Every Breath She Takes

by Norah Wilson

  Cal’s fingers tightened on the glass in his hands. When he noticed his knuckles turn white, he consciously relaxed his grip. He opened his mouth to say, “Whatever you say, Dad,” but what emerged was a disbelieving snort. “I was there, Dad, remember? You disapproved of me plenty.”

  Zane took a swallow of the liquor and grimaced. “I may have disapproved of your choices sometimes, but I always knew you were a good kid. When you weren’t doing your darndest to get my goat, I was proud of you. I may not have said it often enough—”

  Or at all. Cal clamped down hard on the thought. Don’t think, don’t think, don’t feel.

  “I know I wasn’t the best parent, but I did worry about you. Those kids you hung around with were bad news. Two of ’em, the Cookson boys, went on to prison. Did you know that? I wanted better’n that for you.”

  Cal felt the barrier behind which he kept the anger bulge. He couldn’t hear this. Not now. Not twenty years too late.

  “And the rodeo…I know you loved it, but I thought it would break your heart, if not your body.”

  “Don’t say another word.”

  “Why not?” Zane growled. “I guess it needs to be said, if you think you were such an all-around disappointment to me.”

  Cal slammed his glass down on the table, sloshing the contents on his sleeve. “I said shut up, old man.”

  Zane ignored the warning. “You’ve got a good heart, son, just like your mother. I always knew you’d make a good man, once you got those wild years behind you. Look at the way you tried to help that mare you brought—”

  “Just…don’t.”

  But there was no shutting the old man up. “I’m sorry about putting down that horse, son. I guess I didn’t fully appreciate what she meant to you. I’ve had a lot of years to think about it. A lot of time to regret it. But she pretty near killed me earlier that day, and I was a damned sight bigger and stronger than you were at a scrawny sixteen years old. I know you believed she could be fixed, son, but I was too scared to let you try. I couldn’t lose you too.”

  The barrier snapped then, letting the pent-up anger escape. Cal lurched to his feet, sweeping his drink to the floor. The shattering of glass did nothing to soothe the beast inside him.

  “Not…another…word! You hear me?” Even in his rage, Cal knew enough to keep the desk between himself and his father.

  “Cal, what’s the matter—”

  “If you don’t shut up, I swear I’ll hit you.”

  Zane surged to his feet. “Then I guess you’ll have to hit me, cuz I won’t shut up about this. I shoulda tol’ you all this stuff back then, but we never could have a conversation without it turnin’ into a donnybrook, and then you were gone.”

  Cal rounded the big desk. His father held his ground but braced for a blow. That subtle stiffening infuriated Cal even more. To think the old man actually thought he’d hit him…

  Then he noticed his own right fist cocked at his side, knuckles gleaming white, the muscles of his arm coiled to strike.

  Jesus.

  With a muffled oath, Cal turned and stalked out.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Lauren, having seen Marlena safely past the critical period before sundown for another night, had just slid into her bath when a knock came at her cabin door. Cal. That peremptory rap couldn’t be anyone else’s.

  A thrill arrowed straight to her core, raising goose bumps on her flesh. On its heels came a surge of resentment. How could she respond like this to the mere thought of him after he talked so scathingly about crazy people who saw “movies in their heads”?

  But he didn’t mean you. He doesn’t know about your visions. Stupid to punish him when he doesn’t even know.

  Clutching the face cloth to her chest, she chewed the inside of her lip. She did want him rather desperately…

  Two more short, sharp raps. “It’s me, Lauren. Let me in.”

  What had she vowed just this morning? To grab every minute, savor every sensation, memorize each look and touch. “Hang on.” She stepped out of the tub, sloshing water in her eagerness. “I’m coming.”

  A moment later, she opened the door. As he brushed past, she flared her nostrils to catch the tang of aftershave and night air and Cal that she knew he’d bring in with him, but this time it was overlaid with the smell of alcohol. That, along with the set of his shoulders, sent a small jolt of alarm through her.

  “Cal, are you all right?”

