Love a Dark Rider

by Shirlee Busbee

  With a smothered curse, he captured her once more and there was a brief, violent tussle between them. It ended only when Sara's wrists were neatly tied together over her head with the scarlet silk sash and bound to the carved mahogany headboard of the bed. They were both breathing heavily, Yancy's hair even more tousled than before; his naked, hair-roughened, muscular chest rose and fell rapidly, his thighs locked on either side of her hips as he sat lightly on top of her. Sara's gown and robe were all askew, the garments rumpled beneath her body, her long, shapely legs totally naked, her bosom heaving as she glared furiously up into his dark face.

  Yancy could not seem to take his eyes off the rhythmic rise and fall of her breasts, and Sara was all too aware of her vulnerable position, far too warmly aware of his

  potent masculinity as he loomed over her. She would have died with shame to admit it, but she was strangely excited by their battle, by the sensation of being helpless to stop him from doing anything he wanted to her; even the feel of the scarlet sash around her wrists was arousing rather than terrifying, and she wondered how she had become such an utterly depraved woman. It's all his fault, she thought hysterically; he's made me this way and I hate him for it. I hate him! I really do!

  Almost as if he guessed the tumult raging inside her, Yancy smiled darkly and slowly levered himself down on top of her. His mouth teasingly brushed hers and against her lips he murmured, "And now then, sweet, sweet wife, I shall prove to you that you don't know what you're talking about when you say you don't want

  me

  Her protest was smothered beneath his lips as his mouth covered hers in a deep, timeless kiss. He kissed her with a quiet intensity, all his attention focused on forcing a response from her. As the moments passed and Sara stubbornly ignored the provocative blandishments of his tongue, fought against the inexorable rise of passion within herself, Yancy nearly gave up; and then, just when he thought he had lost a desperate gamble, her lips softened, her tongue suddenly meeting the thrust of his.

  A shudder went through him, a shudder made up of equal parts of desire and exultation. She was hisl His wife. His woman. And before this night had ended, she would know it, too!

  He made no attempt to loosen her bonds, but continued to kiss her passionately, his hands gently framing her face, his body pressing down into hers. Sara helplessly responded to him like a spring flower to the sun, her mouth desperately seeking his when his lips slid along the edge of her jaw and he nibbled gently on her

  earlobe, his breath warm, his teeth arousing against her flesh. But the sweet promise of her kiss drew him back and he crushed her lips beneath his, a second later plunging his tongue once more into the wine darkness of her mouth.

  It wasn't enough to merely kiss her, and Yancy gathered her to him, groaning low in his throat as her body arched up in frank appeal next to his. Sara had been completely snared by him and the wants of her own body and she had abandoned the fight against his mesmerizing presence. She had forgotten why she had been so intent upon resisting him; she only knew now that she ached for him—her lips hungry for his kiss, her limbs eager to feel his hands upon them, her body avid for his possession.

  Becoming aware of the fabric of her gown rubbing against his naked chest, Yancy suddenly raised himself up and stared down at the line of yellow rosebuds that hid what he most definitely needed to feel and see. His hands fastened unerringly on the demure neckline, and a moment later, there was the shocking sound of the gown ripping. He smiled with great satisfaction as he brushed aside the torn fabric and stared dazedly at the stimulating expanse of soft white flesh that had been hidden from his gaze.

  Her gown lying in tatters on either side of her, Sara's slender body was laid out before him like a feast for a starving man, and realizing that he was starving, Yancy bent his dark head and bit with exquisite gentleness at the temptingly upstanding pink nipple of one breast. He had never, he decided hazily as he pulled the hard nub deeper into his mouth, tasted anything so sweet in his life.

  Half stunned by the wanton destruction of her gown, Sara moaned softly, delight spearing through her at the touch of his teeth and tongue at her breast. As he suckled her eager flesh, she twisted wildly in her bonds, wanting

  to caress him, wanting to arouse him as much as he was arousing her.

  The demanding ache in her belly had spread and grown until the appeasement of it was the only thing on her mind. She was burning up for him, her lower body moist and throbbing, wanting the glorious sensation of his hard flesh sinking into hers.

