HIS TENDER TOUCH

by Sharon Mignerey

  "When?" she asked, her eyes dark, luminous.

  "When what?" For the life of him, he couldn't remember what they had been talking about.

  "Your friend—the one with the helicopter," she explained, a trace of impatience filling her voice. "When is he coming?"

  "Tomorrow afternoon." Gray half hoped she would tell him she didn't want to leave. Conversely, the sooner she went, the better.

  Instead, she surprised him with a total change of subject. "Did the office know where Howard is?"

  Gray shook his head, wishing he could reassure her. "He's supposed to be in Arizona, but no one has seen him."

  "Except us." Her brow was puckered with worry when she looked up at him. He longed to ease the furrows away with his thumb. Even more, to ease the cause of her worry.

  She stared into space a moment, then glanced back at him. "I wouldn't have made a mistake like that."

  "I know."

  "So, what's next?" she asked.

  "We get some dinner and figure out where we're going to sleep tonight."

  She grinned, then poked him in the stomach. "Here I ask a serious question and you—"

  "Food is serious." He grabbed her finger.

  "And beds?" Her eyes sparkled, and he damned himself for being tempted by her.

  "Extremely serious." Especially knowing tonight would be his last night ever with her. If he allowed himself that.

  Who the hell was he kidding? He wanted the night with her—wanted a whole bunch of them, in fact. He'd take this night, though, and pay the devil his due later.

  "Food is taken care of," she informed him. "Francie invited us for dinner." She looked away, worrying her lower lip between her teeth. "And, Gray?"

  "Hmm?"

  "I know this probably sounds stupid." She turned to face him, all teasing and all playfulness gone from her expression. "But I'm not real crazy about going back to Puma's Lair."

  "Then we won't," he said.

  "And I don't want to be away from you," she added. "This afternoon was bad enough."

  He took her hand and brought her palm firmly next to his. "Then you won't be."

  A slow smile lit her face. "Good."

  She'd had the same smile on her face last night in the pool when she had come to him, whispering, "Love me again." He had never glimpsed a dream he wanted more. Never had a dream felt more impossible. For the moment, though, he was tempted to believe. So he took her hand, commanded his conscience to leave him alone for a while and led her across the plaza.

  The few homes that surrounded the plaza were mostly traditional adobe structures, as much from economic necessity Gray knew, as from aesthetics. Adobe may be the picturesque building material for Taos or Santa Fe—here it was made by the Indians themselves because material for the adobe bricks was cheap and plentiful. Hawk's house was typical, set a quarter mile away from the pueblo. A huge cottonwood tree grew near the house, its naked limbs stretching into the pale evening sky.

  Francie met them at the doorway and ushered them inside with the same warm hospitality she had shown earlier in the day. Audrey was still surprised that not only had Hawk's wife fed her, provided a shower and clean clothes, washed her dirty ones, but had also made her feel welcome.

  Hawk was inside, as well. Audrey found the transformation in him so complete she could not imagine he was the same remote man who had greeted her so coldly when she'd arrived at Puma's Lair. Though still taciturn, he demonstrated unexpected gentleness toward Francie. Within minutes after their arrival, they would sit down to a meal of red and green chili, posóle, bread and peaches.

  "A traditional feast," Gray commented. "What's the occasion?"

  "Why, the eclipse, of course," Francie answered, motioning them to sit down. "Can't let those celestial events pass without proper notice, you know."

  "Peaches are a traditional food," Audrey said, though she recalled what Mary Maktima had told her about the orchards.

  Francie smiled. "At La Huerta, yes. According to my mother, it's a remembrance of a time when the pueblo was known for its orchards."

  "It's a heritage we have a chance of reclaiming if Howard Lambert doesn't sell off all the water belonging to the land." Hawk met Audrey's gaze across the table.

  "I don't … I didn't know anything about that before I got here," she said.

  "Without water, land is worthless," Hawk stated flatly.

  "I know."

  "It's theft. Pure and simple."