  He turned to face her, and she sucked in a breath. His face looked like a stranger’s. His eyes burned with an intensity she’d never seen in them before, yet they were curiously flat.

  “Come here.”

  She wanted to, but something stopped her. Again she caught a whiff of alcohol. “Have you been drinking?”

  “Not nearly enough.”

  She’d never known Cal to take more than a few drinks, but maybe this afternoon’s run-in with Harvey McLeod…

  “You haven’t had more trouble with Harvey, have you?”

  “No.”

  Marlena! Fear jolted her, leaving an acrid taste in her mouth. Surely not. It was full dark already. “Has something happened to Marlena? Is she okay?”

  His lips thinned. “See, now there you go again. I’m used to my men obsessing over Marlena, but I gotta say this is kinky.”

  She ignored the taunt. “Cal, just tell me, is she okay?”

  “I imagine she’s in her room, but I expect I could get her over here, if you like.” He lowered his voice as though imparting a confidence. “Strictly speaking, I don’t think she’s into women, but if anyone could change her mind, you could.”

  “Cut it out,” she said sharply. “We’re not going to do this again.” Relief that Marlena was safe gave way to swiftly rising anger at his treatment of her. “Just because you’re hurting about something doesn’t mean you get to lash out at me.”

  That pain she’d accused him of harboring flickered in his eyes, but he shuttered it quickly. Instead he raised a disbelieving eyebrow. “What? You’re not going to fight back?”

  “This is not a fight,” she said, meeting his gaze calmly and unflinchingly. “This is you trying to pick a fight because you don’t know how else to cope. But I’m not having any of it.”

  Cal spun away from her to stand in front of the window, but he couldn’t get away from the words. God, she was right. He was a bastard, lashing out at the one he cared about the most instead of dealing with the demons that rode him. The last of the anger he’d been clinging to fell away, leaving a terrifying black hole yawning beneath him. He clutched for the fury again, but it was gone.

  Then Lauren closed the distance again. She was so close he could feel her warmth on his back. There was no escaping her either, it seemed.

  “I just had a fight with my father,” he said, staring out into the floodlit yard. Some disconnected part of his brain observed that since there was no guest traffic from the cabins to the house, he could probably stop lighting the area after dark.

  “Was it bad?”

  “I nearly hit him.” He lifted a hand to massage his neck.

  Lauren caught his hand as he dropped it. “He must have said something to provoke you,” she said softly.

  His body angled toward hers of its own volition. She smelled like heaven. “You sound pretty sure of that.”

  “I am sure of it. You wouldn’t attack your father—wouldn’t attack anyone—without provocation.”

  Damp tendrils of hair clung to her forehead and moisture dewed her skin. If he could just bury his head against her breasts, if she would just hold him…

  But he didn’t deserve that kind of solace, he reminded himself.

  He laughed harshly. “I just attacked you, didn’t I?”

  “You tried to pick a fight,” she clarified. “And I short-circuited you, which I’m pretty sure you knew I’d do.”

  Had he known that? Yes, he thought maybe he had. Was that why he sought her out every time his demons started to howl?

  “Lau
ren.” He brought their linked hands up to trap hers against his face.

  “Tell me about it,” she said.

  To his embarrassment, Cal felt tears prick his eyes. He turned his mouth into her hand, murmured the words into her fragrant palm. “I tried to make him shut up, but he wouldn’t.”

  Lauren cupped the other side of his face with her free hand. “Zane, you mean?”

  Cal’s hand tightened on hers. “He said he was proud of me, had always been proud of me. He said I was a good kid and he always knew I’d make a good man. He said…he said…”

  “He said what, Cal?”

  He swallowed to ease his throat. “He said I had a good heart, like my mother.”

  Silence. He waited for her to say, “And your point is?” or “So what’s the problem?” Instead she drew his head down to her shoulder. He closed his arms around her fiercely.

  “He’s right. You are a good man, Cal Taggart, and your father will have to answer for not telling you that sooner, for not showing you that every day.”

  Her words laid his heart open as surely as a surgeon could have. She understood.

