by Cait London
“No,” he said, pushing the past away. “I knew what was there. Hard times and work and no money. I lived it.”
“I see, but it is strange—not researching your parents or to see what family there might have been. There are newspaper clippings, church records, that sort of thing.”
“It happened. That’s all there was. I wanted to go on to a new life, for J.T.”
She looked away, and the bolt of lightning outside his house glowed upon her frown. “So you’ve never gone back—really researched your family?”
“I researched enough for legalities. I saw the house they lived in.” It had been too painful, opening the door to his real parents. He’d been in shock for days, holding the document, staring at it, realizing how his life with Reuben had been a lie.
“You visited the town, drove around a bit and didn’t ask questions, am I right? You just took J.T. to a new life,” Michelle murmured as if placing his choices into a neat, make-sense line. “You came here, because you wanted to ensure J.T.’s safety, should something happen to you. You knew you were alone, his only relative, and you studied this Tallchief family to see if they had the love J.T. needed and you’d never had. You never wondered if there could be more to your life before the accident?”
“There isn’t, and you’re asking too many questions that have answers too old to matter. Come here,” he whispered, shadows trembling around them. He tossed away the unsettling sense that Michelle knew something more. He had to hold her again, to know that she was safe. Was it wrong to grasp for something that felt so right?
“No. You come here. I can’t move, I’m shaking so,” she whispered back.
When he held her close, she seemed so fragile, not like the woman who had marked him with her fire earlier. He lifted her gently, feeling rough and unsuited to the lady in his arms. “I haven’t—”
Her finger pressed against his lips. “Neither have I. You won’t hurt me. I know you won’t. But I can’t promise the same—”
He would wonder later what she meant, but not just then, with the fever burning him in the stormy night….
She hadn’t expected Liam to be so gentle, so uncertain as he placed her upon his bed and came down beside her, placing his jeaned leg over her bare ones. The room was scented of him, of soap and sunshine in the sheets, and he’d had to toss aside the soft monster toy on his pillow before lowering her. Even now, lying beside her in the intimate shadows, Liam looked like a man torn apart, lines between his brows and bracketing his mouth. A meticulous, controlled man, it was no simple matter for him to take her, she realized, nor was it for her. In the mind of each, they weighed what could happen—but Michelle’s intimacy with her husband had been a lie. Now she wanted the truth—raw and bold and alive, searing into her.
“Is this how you feel, really feel, touching me as if you’re afraid I’ll break?” she asked as his trembling hand went skimming down her body, setting it alive.
“No. I want to take everything. I’d hurt you,” he answered roughly, skimming his hands through her hair, pushing it back from her face as he turned to rest slightly over her.
“Worry about yourself. I won’t break—” she whispered against his mouth before it sank onto hers, forging them together. His hunger curled around her, snared her, and she dived into the sensations of Liam’s uneven breath upon her skin, the warm caress of his hands, taking away his shirt.
He hurried then, in their private storm, to tear away his clothing, until his skin burned against her, fiery hot, the weight of his desire thrusting against her thigh. “Do you want this?” he whispered roughly against her breast, the tip peaked from the gentle suction of his mouth.
“I want you,” she answered truthfully, for within her, she knew that she needed Liam on another level, an uncertain fragile one that could easily tear apart. But here, now, they were matched evenly in desire, hers no less than his. She tensed as his hand smoothed her thighs, as if he were exploring her centimeter by centimeter. His thumb roamed across the jut of her hipbone, circled her navel, and his hand eased upward following the line of her ribs, then up and over her breasts. His hot gaze down their intertwined bodies pleased her as it had before, the lock of heavier, stronger legs with her own too exciting for her to lie still. Her face burned with heat, but Liam’s dark coloring also bore the flush of their passion.
She could barely breathe now, caught in the hot, taut storm of emotions and sensations and reeling from them. His fingers lightly roamed over her, finding her low and pulsing and warm. He stilled, trembled and she knew he fought for control, but she couldn’t have that, flying off into the heat. He came to her with protection, easing upon her so lightly for a big man.
