CAROLINE AND THE RAIDER

by Linda Lael Miller

  “I’ve never done this,” she blurted, in an anxious, breathless whisper. “And I’m—I’m scared.”

  He bent his head and circled the taut, straining peak of her breast with the tip of his tongue before answering, “I won’t lie to you, Caroline. When I take you, it’s going to hurt a little, just this first time. But the things I’ll do to you before that, and after, will make it all worthwhile.”

  Caroline thought of that other time, on the stairs behind the hotel. He’d made love to her with words then, and she’d been swamped in pleasure so deep she’d fully expected to drown in it. What would it be like to actually give herself to him?

  She cupped her hand under the breast he was sampling and held it for him. “Love me, Guthrie,” she pleaded, in a strangled voice. “Love me.”

  He took her greedily, brazenly into his mouth and suckled hard, and Caroline gave a cry not of pain, but of welcome. She felt as though her breasts had been made to nurture and please this man, and in some hidden part of her soul, she grieved that they would not nourish his children as well.

  Caroline had no fear of becoming pregnant; she’d heard once that it never happened the first time a woman lay down with a man.

  Needing desperately to make Guthrie feel what she was feeling, she found the crux of his thighs with her hand and spread her fingers over his manhood as it strained against his trousers. A fevered groan against her breast told her she’d found the way to power, and she fumbled with his buttons, enjoying his torment as he waited to be set free.

  He raised his head and moaned when she clasped him in her fist and moved her thumb across the tip of his shaft, and Caroline was instantly intoxicated. She moved her hand up and down, and Guthrie made sounds like a man in delirium.

  Finally, he clasped both her wrists and pressed them into the hay, wide of her head. He gasped like a man near to drowning as he tried to speak and ultimately gave up on the effort.

  Caroline freed one hand to stroke the nape of his neck and urge him gently back to her breast.

  One by one, Guthrie took away Caroline’s boots, her skirt, her drawers. Her blouse lay beneath her back, and he slid her arms out of the camisole. She shivered as a cold breeze blew between her body and his, raising her nipples to eager peaks.

  Guthrie braced himself above her, and his breath came in low gasps as she pushed back his trousers to touch him still more freely. “Caroline,” he ground out, “say no now, if you’re going to, because in another couple of minutes it will be too damn late.”

  Caroline knew she ought to forbid him, but she couldn’t bring herself to speak or twist away. She arched her neck, and he fell to her breast with a groan, drawing at the nipple with an almost frantic hunger. He brought Caroline’s hands high above her head and held them there, gripping her wrists, and the vulnerability increased her pleasure tenfold.

  Finally, Guthrie released her and began kissing his way down over her rib cage and belly, and every touch of his lips excited Caroline more. When she felt the silken curtain part, she cried out and grasped Guthrie’s powerful shoulders, and he lowered his mouth to her.

  She tensed, not knowing that to expect, and gave a strangled moan when he flicked at her with his tongue. Her fingers delved deep into his hair. “Oh, Guthrie,” she whimpered, and she didn’t know whether she wanted him to stop or go on. She only knew she was pleading.

  He set her legs over his shoulders and muttered against her pulsing flesh, “I want everything, Caroline. Everything.” Before she could absorb that, he had claimed her again, and this time he was in earnest.

  Caroline heard the calls of night animals in the darkness, wolves or coyotes, and her own cries of pleasure and finally release echoed with theirs. Guthrie lowered her gently back to the blanket on the straw, kissing the inside of her thigh before he parted from her.

  She had been satisfied, but not fulfilled, and this time Caroline could not settle for just a sample of what Guthrie offered. Like him, she wanted everything.

  She caught her hands behind his nape and pulled him into a kiss spiced with musk. He was lying between her legs now, and she could feel the hard heat of his shaft waiting without, like the Trojan horse outside the walls of Troy.

  Caroline opened the gates to her conqueror willingly and, with a raspy exclamation, he entered her, though just barely. She moved beneath him, urging him with frantic whispers, but he would not be hurried. Her body heated by degrees, and she felt it expanding to harbor him.