  Then the terror set in. Sweet Jesus, she saw right through to the frightened core of him! Might as well crack his ribs and spread them, because it felt like his heart was pumping right out there, vulnerable and exposed, where anything could happen to it.

  He tried to pull back, but she held him easily, shushing him. Then suddenly, somehow, he just let go of it. All that mattered was the heat of her and the comfort she offered.

  He lifted his head from the satin of her shoulder and found her mouth clumsily. The kiss was short on technique but long on passion, and she returned it with equal fervor.

  When he lifted his head, she moaned and followed his mouth as though reluctant to relinquish it. She licked his upper lip, then nibbled at the corners of his mouth before finally drawing his lower lip between her teeth and biting gently.

  “Oh God, I need you, Lauren. I need you now.”

  “Yes.”

  A shudder went through her, or was it him? Then she was tugging him toward the bedroom, their lips still locked, hands fumbling. When the backs of her knees hit the bed, she sank down on it. He would have followed her, but again she stopped him, her fingers at the buckle of his belt.

  “Let me.”

  “Just a sec.” He tore off his shirt and fished a condom from his jeans before letting her resume her attentions. With delicate fingers, she slipped his belt free and undid the button on his jeans. Cal gritted his teeth, holding himself still as she eased his zipper down. Then she fisted her fingers in the material at his hips and started inching his jeans and briefs down. So slow. It was killing him. Finally his sex sprang free, heavy and eager. Lord, he needed to be inside her.

  Urgently he shoved his jeans down and kicked them free while he tore at the condom packet with clumsy fingers.

  She closed her hand over his fingers, taking the condom from him. “Not yet,” she breathed.

  Not yet? What did she mean, not yet?

  Then she showed him. Leaning forward, she caught his shaft in her hand and guided the tip of it into her mouth.

  His heart stopped. He squeezed his eyes shut.

  Hot silk, wet suction, the electrifying flick of a tongue…

  Not a tongue. Lauren’s tongue. Lauren’s mouth.

  He opened his eyes. The sight of her, eyes closed, so intent on her sensual exploration, gave him a jolt he feared might leave his nerve endings permanently singed. Then she released him.

  He groaned, part relief, part regret, but it was premature. She wasn’t finished with him. She closed her lips around him again, but this time she opened her eyes. Their gazes locked as she took as much of him as she could into her mouth.

  “Jesus, Lauren!” He gripped her head with both hands, torn between the desire to stop her and the need to hold her there, imposing on her the rhythm his body cried out for. Somehow he managed to do the former, pushing her away.

  Her eyes, dilated with arousal, were clouded. “What’s the matter?”

  Yeah, Taggart, what was the matter? Why’d he stop her when he burned to feel her mouth on him? His chest heaved with the effort of control. “You don’t have to do that.”

  “No, but I want to. You wouldn’t believe how much I want to.” He watched a shiver pass through her as she gazed up at him.

  His heart gave a jerk in his chest. It’s not that he hadn’t had women go down on him. Hell, he’d been a rodeo star, and there’d been no shortage of buckle bunnies anxious to please. But Lauren was nothing like those women. She was so smart and good and fine and—oh God!—incredibly talented with her mouth.

  She released him for a moment and looked up at him, her eyes blazing brighter blue than he’d ever seen them. “We okay with this?”

  “God, yes!” He sank his hand in her short, glossy hair and guided her to him again.

  This time when she took him into the warm wetness of her mouth, he surrendered to it, telling her in broken words how much he loved what she was doing, begging her not to stop.

  Too soon he could stand no more, and he pushed her down on the bed. Her bathrobe came off with one sweep, exposing her silky skin, fragrant from the bath. Perfect, he marveled, even as part of him wondered when his tastes had changed so radically. Small breasts, boyishly slender hips, long, long legs.

  Mine! On that fierce thought, he proceeded to brand her with his mouth. Her neck, her breasts, the indentation of her waist. Then he started again at her feet, kissing his way up toned calves, past sensitive knees to the silk of her trembling thighs. She allowed it, welcomed it, if her ragged breathing was any indication, but when he parted the folds of her femininity with questing fingers, she squeezed her thighs together to prevent the ultimate intimacy, trapping him in a viselike grip.

