Portraits

by Stef Ann Holm

  Wyatt was everything she could want in a man, and more. That she’d held out for something better, not in the sense of a companion, but by wanting more for her life through her photography, she’d been deluding herself. Her art wasn’t important without love. Men like Wyatt didn’t come through town everyday. She didn’t want to let him go.

  Leah struggled with her emotions, wondering if she dared reveal to him what was in her heart. The fear that he wouldn’t feel the same way, or wouldn’t want her in return, had kept her silent. But now that he was implying he was moving on, she couldn’t let him go. Not without telling him.

  Sliding her fingers down his shoulder, she reveled in the hard feel of his muscles beneath the soft fabric of his shirt. “I can’t make you tell me what’s troubling you, but I don’t want you to go away. I . . . I love you, Wyatt.”

  He didn’t turn toward her and take her into his embrace declaring similar feelings as she’d hoped, but neither did he flinch and move aside so she couldn’t touch him. “You can’t love me.” His voice was heavy. “I don’t want you to.”

  Without moving, Leah asked softly, “Could you ever love me?”

  This time she felt his bicep bunch beneath her palm, his body grow tense, and his chin lower a fraction. “Don’t ask me that.”

  “Then you don’t.”

  “What I feel for you can’t be.”

  Leah sighed with frustration. “You’re acting like Tug, you know that. You’re saying one thing but wanting me to think another.” She withdrew her hand. “Do you love me or not, Wyatt? It’s a simple enough question. One that with an honest answer, we can deal with anything.”

  He abruptly spun around and gripped her by her shoulders, startling her while giving her a soft shake. “You want the truth? Yes, dammit, I love you.”

  Leah reeled from his tight grasp, the intensity burning in his eyes as he pinned her beneath him.

  “I wish I didn’t,” he said. “I wish I’d never come back to Eternity.”

  His words were late registering with her, and when they did, she questioned, “You’ve been here before? I never saw you.”

  “You wouldn’t have. I passed through town seventeen years ago on my way to . . .” He exhaled deeply. “Well, you could call it the road to restitution. I wasn’t able to come back until now.”

  “But what does any of that have to do with today? I don’t understand.”

  “There is only one thing that you need to understand, Leah. And that’s if I could go back in time, if I could make a difference, I would.” His shadowed face slowly lowered to hers until their foreheads touched. She could feel his breath on her cheeks, the suffering in his voice when he spoke, “I would give anything to make you forget you ever knew me.”

  The sting of tears in her throat thickened her reply, “I don’t want to forget you, Wyatt. I have wishes, too. I wish that we could be together. Hold each other. You’re lonely some times, I can tell. So am I. We can reach out to one another. We don’t have to be alone . . . we could—”

  Before she could finish her thought, Wyatt held her chin in his fingers and brought her mouth to his. The kiss was hard and searing. Fraught with a passion and thirst she’d never experienced before. Her arms lifted to encircle Wyatt’s neck, to bring him closer to her. His solid chest melded against her, flattening her breasts into the fabric of his chambray shirt. She could think of nothing besides his mouth on hers. His lips, the way they coaxed her to abandon herself to him.

  Leah had wanted this. To be with Wyatt. To have him in her arms. She felt no shame. No regret. She was no longer a virgin with idealistic thoughts. She was a woman, and she knew the beauty of lovemaking. The closeness. The want of fulfillment and joy.

  Breaking from Wyatt’s mouth, Leah breathed, “I want you to stay with me. No one’s here but us. . . . No one will return to the house. Stay with me . . . for a while.”

  He dropped a light kiss on her cheek, his nose brushing the side of hers.

  “Trust me . . .” she whispered.

  Wyatt held her tightly to him, his face in the curve of her shoulder. “I trust you, Leah. It’s I who you shouldn’t trust.”

  She took his hand in hers. “I’m afraid it’s too late for that. I’ve already fallen in love with you.” Easing him away from the window, she led him out of the studio and down the hall to her bedroom.

  20

  If what we see before our eyes is doubtful, how can we believe all that is spoken?

