by Cait London
His eyes burned into hers and suddenly jerked down to look at her small, pale breasts nestled against his chest. She trembled, aware that her body wasn’t lush, and prepared to push him away, to save her pride. Then his shuddering groan told her of his desire, the blunt poignant thrust of his body. This was what she wanted, the stark, primitive need and heat that was Rio, her fingertips digging into his shoulders, her breath shooting from her unevenly and with each breath she took, she inhaled his scent, warmed now with desire. Then he kissed her in that dark savage, hungry way, sparing her nothing and she gave the kiss back, surging her hips up to his. She’d expected pain after years without intimacy, but her body moistened, waiting for his. Then he slid slowly, deeply within her, and suddenly she was full, opening for him, and the beat of his blood became hers.
When she could speak, filled with the wonder of their locked bodies, she asked unevenly, “Do you always try for a good presentation?”
“This time is different. You know it and so do L We’re a match,” he stated unevenly, then his kiss softened and explored. She almost bolted when bracing himself above her, Rio slid his big hand to cover her breast. “So perfect.” In the next heartbeat, his lips took her breasts, cherished them and a sudden light bite sent her soaring. She was panting now, fighting to stay in control of her body. “Rain Woman,” he whispered unevenly against her skin as though she were his goddess, his love. He moved to suckle her other breast, sending her hips undulating restlessly.
Lightning flashed beyond the cabin, thunder echoed, silenced by the racing beat of her heart. This moment with Rio was clean and fresh and true. She forced herself to breathe, her senses filling with his clean scent, the rain, yesterdays and tomorrows. Then the lightning storm moved inside her, tightening, and she cried out, anchoring herself to him, to the reality of Rio, holding her safe, filling her and searing away the cold emptiness. Above her, straining for control, Rio’s features were harsh, outlined by the lightning outside the window. The primitive straining of his muscles, defined beneath all that smooth damp skin, answered the age-old, wild hot need within her and she launched herself at him. Rio met her out there, in that white-hot throbbing plane, and, within her, all control burst and flamed.
Her blood pounded furiously against her skin, slowing as Rio gathered her closer, his lips against her cheek. Then suddenly he was moving again and she was straining to meet him.
Paloma slept as she never had, kept close by Rio. She awoke twice more before daybreak, each time to the warmth of his kiss, his body demanding and giving—and not once did she feel threatened or cornered.
Rio fought returning to Paloma, curled beneath the quilt. Gray morning rain slashed at the cabin, the nearby creek tumbling and frothing, filled to overflowing. Paloma’s slow deep breathing calmed a restless urge within him. He smiled grimly; maybe he wasn’t that far removed from his Apache ancestors, who took what they wanted. With Paloma, he wanted that raw primitive edge and the tenderness beneath. He wanted to be at her side in the good times and the bad; he wanted a home and a family with her—one woman for his lifetime and heyond. He’d found his mate and he had bonded with her forever. No other woman would fill his heart; he had spent the night with his bride.
She’d turned restlessly for the past half hour. Her long sleek hair flowed across the pillows, black and gleaming; sunlight shimmered upon the pale, enticing slope of her breast. Her eyes opened slowly, drowsily finding him in the shadows, and that slight frown told him that her protective shields were rising. Rio poured hot water into the tub for her bath, then filled a mug and lowered a peppermint tea bag into it. He carried it to her and placed it on a chair by the bed. He intended to bring her breakfast when they were married. “Take your time,” he said.
Paloma’s dark wary gaze said she’d balk at any of his intentions. Take it easy, Rio. Don’t move too fast Let her get used to the fire between you. “There’s biscuits under the tea towel on the table.”
Out on the porch, he propped his bare feet up on the railing and tipped back his chair against the cabin. He sipped his coffee, braced it on his stomach and waited In the darkness and the storm, she’d met him shyly, tenderly. He’d lost his heart and he’d given his vows; it wouldn’t be easy holding himself in check. But he would—for her. He smiled as the lock on the door clicked; Paloma wouldn’t make anything easy.
