by Cait London
Fiona turned his head to hers and opened herself to him, giving Joel Palladin the tenderness he deserved. He drew away slowly, warily. “I’m not asking for sympathy or understanding. You like underdogs, Princess, and you are not getting my adoption papers. Whatever happens between us, it has to be honest. Agreed?”
Fiona moved over him, straddling him, and inhaled as she slowly took him into her body. The move was aggressive, experimental, and for Fiona, suited her needs. His hands cupped her bottom, caressing her. Joel’s eyes were slits, and she knew that he had taken himself away momentarily, to enjoy the pleasure. “I’d say this is very honest. If you’re looking for an adoption, try someone else.”
Eight
“Joel is waiting out there on the street. It’s the last week of October and the wind coming down from the Rockies cuts through to the bones. He must be freezing.” Lacey smirked at Fiona over her cup of hot herbal tea.
Maddy, chewing on a lollipop instead of his usual cigar, hurried by with another pot of hot water. The Tuesday Ladies Night at Maddy’s Hot Spot was rolling along, steeped in sodas, herbal tea and hot lemonade. “Smart Children Stories” were prohibited, and violators were removed after five marks on a blackboard. The Tallchief women sat at their table. Talia tapped her knee-high boots to a rock and roll tune. “I am really glad Maddy drapes sheets over the painted nudes on the wall,” she said.
“Birk adores them. He says fully endowed women like that are an endangered species,” Lacey said.
“Birk likes the small compact Venus types, and you know he’s teasing, Lacey. I think Joel likes the long, lean ones,” Sybil purred with a grin. “You’re the last unmarried Tallchief, Fiona. From the look of Joel, I’d say he wants to change that.”
Fiona flipped the price tag on the centerpiece of plastic roses. “We’re just practicing for the tango contest. We haven’t even known each other for a month.”
Or had they known each other forever? They had practiced everything, feeding upon each other, linking hands and bodies, fusing mouths...eager, hungry for each other. One look could set desire simmering.
Yet Joel kept a margin of control that caused her to want to shred him.
How was it possible for her to step into the delight and heat of their lovemaking, when he withheld a part of himself?
Buffeted by Joel’s old-fashioned concerns that she be home in her own bed at night to prevent gossip, when she wanted to snuggle next to him, Fiona glanced outside. Joel leaned patiently against his small car, leather collar tugged high against the wind, shoulders hunched and long legs crossed at the ankle. Fiona scowled at him through the window. He was waiting to take her home, to protect her, and she’d had enough of older brothers restricting her freedom.
To finish the circle, an unlikely love of the battlemaiden will come calling, bearing his angry dragon on one arm and the chest to win her heart. Then the magic circle will be as true as their love....
Fiona flicked the price tag dangling from the plastic rose again. She wasn’t certain she could adapt to Joel’s analytical mind, the way he placed his tools at exactly the same distance apart and on that imaginary line. Lines and rules weren’t for her. Nor was a man who had built his life on them....
She would have no rules between them, or in her life, not when it came to—what? Romance? Lovemaking? Intimacy? A relationship? Were their intimacy and her independence impossible?
How could Joel be so controlled when they made love? It was no easy matter for him, and she clung to that: Joel trembled, his expression stark and fierce, and yet he held his body in rein—
“Aye, and blast,” she stated and surged to her feet. She impatiently smoothed her tight jeans. The storms hovering on Tallchief Mountain did not compare to her ragged emotions.
He’d given her an elephant and an insight into his painful past and fears. She was certain few women had seen that part of Joel; therefore, he’d given her something uniquely private, placed it into her keeping.
“Aye and blast. I’m starting to think logically from A to B, just like him,” she repeated, jerking down her thick wool jacket. She cared too much for him, and it went past the burning heat of their bodies, the excitement that arose from just looking at him. The give-and-take involved in a relationship with a man like Joel—analytical and methodical—could be...exciting, fulfilling... good. While he looked alone and deserted by fate now, Joel could look enchanting, boyish and playful. She intended to get the latter out of him. She intended to explore her own femininity, freeing the softness that lurked within her that she’d been too busy to explore. In one way Joel gave her freedom to explore her emotions, rather than shielding them. But everything had a price tag, she’d learned, and Joel had a big fat label on him that read, “Traditional.” “He has real potential, but I am not adopting him.”
