by Beth Ciotta
He heard a splash and relaxed. Good thing she worked fast. Seeing her naked would surely snap what little control he had left.
He rifled through his saddlebag in search of the wildcat’s soap. Meanwhile his thoughts strayed south. If she was half as enthusiastic about lovemaking as she was about kissing, she’d burn up a man’s bed. Maybe marrying an impetuous crazy woman wouldn’t be all bad, so long as he checked his heart at the church door.
Snagging the bar of soap, he lifted it to his nose and sniffed. Lilacs. A scent favored by his mother. A gentle woman who’d died of consumption when he was twelve. Broken hearted, his father had drunk himself to death not long after.
Another advantage to marrying Paris. Love had nothing to do with it.
Clutching the soap, he walked back to the spring, pausing a few feet from the edge to admire the magnificent view. Only her head was visible, surrounded by an ethereal mist, her petite body hidden in the depths of the rippling water. She hummed a haunting melody and smiled up at the moon. Lulled by her siren song, he fantasized about smoothing his hands over her slick, bare curves. Breasts. Hips. Thighs. Envisioned kissing her, seducing her, claiming her wild spirit.
His knees wobbled.
Lust, he told himself as he felt the world shift. Safe and simple lust.
Paris glanced away from the moon, her latest composition dying mid-verse when she spied Josh standing near the lapping edge of the springs. “Oh!” Her cheeks flooded with embarrassment. Instead of fighting the dangerous attraction, she’d been fantasizing about his hands, his mouth, the way he’d suckled her tongue. “How long have you been there?”
“Not long.”
“Did you find the soap?”
“I did.” He passed the bar back and forth from hand to hand as though stalling. “How’s the water?”
“Divine.” Between his heated kiss and the magical spring, her body felt blissfully relaxed. Her mood oddly calm. He, on the other hand, looked miserable. She studied his rigid posture and expression. Had the journey been taxing on his body as well? Being a man, and a stubborn one at that, he’d no doubt suffer in silence. Would he turn her down if she invited him in for a soothing swim? Given their mutual attraction, dare she be that reckless?
Life experience inspires passionate prose.
She smacked her palm against the side of her head. Shut up, Emily.
“Water in your ear?”
“Mmm.” She swiped her wet hair out of her face and assessed the situation. The spring was wide and deep. They could soak on opposite sides. Meanwhile, maybe she’d get a glimpse of his bare chest. Look, but don’t touch, she told herself. Surely that would be inspiration enough. Her skin prickled in nervous anticipation. “Are you going to bring that soap to me?”
“Better I should toss it.”
“It’s dark. What if I miss?”
He leaned forward. “Swim closer.”
So much for being subtle. “For goodness sake, Josh. Come in for a swim.”
He shifted his stance. “Not a smart idea.”
“Three long days on the trail and you’re telling me you don’t have any aches?”
“Oh, I have an ache.”
“Then you’ll benefit from a soak in the hot springs.”
“I’d benefit from a swim in a cold lake.”
She started to respond then shut her mouth as the words sunk in. She’d overheard London make a similar remark to Rome after catching one of Victoria Kensington’s theatrical performances. Her oldest brother fancied the British actress. Not knowing Paris was listening, Rome had cast an obscene comment referring to London’s private parts.
She thought back on Josh’s physical state when she’d been sitting on his lap. The memory filled her with mixed emotions. Curiosity, pleasure, trepidation, but mostly an odd sense of power. If she was going to experience life, it felt good to be somewhat in control. Blaming Emily for her sudden boldness, she cleared her throat and waved him in. “Don’t let a little thing like that stop you.”
He chuckled, a low rumble in his chest that sent a delicious shiver down her spine. “There’s nothing little about it, darlin’.”
Her eyes widened and her tongue got all tied. “Really? I mean … that is … we’re just talking about a friendly swim, right?”
“Are we?”
Was she? She wrung her hands under the water, growing more flustered by the minute. She wanted him to take advantage of the soothing waters. She did. But if she was honest with herself, she also wanted him to take advantage of her. She’d been fantasizing about him all day, her curiosity piqued to a fever pitch. She shrugged. “We’re both adults.”
