"Me neither," Sam whispered, transfixed by the warmth in his gaze.
"I was thinking that maybe later, we could—"
"Sam and Nash, sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g. First comes love, then comes marriage. Here comes Nash pushing a baby carriage."
Not having heard Colby come up behind her, Sam widened her eyes in alarm. But the fact that his daughter had caught them in such an intimate embrace didn't seem to concern Nash—or at least not in the way it did Sam.
He merely groaned, dropping his forehead to rest against hers. "She's a cute kid," he murmured woefully, "but she's got lousy timing."
The later Nash had mentioned never came. The day was spent either preparing Colby for a run, caring for Whiskey, or watching the other riders compete. The only time they had been alone was when Colby herself was in the arena competing, but then their attention had been focused on her and not on each other.
Sam sighed as she climbed into bed, exhausted after the long day, but a little frustrated, too. She'd really been curious about that later. She leaned to switch off the light, then tucked her hands behind her head and stared at the ceiling, sleep the last thing on her mind. Now that she'd had a taste of what sex was like, she was ready to experiment a little more.
She choked back a laugh. For a woman who'd avoided intimacy for more than ten years, she sure was getting bold. She wondered what Camille would have to say about that.
She closed her eyes, envisioning Nash, remembering the night before. The gentle way he had talked to her and soothed her, the tenderness in his touch, the understanding with which he had listened to her and dealt with her fears. She loved him.
Her eyes flipped open wide. Loved him? She brought a hand to her heart, trying to still its rapid beating. Slowly the words sank in. It's true, she thought in awe. She did love him.
The phone rang, and Sam leaned over to grab it. "McCloud Veterinary Service," she said, wondering what emergency awaited her at this late hour.
"Sam?"
She sank back against her pillows, a smile building as she recognized the husky voice. "Nash?"
"None other. Did I wake you?"
"No. I'd just climbed into bed."
"What are you wearing?"
Her smile deepened as a warm flush washed over her body. "Why do you want to know?"
"Just curious."
She glanced down at the faded T-shirt and wished she could lie and say a skimpy silk teddy. "Nothing sexy, if that's what you're wondering."
"Let me be the judge of that."
"A T-shirt," she mumbled, more than a little embarrassed.
"How long is it?"
Frowning, Sam kicked off the covers and stared down at her legs. "It hits me about mid-thigh."
"Are you wearing anything under it?"
Because she wasn't, Sam's eyes widened and her mouth dropped open. "Nash!"
He groaned. "No, don't tell me," he said miserably. "It'll only make things worse."
"Make what worse?" she asked hesitantly, her nerves dancing to life beneath her skin.
"I can't get you off my mind. I can't sleep for thinking about you."
Sam pulled the covers back over her legs and hugged them to her chin as she snuggled deeper into the pillows. "Me neither," she admitted shyly.
"Want to meet me?"
Sam's fingers tightened on the receiver. "When?"
"Now."
"Now?" she repeated, her heart almost thudding to a stop.
"Yes. Now. Look out your window, Sam."
Frantically, Sam kicked back the covers and scrambled from the bed. Holding the phone tight against her ear, she whisked back the drapes and pressed her nose to the window. Sure enough, Nash's Mercedes was parked on the drive out front. The tinted window on the driver's side glided down and his face appeared. He smiled, his cellular phone pressed against his ear.
"Hi, Sam," he murmured, his voice husky.
Sam had to swallow before she could find her tongue. "H-hi," she stammered in return.
"I like your T-shirt."
She dipped her head, staring down at her shirt as if seeing it for the first time. Self-consciously, she tugged at the hem.
"What does it say?"
Sam immediately straightened and slapped a hand across her breasts, gathering the words into a fist, her cheeks flaming. "Nothing."
The car door opened and he swung out a leg, then stood, still holding the phone at his ear. While Sam watched, staring at him in horror, he crossed to her window. Only a thin pane of glass separated them. "Move your hand, Sam," he said into the receiver. "Let me see what it says."
"No," she said, trying her best to cover the words printed on the shirt and hang onto the phone at the same time. "It's just something silly."
