by Ana Morgan
It was obvious she needed some pointed convincing. Chucking his plan to propose first, he crossed the room in three steps, cupped her face in his hands, and feathered kisses across her lips until she stopped trying to speak. Then, he pulled back a fraction of an inch. “Stormy, I know how to make love.”
“But, you—”
He pressed his mouth firmly against hers and drew his hands down the sides of her neck, along the rapid thump-thump of her pulse, past the ripple of her throat as she swallowed. Spreading his fingers across her shoulders, he deepened the kiss until she rose on her tiptoes and pressed back with satisfying fervor.
“How was that?” he said softly.
“You’re a good kisser. I’ll give you that. But—”
“You want more proof?” He gave her a cocky grin as he unbuttoned her shirt. His hands skimmed her shoulders, and he slid them slowly toward her arms.
Her enchanting mouth formed an “o” as the thin cotton parted and his thumbs traced the high arch of her full, round, beautiful breasts. He couldn’t wait to take one—or both—in his mouth.
The garment slid down her arms and fell with a faint whoosh to the floor.
“How was that?”
“You’re a pretty good undresser.”
“I can do even better. Close your eyes.” He moved his palms, slow and teasing around her nipples.
She fisted his shirt and tipped back her head. Her breath soon came in quick, hot pants that accelerated the beating of his heart. With a swift embrace, he matched his mouth to hers, silently daring her to doubt his virility.
The silky tip of her tongue touched his lips and retreated.
He followed eagerly. She tasted like whiskey and honey, a fusion of sweet and heat that left him aching for more. He pulled her hands off his shirt. Pressed them against his rock-hard erection.
“Oh.” Stormy gasped. “It’s . . . You’re . . .”
“A working man.”
“Hallelujah.” Blue eyes sizzling with rekindled desire, she hooked her fingers under his belt and towed him toward the stairs.
As he followed, he thought about throwing her over his shoulder, but Stormy gave no hint that was what she wanted. Candy had always played the damsel in distress, praising him for ‘taking her like a real man.’ Fifty years from now, he wanted Stormy to remember their first night as perfect.
She opened the door to his bedroom and leaned against the frame like a streetwalker on a lamppost. His pulse raced as he waited to see what she would do next.
Letting go of his belt, Stormy moved through the dark of his room as if she possessed cat’s eyes. A second later, the bed creaked.
“Light the lamp,” she said. “I want to watch you undress.”
Blade reeled back. He had a reasonably pleasing physique, no paunch or embarrassing skin blotches. But, strip? Was he supposed to dance? Twirl around and wriggle?
His balls ached impatiently, begged him to ignore her ridiculous request, but he resisted. The desire to please her was stronger.
He’d left a half-burned candle on the dresser behind the door. Reaching around, he found the candle in its holder. Patted the top of the dresser until he hit upon a match.
As soon as the wick caught fire, he turned to face her.
She reclined against his pillows with bent knees. In the flickering light, he could see the creamy backs of her thighs and a hint of the red-gold bush between them.
Still feeling a bit foolish, he dropped his hands toward his waist and unhooked his belt.
She leaned forward, open-mouthed, as he leaned against the wall and pulled off his boots and socks.
He fingered the buttons of his jeans and kicked them off. Released, his johnson jutted like a drum major’s baton. He’d always been quite proud of its length and girth. Candy had been impressed, too, before she discovered his financial attributes.
On a whim, he turned sideways before removing his shirt. He wanted to tease Stormy a bit, banking on the advice offered years ago by experienced freighter rats to ‘get a virgin hot and horny before you dip your rod.’
Stormy’s cheeks pinked, and her toes curled delightfully into his bed’s quilt.
His confidence soared as he strutted toward her. She reached for him, but he stopped just outside her reach, roving his eyes from the small hollow at the base of her neck to the rosy tips of her breasts to the delicate bones of her ankles. Every part of her was glorious—and about to be his.
“Don’t you want to touch me?” she asked.
“Oh, I do.” He sat on the edge of the bed and kissed her until she sighed with longing. “Roll over.”
A puzzled look flashed across her face.
“I’m going to touch you everywhere.” He eased her onto her tummy, straddled the backs of her thighs, and leaned forward. His sac brushed the rise of her derriere as he ran his fingertips across her shoulders and down the small of her back, stroking her soft skin sensuously. His johnson bobbed with readiness.
Just when he was tempted to ease her legs apart, she squirmed onto her side. He waited for her to turn onto her back.
Instead, she raised her arm. “Do my side.”
Acquiescing to her lead, he traced spirals over the curve of her hip and then down toward her puss, watching intently for signs her well was primed.
She turned languidly onto her back and stretched up her arms. “Now do my front.”
Her audacious pose reminded him of the playing cards he’d found in his father’s study when he was twelve. Each card displayed a voluptuous harlot in shocking dishabille. His body had quickened, and he’d shed his virginity with several quick strokes of his hand.
Fully aroused, he swirled his fingers through Stormy’s red-gold bush hairs.
She spread her legs until they bumped into his. Then, she plunged her hand between her thighs and withdrew it, fingers glistening.