  "She knows that, too, Hawk," Francie said, touching Audrey's shoulder and sitting down next to her.

  After they were finished eating, Hawk and Gray went outside and stood talking quietly while Audrey helped Francie clean up the dishes. As they worked, Audrey wondered where she and Gray would sleep tonight. So long as they were together, she didn't care where.

  The day had seemed endless after he and Hawk had gone back to the ranch. When she had watched the helicopter arrive, her focus stretched beyond the confines of Puma's Lair. For the first time since Gray had rescued her from her car, she had thought about returning to Denver.

  In some ways, she wanted desperately the familiarity of her own home. In others, she didn't want to contemplate leaving here. The thought had left her aching, and now, hours later, things were no better. Gray had made the preliminary arrangements for her to leave. Relief and denial surfaced simultaneously, leaving in their wake a dull ache knotting the pit of her stomach.

  She would go home a very different person than she had been when she came here. It seemed more had happened to her during the past two days than in her entire life. Threats, then attempts that had almost been successful. Being connected with a ghost. Finding a man who felt like the other half of her soul.

  Audrey stared through the window where Hawk and Gray stood talking. More shadows than substance in the darkness, she imagined Gray … as he had been when she first arrived, his eves intense, then the softening of those eyes before he had kissed her … his heat and his gentleness when he transformed her from virgin to woman … a man who had become her protector. How could she leave him? She loved him.

  The realization left her shaking, even as logic denied love's possibility. She had just met him not even two days ago. How could she love him? She didn't know anything about him.

  Except that he had risked his life for her.

  Except that he had loved her, giving her more joy than she had dreamed of in any fantasy.

  More to the point, the man hadn't promised her love or commitment or anything else. But he had given her something as valuable—he had put his life on the line for her when he could have just as easily left her to fend for herself.

  "Hawk has a place where we can spend the night," Gray told Audrey a few minutes later.

  "At the ranch?" she questioned.

  He shook his head. "No. Here at the pueblo. He built a guest house, which Mary used until recently." Gray smoothed his hand over her hair. "I wouldn't take you there if I didn't think you'd—we'd be safe."

  "I trust you," she said.

  "I wish I deserved it."

  * * *

  Chapter 12

  « ^ »

  Gray stopped just inside the doorway to the guest house, blocking Audrey's entrance. For the life of him, he didn't know how he was going to suppress his need for the one thing he wanted most—to make love to her again. Now that they had arrived, he had a choice—do what he wanted or do what was right.

  The guest house, separated from Hawk and Francie's home by a line of piñon trees, consisted of one large room and a bathroom. A double bed and a couch were the two primary pieces of furniture.

  The bed, large and comfortable looking, was covered with a patchwork quilt and crisp white sheets. Just looking at the damned bed made him hard. Sighing, he turned his gaze on the couch, which was too short for his six-foot frame, and too short, in fact, for Audrey.

  She tapped him on the shoulder. "Is there a problem?" As he stepped aside, she moved past him, setting her bundle of clothes on a
table. She slipped out of her shoes, her bare feet drawing his attention to the slender curve of her calves beneath the swirling fabric of her skirt.

  He shut the door, then locked it. Just the two of them. Alone.

  They had been alone for most of the past two days, but this was different. Intimate. No fear riding them, at least for the moment. Private. Secluded. A haven where he could show her just how special he thought she was. He glanced toward the bed again. He shouldn't touch her. If she gave him even half an invitation, he'd be all over her like warm sunlight. If the lady had a lick of sense, she'd kick him out. Now. But she had said she didn't want to be alone. And he didn't want her to be alone. Ever.

  "This is nice," she said, turning around to face him. Her smile widened, and she nodded toward the bed, stretching her arms to him. "In fact, very nice."

  He swallowed and caught her hands against his chest when she would have put them about his neck. If he had an ounce of honor, he wouldn't take what she offered.

  The smile slowly faded from her face. "Gray?"