"Then come outside."
She stared at him through the window, her heart skipping a beat. "Now?" she whispered into the receiver.
"Yes, now. Hang up the phone, Sam, and unlock the window."
Her movements almost robotic, Sam placed the receiver on its base and raised her hands to unlatch the window. Nash stuffed his own phone into his back pocket, then lifted the sash. He leaned inside, holding out his hand.
Hesitating only slightly, Sam placed her hand in his, then sat on the windowsill and swung her legs over. With a tug, Nash had her standing in front of him. He held her at arm's length and lowered his gaze to her shirt. "Cowgirls need loving, too," he read. He lifted his gaze to hers, a brow arching into his handsome forehead. "Is that a fact?"
Mortified, Sam dropped her gaze. "It's just a silly shirt. Merideth gave it to me as a joke."
"I'm not laughing."
Sam slowly lifted her head, her gaze meeting his. Heat turned his gray eyes to smoke.
"Everybody needs love, Sam." He pulled her closer, wrapping his arms around her. "I've wanted to do this all day," he murmured, hugging her tight against him. "And this," he added, finding her lips with his.
There was no slow buildup of passion, the heat was there waiting for them, the by-product of a long day of suppressed need. Sam melted against him. "Oh, Nash," she murmured, lifting her arms to curl her hands around his neck. Her movements added a new angle, a new depth for him to explore. He took what she offered, careful to keep his actions slow, nonthreatening.
But Sam didn't want slow. She'd waited all day for this. Heck, she'd waited her whole life! There was no fear—well, maybe a little—but mostly just a yearning, an anxiousness to know what she'd been missing. She dug her fingers into his hair, drawing his face closer. With a groan, Nash slipped his tongue between her parted lips and dropped his hands to her buttocks, arching her against him, pressing his hardness against her pelvis.
"Where can we go?" he whispered urgently.
Sam tried to clear the webs of passion from her mind so that she could think clearly. Certainly not her bedroom. Merideth was right next door and would surely hear them. Nash's car? No, way too confining. "My trailer," she whispered. "There's a changing room up front that has a bed."
* * *
Seven
« ^ »
Catching her hand, Nash tugged her along behind him, toward the barn where the trailer was parked.
A rock on the drive dug into Sam's bare heel as she jogged to keep up. "Ouch!" she cried, hopping on one foot. Nash paused only long enough to swing her up into his arms, then strode on. At the trailer, he shifted her weight to a lifted knee and opened the side door, stepping quickly into the dark interior and closing the door behind them. He stopped, unable to see so much as his hand in front of his face.
"Is there a light?" he whispered.
"To the left of the door."
Nash hit the switch with his elbow and a small light flickered on. It didn't offer much more illumination than a night-light, but in its soft glow, Nash saw the raised platform and the bare mattress on top of it. He crossed to it and gently sat Sam on its edge. She immediately grabbed the hem of her T-shirt and stretched it over her knees.
The action s
erved to remind Nash of her inexperience, her innocence, the need for caution. He rested his hands on her thighs and stepped closer, gently wedging his hips between her knees until he stood in the gap between her dangling legs. He felt the tremble of her flesh, saw the glimmer of nerves in her wide brown eyes. "We don't have to do anything you don't want to do," he assured her.
Sam hauled in a deep breath. "No. I want this … y-you," she clarified, and silently cursed the quiver in her voice.
His eyes remained on hers while he slid his hands down, catching the hem of her T-shirt and easing it up over her knees, her thighs. "I want to see you," he whispered, his voice husky. "All of you."
At her hips, he paused, allowing Sam to make the decision. She hesitated only a moment before she shifted, allowing him to ease the T-shirt from beneath her, then lifted her arms so that he could slip it over her head. Though the temptation was strong to cover herself, Sam forced her arms to her sides.
"Beautiful," he whispered reverently, lifting a hand to cup a small breast. "Absolutely beautiful." He let his hand drift down, smoothing it across the flat plane of her abdomen until the heel of his hand bumped her feminine mound.