  If he didn’t know better, he’d think she’d never shared this intimacy with a man. His rational mind told him it couldn’t be so, but the maidenly clasp of her thighs told another story. Or wait—maybe she just didn’t enjoy it. That would be a crying shame. Time to find out which it was.

  “Sweetheart, you’ve got me in a leg lock here. Do you think you could relax ’em a little?”

  “I’m sorry.” She relaxed her grip on him only slightly.

  He stroked the outside of her thighs with his calloused hands, marveling at their silky softness. “Don’t you want me to love you the way you loved me?”

  Her legs positively vibrated with tension. “I don’t know,” came her strangled reply.

  His hands stilled. “Are you saying you’ve never, um…never let…had a man—”

  “That’s what I’m saying.”

  Her words were muffled by her hands, which she’d lifted to cover her face. Was she embarrassed?

  “But how is that possible? How does a woman learn to give pleasure like you just gave me and not get it back in return?”

  She laughed silently, and he felt her body shake with it.

  “What’s so funny?”

  She lifted her hands away from her face. “He was claustrophobic.”

  “I’m sorry, what?”

  “I never did anything like that until my last boyfriend. I mean, I’ve had boyfriends since high school. Lots of boyfriends. But never a super-serious one until Garrett.” She groaned, covering her face again. “Just my luck, I finally found a guy I want to do it with and he turned out to be too claustrophobic.”

  “You’re kidding me.”

  “Well, it’s not like he didn’t want to or didn’t try, but he just couldn’t.”

  “Oh, the poor sonofabitch.” The sentiment was heartfelt. So was the thrill that went through him at the prospect of being the first man to love her like this. He turned his smile into her warm thigh. “I’m not claustrophobic. Not even a little bit.”

  Her thighs tightened on him and he smiled. “Was that a claustrophobia test?”

  She groaned. “No, cowboy, that was a maybe.”

  “How do I turn may
be into a yes?” He opened his mouth on her thigh and tasted her skin with his tongue.

  Her legs trembled. “That’s a good start.”

  His smile widened. This was so going to happen. “Did you like putting your mouth on me?”

  “You know I did.”

  “Did you like having me at your mercy, pushing me higher, making me crazy?”

  “Yes!”

  “Did it excite you?”

  “Oh God, yes.” Her voice was high and thin.

  “Then how can you deny me the same pleasure? You’ll like it. I’ll make sure you do.” He felt her legs slacken another few millimeters. “Do you trust me?”

  “Of course.”

  Her instant, unqualified response roughened his voice. “Then relax for me, baby. I’ll go slow.”

  And so he did. By the time he’d worked his way down to the soles of her feet and back up to the apex of her thighs, she was whimpering with need. This time when he homed in on her sex, she clutched the bedclothes but offered no resistance. Her hips jerked when he closed his mouth over her, but he knew she wasn’t trying to elude him. It was involuntary, as was her choked half-scream. Then she was moving against him, her cries of delight echoing around him as his fingers joined the dance of lips and tongue. Within minutes she found her release, bucking and straining beneath him, her breath a harsh sobbing in the otherwise silent cabin.

  Cal told himself a gentleman would have held her then and soothed her, but unappeased desire had burned him clean down to pure need. Even as the aftershocks rippled through her, he searched the bed frantically and found the condom. Sheathing himself, he moved between her legs again, poised himself over her, nudged into her. God, she was so tight, her muscles still clenching. Could she take him?

  “Cal?”

  Oh, please, don’t ask me to stop. “What?”

  “Make it hard. Make it wild.”

  As her words sank in, he relinquished thought. With a rasping cry, he buried himself in her blazing, impossible tightness. She cried out at the invasion, but lifted her hips to meet him thrust for thrust. Mindlessly he pounded himself into her—all that he’d been, all that he was, all that he might be—and she took it willingly, greedily, until her long, rolling climax triggered his, sending them both into oblivion.