  But Yancy seemed in no hurry to join their bodies together, his mouth lazily returning time and again to hers, deliberately stoking the fire that raged within them both, all the while his hands warmly and leisurely exploring the soft curves and valleys of her slim form. It was ecstasy merely to touch her, to savor the heady sensation of his fingers gliding over the silken texture of her skin, to linger where he would, caressing and stroking her.

  Yancy 's languid caresses were an exquisitely sweet torment for Sara, feeling the touch of his knowing hands upon her and yet being unable to satisfy her own sharp desire to touch his body. Beyond hungrily returning his kisses when his mouth found hers, she had to endure his starkly arousing explorations, the binding of his scarlet sash preventing her from partaking of the same liberties that YaiKy took with increasing boldness and urgency.

  When his lips moved lower, sliding with excruciating slowness down her chest, dropping soft, stinging kisses between her breasts, continuing ever downward across her flat stomach to her abdomen, Sara's breath caught in her throat and she stiffened in stunned astonishment, hardly daring to believe that his mouth was traveling even farther down her body. Her breathing suspended, her thoughts jostling incredulously through her brain, she froze as he pressed an openmouthed kiss against her abdomen, his tongue flicking the warm flesh as his hands fastened on her thighs and, despite a burst of frantic resistance from Sara, easily parted them. With his

  body firmly lodged between her legs, he bent his head and his lips sank into the tight little curls at the apex of her thighs.

  A soft scream of astonished delight erupted from Sara's throat when Yancy's mouth finally touched her there between her thighs, his lips and tongue moving hotly over her. She had never dreamed . . . never imagined . . . The erotic sensations of his mouth touching her, openly tasting her, were so powerful, so intense, that she surged up against her bonds, crying out again at the fierce pleasure that racked her slender body.

  Totally enmeshed in his own carnal dream, Yancy was barely aware of the soft sounds Sara made as she twisted helplessly beneath his hungry explorations. She was so sweet, he thought fuzzily, so damned sweet! Drunk on the fragrance and taste of her, he feasted deeply, his marauding tongue probing and rubbing against the tender flesh that gave him such pleasure.

  Lost in the same lascivious dream that dominated Yancy, her breathing ragged, Sara thrashed wildly beneath the brazenly sensuous ministrations of his mouth and tongue, frantically seeking some barely guessed-at summit. Suddenly she was giddily aware of a tightening of her body, an instant tensing of the flesh beneath his tongue, and then, without warning, the most intense pleasure she had ever felt in her life exploded through her and she cried out in shaken wonder and ecstasy.

  When Sara dazedly became aware of her surroundings again, it was to find herself in Yancy's arms, his lips gently caressing the soft hair at her temples. As the moments passed and the aftershocks of her violent release faded, blunt reality washed over her and she became aware of other things—her wrists were still bound and he had clearly made a mockery out of her vehement statement that she didn't want him! He always wins, she decided

  wearily. Alwaysl And when she thought of the way he had dominated her, the way she had responded so wildly to his shockingly depraved caresses, a wave of humiliation swept over her. It didn't help her state of mind when she realized that he was still wearing his calzoneras as he lay there beside her on the bed. Somehow that made what had happen
ed even worse; that he had done all those wantonly wonderful things to her, had brought to life the passionate, half-maddened, eager creature she became in his arms while still half clothed, was deeply embarrassing, especially since she was increasingly aware of her own state of undress. She suddenly wanted to get as far away from him as possible, and in a small, defeated voice, she said, "You've proved your point. . . would you please let me go now?"

  Yancy stirred, and propping himself up on one elbow, he stared intently down into her unhappy face. His own expression unreadable, he asked, "Is that what I did— prove my point?"

  Not meeting his eyes, Sara gave a little nod. "Please, could I go to my own room now?"

  He sighed. "Sara, I didn't prove anything just now ... except, perhaps, that I can give you pleasure."

