by London, Cait
Shaking with sensual need, unprepared for Gabriel’s own, and with too many layers of bulky clothing between them, Miranda eased away from him. Passion had honed his angular, hard face, his eyes narrowed and sultry, and his mouth rich and soft with the kisses they’d shared. “What was that, Gabriel?” she asked very carefully, wanting to make certain she understood the velocity and heat of that kiss.
“I think it’s pretty clear. I want you. I always have.” The words didn’t come easily…it was as if he’d torn them from his soul. He took a deep unsteady breath and pushed the truth through the howling winds. “You’re my woman in the smoke.”
His statement knocked her back against a sapling and she leaned against it for support, trying to put all the pieces of the puzzle together—trying to make sense of the years wasted between them. He’d just kissed her as if nothing could tear him away. She’d absorbed the heat and impact of his desire, her own body shaking now in reaction.
“What’s the matter?” he asked unevenly, clearly unsteady and wrapped in his own emotions. His angular face suddenly seemed so weary and sad, mixed with a frustrated tenderness. He wasn’t a man to display emotions, but suddenly the wind whirled them around him. “Don’t the statistics add up? I’m just as unsuitable now as I was then, yet it hasn’t changed how much I want you. But I am a foolish man and cannot help the dreams that come to me. Sometimes I hunt them. The woman in the smoke is round with child, Miranda. My child. What I am will go on with that child, and what came before from my father and his father before him. But that is not for you—my mind tells me this, not my heart. You belong in another place, not with me.”
“Let me get this straight,” she whispered huskily as she struggled for reality, sorting through every nuance of his looks, his voice. “You still care?”
He looked at her darkly, a big male used to keeping his distance, prodded into an admission he didn’t like. “We aren’t a good match and you know it.”
Miranda held to sorting the facts, keeping to the facts. She focused on absolute clarity, not wanting one false detail to interfere. “This isn’t about careers, or lifestyles, or money, is it? It’s about a man and a woman.”
“Maybe.” He nodded, tilting his head and watching her in that quiet assessing way.
“You coming after me, the bridal price—that was real to you, wasn’t it?”
He nodded again, and she continued working through her shocking discovery. “You wanted me here, living with you.”
This time a nod wouldn’t do; his anger struck through the chinook’s howling winds. “Do you have to drag everything out and tear it to pieces?”
“What did you expect to gain?”
“I wanted to give you shelter. I wanted to protect the woman who haunted me, day and night. The way you looked at Gwyneth, at the baby nestling in her—as if it were tearing you apart…. Then for more selfish reasons—I wanted a little bit of you, just a short time to hear your voice, to see you in my home, to smell the perfume of your body—”
“All those years,” she murmured, anger simmering like hot coals about to burst into flame. “All those years lost when we could have had—”
“What? For how long before the world called to you? You’re smart, Miranda. Your future—”
“Lies where? With a man who ran from responsibility? With my own delusions that I could make life work my way? How dare you, Gabriel. How dare you make my decisions for me and not serve me the truth. That’s what all the silence is about, isn’t it? Why you run from any situation that might be considered intimate? Why you don’t come too near?”
Gabriel’s hand swept through that rich, shaggy hair. Caught by the wind, it swirled around his face. “You’re angry, and this isn’t the place to discuss—”
“I’m very angry. You’re still making decisions for me, big ones. You decide what’s safe to talk about and what isn’t. You decide what is a dangerous area and what isn’t, where I should be, and what I should do after losing my baby. You’re telling me that you fantasized about me—you wanted me all this time. And I didn’t know it? How was I supposed to know? You kept that from me?”
“That’s a stretch, and you know it. You were vulnerable, I agree. But I wanted to give you protection—” He frowned and closed his lips as Miranda’s green eyes seared him.
“Well. This certainly has been an interesting, but a bit late, little discovery,” she said briskly, before turning and walking away from him. Furious with Gabriel and herself for letting all those years escape, Miranda didn’t want him to see her tears. I want you. I always have…. You’re my woman in the smoke, he’d said. All those years they could have had…
“Ride the horse. You’re exhausted.” Gabriel frowned at the woman trudging ahead of him. She tossed him an airy wave, dismissing him.
He looked down at her smaller footprints, fitting his boot beside them. He shouldn’t have let her tear into him, rip open his heart and take the truth as if it were her right. They couldn’t have had a future. She was angry now, but later she’d understand the reality….
Her mouth had tasted like fire and roses and dreams.
Ahead of him, Miranda stumbled and fell, and when Gabriel reached for her, she swatted him away. “Don’t you dare touch me.”
The fury wrapped in her words shocked him, stayed his hand. “You’re tired and cold and too full of pride.”
She launched to her feet as if anger had shoved through her again, giving her extra strength. Her face was pale and taut, but her eyes were brilliant, lashing at him. “Leave me alone.”
Uncertain how to handle her in this mood, Gabriel put away the horse as Miranda marched up to the house. It had taken every bit of his strength not to pick her up and place her on the horse. He had seen his petite mother match his father’s temper with one dark look, and now Gabriel knew the force of a woman’s fury. He decided to give her time to cool down, then try logic again. He shook his head; at this point he wasn’t certain about Miranda’s surprising flash-fire temper, her ability to take strips off him.
