tractor roared to life and jerked the flatbed after it, briefly jarring Abbie, but she didn't move, conserving her energy for the moment when she'd have to hop off the back and scurry around to open the pasture gate.
She couldn't remember ever being so tired and sore. Every bone, muscle, and fiber in her body ached. The only thing that kept her going was the certain knowledge that this situation couldn't last much longer. The estate would be settled. There was a light at the end of the tunnel. But why did she have the feeling it was a train?
Above the noisy engine of the tractor, she heard the rumble of a pickup truck. She felt a little leap of anticipation in her heart, hoping it was MacCrea's. She hadn't seen or heard from him since that night. Maybe. . . She sat up and tried to swallow the bitter disappointment when she recognized the rusty old pickup that belonged to Dobie Hix. He pulled in front of the pasture gate and stopped, blocking the entrance. She had a pretty good idea of why he'd come.
As the tractor lumbered to a halt, Abbie jumped off the back of the flatbed and charged around to the front to confront Dobie as he climbed out of the truck. "If you've come about the money we owe you, we still can't pay it. Nothing's been settled yet. There's your precious damned hay." She gestured wildly at the hayrack behind her. "Go ahead and take it!"
A look of shock crossed his face as he swept off his battered straw cowboy hat and held it in front of him. "That's not why I came, Abbie. I don't want that hay. You all need it for your horses. It's yours. I just came to give you a hand. I know you don't have any right now and—"