“Michelle,” he whispered roughly as though her name had been unwillingly drawn from him.
She had to know, catching his face between her hands. “Have you had this with another woman—this…here…now?”
“No. Your skin is like silk—I’ll bruise you….” The answer was deep, raw and filled with truth. His eyes were blazing now, his face honed with desire, and she rose to wrap around him, tethering him with her arms and legs and sighing when he entered her slowly, forcing her to wait. “Don’t. You’re too tight—I don’t want to hurt—”
His breath caught, and above her his great body stilled as he settled deeply within her. Again that hot gaze fell to her breasts, nestled against his chest and lower to the lock of their bodies. “Yes,” she whispered, knowing he waited before he took—while she could not, the fever already tightening her inside, burning…
He claimed her then, and it was just as she wanted—the claiming, the brand of his skin, his body upon hers, the rhythm forging them closer and apart. The friction of their bodies burned away doubt and left only sensations and hunger. The final pounding, riveting pinnacle came then, she against him, and he taking and claiming, the kisses rough and hungry and skin sliding upon skin as she fought to hold him tighter, her body clenching with passion.
Too soon they flew into the storm, pulsing, riding the tempest together, until Michelle heard him cry out, and stars burst in her brain and her body melted beneath his. Looking stunned, Liam studied her flushed face, her swollen, tender mouth. Then he came softly upon her, where she could hold him safe and close and soothe him after his journey.
His lips moved against her throat as she smoothed his back—that strong, smooth surface. Michelle drifted into sleep with a sense of homecoming. The erotic dream, the seductive rhythm and heat became a reality as she awoke slowly. Liam throbbed within her, filling her yet again, his mouth moving hungrily upon her breasts, his hands beneath her hips lifting her.
After the third time, later in the night, with the storm crashing wildly outside, Michelle melted warmly against him. She’d wanted—no, needed—this man to hunger for her, and his desire for her pleased her more than she could ever hope. He’d given her a truth, in his lips and touch and in the fervor of his great body. He’d waited for her, and now he was hers. “Witch,” he’d whispered desperately as his body bolted deep into hers, shaking with passion. “Pretty, silky witch.”
Liam stood, leaning back into the bedroom’s shadows, his hand gripping the Tallchief tartan. Michelle’s hair, a wild, silky mass spread across his pillow, seemed to glow, picking up the lightning from outside the window. Her scent and that of their lovemaking curled around him now. She shot deep within him, seared through the scars and the pain and the doubt to entrance him. Her body called to his now, that aching wonder that his passionate need for her would only grow. He’d had to claim her, to make her his own, and tonight they’d forged a tender bond that could haunt him later—when she saw how misfit they were.
Still, his need to hold her grew with each breath. She could raise his temper when others had failed. She could make him feel like teasing her just to delight in the emerald flash of eyes and the set of that delicate chin. Obsessed? Perhaps. He gripped the soft weave of Elspeth’s tartan, the Tallchief plaid. Was this how his namesake had felt, th
at wild burning urge to capture and hold the woman he’d loved, Elizabeth Montclair?
Liam frowned and rubbed the ache within his chest. Whatever had happened with Michelle tonight, it burned deep within him. He gave me two flints, the tinderbox marked with the Tallchief symbol and a love that burns true.
He wasn’t certain what burned within him for Michelle, but Liam knew it had changed his life—
Michelle stirred restlessly upon the bed, and Liam noted her slight frown as she slept. She’d ache in the morning, and it was his fault, the result of his driving need. He could give her little, of gifts and of himself. What did he know of gentler needs, the due of a woman who should be courted? What did he know of love, other than for his son?
He had to protect her from the man threatening her. He wasn’t certain about the deep, dark anger brewing within him, that she’d been threatened by a madman.
