by Ann Yost
Cam sent her an unreadable look.
“Too bad he went off the reservation.”
Molly’s heart twisted. His point was that she’d played it safe all those years ago. She’d avoided bullets, battles and babies. Suddenly she wanted him to know. It would make no difference now and it would make him angry and probably sad but she wanted to tell him anyway. She wanted to be finished with one of her terrible secrets.
“Come on.” Cam gripped her upper arm. “We’re going home.”
“Home?”
His eyes looked steely in the artificial light. “Back to your place.”
She started to protest but the words died in her throat. She wanted him to go home with her. She needed him. And she needed a chance to tell him her secret. And then she remembered. “What about Sharon?”
“I’m not engaged, Lily,” he said, quietly. “In fact, we’ve broken up. It was a mutual decision but Sharon wanted to keep it on the down low for awhile.”
Her heart expanded.
“All right,” she said. “Come home with me.”
He followed her down the dirt road and the strong headlights of the Mercedes filled her with a sense of wellbeing. She’d have this one night with him, one night to salve old wounds and to forge a memory to live on for the rest of her life. It was an unbelievable gift.
Molly turned down the dirt road to her cottage and thrust the thought out of her mind. Just one night with Cam. She might not deserve it but she intended to take it.
He took the key from her and opened the door. Then he stood back and let her enter. Only a low light illuminated the cozy living area. She stood just inside the doorway and looked up at him.
New, harsh lines bracketed Cam’s mouth. His sky blue eyes filled with storms. The soaking rain of earlier had turned into a steady downpour. The night was cold, dark and wet and dangerous. So was the man. He cupped her face.
“I want you,” he growled. “Now.”
Molly’s heart went crazy. She slid her fingers through his thick, wet hair. Cam’s mouth met hers. Molly expected the kiss to be hard and fast, a quick prelude of the passion to come. Instead it was slow, thorough, and eminently rewarding, like one of Cam’s slow smiles. He tasted her as if savoring a fine wine. He stroked area behind her teeth and he sipped at her warmth.
Long before he’d finished her knees had buckled. He supported her with his strong arms.
Finally he broke contact.
His breath was a little uneven but he seemed sturdy enough on his feet.
“How do you do that?” Her voice was little more than a gasp.
“Do what?”
“I’ve dissolved into a mass of quivering jelly but you’re still calm, cool and collected.”
“It’s an act. I’m as hot as hell.”
“Huh.”
“Don’t believe me?”
He pulled her to him, his hand pressing her against the hard, pulsing length of his erection.
“Wow.”
Her awed response made him groan. He scooped her up in his arms and headed for the bedroom.
Suddenly Molly remembered he’d never been in there before.
“Don’t turn on the lights.”
The warning was too late. In the soft glow of the bedside lamps she knew what he saw. There was a native throw across the blue bedspread. A dream catcher hung above the pillows and one wall was full of framed photographs consisting of the Whitecloud family, the four Mollies, and the families of the babies she’d delivered.
He looked at her silently.
“I know what you’re thinking. You were right about me. I never have had the courage to leave the rez.”
His expression didn’t change.
“You’re wrong.” His blue eyes twinkled. “I was thinking about what a slob you are. Don’t you ever make your bed?”
“Never.” She put her arms around his neck and brushed her lips against his hard jaw.
“I want you, Cam.”
His eyes glittered. “Soon,” he said. “First, a hot shower.”
A hot shower? What was she, six? Before she could protest though, he’d stripped off his clothing. The sight of his lean, muscular frame and his obvious desire kept her distracted until he’d removed her clothing and positioned them both in her small shower. The hot spray felt good on her head and back but not nearly as good as the imprint of his need pressed against her stomach. Molly’s blood raced and, once again, her knees felt weak. She compensated by twining her arms around his strong neck while he shampooed her hair.
Cam patted her dry then wrapped a towel around his waist.
“You aren’t gonna need that,” she said.
His grin was slow and full of anticipation. He found her robe on the back of the door and held it for her to step into. She sent him an uncertain look.
“We have plenty of time, Lily, and this time we’re going to do it right starting with making sure you don’t catch pneumonia.”
He sat her down on the closed toilet seat then he used the blow dryer on the long, dark strands. When it was nearly dry he began to brush it. She watched in the mirror as he applied himself to the task, frowning, occasionally, when he found a potential tangle. She smiled. That was the Cam she remembered. Attentive to every detail. The warmth of the room, the physical contact and the pure luxury of having someone tending to her hair lulled Molly into a state of relaxation so complete that her eyes closed. She heard the dryer shut off and felt his hands in her now-dry hair.
“Sleepy?”
“Mmm.”
He lifted her in his arms and carried her toward her bed. Molly buried her face in his neck. The tight rein she’d had on her emotions for so long broke free. He froze.
“Lily?”
She couldn’t get out any words.
“Honey? Are you crying?”
It wasn’t what they’d planned. Wasn’t what she wanted. She was both mortified and disappointed but both emotions were quickly drowned in a flood of tears.
Chapter Eleven
Molly sobbed until her eyes were puffy and her throat was hoarse. She cried until she hiccupped and then she cried some more.
For a long time Cam sat on the side of the bed, his arms around her, and let her tears run down his neck and onto his shirt. Finally he drew her down next to him. His deep feeling of sadness was overlaid with a sense of peace and contentment. He didn’t ask her any questions. He didn’t even think of any questions. He just stroked her back and waited for the storm to pass.