  —Chinese proverb

  Nothing masculine decorated Leah’s bedroom. She’d packed away Owen’s things, giving most of his personal belongings to Geneva and his clothing to charity. She’d gone on after Owen’s death, but she couldn’t help giving her husband a passing thought as she brought another man into the room they’d once shared.

  There wasn’t a feeling of guilt or being illicit. Only a recollection of a time gone by and a time to move on.

  Without a word, Leah brought Wyatt to the French bedstead of bird’s-eye maple with plush ticking rising high from the frame and the abundance of embroidered and lace-trimmed pillows. She followed his gaze as he took in the floral-patterned paper, the tall wardrobe, the dimity curtains that parted at the headboard of the bed, her marble-topped toilet table where articles for her hair and skin lay strewn in a haphazard manner. Sunlight caught her colorful perfume bottles and put a shine to her decoupage box overflowing with ribbons and silk flowers. Throughout, there were books, china plates, baskets, and vases. Mementos and an array of old and new hanging photographs of Tug and Rosalure.

  The room truly did belong to her now, with Owen’s presence only a memory.

  She let Wyatt’s hand go, smiling subtly as he went to her toilet table. His hands passed over the bottles of fragrance, lifting several, then coming to the last crystal vial. Bringing the bottle to his nose, he inhaled, then faced her. “This is what I can smell in my sleep. It’s you.”

  Leah came forward. “Actually, it’s Carnation de Parme.”

  Tipping the bottle, Wyatt then righted it and popped the stopper. “Give me your wrist.”

  She lifted her hand and he took the back of it in his palm. With the end of the stopper grazing against her pale flesh, the floral essence of carnations heated against the thrum of her pulse. The room smelled pleasantly of fragrance and sunshine.

  Wyatt set the bottle down, lifted his hands to her neck, and unfastened the right row of buttons to her sailor-style dress. She trembled, standing still and yearning as he continued beyond her breasts to her waist, where the closures stopped. Then he addressed the left side with the same attention, moving slowly, keeping his eyes not on what he was doing, but on her. She felt the burning imprint of his gaze, the longing to have his hands on her bare flesh.

  She wore a lightweight shirtwaist that was held together by a series of tiny bows down the front. After pulling each one, Wyatt took her arms out of both the dress and the waist until she stood with the fabric bunched at her waist and in her chemise and corset cover.

  He picked up the perfume again and brought the stopper to the hollow of her throat, lightly caressing her with the cool crystal. Shivering, Leah let her head fall backward, her eyes closing. Then Wyatt’s mouth was on hers again. He kissed her until she could barely stand, his lips firm and persuading. Parting the seam of her mouth with his tongue, they shared a kiss in a way that Leah had never before experienced. His tongue met hers, dancing, touching, seeking. Rather than being embarrassed or shy, Leah kissed him in the same way, trying, tasting, experimenting.

  When she thought her knees would give way, he swept her into his sinewy arms and brought her to the bed. The ticking molded against her backside, cradling her and Wyatt. He held his arms straight but kept his mouth on hers, ever teasing. Torturing a response from her. She gladly gave, her hands gliding around his middle and skirting down to his waistband. Tugging the worn fabric free of his pants, she tentatively skimmed her fingertips across the smoothness of his back.

  His skin w
as warm and tight. Hard with muscles. The bones of his spine were strong and straight, unyielding. Wyatt’s body was built for endurance and held a coiled power. She’d seen that when he’d ridden the bull. Now, she marveled in the flex of his muscles as he moved over her, taking her face in his palm and giving her a gentle kiss.

  “I’m still going to leave, Leah,” Wyatt said hoarsely. “I have to.”

  “But you’re here now. And that’s all that matters to me.”

  In his eyes, she saw a mixture of emotions. A depth of unhealed pain, yet a thirst for her so potent, she was almost afraid. She wondered if he hadn’t been with a woman for a while. Because he touched her eyebrows, her lashes, the bridge of her nose and the curve of her cheek, the lobe of her ear and the shape of her lips . . . as if he hadn’t felt the softness of a woman in quite some time. By tracing the map of her face, he made her feel special. Important to him.