Freshly showered, he breathed quietly, naked and cold in the night, the cold wind howling around his house, the past stalking on his doorstep. He’d kept to himself, but now, for Michelle, he would try—With a sense that the fragile peace and happiness in his heart could be torn apart easily, Liam walked to the other room and picked up the telephone. He called Birk and Lacey’s office, so as not to wake them at the odd hour of his reckoning. It was odd, for a man who never asked help from others, to ask for Michelle, to help her with her dream of a simpler life and quickly before winter came. When Liam replaced the telephone, he found the Tallchief tartan draped across his shoulder, as if he had the right to ask of the Tallchiefs, as if he were one of them—
At five o’clock in the morning Liam slept beside Michelle, a heavy arm and a leg thrown across her as if she were his captive. She studied him, wondering who had taken whom in the tender battle last night. Later he found her in the steamy shower, those hot eyes, the color of smoke, heating the length of her body. “Did I hurt you?” he asked roughly, lifting her wrist for his inspection and kissing the fine inner skin.
“I like my privacy,” she whispered through the steam, suddenly shy with the man who had filled her body and explored her as if it were his right.
“You do?” he asked with a grin that set off the flurry of delight inside her heart. “Fine. I’ll leave you alone.”
By the time she’d recovered her breath, the bathroom door closed behind him. She hadn’t expected him to leave her alone, not after seeking her out until they were both exhausted. Nettled that he’d lost interest so soon, she found Liam lay sprawled upon his bed, stomach down, his black hair tousled and his lashes closed—sleeping like a boy without a care. She’d expected something sweeter than Liam falling asleep—breakfast, flowers, kisses and cuddling.
Yet there he sprawled, forgetting about her, stomach down, a sheet covering his hips. She’d given him everything, and he’d taken and given back and now he didn’t care? Michelle tore away the blanket and sheet and still he didn’t move, breathing as if he were asleep. “Liam.”
“Uh.” The grunt wasn’t lover like, and she wanted her due—he could trouble himself for a kiss this morning after his demands last night.
“Liam,” she said more loudly, shaking his shoulders.
“Uh.”
“Liam,” she said more softly as she studied the length of his fine backside, the width of his shoulders tapering down to his waist, the hard muscle of his haunches. “Liam,” she whispered as excitement raced through her, the need to capture and hold and take. She tossed away the T-shirt she’d borrowed and poured herself over his back, covering her own with the blanket.
“Umm,” he murmured pleasantly as if coming to life when she moved her breasts against his back. “Umm…”
She nibbled on his ear. She’d never played with her husband, the intimacy now with Liam too exciting to refuse. “Wake up.”
He grunted at that—not exactly a tribute to her appeal. She could have killed him then, anger riveting her on top of him. She wondered where to attack, where to begin on the huge, hard body beneath hers. She smoothed the muscles of his arms, studying the flow of her hands over his darkly tanned skin, her toes toying with his calves. He was a beautiful man to explore—those long glossy lashes, the strands of tousled hair at his nape. She kissed him there and then on one brawny shoulder and the other—
Then Liam turned suddenly, grinning, before he tugged her close to nuzzle her neck with bear growls and tickles. Amid the happiness filling her and the surprising giggle erupting into the shadowy room, she discovered that Liam was more than awake and hungry again.
Seven
“You called them? The Tallchiefs? And asked them to help me? Listen, mister, I can take care of myself. I was planning on calling a carpenter—”
“You’ll need a top work crew, not one man.” Liam wasn’t budging, and only the lack of a telephone in her cottage kept her from calling for help. By seven that morning, she was scowling at him. He frowned down at her, the drizzling rain outside her soggy but unique home adding to the dark mood brewing between them. The Tallchiefs would be there later, after tending their family and chores, and she wasn’t in the mood for the man shaking his head.
“This house is not a waste of money,” she said as Liam reached above her head to catch a falling piece of plaster. He placed it in a bucket already filled with water-stained and crumbling drywall. He picked up the bucket, weighed the evidence in his hand and looked at her. She shook her head, refusing to be drawn into one more skirmish about her beautiful little house, and began using a wet-dry vacuum on the floor rubble. “It’s just going to take a little more work than I had expected.”
“You don’t give up, do you?”
“Not when it’s worth fighting for,” she returned honestly, tears burning her lids. She turned from him, working furiously, the vacuum sucking up her sodden happiness. She’d been so excited, eager to show Liam her dreams. She’d described the tidy little home office where she could look out on to her garden. She could refinish unique furniture on her front porch. Standing beside the hanging ferns on her porch next summer, she could wave to the warm people in Amen Flats as they passed by on the road.