Twenty minutes later, she carried her cup of tea and three biscuits out onto the porch and glared at him. Her hand shook and a biscuit tumbled to the floor. She hurriedly picked it up and in tossing it into the brush, almost fell over a chair. “You’ve got to leave.”
The sight of her dressed in jeans and a man’s loose shirt made him drooL He fought to keep his stare from the softness flowing beneath the cloth. She was nervous of him, biting her lip, and Rio ached to take her into his arms. “Why, honey, I thought you liked me here.”
Gathering her defenses about her, she fascinated him. Those lovely fingers gripped the plate until the knuckles were pale. She was terrified, Rio realized, and he knew that he’d moved too soon—yet he couldn’t fight the need in him, wanting her. She plopped into a chair a distance from him and propped her stocking feet up on the railing. She flipped back a long strand of hair from her shoulder and bit into the biscuit. Around it, she said, “Well, you thought wrong, then. Let’s just get the whole replay of last night out of the way, shall we? Or whatever your ego needs to appease it. And then we can both move on.”
Rio couldn’t resist teasing Paloma’s dark mood. This moming she was edgy, uncertain, and she covered that with a testy defense. Yet he’d seen her softness, loved it. Whatever she denied, she was all woman, his woman. She’d held him close, whether she wanted to admit that now or not. She’d smoothed his brow and kissed him and soothed the aching loneliness in him. Beneath all that edgy fire was a woman who knew how to love and comfort. She’d been hurt along the way, bruised by life, and Rio mourned the loss. “That’s some blush you’re wearing.”
Her blue eyes lasered him, all heat and storms. “Lay off... Look. We had a life-or-death situation and we both reacted. You’re probably used to reacting like that—I’m not.”
The jab hurt and he returned her glare. “Do you always wake up on the wrong side of the bed? Or are you just plain scared of me?”
“Don’t expect anything from me. You may be used to the morning-after routine, but it isn’t for me.”
“Do you regret last night?” he had to ask, tossing away his promise to move slowly with her.
Her finger pushed a crumb around the plate, toyed with it. “I wanted to know if everything could be so real. And now I do. No, I don’t regret last night.”
She glared at him. “I’ll probably remember that forever, damn you. You didn’t have to say the things you did, those sweet words. Now I’m stuck with them.”
“Then come here.” He regretted the harsh lash to his tone, but fear drove him. He couldn’t have Paloma retreating from him-he had to hold her.
Her head went up, her expression defiant, and in that instant, Rio was on his feet. He scooped her up, and while she was holding her hot tea and plate of biscuits, he sat in her chair, Paloma on his lap. “So here we are,” he said, enjoying her shocked expression.
“I’m a grown woman, not a child—mmm... Just what do you think you’re doing?” she demanded when Rio’s light, playful kiss ended.
“Holding you. Feed me.” He settled back with a grin to enjoy the fireworks. -
“No. Other women may drool over you, but don’t expect me to be your slave. You’re spoiled and used to having your way.” The plate almost escaped her keeping and she gripped it tightly.
“That I am.” He savored that little dimple when she tightened her mouth and looked stern.
He grinned at her and Paloma sighed. “You’re going to be difficult, aren’t you?”
“Uh-huh, and you’re taking Mai-Ling. She’s a gift. From me to you.”
She snorted delicately. “I pay as I go, mister. I don’t
expect payment for last night. And one more thing, Mr. Hot Hands—” She used her plate to push away the large hand that was steadily easing up her leg. “You can’t convince me to sell to you.”
“I do love a woman in a snit.” He rested his hand on her hip, fascinated by the lush curve of her reddened, slightly swollen lips, proof that she had returned his kisses last night, that she had opened herself to him. “You’re too thin. Who hurt you, other than your mother?”
She stuffed a biscuit into his mouth, glared at him and stared off into the rain as she sipped her tea and ate the last biscuit. “I should pour this over your head. I’m not one of your girls, you know. There’s such a thing as dignity and this isn’t it. I’m a world-class concert artist, for heaven’s sakes.”
“Uh-huh.” Rio took her empty cup, placed it and the plate on the floor. He eased her back to rest her head upon his shoulder. “Sit still. I like to hold you.”