He paused before entering the house, carefully wiping his boots on the heavy outdoor mat. From the look of Miranda, he didn’t know what to expect. She’d always been so cool and reasonable, and now temper ruled her.
Maybe his own was simmering, too. He’d made the right choice for her all those years ago. She’d gone on to become successful. She’d gone on to a man she’d chosen, a life that she fit into smoothly. Her anger wasn’t justified, he reasoned, turning the doorknob and stepping into the firelit room. Miranda usually hung her clothing by the door, her boots placed neatly, side by side. Instead, this time she’d left a trail behind her that led into the kitchen area. There, she was dressed in her thermal underwear, glaring at him as she slapped peanut butter and jelly on bread.
Gabriel carefully removed his heavy winter outerwear, trying not to notice how the thermal silk clung to Miranda’s curved body. “I am not in a good mood,” she said warningly.
“Neither am I.” She’d been crying, the paths still streaked her face. How could he have hurt her so? “What good would it have done to come to you? To tell you what was in my heart? So I left you to move on, into your life away from me and Freedom.”
She held up the peanut butter knife to demonstrate her point. “Yet another decision on the part of Gabriel Deerhorn.”
“Could we talk about this when you are rested?” To do something, anything, Gabriel picked up her sketchbook, studying the Celtic symbols woven and unending in their design. Miranda’s intelligence was like that, sturdy and intricate and restless. She’d weave through everything he’d said, find the pattern of his need for her and lock onto it. He didn’t have long to wait for her response.
She swiped the knife through the jam and held it to emphasize a point. “That’s one more. You’ve just decided that I’m not logical enough now to think straight. I’m doing plenty of thinking now and I’m not tired. I’m angry. Boy, you’re racking up the decisions here, Mr. Deerhorn. I s
ettled for less than I wanted and I wanted you. I settled for less because life has to go on and I couldn’t spend my life mooning over someone who didn’t want me, who didn’t care enough to discuss the decision he had made for my welfare.”
She reached over his shoulder for the bag of chips on the refrigerator. The contact of her soft breast against his chest sucked the breath from Gabriel. Miranda tensed, watching him, her eyes wide.
“You want me now, don’t you?” she asked unevenly, her hand lowering to his shoulder, her fingers digging in. That quick green glance down his body locked on the intimate, undeniable thrust against his clothing. Then her eyes were clear, meeting his with a challenge.
There was no denying the effect she could have on him. Held too long, the truth exploded from him in a harsh admission. “Yes. I want to hold you and know that you are safe. I want to feel the beat of your heart against mine. To make you mine. It is in me now to take you, to make you my woman.”
“I see. But this is my decision, isn’t it?” Her gaze drifted over his lips, studying them, and Gabriel’s heart leaped. Her fingertip slid along his brows, lowered down his nose and traced the outline of his mouth. He couldn’t breathe as she stood on tiptoe, placing her mouth against his, those dark green eyes watching him. The play, the shared kisses, eyes open, tested Gabriel’s resolve not to touch her, to take advantage of her. The flick of her tongue against his lips startled him and he jerked back, wary of her. She wore the look of a woman desiring a man, that closed-in, soft and hunting look.
Uncertain of what she wanted, or what game she now played, Gabriel shivered lightly. “What do you want, Miranda?”
“You,” she whispered simply, and lowered her hand to unbutton the top of her silk undershirt. “Now.”
Gabriel tried not to look at her body, those soft flowing curves, the flesh revealed in the opening, the shape of her breasts so close, he could—His hand trembled as he touched her, finding the delicate wonder of her breast within his hand, cuddling it gently.
Her sigh was that of pleasure, and desire danced into flame between them. Holding his eyes, Miranda eased off her undershirt, leaving her in the lacy bra that had tormented Gabriel. “I want to hold you, too. To know that you are safe and close against me. To feel you inside me.”
The bold erotic statement jarred Gabriel. He wanted her to know that he was uncertain of his control and of how careful he would be of her. “I have not had a woman in a long time.”
“I know. That’s why you’re so nervous around me, isn’t it? You speak very properly when you are trying to conceal your emotions. You’re afraid of me, in your way. Afraid you’ll hurt me. I’m well now, Gabriel, in more than one way. I’m not vulnerable. I’m angry, yes. I haven’t decided how to handle that yet as anger isn’t something I deal with on a regular basis. But I do know that you’re not running from this, from me.” She leaned close, her breasts against him, burning him. Her body rested against his, her hips nestled closely. “Just once, for tonight, lose that control, Gabriel, and show me what you feel. I need to feel.”
Her open lips on his caused him to tremble, forcing back his need to—Then his hands opened on her hips, tugging her closer, and he knew he was lost.
Miranda closed her eyes when he swung her up into his arms. Somehow she’d always known that Gabriel would let his instincts rule him when he wanted a woman desperately—his woman, the only woman for him. He would move swiftly, claiming her, for that was his hunter’s nature. His heart raged against hers, heat pouring from him, his hands holding her close, his body corded with the strength of desire.