  “I don’t want to hurt you,” Guthrie said hoarsely, weaving his fingers into her tumbledown hair and stroking her high cheekbones with the pads of his thumbs.

  “The needing hurts,” Caroline told him. “Please, Guthrie, don’t make me wait.”

  He bent his head to give her a light, frenzied kiss. “Caroline—”

  The lack of him was a consuming, bitter ache, spreading from the center of her femininity to every part of her body and soul. Instinct sent her hips surging upward, and Guthrie could no longer restrain himself. He gave a powerful thrust, tearing through the last barrier that kept them apart, and Caroline cried out, startled by the ferocity of the pain.

  Guthrie lay still within her, but his lips moved against her temple, and she held on to the soothing words he was whispering until the hurting had ebbed. Only then did he begin to move inside her, withdrawing, then gently filling her again.

  As the friction increased, Caroline’s responses grew more and more heated. Soon she was twisting and writhing beneath him, her hands clutching at his back, her head tossing from side to side on the blanket.

  Beyond the roof and the clouds that hid the sky, the stars raced in crazy streaks and circles, pulling Caroline toward them. The pleasure, when it peaked, was so intense that she couldn’t bear it, and her soul fled toward the heavens even as her body buckled beneath Guthrie’s in their bed of straw.

  She was back inside herself in time to stroke and soothe Guthrie as he threw his head back and stiffened in her arms with a satisfaction that seemed powerful enough to tear him apart.

  After several deep, desperate thrusts, he gave a loud cry, his powerful body convulsing atop hers, then sank down beside her on the blanket, trembling.

  Chapter

  Caroline lay close to him, her fingers lightly plowing the dense mat of hair on his chest as she waited for her insides to stop quivering. Her body was covered in a fine mist of perspiration, and so was Guthrie’s.

  “I warned you,” he said, after a very long time had passed. He’d pulled away to right his clothes.

  Caroline couldn’t see his face, and his tone had revealed exactly nothing. “Don’t spoil it, Guthrie,” she said. “I’ll have to deal with the truth soon enough. For now, just let me pretend that everything is the same as it was before.”

  It was too late. Reality was closing in around Caroline like a pack of wolves, ready to rip her to pieces. She was wanton and thoughtless, no different from her mother, and worst of all, she’d betrayed a man who loved and trusted her.

  She turned onto her side with a low wail of despair and drew her knees up. Her hands covered her face, and her shoulders and back trembled painfully with the force of her grief.

  “Caroline,” Guthrie whispered, and the name was a tender reprimand. He sat up, and drew her onto his lap, and wrapped the blanket around her to keep away the chill of a rainy night. One of his hands moved lightly over her hair. “Sweetheart, don’t cry. Please.” His lips touched her temple. “Everything’s going to be all right, I promise.”

  “You p-promise!” Caroline sobbed, afraid to believe him. Her hands made fists and rested ineffectually against his chest because she couldn’t make herself strike him. “H-how could you promise s-such a thing?”

  He held her close, rocking her slightly. “It wasn’t your fault,” he assured her gruffly, “it was mine. I guess I’ve been set on seducing you since that day you walked into the Hellfire and Spit. One of these days, you’ll marry a good man, and you’ll put me right out of your mind.�
� He dried her cheek with three fingers. “Fact is, you probably won’t even remember tonight at all.”

  Caroline wouldn’t forget that momentous night in a thousand lifetimes—she didn’t even have to desire to forget, God help her—but she was too proud admit as much straight out. Furthermore, she was wounded that Guthrie could share such a shatteringly beautiful experience with her and then say the memory would fade soon, like the words of a bad poem or the events of a dream. Clearly, she was no more to him than any of the whores he’d visited over the years, but he would always be tragically special to her.

  “Mr. Flynn won’t want me now,” she sniffled miserably. “No decent man will.” Never mind that she no longer wanted Mr. Flynn either; that was none of Guthrie’s business. She was going ahead with the rescue, that was the least she could do, but once Seaton was safe from the noose she would have to tell him their engagement was off. “I’ll be a spinster with a past!”