She rested for a heartbeat, then tensed and hurled herself to her feet, pacing the length of the porch. Her hair swung at her hips, whipping as she turned to him. “You think this is all sc easy, don’t you? Well, it’s not.”
“Lady, I’ve got news for you—nothing about you is easy.” He fought his rising temper. “I’ve never stayed the night with a woman, held her in my arms. For that matter, I haven’t been with a woman for years. Now I’ve got some notion that I want a wife and I’ve never given a woman a horse as a coutring gifl”
She blinked, her mouth parting. Then her flat disbelieving “Hah!” sent him to his feet, stalking toward her. She stood her ground, and met his glare. She backed up a few steps and reached out to right a toppling chair. “‘A courting gift.’ You expect me to believe that?”
“Believe what you want The horse is yours. I don’t suppose you’d come to dinner and the dance with me Saturday night, or that you’d move in with me?” he snapped at her. He hadn’t intended to ask for more than a date, but his instincts had pushed him—he wanted her close, to go to sleep with her in his arms and to wake up with her every morning. Her eyes widened and he dropped a light, but angry kiss onto her parted mourn. Because she looked so stunned, Rio softened the invitation, “You need a place to stay. I’m offering. I live in a barn. It’s not fully remodeled yet, but I’m working on it There’s lots of space. It’s airy, and open. You need that. Someplace safe and airy. And don’t tell me you don’t dance or thai you don’t eat. And there’s one more thing—last night wasn’t just a tumble for both our needs, lady. I’ll be faithful to you.”
He swallowed then as terror crawled up into her dark biue eyes. “Whoever hurt you in the past, it wasn’t me,” he said
“If you want to know so much, it was someone like you—smooth, charming and irresistible.”
She lashed at him, her hair almost alive, rippling around her. “I don’t need to be soothed by promises. I’m not a conquest. I chose my moment with you and that is all. With your experience, you know exactly what dreams appeal to a woman When I was thirteen and visiting Boone, I saw you in action—you were all over the girls, flirting with them. You’ve had a lot of practice between then and now. I don’t intend to be another notch on your belt, Romeo.”
“Well, fine,” Rio snapped, disgusted that he’d spread his dreams before her too soon, disgusted that another man had hurt her. “If you’re afraid, you’re afraid. I never thought you were a coward.”
“Hey, watch it, bud,” she shot back, pushing both hands against his chest with enough force to knock him backward.
Rio braced his hands on his hips and glared at her. “You’re sure not sweet,” he said, grinning at the idea that he’d found the woman he wanted. She was more real than any woman he’d known. “But you’ll do.”
She glared at him, her hands locked to her waist. Her hip grazed the table and a plastic glass went tumbling onto the floor. “I flat out do not like you.”
He chuckled at that, pleasured by the taut strong way she looked, all proud and feminine, her hair flowing around her like a black satin river. She was nervous of him, too, and that said she wasn’t immune to the heat between them. “Didn’t ask you to.”
“I came up here to relax. I didn’t ask you to make breakfast or to fix my bathwater or to make tea. It’s not right that a man knows what kind of tea a woman drinks in the morning. That is very intimate. You make me nervous.”
“That’s good, honey. It’s a sign that you’re attracted to me.” He loved that delicate feminine snort, denying her interest. “Now since we don’t have anything else to do until the rain stops, why don’t you sit down and tell me about Boone?”
“You think life is just a game, don’t you?” she muttered, then crossed her arms and stared out into the sheets of rain. When Rio placed his arms around her, she stiffened, but did not push him away.
“Hush, sweetheart. You’ll find what you want,” he whispered and prayed that she would.
“Your biological clock, if it’s really ticking, will have to move on. Give Mai-Ling to some other woman. I don’t like being cuddled or coddled, or boxed into a relationship,” she muttered darkly. But he noticed that her fingertips dug into his Moulders, keeping him close.
“Oh, no, neither do I,” he said, smiling against her hair as he lied. He intended to do all of the previous with Paloma.
She took a deep breath as though reaching inside her private thoughts and shivered. “Do you think I look like Boone?”