The Tallchief women’s eyebrows rose. “Joel Palladin?” they asked in unison.
“He’s far too delicate with me, and we’ve got a tango to practice. He’s given me an elephant, after all,” Fiona muttered, moving out the door on her way to sort her Joel Palladin problems.
She crossed the street to him. The wind whipped his hair, he didn’t move, legs crossed in front of him. She walked to one side of him, patted the car and walked to the other side, patting the hood and studying him. “I don’t know about this, Joel,” she began. “I’m used to my freedom.”
She walked around him again, studying him up and down as she slapped the trunk. “I’ve always disliked the corporate male.”
She returned to pat the hood on his prized car, drummed her fingers upon the shining metal as she considered the man who had entered her life. “What about your ex-wife? Why did you marry her?”
His beautiful mouth tightened. “It was logical. Her father was a friend of Mamie’s. She came from a family that I liked...wonderful parents. I had worked with her father, admired him. Her mother was perfect. I thought I could have that family warmth, too. I wanted...more than work.”
“She gave you a child. That is no small thing.”
Joel looked off into the mountains, locking himself from her. Fiona understood; some things went too deep to share and Joel was a hoarder—
“I’m not proud of why Cody was conceived. Patrice wanted a child. I thought a child would enrich her life, give her what I couldn’t seem to, and that she—” Joel inhaled sharply, his features tightening. “It seemed logical that a woman would want a baby, an extension of herself. I’d seen what babies do to women, making them happy and glowing. But Patrice resented Cody from her first bout with morning sickness, and when he arrived, looking so much like me—She reminded me that I was a bastard to her socialite standing and that I had nothing to give Cody,” he added so softly, achingly that his words flew away on the wind.
Fiona nudged the expensive tire with her boot and continued to drum her fingers on the metal. She ached for him, but she had to know—“Is logical in our relationship?”
I won’t settle for cold logic. I can’t. Not P’s and Q’s all lined up in a straight line, waiting to be neatly arranged.
“It would be nice. But it isn’t a requirement. I think we understand each other, and that is enough for me. For what it’s worth, my ex-wife thought I was cold and unromantic.”
Fiona stopped drumming her fingers and walked in front of him, placing her hands on her waist. Joel’s lovemaking had been tender, deliciously romantic. “Don’t lie to me. Not now.”
He shrugged, giving her nothing; she could either believe him or not.
Oh, she’d get it out of him. Fiona pushed her finger against his chest. She scoffed at jealous women, and now jealousy filled her. “What about other women? You said you didn’t have that much experience.”
Joel lifted his head, glaring at her. “You go for the throat, don’t you? I’ve been busy, Princess. If you’re wanting a playboy, I don’t fill the bill.”
Fiona ran her hand up to his hair, letting it curl around her fingers as Joel angled his head, warily. He’d chos
en her, this meticulous man, who managed his life according to clear thought, deduction, and—she stared at Joel, taking in his grim expression. “Blast. You are monogamous. That’s a trait of the traditional male, you know. That probably means you’re committed to some sort of a relationship. My brothers are. What do you expect from me...commitment?”
“I expect you to give me what you want and nothing more. No false sense of rescuing me from myself...you’re prone to jump into crusades, and I won’t be one of them. I just discovered that traditional element myself, and I’m not that happy about it. You can drive,” he said, tossing the car’s keys to her.
“Aye and blast,” she muttered, as he crossed in front of the car and slid into the passenger side. He’d given her something else precious to him, the steering wheel of his Corvette, and she’d been aching to drive it.
Fiona grasped the door handle and jerked it open. Sprawled in the open convertible, the wind whipping his hair, Joel placed his arm along the back of the seat. His look challenged her.