  Guthrie chuckled and pressed her head to his shoulder. “Shhh,” he said, and there was a smile in the sound. “He’s out there somewhere, this man of yours. He’s decent all right. And he’s going to be pleasantly surprised when he discovers he’s brought a wildcat to his bed.”

  Caroline stiffened, insulted. “A what?”

  He laughed and held her all the more tightly, and that felt almost as good as his loving had. Caroline couldn’t consciously remember anyone holding her in their arms. “A wildcat,” he answered. “Too many women just lie there under a man, stiff as a board, and wait for him to finish.”

  Heat suffused Caroline’s face at the reminder, and self-doubt filled her soul. Real ladies didn’t kick and claw and writhe and shout; they endured, closing their eyes and thinking of other things until it was all over. She began to cry again, this time softly. Forlornly.

  Guthrie laid her gently on the straw and tucked the blanket around her, then he left without saying a word. And even though he was the man who had spoiled Caroline forever, she ached for the strength of his arms around her and the warmth of his shoulder under her cheek.

  He returned after several minutes and, by then, Caroline’s eyes had adjusted enough that she could see he was carrying the canteen and what looked to be a handkerchief. He moistened the cloth, parted her legs, and began washing away the traces of their lovemaking with light, sure strokes.

  Caroline bit down on her lower lip, horrified that she was becoming aroused again. She prayed he couldn’t sense what she was feeling, but soon he gave a hoarse chuckle and spread his hand over her belly. His thumb burrowed through the moist curls at the junction of her thighs to ply the hidden rosebud.

  “A wildcat,” he said again, with a certain raspy smugness. “Miss Caroline, Miss Caroline, what a little wanton you are.”

  A moan squeezed its way between Caroline’s teeth, and she clenched her eyes shut tight. Her knees drew up and fell wide, and still Guthrie toyed with her, making her skin glow with perspiration again. And the sound of his voice stroked her sensitive place just as surely as his thumb did.

  She reached up, clawed at his shoulders, tried to speak and couldn’t. All that came from her throat were strangled, nonsensical sounds, primitive and raw with need.

  Guthrie chuckled. “Umm, Sweet thing, you do keep a man busy.” He shoved several fingers inside her, this time making no effort to be gentle, for that was not what she needed then and he knew it.

  Caroline cried out in welcome, the sweet tension within growing tighter and tighter, like the spring of a watch wound to the breaking point, and then came undone in a rapid, humming spiral. At its height, she followed Guthrie’s hand high off the blanket; at its depths, sleep was waiting to claim her.

  When Caroline awakened, the sky was a bright blue and she thought she must be imagining that the scent of coffee filled the crisp spring air. She scrambled into her clothes and found her hairbrush in the carpetbag Guthrie had thoughtfully left nearby. After grooming her tresses, she braided them into a single plait and climbed gingerly down from the stack of hay bales.

  Guthrie handed her a mug of steaming coffee and the inevitable piece of jerky.

  “Thank you,” she murmured, not quite able to meet his eyes. After all, he’d made love to her the night before, not once but twice, and he’d called her a wildcat straight out. Now she had no idea how to talk to him.

  “Are we going to pretend it didn’t happen?” he asked, and there was no condemnation or anger in his voice, only honest curiosity.

  Caroline made herself look at him, perhaps as penance. Though he needed a shave, he was every bit as disturbingly attractive as he had been the night before.

  This would never do.

  She took a sip of her coffee and regarded him thoughtfully for a long time before answering, “Yes. And we’re going to see that nothing like it ever occurs again.”

  His lips slanted in a delighted smile, and his eyes danced under the brim of his hat. A person would think someone with a copper mine could afford decent headgear, Caroline reflected.

  “What about Flynn?” he asked presently. “Do you plan to casually mention to him that you and I—”

  Caroline reached out and pressed her fingers to his soft lips, unable to listen to the rest. “Yes,” she said miserably. “I’m going to tell him exactly what happened. It would be wrong to deceive him.”

  This time, it was Guthrie who averted his eyes. He watched a couple of deer grazing in the distance as he raised his cup to his mouth.

