by Bobbi Smith
Rori groaned inwardly at the last thought. Lord knows, she shouldn't have wanted anything more to do with Chance, but the wonder of being in his arms had been so exciting . . . Each day, it had taken all of her willpower to keep from watching him constantly. Each night when she'd tried to fall asleep, she'd remember his touch and his kiss, and rest would elude her. Memories of his heated embrace and the glory of his body joined to hers were burned into her soul, and she wondered if she'd ever be rid of them.
As much as she knew she hated Chance, Rori couldn't understand why he had such an effect on her. She despised him, and yet just thinking about being with him made her feel all weak and funny inside. That was why she had avoided him at every turn. He'd said that he'd been sorry for making love to her, and she was not about to let him know that it had meant anything to her. To hell with Chance Broderick!
Rori knew she should be thrilled that, in another day, Chance would be out of her life forever. For some reason, though, she was miserable. Still, proud and stubborn as she was, there was no way Rori was going to want anybody who didn't want her. When the time came and she rode off with Burr, she vowed to herself that she wouldn't look back . . . ever.
As the trail broadened and then leveled out a bit, she put her heels to Patch's side. It was an unconscious gesture, but it was necessary to her survival. She needed to keep her distance from Chance. She couldn't afford to let him get too close to her ever again.
Burr saw Rori pick up the pace, and he shook his head slightly in bewilderment. Ever since they'd left the watering hole she'd led them a merry chase, always moving at top speed and always staying way out ahead of them. He understood Rori well enough to suspect that she was being driven partially by guilt, for it had been her horse that had held them up that extra day and they needed to make up the time. However, he also had a feeling, no matter what she said, that she was making the superhuman effort just to prove to Chance that she could do it. Rori was a stubborn one that way. Even so, the idea that she was driving herself almost to the point of exhaustion didn't sit well with him. If they hadn't been so close now, he would have dressed her down about it. As it was, he'd decided to just keep his mouth shut and wait until they reached Doug's mine the following day.
Burr's suspicions that something was going on between her and Broderick had faded during the past several days. The two hadn't spoken more than a few words or come within ten feet of each other since leaving the water hole, so he figured he'd been wrong. Whatever it was that was troubling the girl, he just hoped she got over it soon. He sure didn't want to make the return trip out of the mountains at the same breakneck speed. Urging his mount to a faster pace, he drew up alongside Chance.
"We should be gettin' there tomorrow," Burr informed him.
Chance had had a feeling that they were getting close, and he smiled widely. "That's the best news I've had in a long time."
"If we're on the trail by sunup tomorrow, we should make it by dinnertime," the old tracker went on.
"Let's just hope everything is all right with Doug."
"Should be," Burr said with some confidence. "There aren't many folks who know their way around these parts. As hidden as the mine is, it's certain no one's going to accidentally stumble across it."
"I hope you're right."
"I am," he said firmly. "Doug's careful. He doesn't take any chances."
Chance fell silent, again struck by Burr's description of his brother. It had never been like Doug to think things through. Doug always acted first and worried about the consequences later. Unless he'd done a complete about-face in the time they'd been apart, Chance fully expected to find his little brother in deep, deep trouble when he arrived.
Chance gazed around, studying the harshness of the desert landscape. It had been rough traveling in the beginning, and it had grown steadily worse with each passing day. He knew it was the gold that had drawn Doug here, but he wondered what it was that had made Doug stay.
While he could appreciate the rugged beauty of the area, Chance knew he couldn't stay any longer than was necessary to help Doug. There were too many things depending on him back in Boston. He had a business to run. He had people waiting for him to return. Their mother was not the most patient woman in the world, and Chance was sure that she was probably chomping at the bit by now, waiting for word. Then there was Bethany, too . . . She crept into his thoughts—beautiful and perfectly coiffed and gowned. He remembered what she'd said about needing him and waiting for him, and he knew he should feel flattered. Bethany Sutcliffe was many a man's dream, and she would certainly make the perfect society wife. Yet, as he tried to recall the kiss they'd shared in the garden, another woman and another kiss dominated his thoughts.
Rori . . . Chance glanced forward to where she rode, so proud and straight in the saddle ahead of them. He was torn between the urge to strangle her or the desire to grab her off her horse and kiss her. The first he knew he couldn't do; the last he knew he wouldn't do. He'd tried his damnedest to forget what had happened at the water hole, but no matter what he did, the memory of their explosive union haunted him.
Chance went over that night again and again in his mind, trying to make sense out of it, but there was no logic that could explain it. What had happened between Rori and him had been elemental attraction . . . man for woman. It still astounded him that he'd reacted so completely out of character. Chance had always prided himself on being in complete control at all times, but he had exerted no control over himself that night. He had started out meaning to punish Rori and had ended up making mad, passionate love to her.
Chance had never known such excitement, not even with experienced lovers like Bethany. As physically arousing as Bethany could be, compared to Rori she seemed jaded and hard. There had been something fresh and wonderful about Rori. Her very virginity had made her special.
Chance wondered if he would have been able to stop himself had he known she was an innocent, and recalling that night, he knew the answer. The ecstasy they'd shared had been special, and he doubted that he would ever know it again.