Fiona found herself grinning at him, excitement pounding at her. She’d take his challenge and—She adjusted the seat, started the motor, revved it and slid the car into first gear. Birk had taught her racing; he’d needed competition. “Where to?” she asked enjoying the cold air and the challenge of the man seated next to her.
He toyed with the hair feathering her nape. “Your choice, Princess.”
“Blast. I had a feeling you’d say that.” Because she had to, Fiona reached out to snag his jacket in her fist and draw his lips to hers for a fast, hard kiss.
Delighted, he laughed outright, and she grinned. “You’re a cool one, Joel Palladin.”
“Mmm. I confess. A structured planner. Analytical and organized,” he agreed. “We’ll see about the cool part.”
“I think I’ll have you first and while you’re half dead, I’ll have you again,” she threatened with a grin and a saucily lifted eyebrow to let him know she was teasing.
Joel had to be handled very carefully when it came to teasing; those wary edges were never far from the surface.
“I’ll try to survive.” Joel placed his hand over her jeaned thigh. A woman not given to easy caresses and who had kept her body very private, Fiona glanced down at his hand. It seemed right, resting lightly upon her, and she placed her own over it.
She took him into the wild, windy, cold night, flying the small car over the road toward Tallchief Lake.
“You’re good,” Joel noted as she shifted smoothly, easing the car onto an unpaved side road. She liked the look of him at her side, sprawled in the small seat, hand resting on the outside of the car, the wind whipping at his hair.
She shifted again, taking care to ease over the rocks and bumps. “We should have stopped for my Jeep. It’s a sad thing on the outside, but it’s dependable and runs like a top. I tuned it myself,” she tossed at him, as a big buck ran in front of the headlights.
When Joel glanced at her, surprised, she smirked. “I’ve always been good with motors. I seem to know where to touch them and what to tinker with.”
The taut, desperate desire in Joel’s expression delighted her. “Oh, hell,” he murmured unevenly, as if he’d just sunk an inch lower in quicksand.
A half hour later Joel shuddered over her, his hot face tucked into the cove of her throat and shoulder. Fiona gathered him closer, keeping him near, when their passion was spent. Moonlight slipped through the pine boughs overhead, then clouds whisked across the sky, causing the night to go black and intimate and safe.
They’d made hot, fast love, his leather jacket beneath them and the wild cold night wrapped around them.
She’d given him more each time they’d touched, opening herself to the pleasure and the beauty.
This was what she loved, held safe in his arms, intimacy flowing like warm wine over them. She hadn’t expected the softness within her, the need to gently stroke and comfort Joel, to soothe him. What ran fierce and hot moments before still lingered, a sweet time to cherish. Fiona remembered Una’s journals, how she spoke of her chieftain, and recognized the tenderness as her own.
To finish the circle, an unlikely love of the battlemaiden will come calling, bearing his angry dragon on one arm and the chest to win her heart. Then the magic circle will be as true as their love.
Joel stirred restlessly, bracing his arm beside her head. He picked a leaf from her hair, smoothing it. His expression was so tender she could have cried. She was crying.
Joel’s tenderness slid into disgust, his fingers stroking her damp cheek. “I hurt you again,” he stated flatly.
She stroked the back of his neck, following the taut muscles, and shook her head. “No. You didn’t hurt me. I was thinking of how lovely this is, so beautiful it makes me happy.”
He closed his eyes and shivered. “Lovely. We’ve just dropped our jeans and had each other.”
She nibbled on his bottom lip. “Well, there was all that beautiful, steamy kissing. Is your bottom cold?” she asked, patting it fondly.
“I can’t practice tonight,” Fiona told Joel on Thursday morning when he called to order roses for Mamie. “Tomorrow I’ve got two baby showers, one huge bridal shower and paperwork to do for two upcoming weddings, and poor Mr. Wailey passed away. Everyone is sending flowers to the funeral—that’s tomorrow morning. I’ve got to stay at the shop tonight. You understand, don’t you? We did practice last night and you’re very good. We can fake it.”