To his astonishment, she rubbed her slickness over his engorged tip. He reveled in the sensation and struggled not to close his eyes. It had been so long since anyone had touched him there.
“You’re as big as Zed’s stallion,” she breathed.
That wasn’t at all true, but his chest still swelled. He was Stormy’s first, the measure by which she’d judge any future lover. The urgency to give her his ring returned, but before he could get up, her hand closed around his hard length.
He almost came. Hissing through his teeth, he forced himself to think about something, anything other than her touch. Gauge one-seventy and climbing. Boiler shrieking like a wounded giant. ‘Run! Run! She’s gonna blow.’
His pressure dropped to a manageable level. He pried off Stormy’s fingers, leaned down until her face hovered just below his, and initiated a kiss he intended to make long and deep and unforgettable.
Stormy wriggled under him. She was ready. He’d finish the kiss, and then he’d take her slowly. Do his utmost to be gentle.
Suddenly, she arched her hips, snagged his erection between her thighs, and guided it toward her slippery channel.
He broke the kiss and rolled so she was on top.
Her eyes locked onto his. In them, he saw passion, anticipation, and something he’d never found in Candy’s arms.
Love. Stormy was committing herself to him body and soul.
They pushed as one, and she drew a sharp breath. A tremulous smile spread across her face. She raised up his full length, and then slid back down again and again, squeezing his shoulders as she increased the tempo.
He gripped her hips, matching thrust with push. Faster. Deeper. His whole world became where they touched, and how the sensations wed them into one body, and one heart.
She cried out his name as her intimate muscles convulsed.
Panting, he teetered on the edge until he felt the peak of her o
rgasm subside. With no more need to hold back, he sought—and found—her lips and let himself go.
Afterward, she slept in his arms. He wanted to give her his ring now, but he didn’t have the heart to rouse her. Tomorrow would come soon enough. He’d ask her to marry him in front of her father.
Counting his blessings, he closed his eyes.
Chapter 14
It was well past sunrise when Blade woke. The ranch house was oddly quiet. By now, pots usually clanged in the kitchen, and the earliest risers talked in more than nods and one-word whispers.
He reached for Stormy, but she was gone, probably seeing to a personal need.
He couldn’t remember a time when he’d felt happier. Before he’d drifted off to sleep a few hours ago, she’d turned onto her side, and he’d put his arm around her like a husband with his wife. Today, after he asked Zed, Brownie, and Running Bear for her hand, he’d have what he lost five years ago. Home, family, and most of all, a woman to love.
A letter to his family would share his good news and instruct Jared where to send his money. He’d pay off Stormy’s note to Vance—a surprise gift for his amorous bride-to-be.
Eager to find her, he dressed, shoved Stormy’s ring into his pocket, and walked downstairs.
The house was deserted. He stepped outside and scanned the ranch yard. The buckboard wasn’t back from the Founders Day celebration.
Blade smiled. From what he’d seen at the dance, Zed was sweet on Ginny Dunn. Running Bear seemed to attract female admirers, and Brownie certainly deserved a sleep-in morning.
Stormy was probably milking the cow. He’d find her and ask what kind of eggs she wanted for breakfast. After they ate, he’d entice her back to bed with soft kisses on the side of her neck. They could practice making a Blade Junior or a sweet freckle-faced girl named Flora, to honor Stormy’s mother.
He was about to enter the barn when he spotted the cow already grazing on the pasture. A quick check confirmed Stormy wasn’t cleaning a stall. Shouting her name, he ran to Running Bear’s tipi and peeked inside.
She wasn’t there. He dashed back into the house and searched for a note that said where she’d gone.
His mind raced through the what-ifs. Zed, Brownie, and Running Bear had trusted him to take care of her. Once they learned he’d bedded Stormy, would they believe she’d slipped out while he was sleeping? Did she run off because he’d disappointed her last night? When he asked her to marry him, would she say no?
A worse thought struck him. The ranch was huge. If she’d fallen and broken a leg or split open her head, it could take hours to find her.
Heart pounding, he whistled for Belinda.
His mare trotted up with the other ranch horses—except for Odin. The gelding’s leg was healing nicely, but Running Bear had advised another week of rest.
Damn Stormy! She’d taken Odin out anyway.
Angry now, he saddled Belinda. As he galloped toward the big black-walnut tree, he scanned his mental map of the ranch and tried to fathom where Stormy might have ridden and why. When he reached the top of the hill, he looked in every direction.
He saw nothing but hills and grass. He sat very still, hoping Belinda would sense something.
His mare sniffed the air. Her ears turned this way and that; then she dropped her head and snagged a mouthful of grass.
A high-pitched, mournful moo drifted in from the west.
Hair rose on the back of his neck. Brownie had mentioned broken wires in the west pasture.
He charged Belinda back to the yard, ran into Running Bear’s tipi, and found the big man’s carbine. Thank God it was loaded. He didn’t have time to search for more cartridges.
He sprinted back to his mare. With one boot on the stirrup, and fear constricting his chest, he shouted, “Run!”