Sam wasn't sure if it was his words or his touch that stroked the fire to life low in her abdomen. But it didn't matter. She didn't want to think, to analyze … she just wanted to feel. Closing her eyes, she let her head drift back with a shuddery sigh.
His hands, clever, but gentle, roamed her stomach, shaped her hips, then slithered down to mold her thighs. The very tips of his fingers traced their length, drifted over her knees … then disappeared.
"Open your eyes, Sam," he ordered gently.
Heavy-lidded, she complied, her gaze meeting his in the soft light.
"I'm going to undress, but I don't want to frighten you. I thought it might help if you watched."
Before she could respond, he toed off his boots, his hands moving to unbuckle his belt, unzip his jeans. Her mouth suddenly dry, Sam wet her lips, but her eyes remained fixed on his hands and the bulge just visible behind them. Catching the hem of his shirt, he tugged it free of his jeans, then slowly, starting at the bottom, began to release each button. A triangle of bare flesh appeared. A swirl of dark hair. Then dark blue silk. Sam swallowed hard, as her gaze settled on the swell of manhood jutting beneath the silk fabric. Slowly, she lifted her gaze to his.
He saw the desire in the depths of her brown eyes, but he saw the fear, too, and it was the fear he responded to. "Any time you want me to stop," he told her, "just say the word and I will."
Watching her carefully, monitoring her reaction, he shucked the shirt from his shoulders, let it hang there a moment, giving Sam time to adjust to the sight of his bare chest, then dropped the shirt to the floor. Keeping his movements slow, he hooked his thumbs in the waist of his jeans and pushed them down, slowly stripping the fabric down his legs. Once free of them, he kicked them aside. He stood, his hands braced at his hips, wearing nothing but a pair of blue silk boxers and a smile.
Sam stared openly. "Wo-o-w-w," she murmured.
The word was out of her mouth before she realized she'd voiced it aloud. Wow? She gave herself a swift mental kick. How juvenile! How utterly stupid! Surely she could come up with a better word than "wow" to describe such a perfect male specimen! At the sound of Nash's chuckle, she felt her cheeks warm, but couldn't for the life of her find the courage to look him in the eye.
Sensing her embarrassment, Nash moved to stand between her legs again. He framed her face with his hands and tipped it up to his. "My sentiments exactly," he whispered, dropping his hands to her shoulders and holding her in place while he took his gaze on a slow journey down her body. "Wow," he said, giving a lusty sigh.
He couldn't have done, said, anything that would have put Sam more at ease. Laughing, she caught his face between her hands and drew his mouth to hers.
Edging her back, Nash sank a knee into the mattress between her legs, levered himself up and followed her down, bracing himself above her. Slowly, carefully, he lowered himself over her, letting her take more and more of his weight, letting her feel the heat, the friction of flesh rubbing against flesh. All that separated them was blue silk and Nash was beginning to resent even that small barrier.
Tearing his mouth from hers, he raised his head to peer down at her. "I want to make love to you, Sam. Will you let me?"
Her eyes never once wavered from his. "Yes," she whispered. "I want that, too."
Angling himself, he leaned over the side of the bed, nabbed his jeans and fished in his pocket, removing a gold packet. He rolled away from Sam and to his back, breaking open the seal.
She closed her hand over his and sat up. Nash felt the tremble in her fingers and lifted his gaze to hers, sure that she'd changed her mind, that she couldn't go through with this.
"Let me," she said softly, taking the packet from him. Surprised by her sudden boldness, Nash watched as she shifted to her knees to catch the waist of his silk boxers in her hands. She pulled them down his legs, inch by slow aching inch, and dropped them over the side of the bed. He felt the tremble of her fingers as she placed the condom over his manhood and had to grit his teeth at the featherlike touch of her fingers brushing against his hardness as she smoothed it into place.
His breaths came shorter and shorter, his lungs burning, his loins crying for relief.
"Sam," he gasped, catching her waist in his hands and pulling her over him. "You're killing me."
"Good," she murmured, smiling seductively. "That makes us even."
