“Guess so.” She’d give anything for some of his nonchalance. There was a breathless quality to her voice that made her wince.
Fortunately he didn’t seem to notice as he concentrated on lifting the roaster from the fire and setting it on the hearth. Using an oven mitt, he lifted the lid.
Charity walked over and peered under the lid. “Still looks pretty white.”
“It’s not done, but it sure smells great.”
“Yes. Great.” She was too overwhelmed by the scent of freshly shaven masculinity to notice.
He replaced the lid and stood. “I need to get some more wood from the garage and build up the fire before I put the roaster back on.”
“How’s the wood supply holding out?”
“We should have enough to last through tomorrow. After that I don’t know what we’ll do.”
“I’m sure the power will be on again by then,” Charity said, although she had no idea if it would be or not.
“Hope so. Be right back.” He paused by the tray. “Looks perfect except we need a bottle of wine. I’ll get it when I bring the wood.”
She wasn’t sure how he’d manage that, but she decided to wait and see rather than offer to help. After he left, she walked over and rubbed a clean place on the bay window glass to look outside. The view was unchanged from early that morning. Nothing moved in the frozen landscape except the occasional flutter of a bird.
It didn’t look as if the power would come on anytime soon, which meant she would be spending the night alone here with Wyatt as he’d predicted. The logical plan would be for both of them to sleep by the fire. In fact, they should drag out the mattress from the guest room and set up camp in the living room for the night. The ever-present curl of tension deep within her turned a notch tighter.
Wyatt reappeared with a stack of wood and a bottle of red wine balanced vertically on top.
Charity stared at him in horror. “Wyatt! That bottle could fall and break!”
“What?” He grinned and pretended to stagger toward her.
“Stop clowning around! Red wine on that Sultanabad would be a disaster.”
“The whosit? I don’t see any sultans in here.”
“The Sultanabad rug. I already told you it’s a hundred and twenty years old.”
“And how old’s the wine?” He staggered again on his way to the fireplace. “Whoops!”
“Give me that bottle.” She grabbed it off the top of the pile as he began to chuckle. “I suppose a good laugh is more important than a precious antique to you.”
He deposited the wood on the hearth and starting laying a few pieces on the coals. “Matter of fact, it is.” As he leaned toward the fireplace the back of his sweatshirt rode up, revealing two slender wineglasses, their stems shoved through his belt loops.
“Nora’s crystal!” Charity cried, starting forward.
“Don’t touch them,” he ordered. “Let me handle this and nothing will break.”
She held her breath as he finished with the fire, replaced the roaster and stood.
Then he gently pried the wineglasses loose and held them up for her inspection. “See? No problem.”
“You were lucky. Crystal like that is so delicate. It can snap if you breathe on it wrong.”
“I know. To be honest, this was a stunt to prove something to you. The last time I was in this house I was fifteen, and I was as clumsy as most fifteen-year-olds. That’s what Aunt Nora remembers and what she’s probably told you about me. But clumsy guys don’t make it on the pro rodeo circuit, Charity.” Then he tossed both glasses in the air.
“My God! You—” Her throat closed on the rest of the sentence as he began to juggle the goblets in a lazy rhythm. “You’re insane,” she whispered.
He caught the goblets and set them on the coffee table. “I’ll admit to that. You have to be a little crazy to last on the circuit. But I’m not clumsy, Charity. So relax.” He pulled a corkscrew from his front pocket, picked up the bottle and expertly removed the cork. “And have some wine,” he added, pouring her a glass without spilling a drop.
“I can’t take this.” She sank to the sofa.
“Sure you can.” He handed her the glass and picked up the second one for himself. “You’ve coped with every crisis we’ve had so far, and we’ve had a few.” He finished pouring and raised his glass. “Here’s to you, Charity. You’re one hell of a woman.”
“Don’t do that.”
“What?”
“You know.” She took a steadying sip of wine. “Pay me compliments. Start everything up again.”