  Sara shook her head. "No. You said you would make me want you and you did. There. I've admitted it. Now will you let me go?"

  "No," he said very deliberately, his fingers trailing down to cup her breast. "I'll never let you go!" His hand closed possessively around her breast, and bending close to her mouth, he said fiercely, ''NeverV

  "And do you intend to keep me bound to your bed for the rest of my life?" Sara demanded furiously, her green eyes bitter and angry. "A slave to your disgusting lusts?"

  Yancy smiled. "No, sweetheart, although I have to admit that the idea has its merits!" He rolled away from

  her and, standing beside the bed, unhurriedly began to undo the calzoneras. "What I intend," he said, "is to make love to my very new bride . . . and if the only way I can accomplish that is to tie her up, well, then so be it!"

  Despite her fury at him, as the calzoneras slipped to the floor, Sara could not take her eyes off his darkly magnificent body; the broad shoulders, lean stomach, strong, muscular legs and, in particular, the rampantly bulging manhood. She swallowed. Oh, Lord, but he was beautiful! As proud as a pagan and certainly as breathtaking. And she loved him! Hated him! Wanted him . . .

  He moved to the bed, coming down beside her once more. He hovered over her, his hard, warm chest tanta-lizingly brushing against the tips of her suddenly tingling breasts, his hands sliding upward along her arms, his mouth pressing teasing little kisses at the comers of her lips. "Last time I simply gave you pleasure," he said huskily. "This time I'll show you precisely how very much you do want me."

  And all through the long night that followed he did just that, making slow, sensual love to her, time and again denying her the sweet release her body clamored for until, all inhibitions driven from her, she would demand succor, her desperate pleas for his possession hanging softly in the air between them. Only then would he take her, thrusting himself deeply within her, giving them both the voluptuous ecstasy they craved. Exactly when Yancy released her wrists Sara never remembered; she only knew that at last her hands were free to roam where they would, that her fingers could clench in the thick dark hair of his head, that her arms could wrap tightly around his neck as he took her to heaven and back again. He had loosed her bonds, but by then it really didn't matter anymore.

  18

  AS she had done the previous morning, although considerably later, Sara woke alone in Yancy's bed. But unlike yesterday, there was no feeling of sweet anticipation within her; instead, she was filled with an odd mixture of well-being, embarrassment, hope and resignation. The first two emotions were the most easily explained—Yancy was, she admitted as she stretched languorously, a most inventive and satisfying lover, even if his blatantly carnal demands had shocked and embarrassed her! A catlike smile curved her mouth. She might hate him, but she could never deny that Yancy Cantrell had given her a wedding night that she would never forget as long as she lived—that she would never want to forget. . ..

  Sara could also explain why she felt resigned to her situation; what else could she feel? She passionately loved the man who had forced her to marry him and to accept his fierce possession, and there was no denying that Yancy exerted some dark power over her, that he had only to touch her and her common sense, logic, even sanity disappeared in a blinding flash. But hope?

  She sat up in bed, wincing in surprise at the protest of certain parts of her anatomy. Yancy was a demanding lover and he had not been gentle with her last night. A curiously tender expression lit her eyes. Not gentle,

  no. Exciting. Frankly carnal. Passionate. Deeply sensual and yet... and yet... There had been something about him, some powerful emotion that had fleetingly revealed itself to her in the sweetness of the kisses he had rained upon her, some elemental force that had vibrated from him as he had cried aloud his shaken joy each time he had emptied himself into her eager body. And that explained the last emotion she was feeling this morning—she hoped those brief moments when the close guard he kept around his deepest feelings was utterly destroyed indicated that their marriage had not been solely to create a child for Casa Paloma! Perhaps he loved her .. . just a little?

  Realizing that if she intended to dissect the many contradictory facets of her arrogant, infuriating new husband she would never leave her bed, Sara got up, and picking up her torn garments from the floor where Yancy had thrown them last night, she scampered into her own set of rooms. Hastily finding her old chintz robe in the back of the wardrobe, she shrugged it on and tied the sash tightly around her waist. Feeling decently covered, she rang for Maria.