Joel gripped the telephone tightly. After making love to Fiona on Tuesday and Wednesday nights, he wasn’t giving her up to flower arrangements. “I was never good at faking,” he said, realizing how formal and businesslike he sounded.
He’d called Cody earlier, attempting to soften their relationship, and he’d wanted to hear his son’s voice. Cody’s belligerence had raised walls, and Joel had sounded hard as his son had tested him. Joel realized how much he had to learn about parenting and Fiona Tallchief.
Damn. He realized he was hurt, dismissed for her job and flowers. He understood rush deadlines, heavy workloads and business demands. He understood the ache in him that Fiona’s absence created. “I could help,” he offered, not expecting her to accept.
Cradling the receiver to his shoulder, Joel wiped grease from his hands. They were big and not made for delicate flower stems or handling a woman gently.
After a hesitation, Fiona returned, “Joel, I really don’t think so. I took several courses on arrangements, and this spring I placed in several contests. It is more difficult than it looks.”
He glanced at the old chain saw that he had found, loved, and had promptly disassembled on the floor. His tools were in neat order, as was his habit. He nudged his favorite wrench with his foot, tilting it. After a sharp conversation with Cody, who was still furious with him, and not at all enticed by having a horse, Joel had counted on holding Fiona in his arms.
She fit him perfectly.
But when it came to flower arrangements, he was in the way. Joel glanced at the old sewing room and the potted red jasmine plant. While Fiona was making love, her wildflower scent had slid into heady frangipani. The red jasmine plant reminded him of the blood upon her sheet and how he had taken her innocence. Unused to needing anyone but himself, Joel now needed to see Fiona. “Have you eaten?”
“Just a bite. I’ve been busy,” she said over the sounds of snipping and running water.
During their lovemaking, she hadn’t whispered endearments or encouragements to him. Fiona had been too busy exploring the riveting sexual drive and her own body’s reaction.
Joel should have given her something...some gentle words scraped from deep inside his emotions, bits of tenderness that a woman could cherish from her first time. But he’d been silent, locked in the fierce, driving heat and the hunger. He didn’t know if he knew how to be intimate at such a time, or that he could serve romantic endearments when needed. Damn it. He wanted Fiona to have tenderness to remember, not bruises on her wrist. Complimenting her on h
er performance wouldn’t do, not when she’d given him such an intimate, lovely gift to treasure.
“I’ll pick up something and come over.” Joel opened his refrigerator door to study the casseroles in it. The single ladies and the mothers of unwed daughters had kept him well supplied. He selected a pasta and salmon dish, topped with cheese.
A half hour later he rang Fiona’s back-door, after-hours buzzer, the heated casserole wrapped in a towel in his other hand. Tina Turner’s steamy music vibrated through the greenhouse. Fiona hurried through the dimly lit greenhouse, wearing an apron over her sweater and jeans. She unlocked the door, and reached out to grab the casserole with one hand. She whipped off the towel, bent to sniff the food appreciatively and closed her eyes as if already tasting it. She slipped her arm around his neck and drew him down for a quick kiss. “Mmm. Food. I haven’t had time to eat since last night. I love you, my prince.”
While she hurried away, bearing her prize, Joel blinked. Fiona had shocked him once again. An “I love you” was no small thing to him. His background, even with Mamie, did not contain hugging or displaying affection. Joel, Rafe and Nick had learned at an early age that hugging and telling each other they loved was a symptom of male weakness.
My prince. The words embraced him cozily. Joel let himself in and locked the door behind him. He considered the potted rows of fuchsia-colored hydrangeas. On the other hand, “I love you” from a Tallchief was a serious matter. He ran the flat of his hand over the heather starts that were bound for the Tallchiefs’ parents on the mountain.
Abe—or George—sprang from a lacy fern onto the back of his hand. The lizard angled his head sharply. His beady eyes blinked as though greeting Joel with a smile. George—or Abe—whipped around the tile on the floor, leaped onto Joel’s jeans and hurried upward on his leg. Minnie twined around his legs. “Hi, everybody,” he murmured with a grin that came deep down from inside his heart. “Daddy’s home.”