“It’s a doll house, honey. Built for play and not made for living,” Liam said quietly behind her, his deep voice soft and slow as if he weren’t used to tender logic.
She slashed at the tears in her eyes. How could she make him understand what she didn’t? That her life had been led in a fast-paced lane to make money, to build a career, and now she wanted a rest—She hadn’t planned to love the cottage, but she did: it filled a soft need inside her that she’d just recognized. “You don’t understand.”
The answer was slow in coming. “I’m trying. This place is going to take a lot of work.”
“It’s something I want to do, to build all my own.” The words sounded childish, even to her, like a young girl defending a doll house. “Okay, me and a good carpenter.”
Okay, me and a roofer and a plumber and a siding man and a drywall man…she added mentally. Liam’s arms closed around her from behind and his cheek, rough with stubble, pressed against hers. He held her close and warm against him while the rain dripped down in front of the porch. “You look good in my carpenter pants, the cuffs turned up, and in my coat,” he said finally. “You need a good pair of shoes—boots, maybe. It’s Saturday morning. We could go down to the café, have breakfast, and when the stores open, I’ll get you that pair of boots. I’d like to think that you’re wearing suitable shoes, not something that will come apart with a drop of rain. Then I’ve got to open the station, and the Tallchiefs will be here by then.”
Michelle turned to him, grabbed his coat and held tight. She shook him, because if there was anyone she wanted to understand, and to understand her, it was Liam Tallchief. She lied to save his pride—she could afford the price of boots better than he. “I’ve got boots. All I have to do is unpack them. I’m just having a bad spot, Liam. I don’t need anyone to take care of me.”
He eased a strand of hair away from her cheek, test
ed the softness between his thumb and finger. “Maybe it’s time you did. I like taking care of you. Do you just like to argue with me, or is it with everyone?” he asked easily.
“You’re more fun.” He excited her more than any game she’d played, more than any quest she’d known.
“That’s the first time anyone has ever said that. Do you really have that pair of boots? Or were you just trying to let me keep my pennies?”
“Oh, okay,” she admitted darkly. “I don’t have the boots—unless you mean ones to wear with long skirts. I thought I’d—”
“We had honesty last night, and nothing else will do now—for either of us. I can help you tonight and tomorrow. Emily is home from college and she’s snagged my boy until Sunday night.” His soft, dark-gray eyes searched her face. “You need a place to stay.”
“I might. I can do amazing things in one day, and I just might have the whole house fixed by Monday.”
Liam smiled tenderly and kissed the corner of her mouth and caressed her bottom, tugging her close against him. “You can do very amazing things. How are you feeling now? Did I hurt you?”
“Did I hurt you?” she returned, just as concerned, her hands smoothing his face, tracing his eyebrows and lashes and nose. Last night Liam’s features had been honed by passion, his body hard and hot against hers, yet he’d touched her very gently, as though he feared to hurt her. Her hand slid down to his chest and the peak of a male nipple etched her palm, making her instantly aware of how much she liked to touch him.
“I’m a little stronger than you, honey,” he noted with a slow, taunting grin. “But if you don’t stop running those hands over my chest and looking at me like that, you’re going to find out that everything is in working order.”
His hungry, urgent kiss was enough to keep her walking on air the rest of the day.
At noon Liam stopped ordering tires and noted the Tallchiefs’ pickups parked around Michelle’s house. The rain had stopped, but the day was dreary and cold, autumn prowling before winter’s freezing temperatures. Hammers and saws sounded in the distance, just up the lane to that little house Michelle wanted badly. She could have anything she wanted, yet she’d chosen a home badly in need of repair. Plastic covered the windows now, and Duncan, Calum, Birk and the rest were heaping lumber upon a stack to be burned. The Tallchiefs acted as a family, and they’d chosen Michelle for one of their own. He couldn’t enter the family as easily, because he did not yet understand himself and the instincts that told him to claim Michelle.