  His gift gave her the nerve to bring her fingers to the buttons on his shirt and begin to separate the fabric. Wyatt kept his weight on his arms, his head down and hidden from her view by the brim of his hat. When she had his shirt unbuttoned, she brought her hand to his Stetson, slowly slipped it from his head and throwing the hat to the floor.

  Wyatt’s hair fell over his brow, long and unruly. She took her hand and buried her fingers in the silky locks above his ear, relishing the cool feel and texture.

  He dipped his mouth to hers for a brief kiss, then raised himself onto his knees and stripped out of his shirt. Leah lay there, gazing up at him. The planes of his chest, the markings of the tiny lines of scars across his ribs and the hard swell of muscle. She hurt for him, putting the tip of her finger at a long-healed cut that was just below his left nipple.

  “What happened to you?”

  Wetting his lips, he refused to gaze at himself when he replied, “I’ve led a hard life. I paid for it.”

  “But somebody beat you. Hurt you.” She traced the outline of his flat nipple, trailing a path to another scar, one in a deeper color of flesh.

  He grabbed her wrist, stopping her from continuing. “Don’t. I don’t want you to feel them. Or see them.” With his free hand, his fingertips fell across her eyes. “Close your eyes. I don’t want you to look at me. They’re ugly.”

  She found nothing ugly or horrible in his body. She found only wounds that needed love to heal. But rather than upset him, she kept her eyes lightly closed when he removed his hand.

  The bed dipped and strained as Wyatt moved. She could hear his boots falling hard to the floor, the metal clink of his belt buckle, and the rough slide of denim down his lean legs. When he came back to her, she dared not touch him.

  When his lips came down on hers, she kept her hands at her sides, her fingers clutching the covers. The heat from his naked body gave off his own perfume. His own masculine scent of horse leather and the wind, Mennen shaving soap, and a smell that was Wyatt’s alone. There was no distinction or name to it. It was just him. She’d know it in the dark . . . on a sheet. Anything he touched.

  Breaking free of her lips, Wyatt lifted himself to tug down her skirt. Despite her promise, Leah opened her eyes to watch him release her from the heavy dress fabric. Once she wore only her underclothing, he leaned back on his haunches and worked the laces of her shoes. She could see nothing of him below his navel, as the bedclothes had gathered at his hip. He slipped each kid shoe off in turn, then lay his hand on her anklebone, feeling, petting, then skimming upward beyond her knee and to her thigh where the garters held her stocking in place. At the band of elastic, he slipped his fingers inside to reach her skin.

  Wyatt emitted a low growl from his throat, a cry of ecstasy at the simple pleasure of touching her thigh. She couldn’t take her eyes from him, gaining as much just observing him. With a drawn-out movement, he rolled the stocking down her leg, then turned his attention to her other leg. This time, after removing the stocking, he fit both his hands across her legs and lightly kneaded her flesh in his palms, massaging and exploring, coming closer to her.

  Leah couldn’t stop from writhing when he reached the part of her legs where her frilly open drawers covered her. Rather than seek, he stopped, instead slipping the ribbon at her waist out from its bow. The seductive pull made her ribs feel as if they would snap in her corset. She couldn’t breathe, and while Wyatt eased the delicate lawn of her drawers across her legs, she unfastened her corset cover, then nimbly plucked free the numerous hooks of her corset front. Tossing both garments over the side of the bed, she now lay as naked as Wyatt.

  He’d risen to her, catching her eyes on him as he climbed up the bed. This time, he said nothing about her looking at him. Her gaze roamed over the surface of his muscular chest, his waist and navel where a whorl of dark hair descended. His hips were narrow, his thighs sprinkled with dark hair. She had purposefully avoided the male part of him. No sooner had she allowed herself to view the rigid tautness than he shifted and stretched out beside her, turning her toward him.

  Reaching out, he dusted her breast with the calluses of his fingers, circling the fullness, yet abstaining from the nipple that had puckered. For an eternity, he worshiped her breast, rolling her onto her back so he could have access to the other. He never touched the nipples, only the soft roundness.