  He wasn’t getting off that easily, not after what he’d done. “What about Adabelle?” Caroline demanded. “Will you tell her?”

  “Probably not,” he replied, sometime later, with a long sigh.

  Caroline could barely believe her ears. “What?”

  Guthrie shrugged. “It will only hurt her. And it isn’t as though you and I mean anything to each other.”

  His words, as quietly as they were delivered, crushed Caroline’s spirit beneath them like the wheels of an oncoming locomotive. She rose and turned away, her hands trembling as she used them both to raise her mug to her lips. He’d put her into the same class as the whores he dealt with, and that bruised her in tender places.

  She felt him behind her, even before he laid his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him.

  “What’s wrong?”

  She made herself smile as she shook her head. “Nothing. You’re right—we mean nothing to each other. We’re completely unsuited.”

  Her lips curved gently at that, and he touched her face with the tips of his fingers. “Um-hmm,” he replied. And then he kicked dirt over the fire he’d made with pieces of wood found around the floor of the barn the night before.

  “That settles it, then,” Caroline said.

  Guthrie nodded, but his eyes seemed to be focused on her mouth.

  She retreated a step. “Naturally, I’ll expect you to honor your word as a gentleman and keep your distance at night.”

  He chuckled and caught her chin lightly in one hand. “I’m no gentleman,” he warned, his eyes twinkling, “and I haven’t given my word on anything.” With that, he turned and walked away to saddle the horses.

  Caroline was right behind him. “Just one moment, Mr. Hayes,” she said, in her best schoolteacher voice. “I’m afraid I must demand your promise—”

  He turned and met her gaze with a level stare. “You’re in no position to demand anything, Teacher,” he interrupted. “In case you’ve forgotten, I’m doing the leading and you’re doing the following.”

  Caroline raised her chin a notch. “That may be true,” she replied, with dignity, “but it doesn’t entitle you to the use of my body. I’m not one of your prostitutes, Mr. Hayes, and I’ll thank you to remember that.”

  His grin was smooth and quick as mercury, and he sketched a very Southern bow. “I’d never impune your character by comparing you to lowly women,” he assured her. “But you’re not exactly a lady, either.”

  Caroline whirled, flushed and uncertain whether she’d been
slandered or praised. She hurried around to the other side of the barn to tend to private business. When she returned, Tob was barking, eager to be on his way, and Guthrie had already mounted his gelding. Although Caroline was anything but an experienced rider, she would have died before asking for help.

  She gripped the saddle horn, planted one foot in the stirrup, and hoisted herself up.

  Guthrie waited until she was settled to ask, with exaggerated innocence, “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

  Only then did Caroline remember her carpetbag. After glaring at her companion for a moment, she swung down from the saddle and climbed up into the hay to find her valise. By the time she was mounted on the pinto mare again, Guthrie was way out ahead of her. Tob lingered, waiting for her, his agitated bark bidding her to hurry.

  Gritting her teeth, Caroline spurred her mount to a gallop and closed the distance between herself and Guthrie.

  Stopping only for brief breaks, they rode until late afternoon, when they came upon an isolated ranch.

  The sole inhabitant, an elderly man wearing a derby hat and coveralls with no shirt underneath greeted them at the front door of the cabin. He was scowling and pointing a double-barreled shotgun at Guthrie’s chest.

  “State your business!” he barked.

  Guthrie smiled in that leisurely way of his and leaned forward in the saddle. “Take it easy, old-timer,” he said. “All the missus and I want to do is water our horses.”

  The rancher squinted at them from beneath the dusty brim of his hat, and his scowl gave way to a toothless grin. Evidently, his desire for company outweighed his sense of caution. Caroline knew that some of these ranchers didn’t lay eyes on another human being for months at a time.

  “Well, see to the horses and come on in,” the old man said, propping his shotgun against the wall of his cabin. “Name’s Efraim Fisk.”

  “Guthrie Hayes,” responded Caroline’s escort.

  “Since when am I ‘the missus’?” Caroline hissed, keeping one eye on the beaming Mr. Fisk.