On a groan, Nash pulled her face to his, taking her mouth in a plundering kiss that stole her breath. He rolled, pinning her beneath him. With his knees, he spread her thighs, creating a nest for himself. "I don't want to hurt you, but I might." He warned her. "But it'll only hurt for a minute."
"I know," she said, "it's okay."
His fingers found her petaled opening and slowly spread the velvet folds while his lips found hers again. Teasing her with his tongue, he stroked her, preparing her. He felt the heat build in her, the impatience, until finally she arched, rising to meet him.
With a moan, he sank down, pressing his arousal against her honeyed opening, gently seeking entry. She bit back a cry at the first slow thrust, pleasure and pain warring for dominance … but then it was only pleasure … and an urgency that grew inside her until she was sure she would explode.
He began to move, and she caught the rhythm of his movements, felt his passion and answered it with her own. Perspiration beaded his back beneath her hands while she urged him on. Faster and faster, racing through the night. "Nash," she gasped, digging her fingers into his back.
He rose, bracing his hands on either side of her, his gaze focused on her, and thrust one last time, burying himself deeply inside her. She sucked in a sharp breath, arching hard against him. He felt her stiffen beneath him, watched the passion wash over her face, glaze her eyes … then she shattered, her hot, velvety flesh pulsing around him. Then, and only then, did he allow himself his own release.
"Sam," he murmured, gathering her in his arms. "Oh, Sam," he whispered and rolled, bringing her with him and cradling her to his chest.
He lay there, weak and trembling, while her heart threatened to jackhammer a hole in his chest. A shudder racked her slim body. Concerned, he scraped her hair back so that he could see her face. "Are you okay?"
"Yes," she murmured, cuddling close. "More than okay." She lifted her head, a smile spreading on her flushed face. "Can we do it again?"
Dawn pinkened the sky through the narrow window above the bed, but Nash only had eyes for Sam. Curled against his side, she slept, her fingers laced between pillow and cheek. Her hair draped over a shoulder and partially concealed a breast. An angel. She looked like an angel.
He shook his head, remembering his first impressions of her. A woman who dressed like a down-on-his-luck cowboy, one who could be as prickly as a porcupine when cornered, a woman who could ride and throw a rope better than most m
en … well, she wasn't quite the woman he'd first thought her to be.
As he looked at her now, he saw an angel. Innocent. Delicately boned. Utterly feminine. Slowly, he shook his head again. No, she was no angel. Not when it came to loving. She was a seductress, passionate and demanding, while at the same time generous and giving. And she was a hell of a fast learner.
Keeping his touch light, he caught the hair that shadowed her face and tucked it behind her ear. She sighed and shifted closer. Nash felt his groin tighten in response.
How had this happened? he asked himself. Why had he come to her last night? Was it to seek closure for that first night in the smokehouse? Then his thoughts hadn't been on his pleasure, his own needs. His actions had been purely unselfish, his thoughts focused on Sam and her needs, her pleasure. He'd desperately wanted to help her, to make her realize that not all men were the same. He'd wanted to prove to her that she wasn't half a woman, that she was filled with passion just waiting to be released. He'd wanted in some way to make up to her for the hell he had put her through by his callous actions.
But last night was different. He hadn't come to her out of any sense of guilt. And his actions had been anything but unselfish. He'd needed her, wanted her more than he'd wanted any woman in his life.
As he stared down at her, remembering the pleasure, the passion they'd shared, he felt his heart soften and grow warm. Could he be falling in love?
His breath came out on a shuddery breath. Love. He hadn't thought himself capable of experiencing that emotion again. Not after what Stacy had put him through. But he couldn't deny the feelings that were pressing against his chest. The man who shared nothing of his personal life with anyone suddenly had an overwhelming urge to share it with Sam.
"Sam?" he whispered.
Her eyelashes fluttered and she slowly opened her eyes. A dreamy smile played at her lips. "Ummm." She snuggled closer, but closed her eyes again.
"Come on, Sam," he urged, "wake up. I want to take you somewhere."
"What's the rush?" she murmured sleepily, blinking open her eyes to peer at him.
THE RESTLESS VIRGIN Page 13