He gazed at her. “You deserve the compliments, but I’ll do my damnedest not to start anything I can’t finish, much as I’d like to.”
The wineglass trembled in her hand. “You…would?”
“Of course I would. Any man would be crazy not to want you. But for once in my life, I’ve decided to think about somebody besides myself. From what you’ve said, the last thing in the world you need is another love ’em and leave ’em type.” He tasted his wine. “Which is exactly what I am.”
Her jaw tensed. “I told you I wasn’t interested in a permanent relationship.”
“Why not?”
The tension moved to her temples, which began to throb. She swallowed more wine. “I value my freedom.”
“To do what?”
He was deliberately trying to trick her, she decided, and make her reveal her domestic instincts. She drank her wine and took some time before answering. “Freedom to keep my own schedule, eat when I want, sleep when I want, work as late as I want.”
He topped off her glass. “If you find the right guy, none of that would be a problem. Charity, you own a business, which means you’re already tied down. Marriage might even give you more freedom because you’d have someone to share the burden of that business if you got sick, or wanted to take a trip. You’ve created a bogeyman when there isn’t one. Marriage would be wonderful for you.”
“How dare you presume to say that!”
“Because I have nothing to lose by telling you the truth. I can picture you in a home, playing with your children. You’d make a terrific mother.”
“You are so wrong. I have no desire for children.” The statement rang false to her, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing that. “Absolutely no desire.” She met his assessing gaze for as long as she could and finally used the excuse of sipping her wine to look away. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Maybe not. But you wanted to know why I’d decided we shouldn’t make love. That’s it.”
“How self-sacrificing.” Anger and disappointment smoldered within her.
“Okay, so it’s a little out of character.”
She took another sip of her wine. Dutch courage, they called it, and she could see why. She was definitely feeling bolder now than when she’d first sat on the sofa after the juggling scene. “You know what I think?”
“I have a feeling I’m about to find out.”
She pointed a finger at him. “You’re scared. And that’s why you won’t make love to me.”
“Scared? Now wait a minute. I—”
“You’ve been scared from the minute you found out Nora had asked me to stay and cook dinner for you. You thought it was a trap then, and you think it’s a trap now. What’s more, you’re afraid you might get caught this time, because I believe you really do want me.” She gained momentum as she talked, and discovered she didn’t need the rest of her wine, after all. The goblet made an audible click as she set it on the coffee table. “Wanting me makes you vulnerable, doesn’t it?”
His eyes darkened and he took a step forward. “Charity, so help me…”
“Help you what? I’ve told you I’m not interested in marriage, but you won’t listen.” She stood and braced her hands on her hips. The movement caused her sexy underwear to glide sensuously against her skin. “I think the person who couldn’t handle an uncomplicated sexual relationship is you.”
&
nbsp; “I’ve walked away a hundred times. Once more is no problem.”
Heart thudding, Charity lifted her chin. “Prove it.”
He backed up at that. “Oh, no, you don’t.”
“See?” She stalked him. “You’re petrified of me. I’m too much woman for you.”
“That’s a laugh.” He’d reached the window seat by the bay window. He could retreat no further.
“You’re not laughing. You’re running.” She paused and unfastened the pins from her hair. “I dare you to put down your wineglass.”
“You don’t know what you’re doing. You’re just repeating a familiar pattern.”
“Not true. I’ve never seduced a rodeo man before.” She took off her glasses and twirled them in one hand. Her vision was fuzzy now, but she didn’t need a clear outline for this. In fact, blurry was better. It helped make her brave. Brave enough to take what she wanted.
“You know what I mean, Charity.” He sounded a little desperate, a little frantic, and a lot worried. “You’re only attracted to me because you know I’ll leave you.”
“What a convenient diagnosis, Dr. Freud.” She laid the glasses on a nearby table and took a step closer. “Let’s lie on your couch and discuss it, shall we?”
“Stop it.” It was more of a plea than an order.