  Leah could endure no more of his exquisite torture. With a moan, she brought his head to her breast. The stroke of his tongue, the hotness of his mouth inflamed her further. She tried to reach out to him, to the length of him, and give him the same pleasure, but he’d pinned himself tightly against her. She felt him against her inner thigh. Burning and solid.

  The overwhelming passion that engulfed her was like none other that she’d ever known. Owen had been her first and only lover. Their relationship had been filled with love, but she hadn’t been passionate about him.

  Wyatt’s hands and mouth on her body made her feel things she never dreamed. When he took her nipple between his teeth, she could stand the sweet agony no longer.

  “Make love to me,” she whispered raggedly, her fingers sunk into Wyatt’s hair.

  He came to her then, breaking away from her breasts and lifting himself above her. His breathing was like that of a man who’d been running. Running all his life with no place to go. She wanted to scream that he’d come home. That he could stay here.

  Dampness put a sheen on his forehead, his control so ironclad she saw the veins at the sides of his temples standing out.

  “You can’t know”—he said in a half-choke—“how good this feels.”

  “I know,” she replied in a quiet tone, “because it feels the same way to me.”

  On a shaking breath, Wyatt’s entrance was slow and given with a heavy sigh that came from the depths of his chest. He began to worship her with everything he had inside him, moving at a pace where seconds turned to hours. She felt every inch of him, coming inside and then pulling away. So slow. She didn’t know how he could stand it. She couldn’t. She wanted him so badly her eyes misted with love.

  Lifting her knees, she gave him deeper entrance. Her hands found the small of his back and held him close, riding the rhythm he’d set. Then his tempo grew, not by leaps but with that same control he’d kept in check since they’d come into the bedroom.

  Leah felt herself spiraling, higher, reaching for the plateau she knew would come. Only this time, it was a different pull. An intensity of which she hadn’t been prepared for. She felt herself shattering, coming apart. Still, Wyatt held back. She wanted him to be with her, to feel the same as she did.

  And then it was as if the iron wall of his will collapsed as well, and he let himself get lost within her. She matched his strokes, coming together with him. The force of the friction pulled her over the edge and she couldn’t wait for him. She was pulled into the searing need that had been building. Her breath came in long, surrendering moans.

  As the waves continued to soar through her, heat rippled from Wyatt’s muscles beneath her fingers. His body tremored and he growled from eroti
c pleasure at the raw act of passion. The electricity of his release seemed to arc through her and she clung to him as his arms buckled and he fell on top of her.

  His weight was a welcoming crush to her tingling breasts. A thin veil of perspiration covered them, their hearts beating against one another. Leah held him close, kissing his shoulder and tasting him.

  For a long moment, neither spoke. Leah had never known such peace. Such complete fulfillment as she felt with Wyatt. She would be content to lie here forever in his arms, listening to the sounds of his breathing. To watch him sleeping beside her, and be able to study his face at her leisure. She wanted to feel his body next to hers throughout the night, waking to his kiss and being able to hold him. . . .

  But the warmth of their lovemaking was ebbing away, and reality was settling back in. When Leah thought of Wyatt’s wanting to leave, she could remain silent no longer. “Stay. Don’t run away.”

  Wyatt’s voice reverberated next to her ear where he lovingly nipped at her lobe then pressed his mouth to the column of her damp neck. “I have to think.”

  “Then think here. Sort things out before you decide.”

  He nodded against her breast, his hair tickling her.

  Leah dared to hope that he would stay. That they could begin a life together. But she wouldn’t push him. It had to be his choice.

  Wyatt’s thumb stroked her collarbone, light and tenderly. “Are you still mad about the negative?”

  She wouldn’t lie. “Yes.”

  “I could say I’m sorry I did it, but I can’t.”

  “You should know that extra copies of the Tribune’s Sunday edition are sent to Denver with other small newspapers. City people like to read them.”

  Wyatt lifted himself to his elbow and stared into her eyes. “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying that it’s too late, Wyatt. People outside of Eternity are going to see that newspaper picture of you.”