Rori hated him. Chance knew he deserved her hatred, but not for the reason she thought. She'd thought he was ashamed of having taken her because she was part Indian, and that couldn't have been further from the truth. He hadn't been proud of what he'd done, because he felt that he'd taken advantage of her innocence. She'd been untouched until he'd come along, and in just those few moments of wild desire, he'd taken her most precious gift.
Night after night, he'd lain awake for hours thinking of her. Images of her slender form had seared his memory. Everything about her that night had been magical . . . the discovery of her femininity, the soft feel of her skin beneath his hands, the passionate response she'd given to his every kiss and touch. Rori had been perfect and . . .
Damn! Chance swore silently to himself as his jaw tightened in anger. He would not, could not, allow himself to think of Rori this way. She'd made it clear how she'd felt about what had happened between them. It was obvious from the way she'd been acting since that night that she loathed the very sight of him.
No, Chance reaffirmed to himself, making love to Rori had been a big mistake, and it would never happen again. Rori was just a child! It was ridiculous to torture himself this way, going over every detail of their white-hot encounter in his mind. Tomorrow, they would reach Doug's mine. Tomorrow, he would pay Burr and Rori for their help in making the trip, and they would leave. Tomorrow would be the last day they'd ever be together.
The sudden, unexpected sense of loss that assailed Chance at the prospect surprised him. Why should he care that Rori would be leaving? Why did the thought of never seeing her again after tomorrow bother him? Rori meant nothing to him. He had to take care of Doug and then get back to Boston . . . and to Bethany. With an effort, he turned his thoughts back to his brother, but even as he dwelled on Doug, his gaze rested on Rori.
Chapter Thirteen
It was late, and the men were both asleep. The moon had al
ready set, and a blanket of deep darkness had fallen across the land. At the edge of the camp, just beyond the flickering glow of the fading firelight, Rori paused. Protected by the shadows of the night, she relaxed her guard, allowing all the anguish and confusion she'd been feeling to show on her expressive features as she observed Chance from afar.
Rori longed for the uncomplicated days before she'd ever met Chance when she could go to bed carefree and fall asleep immediately. She knew it wouldn't happen tonight, though—not tonight, and probably never again. The torment of her tumultuous emotions made sleep impossible.
Tomorrow . . . tomorrow it would all be over. That was what she wanted, wasn't it, her aching heart demanded. Tomorrow, he would be gone from her life. She'd been waiting for the moment, hadn't she? Tomorrow, she would leave with Burr and never see Chance again. That would make her happy, wouldn't it?
Rori bit back a sob born of complete, frantic bewilderment. In a confession that was wrung from her, she faced the terrible truth about what she was feeling for this man who'd come into her world and turned everything upside down . . . this man who just by a smile or a look could send her senses reeling . . . this man whose very touch left her weak and willing. She loved him, she realized painfully, but it was hopeless.
Burr had told her time and again that men were no good and that white men in particular were far from honorable. He'd warned her never to trust them and above all never to love them, but it was too late now. She did love Chance, desperately.
Rori remained motionless as she stared at Chance across the small clearing. She knew as she watched him sleep that she would never again share his passion or know the bliss of his touch. The thought tormented her. She wanted him! Oh, how she wanted him!
Go to him, her heart goaded her. Go to him one last time before he's gone from you forever. Hold him one last time. Love him one last time.
The need to be with him was overwhelming, and she was like sand before the force of the wind, swept away by the dictates of her untamed heart. Hesitantly, Rori took a step forward into the circle of the campfire's glow.
Chance had been lying there for what seemed like endless hours, trying to get to sleep. His thoughts tonight were the same as they'd been every other night since they'd left the pond—they were of Rori. For a man who was used to being in control, it drove Chance to distraction that he couldn't restrain himself from remembering that night. He'd tried just about everything he could think of to turn his thoughts away from Rori, but inevitably, they always came back to her.
Disgusted, Chance told himself that Rori was just a child, but his memory and his body knew otherwise. She was childlike only in her innocence. No mere child could have wreaked such havoc on his self-control. There was something about her . . . something so rare . . .
An image of Rori lying naked beneath him flashed in his mind, and a surge of heat flooded his loins. Aggravated, annoyed, and generally irritated, Chance shifted restlessly on his blanket, wishing he could get to sleep and put himself out of his misery.
Later, he wouldn't know what it was that made him look up at that particular moment, but the reason why it happened wasn't important. All that mattered was that as he glanced out across the campsite he saw Rori move forward into the light of the fire.
Across the distance, their eyes met and held. Chance could read in hers all the confusion and bewilderment she was feeling, and the realization that she still desired him sent his own passions soaring. Held pinned where she was by the heat of Chance's smoldering gaze, Rori remained motionless. She hadn't expected him to be awake. She hadn't expected him to see her, and now it was too late. She waited breathlessly, hoping, dreaming . . . Chance waited, expecting Rori, woman-child that she was, to bolt from him like a frightened doe, but to his surprise and delight she stayed.