~ ~ ~
As she slid off Odin’s back, Stormy heard a faint, high-pitched moo. On clear, still mornings, the wind carried sounds for miles. That moo could have come from her steers on the new pasture, Albert Schultz’s farm, or someplace beyond.
She patted Odin’s shoulder. He’d started favoring his injured leg before she located the broken fence wire, and now she was sorry for making him walk so far.
She’d rushed downstairs before dawn to retrieve her sleeping shirt before Zed or Brownie discovered it on the floor in front of the bookcase. When she’d realized they’d not come home, her relief was short-lived. The cow needed milking, her stall had to be cleaned, and stove wood had to be split.
By the time she’d finished those chores, she didn’t dare to crawl back into bed with Blade. Zed, Running Bear, and Brownie would be home any minute, and she wanted to keep secret her night with Blade until she’d made sense of it.
After last night, she was almost sure she wanted to spend the rest of her life with him. His touch said he loved her. So did most of his actions. He made her feel special, and that was no small feat. She did have a quick temper. She also had a quick mind.
But, Blade had not said he loved her. In fact, he seemed to be holding something back.
Did he leave a sweetheart in St. Louis? A wife?
The bastard. Zed, Brownie, and Running Bear might be charmed by his strength and his stories, but they were just like every other Dakota family with an eligible daughter. Use her to woo a permanent ranch hand.
Seeing red, she flopped to her knees and yanked on the broken, rust-tinged wires.
Odin snorted and trotted away.
She didn’t turn around. He wouldn’t stray far. Two more inches, and she’d have enough slack to twist the wires together. The repair would be finished. She’d ride home and order Blade to start packing.
A rusty barb poked through a worn spot in her work glove and bit deep into the base of her index finger.
“Balls in a basket!” She sat back on her heels and shook off her glove. The puncture stung like a black wasp’s sting. She sucked hard on the flesh of her finger. Puncture wounds, especially rusty ones, needed to bleed clean.
Odin breathed on the back of her neck.
“Hold your horses. I’m almost done.” Leaning forward again, she eased her injured hand into her work glove, picked up the wire, and winced as she tightened her grip. As she tugged on the wires, a second blast of grass breath engulfed her. “What’s gotten into you, Odin?”
Annoyed, she jumped up and spun around.
Her heart leapt into her throat.
Sultan stood just a few feet away. A chunk of fresh sod hung helter-skelter from the tip of one horn, and his tail jerked from side to side like it counted the seconds she had left to live.
She backed up and snagged her shirtsleeve on an upper strand of barbed wire. The cotton ripped, a tiny sound amid the fear roaring in her ears. She faced a bull that could outrun her in every direction, including the other side of the fence. If she managed to roll under the bottom wire, he’d probably bust right through after her.
She searched for Odin and spied him on a far-off rise. He’d already run away, and would take off even farther if she ran in his direction.
Not daring to turn her back on the bull, she pretended to be out for a casual backwards stroll to the next fence post. And, the one after that.
Sultan followed like an overgrown puppy, drool dripping off the thick gray tongue that lolled out of his mouth. After passing six posts, she stopped, no farther from him than when she’d started.
He raised his nose in the air and mooed, high-pitched and piercing, like he was calling his cows to come and watch him overpower a human.
Maybe she was going about this all wrong. Maybe she could chase him off. She took a daring, aggressive step toward him, removed her hat, and waved her arms.
He lowered his head and brandished his horns as if to remind her that he possessed the deadly weapons.
Seeing no alternative, she went for broke and slapped his nose with the brim of her hat. “Damn you, Sultan. Go home!”
He blinked and shook his head.
She shouted again. Hit him again.
With an agility that she did not expect, he angled his horn and snagged her hat like it was the ring prize on a carousel. His yellow eyes turned mean. He pawed the ground. Tufts of grass and clods of dirt struck his belly, announcing his intention to attack.
Her stomach churned. She could give up and lie on the ground, or she could start running. Either way, she was a goner. His horns would impale her chest, and he’d shake her like a rag doll until she drew her last, painful breath.
She chose not to announce her intentions. She spun on her toes and ran for her life.
~ ~ ~
Blade reined his mare to a frantic stop beside Odin. He scanned the next sections of fence, and his heart lurched in his chest. Red hair flying, arms and legs pumping, Stormy ran toward him. Chased by Albert Schultz’s worthless bull.
Channeling his fury to steady his hands, Blade pressed the carbine against his shoulder. He sighted through the scope. Focused as Sultan closed in fast.
The bull suddenly kicked up its hind hooves and spun in a circle. Then, it resumed the chase, this time angling its horns straight at Stormy’s back.
Sultan thinks this is a game!
Blade’s body tightened. He had one bullet. One chance to save the woman he loved.
Sultan was four steps behind Stormy. If his aim were off by even a fraction of an inch, he’d shoot her.
A bitter, metallic taste filled his mouth, like he’d been sucking on an old nail.
Sultan lunged.
Stormy dodged to the side, stumbled, and regained her footing.
Surefooted, Sultan jerked its head as if trying to hook a fish.
Stormy screamed.
Blade was out of time. He held his breath and squeezed the trigger. The rifle shot cracked like a whip.