  He brought her hands to his mouth, kissed one, then the other. "I don't believe in happily ever after, you know."

  "I kind of figured that out already."

  "I want you."

  "I figured that out, too." She took a step forward, closing the gap that separated them, her soft body making contact with his. "And I'm glad. I want you, too." She stood on tiptoe and kissed his jaw, her lips feeling incredibly soft against his skin. "So, what's the problem?"

  "I don't want you to get the wrong idea."

  "That we might have something going after the sun comes up in the morning, after I go back to Denver?" She tipped her head back. "That kind of wrong idea?"

  He gazed into her eyes, noting the fringe of nearly black lashes, the dark brown irises. Beautiful eyes that looked at him with such trust. He had always wanted to be a man worthy of that kind of trust. He wasn't. Not where he kept his darkest secrets hidden.

  "Yeah," he finally said. Except that he had never wanted anything more than to … court—what an old-fashioned word, but he couldn't think of anything that better fit how he felt about her—wanted to court her until she agreed to spend the rest of her life with him.

  He wouldn't, though. She deserved so much. Tying herself to him would surely condemn her to the brand of misery his mother had endured for most her life.

  She kissed his cheek. "Then we'll have to make sure tonight is one to remember, won't we?" A hint of sadness filled her voice, but just as she had given her trust before without asking questions, she gave it now without any recriminations attached.

  He stared down at her a moment longer, his breath catching in his throat when she moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. Still holding her hands within his, he bent, brushing her nose. He kissed her cheek, inhaling the aroma of her skin, then kissed her other cheek. If tonight was all they had, she was right. It had to last a lifetime.

  Letting go of her hands, he cupped his around her face and explored it with gentle, roving kisses. Eyelids, softer even than her cheek. The gentle sweep of her brows. The delicate line of her jaw. The erratic pulse beneath her chin. Her breath became shallow, and he smiled. He was giving her pleasure, and so help him, that was all she would ever know from him. Mind-consuming … endless … pleasure.

  "Let me love you," he whispered against her ear.

  Her hands curled into loose fists and rested against his chest as though she had forgotten to put them around his neck. He lifted her arms over his shoulders, then slid his around her back until they were heartbeat to heartbeat. Still, he didn't kiss her mouth, though he wanted to, though he knew she wanted him to. Tonight was a night to heighten the wanting until there was nothing else. They had time to do this right.

  He wasn't much of a dancer, but he began moving to a slow beat, swaying with her. Having her in his arms like this was heaven, and he intended to savor and prolong each moment.

  Her arms tightened around him, and she stood on tiptoe, bringing her pelvis into closer contact with his. He shuddered.

  "I hear your music," she whispered against his ear. As they danced slowly to a rhythm only they heard, she explored his face the same way he had hers. The brush of her soft lips sensitized his skin. It seemed impossible to be so achingly hard over these innocent kisses, but he was.

  Removing the belt to her tunic, he grasped its hem and pulled it over her head. In the dim light of the room, her skin glowed, pale in comparison to his hands. She surprised him by snaking his belt out of his waistband and letting it drop to the floor. Pulling his shirt free, she unbuttoned it and pushed it off his shoulders.

  Still rocking to the slow beat they had established, she kneaded the firm muscles of his shoulders through the fabric of his T-shirt while he traced the delicate network of veins between her neck and the top of her lacy bra.

  "This isn't fair," she said. "You have more skin to touch than I do."

  He grinned. "You can fix that, love."

  She smiled back, slid her hands beneath the cotton and pulled the T-shirt over his head. She smoothed her hands over his collarbone, down the length of his arms and up again, then the backs of her hands down his chest.

  "I like being petted by you," he said huskily.

  "I like petting you," she responded simply, her gaze not leaving his chest.

  Her frank admiration of his body and her gentle touches made him feel ten feet tall. Dropping his hands between her breasts, he unfastened the catch, pulled the bra open and slid the straps down her arms. Last night, he hadn't taken the time to look. He did now, using his cupped hands to support the soft weight of her breasts. Beautiful. Her nipples beaded into tight points that he knew would be sensitive and aching for his touch.