“That we are.” He grumbled something to the stars, swiped off his Stetson and tossed it and the soap to the ground. Quick as lightning, he shucked his boots, holster, and shirt.
“I, um, should probably turn around,” she stammered, entranced by his spectacular chest and arms. “Or at least close my eyes,” she squeaked as he went for the buttons of his pants. She swiped her hand over her perspiring brow as he stripped. “Oh, my.” The moon shone as bright as the noonday sun illuminating his form in all its naked glory.
He leaned over to scoop up her soap. “I thought you were going to close your eyes.”
“I thought you’d be wearing unmentionables.” She watched him wade into the water, reminding herself that she’d skinny dipped with her brothers when she was four. Only she wasn’t four and he wasn’t her brother. He was … a work of art. Broad shoulders. Sculptured chest. Hard stomach. Hard thighs. Hard … She tempered a squeal of shock by submerging herself in the springs.
When she came up for air, he was standing next to her, his lower half safely concealed beneath the water line. His wondrous chest glistened with droplets of water. Forcing her gaze upward she focused on his face. Her mouth raced ahead of her brain. “You’re beautiful.”
He smiled at that. “Sunsets are beautiful. Women are beautiful. Men? Not beautiful, hon.”
She begged to differ, at least where he was concerned, but she didn’t argue. If the moon had any sympathy, it would disappear behind the clouds and save her from making any further observations.
“Turn around.”
With her back to him, she wouldn’t be tempted to comment on his physical attributes. “Good idea.” She swirled around and paddled toward the middle of the spring, willing the magical waters to do something about her suddenly out-of-whack nervous system.
He nabbed her by the waist and hauled her back. “Speaking of unmentionables … ”
She’d been too shy to strip completely, retaining her bloomers and chemise. “They needed washing,” she explained lamely, her insides seizing when he buried his hands in her hair. He massaged her scalp in a slow, sensual motion. She blinked. “You’re washing my hair?”
“Do you mind?”
“No. I … ” Her mind went blank as his hands slid to her neck, over her shoulders and down both arms. Goosebumps prickled her exposed flesh. Her legs quivered and her arms went limp. Holding her steady, he massaged her weary muscles, shifting the soap from one hand to the other while working his own special magic.
She closed her eyes, giving over to the glorious sensation, happy that she’d shunned propriety. His touch was everything she’d dreamed of, well worth the risk to her reputation. Not that she was worried overly much as they were utterly alone in a godforsaken desert.
Her heart soared with an empowering sense of freedom, urging her to embrace the moment. New and powerful sensations pummeled any lingering reservations. The night air chilled her face, and yet she felt so hot. So deliciously languid. Sighing, she allowed him to pull her flush against his sinewy front. She felt his male hardness pressing into her backside. Felt his hands skimming her breasts. Felt the soap bounce off of her thigh, landing near her foot. She felt … “Sick. I think I’m sick.”
His hands stilled. “Your stomach?”
“Actually, it’s more like an ache. And it’s … lower.”
; She felt him smile against her neck. “How much lower?”
She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.
“Show me.”
She couldn’t. She shouldn’t. But phantom Emily was screaming in her ear, egging her on, not to mention her own restraint was non-existent. There was definitely something in this desert air! Dizzy with yearning, she clasped his hand and pushed it down the front of her soaked chemise. Lower … lower …
He pressed his hand over her nether region. “Here?”
She gasped, shocked, but curiously pleased. “Yes.”
“Want me to ease that ache, darlin’?”
She swallowed hard. Experience life. “Yes.”
He loosened the ties on her drawers and slid his palm beneath the thin fabric, his hand like fire on her bare flesh. “Are you sure?”
No! “Yes!” She gasped as his fingers caressed her intimate folds. “Yes!” Tensed when he applied pressure to the center of her ache and rubbed. Waves of sheer ecstasy washed over her, overwhelming her, causing her blood to burn, her limbs to quake. “Oh, Josh. I … I … ”
He increased the pressure as well as the pace. “Let yourself go, honey.” His mouth grazed her ear.