His bedroom was cold, and yet she knew that he would take her to his bed, not hers. He lowered her to her feet, his hand circling her throat, a firm possessive touch, not threatening as his mouth came down again, swooping to fuse to hers. “Change your mind,” he whispered raggedly, his lips hard against hers, feverish and tasting of desire just as she wanted. But he had stripped away her bra, his hands cupping her breasts, smoothing her trembling body as if researching the woman he would claim for a lifetime. “Leave me.”
“No, I’ve waited too long, a lifetime, and I can’t wait longer.” She would not let him draw back, finding his mouth, claiming it, feeding upon him. The incredible sense of coming home ruled her, that for a time, she would know who she was, what she was intended to be…. Gabriel…Gabriel…
With shaking fingers, she fumbled with the layers of his clothing, his shirt, undershirt and with an impatient hiss of breath, Gabriel shed his clothing, standing before her bold, aroused and so alive. Heat shimmered in the cool air as his hands slid beneath the elastic waistband of her long silk pants and briefs. His rough palms and strong fingers spread over her bottom, holding her tight against him as he nuzzled her throat and gently nipped her earlobe.
He moved quickly, strongly, tugging her closer, as she arched against him. Lowering her to the bed, Gabriel lay over her, watching her. Those black eyes flickered down their bodies, hers pale and soft, tangled with his. There was nothing but the sound of their hearts now as Gabriel found and nudged her intimately.
Taking care, he eased slowly within her warmth, the incredible filling like magic, making her whole for the first time in her life. He shook against her, the muscles of his arms standing out in relief. That angular face above her displayed emotions she’d wanted all of her life—fierce, tender, amazed. There was male arrogance there, too, as if nothing could keep him from her. A look questioned her as she moved in the slow rhythm he had set, a familiar controlled rhythm with a different meaning. She knew he leashed himself, perspiration gleaming on his harsh face. The muscles bunched at his throat and shoulders told her the price he paid for keeping her safe.
“I’m fine,” she whispered, fingers digging into his shoulders as she drew the incredible pleasure deep inside her. “Make love to me, Gabriel.”
Seven
A man’s pride is fragile as the petals of my roses. To understand that pride is to peel away the petals and thorns, and to listen to his fears. He makes choices by a different standard than a woman’s sturdy heart. But when a woman makes a choice, she is not apt to give it up lightly—if it really matters.
Anna Bennett’s Journal
Miranda lay within the cove of Gabriel’s big warm body and listened to the wind howling in the predawn. She was exhausted from the trek in the mountains to find him, tired of plodding through his reasoning, and still furious with the years they had lost. Her thoughts churning, she lay very still, her hand over his as it cupped her breast, his thumb smoothing a caress.
He had touched her with reverence and care both times they had made love. His lips had moved over her body slowly, as if placing her in his memory forever. Incredibly sweet and tender, he’d given her everything, shattering her.
His heart beat steadily against her back now, and his thoughts echoed in the bedroom’s shadows. “Miranda?”
She wasn’t ready for the night to pass, yet a slice of brittle, harsh dawn pierced the window’s curtain and reality would soon follow. The empty years that had passed between them slid over her; she shivered in the uncertainty that given the same choice, Gabriel would do the same. She wouldn’t. She wouldn’t settle for half a life again. A fine anger brewed in her now, pricked by his arrogance then and now. I want you. I always have, he’d said.
All those years… Miranda shivered, chilled by the thought that she might never have known…
Out there in the snowy mountain wild, he’d lost his temper, anger flying at her, and turned toward himself. The lid containing his emotions had come off for the first time, revealing that he needed, he wanted, he dreamed. Gabriel had kept all that from her, hoarded it for himself.
“Miranda?” he murmured again, this time his lips against her throat.
“I’m leaving,” she whispered unevenly and fought the tear sliding down her cheek. The morning after making love with Gabriel she was too emotional. She wanted to compile the facts, sort through his admission that he’d always
wanted her. “I need to think.”
“I see.” He tensed, but he didn’t ask her why, or to stay, and didn’t say that he wanted her in his life. His quiet acceptance of what must be tormented her. That he’d expected her to leave angered her, inflamed the knowledge of the wasted years between them.
An hour later, Miranda shifted the gears on Gabriel’s Jeep, driving down the mountain. In the rearview mirror, she saw him standing on the road, legs braced against the wind, hair flying untamed in the morning sun. He’d offered to drive her to Anna’s, but she couldn’t have that, tears too close to the surface.
Once on the highway, she couldn’t drive straight to her mother’s empty house. She circled the town, and found the sturdy, comforting familiarity of it.
Gabriel hadn’t asked her to stay. He’d withdrawn again, as if their beautiful lovemaking had never happened.
She glanced at the church’s white steeple, as the street’s cobblestones rhythmically jarred the Jeep. There was Eli’s Bakery and he’d be baking the cookies Gabriel loved so much. She drove to the cemetery and visited the gravesites where her mother and father and child were buried. If it hadn’t been for the tragedy, her baby would have been due any day…. The chinook that could last for days swept over the valley and she knew she’d come full circle.