  With his thumbs, he lightly circled the nipples, watching them grow even tighter.

  She imitated his caress, making him realize his own nipples were just as sensitive as hers.

  Her breathing grew ragged. "Gray, you're torturing me."

  "That's the whole idea," he murmured.

  She suddenly pressed herself against him, then sighed as their skin touched. "Yes," she whispered. "This is what I've been remembering all day. How—" she brushed her breasts across his chest "—this feels."

  Gray gathered her closer, loving the feel of her breasts pillowed into his chest. Against his neck, her breath felt hot. He pressed her head closer, until it rested on his shoulder.

  "You're so beautiful," he whispered against her hair. "So special. I've waited my whole life for someone like you."

  In answer, her arms tightened around him.

  The need she had been teasing to life curled through him. He wanted her naked. Now. Discovering the waistband was elastic, he simply pushed the skirt off her hips, taking her panties down at the same time. Gracefully, she stepped out of the skirt, her long bare legs brushing against him. He gathered her close again, cherishing the feel of her slender body against him.

  Long moments later, she breathed, "This feels so naughty, you being dressed, me bare…"

  "More so than me being naked with you?" he asked softly.

  She nodded.

  "Do you mind?"

  Catching the lobe of his ear between her teeth, she said, "I like it. A lot."

  His hands roamed down her back to the cleft of her bottom, then down farther, until his fingers curved inward at the top of her thighs. The skin beneath his fingers felt smooth, softer even than her breast. He flexed his hands, and she shuddered.

  "Are you okay?" He pulled his head back far enough to look at her.

  She opened her eyes, her pupils fully dilated, her lips pink. "I can barely stand," she said. "Am I okay?"

  He smiled. "Perfect. That's just the way it's supposed to be."

  "You affect me so much. Yet you don't seem … bothered much at all."

  "Want to bet?" Boldly, he took her hand and pressed it against him. Hard enough he thought he might burst. At the touch of her palm flattened against him, separat
ed by layers of cloth, he became even harder.

  "You're a little overdressed for the occasion," she said, meeting his eyes, a smile lighting her face.

  "Then undress me," he commanded.

  She unzipped the fly and, as he had, pushed the pants and his shorts over his hips. But he couldn't step out of them because his shoes were still on.

  "What's the problem here?" she asked, looking down. The corners of her mouth twitched.

  He looked down, too. His pants and shorts were tangled around his legs.

  "Oh, Gray." She brought her hand to her face to hide a grin. Then she laughed, a delighted giggle. "We seem to have forgotten something important."

  "I'll say," he responded. He was aroused to the point of pain and she was laughing. Even so, he found himself smiling.

  Her giggles were contagious, and in spite of himself, he laughed. A look of surprise chased across her features.

  "One of us is supposed to know what we're doing," she teased, poking him in the stomach.

  "It had better be you, then," he murmured with a chuckle, "because I can't even think."

  "I like your laugh," she said, poking him again, making him step backward toward the bed. "I've never heard you laugh before." She poked him again, and he stumbled.

  "Watch it," he said, grabbing her finger.

  "I'd love to," she murmured, her gaze dropping inches below his waist.

  He stepped back, feeling the bed on the back of his legs. She pushed him, and he sprawled backward. He grabbed at her, and she fell across him, giggling and tickling his ribs. Making love with a woman was serious business, a test of his performance. Which she didn't seem to know, because she blew on his stomach. He laughed harder. Sheer, carefree fun. He hadn't done this while making love … ever. He loved knowing Audrey was secure enough with him to laugh, secure enough to play.

  Sliding off the bed, she dropped to her knees, pulled off one shoe, then the other, then each pant leg. He sat up. The sight of her kneeling in front of him, his arousal inches from her face, was totally erotic to him. His laughter slowly died away as new awareness filled him.