Let herself go? She was coming apart! She grasped his forearms and squeezed. Her legs quivered. Her heart pounded as her body tightened and pulsed. “I can’t breathe.”
He sucked on her earlobe.
And just like that she exploded into a million pieces. Those pieces shattered into smaller pieces, raining down on her like stardust in her mind’s eye. Exhausted, her knees gave way. If it weren’t for Josh’s strong embrace, she’d slip under the water and drown for sure. “No wonder Lydia Ivy purred.”
He laughed softly. “What?”
“Nothing.” She gasped for an even breath, marveled at an odd sense of relief. “That was … ” her sluggish mind groped for the appropriate word, “ … amazing.”
Josh smiled, thinking very near the same thing. He’d barely touched her. She’d peaked faster, more intensely, than any woman he’d ever pleasured, and suddenly all he could think about was getting her in bed. “Actually, the amazing part comes later.”
“When?”
“Soon.”
“How soon?”
“As soon as we’re hitched.”
There was an ominous moment of silence followed by a shriek. She whirled around to face him. “What did you say?”
He probably should have phrased it a little differently. Maybe in the form of a question. Although knowing her views on marriage, he wouldn’t have liked her answer. Better to give her no choice. “As soon as we’re married.” He ignored her horrified expression, assuring himself he could wait that long.
“I told you I don’t believe in marriage!”
“I don’t expect that matters now.”
“Just because you … It’s not like we … ” She slapped him.
He ignored his stinging cheek, but held her at arm’s length, just in case her knee got into the act. “Just so I’m straight, was that for pleasuring you or proposing?”
“Proposing, of course.”
“Of course.” He should’ve known this wouldn’t be easy. Grasping her shoulders, he gave her a little shake. “What am I going to do with you?”
She wrenched out of his hold and stormed toward dry land. “What you agreed to do. Drop me off in Florence. That was the plan.”
He was hot on her wet heels. “The plan’s changed.”
“Not my plan. I have a dream to fulfill.”
“So do I. Maybe we can help each other out.”
“Not if it involves wedding vows.” She snatched up her boots.
“Give me those.” He yanked the shoes from her hands, turned them upside down, and shook.
“What are you doing?”
“Checking for scorpions.”
“Oh.”
Frowning, he handed back her boots. What would she do without him? “Dammit, woman, you will marry me.”
“I can’t.” She jammed her bare feet inside her boots while suspiciously eyeing her trousers.
Josh picked up the jeans and shirt, shook them out then passed those to her as well. “Give me one good reason.”
She clutched her balled-up clothes to her chest. “I’d make a lousy wife.”
“That goes unsaid.”
“I can’t sew.”
“We’ll manage.”
“Or cook.”
“I’ll teach you,” he snapped, donning his pants and boots.
“It won’t help. I’m telling you I’m no good in the kitchen.”
“So, you can make up for it in the bedroom.”
Her mouth dropped open. “You’re despicable.” Nose in the air, she turned and marched toward camp.
All right. He deserved that. She was, despite her fiery demeanor, respectable. He’d known since their first kiss that he was dealing with a virgin. A naïve hellcat ripe for seduction or rape. In a region where the men greatly outnumbered the women, her chances of escaping the territory with her innocence intact was pitiful to none. Cursing, he snatched up his shirt, holster, and hat, and set after her. She needed a protector. He needed a wife. That was that.
“I’m not marrying you!” she shouted over her shoulder for good measure.
“That’s what you think,” he grumbled under his breath. Hellfire, he could feel the gray hairs sprouting.
He found her pacing around the fire, her trail-ragged clothes clutched to her chest, her wet chemise and drawers plastered to her goose-pimpled skin, leaving nothing to the imagination. She looked panicked, flushed, and enticing as hell.
“I should have slept with Leroy,” she railed in a trembling voice. “I mean … you know what I mean!”
He stalked past her, resisting the urge to throw her down and to take her then and there. “Take off your clothes.”
“Stop saying that!”