She chuckled low in her throat. “But I’ve only just started.” She grasped the bottom of her sweatshirt and pulled the garment over her head. As he gasped, she praised the effects of underwire. Then she shook her hair. She couldn’t see his expression, but he stooped down, and she heard the clunk of the wineglass as he set it beside him on the polished floor. Then he slowly straightened.
Her heartbeat thundered in her ears as she smiled and walked over to him. He was breathing hard. She tilted her face upward. “Have a little Charity, cowboy.”
10
WYATT’S GROAN of surrender flowed over Charity, making her heady with triumph. Then he swept her into his arms with such force that her breath caught in her throat.
“Don’t say I didn’t try to do the right thing,” he muttered before his lips descended to crush hers.
With that demanding kiss, he stripped away any remaining restraint between them. She wound both arms around his neck, arched against him and kissed him back with a seething desire no one else had guessed lay deep in her soul.
But Wyatt had guessed. As he tumbled her to the cushions of the window seat he seemed to know just where to touch, where to leave a lingering caress to bring out the wild, lusty spirit that Charity kept hidden from the world. A quick flick of his finger and the bra dropped away from her breasts. A swift tug with one hand and both her sweatpants and panties lay in a heap on the floor.
Charity reached for the hem of his sweatshirt, but he caught her wrists. “Wait.”
“I want to feel you against me.”
“You will.” His mouth feathered kisses on hers, then moved lower to her throat. “Oh, you will,” he murmured. “You’ll feel me against you, within you, surrounding you.” He stretched her arms above her head and leaned down to slowly draw one nipple into his mouth.
She squirmed as the languorous tug reached from her breast to her womb as if connected by a filament too delicate to see yet too strong to break. She arched her back as the filament tightened in response to his persistent caress. In answer he smoothed a hand over her flat belly and spread his fingers when he encountered the tangle of blond curls between her trembling thighs. A teasing hesitation, and then he tunneled down to claim her moist bounty with a deftness that left her writhing in pleasure.
She couldn’t control the plea that came to her lips as he coaxed her closer to the brink of mindlessness. She wanted more, asked for more, begged for more.
He released her breast and placed his lips close to her ear. “Tell me exactly what you want.” His whisper was hoarse with urgency. “Tell me what you’ve never told another man.”
“I—” She hesitated.
“Tell me!” He raked his teeth across her earlobe and pressed deep with his fingers against her throbbing center.
And she did. Gasping with desire, she abandoned shame in favor of gaining paradise. And he followed her instructions in tender detail, sliding a pillow beneath her hips as he kissed his way down the valley between her ribs, stroking her thighs until they quivered beneath his kneading fingers. At last he settled his clever mouth against the most intimate part of her and loved her with a thoroughness that made her helpless in his arms. Time and again he took her to the edge before pulling back until her breathing slowed. Then he’d begin the assault again. She was sure she’d die of the exquisite torture and willingly accepted her fate. But still she needed more than this.
“I…want you inside me,” she said, her voice ragged. “Please.” Vaguely she knew that there was another step—some sort of protection was needed—but she was too crazy with desire to care.
Wordlessly he returned to her side and pulled off his sweatshirt. Then he unfastened his jeans. He held her gaze as he shoved both jeans and briefs away and placed her hand over his rigid shaft. “Is that what you want?”
She caressed him and he closed his eyes. “Yes. Do you want to…” she said softly.
“Yes.” He sucked in his breath. “I want this more than I ever…”
She didn’t ask him to finish the sentence. Nothing mattered but the velvet skin beneath her fingers and the thrusting evidence of his need. The ache within her became unbearable. “Come to me,” she urged.
“Soon.” He fumbled with his discarded jeans and produced something from the pocket.
Briefly she wondered why a man who hadn’t planned to make love would carry a condom in his jeans’ pocket, but the question evaporated once he’d sheathed himself and moved over her.
“Can you see me?” he murmured as the tip of his erection eased between the petals of her femininity.
“Come closer.”