Logic dictated he remain where he was, but Chance was a man out of control. He had dreamed of her, wanted her, desired her . . . Chance rose slowly, brushing aside his blanket. He did not storm Rori, but went to her cautiously. He said nothing, not wanting to risk spoiling the moment, so tender, so fragile, between them.
When Chance stopped directly before her, Rori tilted her head back a little to look up at him. Common sense told her that she should run from him, hide from his overpowering nearness, but she didn't. She wanted him, and she would never run from him.
Rori reached out with a tentative hand to touch his cheek, and as she did, he grasped her wrist in a firm, strong hold. His touch was hot and sent shivers of excitement down her spine. She remembered the strength of his hands and the pleasure they could give her.
Rori did not protest as Chance led her away from the revealing light, away from the sanctity and safety of the camp, away from the protection of Burr's slumbering presence. Neither one of them spoke. Neither one of them wanted to shatter this fragile, almost crystalline closeness that existed between them.
Chance didn't stop until they were away from the encampment at a secluded spot where they would be neither seen or heard. He released her wrist and turned to her then, gazing down at her with something akin to amazement. How was it that this mere slip of a girl—a girl who dressed like a boy, rode like a boy, shot like a boy, and cussed like a boy—could affect him this way? What was it about this raven-haired vixen that had stirred his desires to a fever pitch?
In Boston, the women chased him with practiced precision and expertise. He allowed himself to succumb to their charms as it suited him, used them in mutually pleasurable pursuits and then ended the associations when the thrill was gone. But Rori . . . Rori was so different, so unbelievably extraordinary that he was at a loss to completely understand it. Chance only knew that he wanted her with a gut-wrenching need that surpassed anything he'd ever experienced before.
Chance studied her upturned face in wonder, feeling almost as if he were seeing her for the very first time. Her dark eyes were shining like stars, and even in the darkness he could tell that her cheeks bore a gentle flush of excitement. Her lips were parted and he could hear the unsteady rush of her breathing as she waited for what they both knew was coming next.
Chance longed to run his hands through the black velvet cascade of her hair again. Lifting one thick braid from where it rested against her breast, he freed it from its binding and combed his fingers through its ebony silkiness. He repeated the gesture with the other one and when her hair hung about her shoulders in a sable cape, he cupped her face with his hands and sought her lips with his own.
His kiss was ecstasy for Rori, yet she remained standing rigidly before him, fearful that he would end it too soon. She wanted to savor the moment, to relish the delight of his mouth moving teasingly over hers. She didn't want to do anything that might cause him to stop.
Chance sensed that there was something bothering her, something that was causing her to hold herself back from him, and he raised his head to look down at her. "Rori?" Her name was a husky whisper on his lips.
His voice was deep and sensual and sent shivers of sensual awareness coursing through Rori. She couldn't speak. She was afraid to . . . afraid that she'd blurt out everything she was feeling and embarrass herself miserably. She raised her eyes to his in an unspoken plea for understanding as she unconsciously swayed toward him.
Chance saw the wild mix of confusion and desire in her dark-eyed gaze, and he knew just what she was feeling. Whatever this thing was between them, it was beyond restraining, beyond control. It was primitive and demanding. Chance waited no longer, but gathered her close.
"Ah, Rori . . . I know . . ." The confession was wrung from him. His lips met hers then softly . . . exploringly . . . questioningly . . .
Rori melted against him, clinging to his broad shoulders and relishing the feel of his hard body beneath her hands. He said he knew . . . he said he knew . . . It struck her as wondrous that he understood what she was feeling. If he understood, she reasoned with naive logic, then he must be feeling it, too. He must love me, too! The revelation wiped away any vestiges of doubt she'
d had about loving him, and she gave herself over to him fully, without reservation.
Chance felt her surrender, and a thrill coursed through him to his very soul. He slipped one hand up to cup the nape of her neck as his mouth slanted demandingly across hers. His tongue sought hers in a sensuous duel, encouraging her to kiss him back in the same way, encouraging her to more boldness. Rori was breathing hard as the exchange ended, and when Chance trailed heated kisses to her ear and down the side of her neck, she instinctively arched against him as tingles of excitement shivered through her.
Chance grew mindless in his need to be close to her. He wanted to strip away all of their layers of clothing and ease her gently to the ground. He wanted to explore every inch of her with caresses meant to give pleasure as well as to please. He wanted to kiss her until she was senseless with desire, and then he wanted to slake that desire.
Had Chance thought about it, he would have realized that, for the first time in his life, he was more concerned about someone else's needs than with his own. But Chance was beyond thinking. He was beyond anything but feeling. His hands drifted down her back to her hips to pull her fully against the thrusting strength of his thighs.
Rori felt the heat of his arousal and trembled in anticipation. She lifted her lips to his again, wanting to tell him with her kiss that her desire matched his in every way. This time she took the initiative, her tongue darting into his mouth in invitation.
At her sensual provocation Chance's already flaming passions exploded into a wildfire of fervid excitement. One hand slipped beneath her shirt to seek out her breasts as he still held her tightly against him with the other. He began to move against her in a teasing, taunting rhythm, letting her know with his body just what it was he wanted, needed from her.