Rio had seen pictures of Boone’s mother, and Paloma was a replica. He wanted to protect her, with those wary eyes watching him intently. “He had black hair-until it turned to gray. His eyes were green, not blue.”
“He was big. A big, soimearted man.” Wrapped in bitterness, the words burst from her.
When Rio glimpsed the tears on her cheeks, he wanted to hold her tighter and safe from her fears and her past “Come here, sweetheart.”
“There’s no need to treat me like a child. I’ve been on my own for a long time.” Paloma’s two hands shot out to aatten and push at his chest. She glared up at him for an instant, then stalked inside the cabin door and slammed it shut.
Rio stared at the closed door, willing his control and logic to—Then he jerked it open and followed her inside. She stood tautly, legs braced apart, fists at her side, and ready to fight He swallowed his pride. He swallowed the pain that she had turned away from the comfort and dreams that he had offered, and sat jamming on his boots. He’d picked a high-tempered woman and hadn’t expected his own dark one slamming into him. “You’ve got an attitude. A real sizable chip on your shoulder.”
Her face was pale and strained, almost glowing within the frame of black sweeping hair, her body rigid “Keep the horse. I don’t need anything from you.”
“Do you regret last night?” he lashed at her again, needing the comfort, and knew that if she did regret it, the wound would tear him apart.
She shivered, one hand protectively covering her throat. “Of course not. It was lovely, almost dreamlike. But I’m not expecting—”
“A moment in time? Is that what you’re thinking we had?” he prodded, fighting his rising anger. She’d flowed into his body as though they were meant to be. He’d claimed his bride, not a moment.
Rio looked at her, promised he wouldn’t... and then, he did. He reached, curled his hand around her nape and jerked her to him. When Paloma’s blue eyes widened, he murmured, “I need this,” and took her mouth.
Four
Paloma squirted liquid cleaner on the old store’s window. When she scrubbed, pitting herself against decades of junk and dirt and bittersweet memories, the rag came away gray with dirt and time. On another Friday morning, she would have been practicing for an evening concert, but today she was cleaning and claiming her half—the adobe-and-log section of the feed store. The stacked mess of papers and files and the antique gilt cash register had been installed into a corner of the storeroom.
Echoing off the ancient log walls, her taped Tchaikovsky’s 1812 Overiure suited her stor
my mood; she wished she could wipe Rio away as easily as the years of dirt on the old blue glass window. He’d seen into her weaknesses and for that, she couldn’t forgive him. Or his tenderness. She couldn’t afford to give herself away again, in an affair, or to be owned—possessed as she had been by her mother.
She looked down at her splayed fingers, now covered with grime. Music had commanded all of her life, and concentrating on her career had left little time for relaxation. She wondered at times if she hated music; it had been forced upon her and had eaten her life, taking her childhood. The aged adobe-and-log room comforted her, its loving memories of Boone swirling around her. The chicks were cheeping now, just as they had then, the scents familiar and sweet. Why was he ashamed to call her his daughter?
She slashed a tear-soaked cobweb from her cheek. She needed peace and answers and Rio was a complication she didn’t understand or want His lovemaking, his kiss, and his too real, slashing dark moods struck a primitive truth within her, she damned her own responses, chiding herself for waat ing to step into the fire and drop her shields. A part of her still wanted to reach out and grasp what he offered with both hands. “I’ll be faithful to you.”
How could he say such things? How could he look at her with those soft dark eyes as if she were his heart? Didn’t he know that they were worlds apart? He’d had a home and a family who loved him. He knew how to soothe and cherish and warm hearts. He knew how to hold a woman, whisper those dark, seductive dreams. She’d lived a lonely life and protected herself. How could she trust him? How could she trust herself?
She put her weight behind an old bookcase, pushing it aside to glare at the dusty clutter beneath it. A pearl-white marble, probably mourned as a boy’s champion shooter, rolled upon the narrow worn boards, and Paloma stopped it with her boot. She damned Rio for the softness she’d discovered, watching him as he slept, as he fought his nightmares, calling for a boy who would never answer. She’d wanted to comfort him, the womanly softness slipping out beyond her control. She’d wanted more than that... her greed for this man startled her.