“My pleasure.” He drove deep, his chest brushing the tips of her breasts. “Close enough?”
She couldn’t speak as she gazed into his eyes, dark with the intensity of arousal. The knowledge that she was completely joined with him at last robbed her of words. She’d never felt such overwhelming needs, nor such confidence that the man in her arms was the only one capable of filling them.
“Your eyes tell me yes.”
She hadn’t realized how precious that word could be. Wyatt pulled back and pushed forward again, and her mind echoed yes. He rocked again, and once again her body responded with a resounding yes. The affirmation pounded through her with each motion of his hips, each reconnection, each electric fusing of their bodies. Yes, yes, yes, yes!
The rhythm took them, obscuring the roles of who would lead, who would follow. The current swept them onward into a white water of raging passion, buffeting them mercilessly before hurling them, spent and gasping, over the tumbling, roaring cascade of release.
THROUGH A PEACEFUL HAZE of incredible satisfaction, the most satisfaction he could ever remember after making love, Wyatt gradually became aware of the sound of lapping. He opened one eye and leaned over the window seat to identify the sound.
MacDougal had finished Wyatt’s wine, miraculously without dumping the glass over, and now had both paws on the coffee table while he attempted to get the last of Charity’s wine. Before Wyatt had time to consider the consequences, he yelled at the dog.
MacDougal leapt away from the table, tipping it on end just as Charity struggled out from under Wyatt and pushed herself to a sitting position. Reflexively Wyatt covered her eyes with one hand while he watched the purple contents of the glass sail gracefully over a sizeable area of the ivory and pink surface of the Sultanabad rug. The moment seemed to last forever. Then Wyatt’s hope for a reprieve shattered as completely as the goblet when the antique crystal hit the floor.
Charity pulled his hand away from her eyes. “I heard crystal break!”
“A goblet.”
She fumbled her way toward the edge o
f the window seat. “My glasses. Let me get my—”
“Hold it.” He grabbed her by the waist. “There’s another—”
But her swinging foot had already made contact with the second goblet, kicking it like a soccer ball. It, too, crashed with the distinctive tinkle of fine stemware breaking. “That was your wineglass,” she whispered.
“Afraid so. Just stay here.” Wyatt surveyed the room and found MacDougal in a corner looking owlishly at him.
As Wyatt considered whether to risk giving the Scottie a command or just going over and picking him up, the dog’s hindquarters seemed to slide out from under him and slip sideways. Usually pert and upright, MacDougal lounged casually on the pine floor. He looked for all the world like a cowboy relaxing at his favorite honky-tonk.
Watching for glass beneath his feet, Wyatt crawled off the window seat. “Mac’s plastered.”
“Oh, no.”
“Guess it doesn’t take much when you only weigh twenty pounds. I’d better lock him in the bathroom while I clean up the glass.”
“Oh, Wyatt.” She sounded totally dejected.
He grabbed an afghan from the window seat and draped it around her shoulders. “Hang on.” He gave her a quick hug. “I’ll be right back. And don’t step down. There’s glass right under your feet.”
Without Charity’s warmth or the heat wave of passion to keep him warm, Wyatt shivered as he stepped carefully around broken glass and made his way over to the dog. “It’s okay, buddy.” He crouched in front of the little dog. “Sorry I yelled at you. It wasn’t your fault. We forgot you’re a wino.”
MacDougal looked at him with total nonchalance. Then he hiccuped.
“This is definitely a first,” Wyatt muttered. “Come on, Mac. It’s the drunk tank for you. Just—”
In a surprise move, the Scottie lunged to his feet and trotted unsteadily to a spot about ten feet away.
“Hey.” Wyatt was amazed at how fast the little dog could move, considering he was blitzed. Or maybe Wyatt moved slower without the security of clothes. Truth to tell, he was freezing his butt off, not to mention other parts of his anatomy. He tried to stop shivering as he approached Mac with caution. He could swear the Scottie was laughing at him.
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