  Maria arrived a few minutes later, a twinkle dancing in the depths of her dark eyes. She was carrying a silver tray set with various pieces of china. The two women exchanged greetings and then, indicating the tray she held in her hands, Maria said, "It is such a lovely morning today that perhaps you would like to enjoy this outside, siV

  Sara smiled and nodded, pleased at the idea. It was only when they walked out to the private courtyard off Yancy's room and the untouched food and drink prepared by Maria and her mother caught Sara's eye that a flush of embarrassment swept over her.

  Maria seemed not the least bit put out that her offering had not been accepted. Chuckling, she said, "That

  Yancy! Didn't I tell you he would not even notice our little surprise?" She sent a sly glance in Sara's direction. "He is muy hombre, siT'

  Her face bright red, Sara looked everywhere but at the other woman, wishing that Maria was not quite so blunt about Yancy's undoubted masculinity. Maria laughed at her expression and, putting the tray down, poured her a cup of creamy hot chocolate. "Here. You sit and drink this and I shall clear everything else away. And then I shall see that your bath is prepared."

  An hour later, freshly bathed and demurely gowned in a morning dress of apple-green ombre muslin, Sara was feeling sufficiently in command of herself to face the knowing glances of the other inhabitants of del Sol. Taking a last look in the cheval glass in her room, she wondered if she looked any different, if anyone could tell from her face the intimate things that Yancy had done to her.. . that she had done to him. A becoming blush stained her cheeks, and before her courage could fail, she walked rapidly to the outer door.

  She stepped into the deserted walkway and breathed a sigh of relief that no one seemed to be around. She quickly decided to take a walk away from the vicinity of the hacienda. Despite the lateness of the hour, it was still very pleasant outside, especially in the patches of shade that dotted the area, but remembering all the lectures she had been given on the subject, Sara dashed back into her room to get her wide-brimmed, chipped straw hat, which was essential to wear in the strong Texas sunlight. Her hat firmly on her head, she left the hacienda and began to stroll in no particular direction.

  Thinking it would be cooler by the little creek that wandered through a comer of the hacienda grounds, she slowly walked toward that area, her thoughts, not surprisingly, on Yancy. Unaware of the dreamy smile that tugged at the comers of her mouth, Sara instinctively

  picked out the patches of shade made by the various trees.

  A short distance from the creek, she stopped and leaned against the trunk of a gracefully spreading pecan tree. Staring hazily off into spac
e, she wondered if there had ever been a man quite as handsome and passionately exciting as her new husband, Yancy Cantrell. Of course, he was also aggravating, enraging and quite, quite the most odiously arrogant creature she had ever had the misfortune to meet! Oh, but she could live with all of those deplorable traits, she thought tremulously, even glory in them, if only he loved her!

  Some of her dreamy glow vanishing, Sara grimaced. Might as well wish for the moon! She had started to leave the shade of the pecan tree when she suddenly became aware of the man and woman half hidden by the small thicket of trees which lined part of the creek. They were not ten feet away from her and, oblivious of their surroundings, they were locked in an ardent embrace, their bodies pressed close together, the woman's hands moving sensually through the man's fair hair, his arms crushed around her waist.

  Embarrassed to intrude on the intimate scene, Sara shrank closer to her tree, her apple-green govj^ blending with the cool shadows. She was on the point of silently slipping away when the man lifted his head. Her mouth fell open in astonishment as she recognized the desire-flushed features of Hyrum Bumell. And when she realized who the woman in his embrace was, she was positively certain that she gaped like a gigged fish. Ann Shelldrake had been kissing Hyrum Burnell And there had been nothing platonic about the kiss either, she thought dazedly, hardly believing the proof of her own eyes.

  Wishing herself a thousand miles away, afraid to move and bring attention to herself, Sara edged deeper into the

  shadows, hoping the couple would leave before they discovered her presence. That she had interrupted a clandestine meeting was clearly apparent and she only hoped that they would not continue to the obvious conclusion. They didn't. But Sara became the unwilling witness to a very private scene.