He rooted through his saddlebags, pulled out a clean shirt, and tossed it to her. “You’ll catch your death. Take off those wet clothes and put on my shirt. Don’t worry. I won’t look.” Lord knows he’d seen too much already. Christ, he ached to touch her again. To taste her. Bed her. His entire being quaked with restrained desire.
“But—”
“Just do it,” he snapped.
“Fine.”
He turned his back and set to laying out the bedroll. It was either that or turn her over his knee. He’d never struck a woman in his life, but, by God, Paris frazzled his patience worse than a two-year old. Maybe she didn’t run away. Maybe her brothers kicked her out. He could damn near imagine her driving them to it and could almost forgive them.
“I’m finished,” she said in a small voice.
Wondering at her contrite tone, he turned, hands on hips. He swallowed hard at the sight of her wearing his shirt, her bare legs visible from the knees down. The clingy chemise was almost preferable.
“I’m sorry for losing my temper,” she said, braiding the front section of her wet hair. “Considering what we, how you … ” She nibbled her lower lip. “Offering marriage, well, it was very noble of you.”
He clenched his jaw hard enough to crush walnuts. He felt far from noble just now, imagining her buck naked under his shirt.
“But it’s not necessary. No one need know what we … how you … ” She gestured toward the springs, her cheeks bright red. “What happened back there.”
He tugged possessively at her shirt collar. “I know.”
She dipped her chin in embarrassment. “Maybe you could forget.”
“Not likely.” He sank down on the bedroll, bringing her with him.
“I can’t sleep with you,” she said when he stretched out on his back.
“Yes, you can.” He pulled her flush against him and covered her with a blanket, hoping she was too drained to argue.
She punched him in the shoulder. A coyote howled and she changed her tune right quick, latching onto to him real tight. “All right,” she groused. “But onl
y because there’s one bedroll between the two of us. And because it’s cold and we should probably keep each other warm. Just don’t get any funny notions.”
Kind of difficult with her lying half-naked in his arms. “Such as?”
“Such as thinking my sleeping with you means anything. I won’t marry you. I can’t.”
“So you said. I’m still waiting to hear a good reason.”
She yawned. “I made a promise.”
“Not to get married?”
“To reach for the stars.”
He didn’t know what to make of that. “Is this about succeeding where your mama failed?”
“She didn’t fail. She didn’t try.” She snuggled closer, her limbs heavy and her words slurred from exhaustion. “She chose marriage instead of fame.”
He frowned down at the top of her head. “Fame is fleeting, angel. And rarely worth the heartache.”
“I don’t have a choice.”
“Why not?”
“It’s my destiny.”
He smoothed his hands over her face, pondering her whimsical declaration. Her steady breathing and heavy limbs signaled that she’d fallen asleep. However, her slumber was far from restful. Her fingers drummed softly on his chest. She moaned, snatches of words coming out in a slurred drone. “ … by chance their lips did meet … both would fight … whose heart … ”
He realized suddenly that she was singing and playing the piano in her sleep. Her music—an all-mighty opponent. He preferred an in-the-flesh rival. But no, matter. In the end, he’d prove the victor.
“Brace yourself, honey,” he whispered to the sleeping minx in his arms. “Our dreams are about to collide.”
Florence.
Under normal circumstances, Paris would have appreciated the lush landscape. The surrounding mountains. The trees. The grass. So much green after days of brown. But circumstances were far from normal.
She was sharing a saddle with a delusional man. Josh truly expected her to marry him. What’s worse, the notion was vaguely appealing. This was all Emily’s fault. She didn’t explain all the possible ramifications and consequences of experiencing life!
Sleeping in his arms last night had been a dreadful mistake. Waking in his arms had been her heart’s doom. With her cheek pressed against his bare chest, their legs and arms entangled, all sorts of wicked thoughts had lazed through her sleepy head. She’d opened her eyes, and oh my, even with his hair tousled and his clothes rumpled he stole her breath away and filled her heart with song. But it was the feel of his hands upon her face—gentle, yet possessive—the intensity of his gaze when he searched her eyes—puzzled, yet entranced—that did her in. With Josh, she didn’t feel like a musical freak, or a fragile little sister. With Josh she felt like a woman.