When she cried herself to sleep he held very still but allowed his eyes to survey the room. The first thing he noticed was a rocking chair, a wooden one with a long back and cushions. It reminded him of the chair he had bought for Daisy’s nursery. He’d spent plenty of hours rocking the baby to sleep before Elise’s death and after it. He wondered why Molly had chosen a chair like that, one that took up so much room, for a such a small bedroom. Maybe she just liked to rock.
Or, maybe, she had bought it hoping that someday she’d have a baby of her own.
He permitted himself a brief fantasy of Molly in that chair rocking a baby with dark hair and blue eyes. His baby. A pipedream, of course. It always had been. Daisy had been a lucky hit. Even if he and Molly had a future, which they didn’t, it was unlikely he could make her pregnant.
He listened to Molly’s light, even breathing. Why was it that this one woman could turn him inside out? When she’d called him earlier tonight he’d gone home to check on Daisy but it hadn’t taken him long to get back in the car and drive out to the rez. The dead raven was a threat against her. He knew she’d investigate on her own and he had no intention of letting her get hurt.
She’d been hurt plenty, he thought, as he gazed at her tear-stained cheek. All those tears. What had they been about? He knew she wasn’t indifferent to him. Was it possible she regretted her decision all those years ago?
Cam didn’t know. He didn’t know how he felt about the future, whether he could learn to trust Tiger Lily again
, whether he even wanted to do so. He only knew that she felt right in his arms and that, even though she was in a dead sleep, the feel of her soft curves against his body was making him hard.
And then her hand moved on his chest and he saw that her lashes, still stuck together from the earlier tears, were open.
“Cam,” she whispered, “do you still want to make love with me?”
I’ll always want to make love with you.
He smoothed a long, silky strand of black hair away from her face.
“Yes.”
The hand on his chest began to work one of the buttons on his shirt.
“In that case,” she said, “you have on way too many clothes.”
The words sent a bolt of desire through his body but he didn’t make a move. Last time he’d taken her in a firestorm. This time he was determined to go slowly, to let her set the pace.
“Help me take them off.”
She chuckled and continued to unbutton his shirt. Each time she freed a button she nuzzled his chest, her nose burrowing in the curly dark hair, her mouth sending electric shocks through his skin. She blazed a trail of fire down the center of his chest and, when she reached his belt, she stopped to unbuckle it. A moment later she’d found her way inside his zipper and the pressure of her warm mouth on his erection made him cry out.
“Cam?”
“Sorry.” He fought to control his response. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“But you liked it?”
Didn’t she know? Was it possible she’d never done this with Grey Wolf of anyone else?
“Yeah. I liked it a lot. Too much. That kind of contact drives a man to finish too quickly and I want to go slowly with you this time.”
She rolled so that she was facing him, her indigo eyes clear and wide.
“I haven’t done any of this in a long time,” she said. “Tell me what you want me to do.”
“Lie back,” he whispered, “let me know what feels good.” He slid his hand into the opening of her robe and cupped one small, resilient breast.
“Your body is perfect,” he murmured, as he gently rubbed the taut nipple with his thumb, “small and perfectly proportioned. Sleek. Your body has always driven me crazy, Lily.”
Her lashes fluttered and her breathing roughened as he continued to fondle one breast with his hand and used his tongue on the other one. He felt her fingers in his hair and he took one breast into his mouth and sucked, gently. A low moan came up out of her throat.
“Like that?”
“I-I didn’t realize they were so sensitive.”
He grinned at her. “Nature’s put nerve endings in all sorts of interesting places to make sure the species will endure.”
“Hmm,” she said. Her eyes were closed and he knew she was barely listening. He kissed her neck and the hollow of her throat and behind her ears, then let his mouth, once again, drift down to her breasts. At the same time he slid his fingers between her legs, caressing the soft flesh on the insides of her thighs and easily finding the most sensitive flesh of all. He touched her there and she jerked.
“Oh my God, Cam.”
He reveled in her responsiveness but wondered, again, why this all seemed like such a surprise. She’d been married for over a year and she was a beautiful woman. She must have had sexual experiences after her divorce from Grey Wolf. Her head thrashed back and forth as his fingers, practiced in the art, exerted just the right amount of pressure to bring a woman to the edge.
“Cam, Cam,” she cried out, her eyes popping open. “I don’t know what’s happening to me. I need…something.”
“It’s okay,” he soothed, coming up over her and continuing to work her with both his fingers and his mouth. She was wet but not wet enough. “I know what you need. I’m just making sure you’re ready for it.”
“I am ready for it. I want it now.”
He started to chuckle at her demanding tone but her fingers, small and strong, curled around him. She squeezed and the sound in his throat turned into a groan.
“Dammit,” he hissed. “I’m not going to be able to wait. I’m sorry, honey.”
He slid into her with another harsh groan and she tightened her legs around him.
“Slow is overrated,” she murmured. “I want you, now, Cam.”
He began to move inside her. He closed his eyes and focused on exercising as much control as he could summon. He wanted to give her time to adjust to him, time to enjoy this, time to find her own pleasure but she arched up and rubbed against him and desire swamped him. When her nails bit into his shoulders and he heard her breath hitch, need plowed into him and he thrust into her, hard and fast and with a desperation he could not control.
“Come for me,” he pleaded, barely able to say the words. “Come for me, Lily.”
He knew it would be a near thing. He was too close. He felt her thighs tighten as her body gathered. He heard her breathy cries in his ear. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to hold onto the rhythm he’d established, the one that would bring her satisfaction.
“Cam,” she shrieked, as she peaked. He heard her call his name but an instant later his own climax hit. It was like being in the middle of a sky full of fireworks, like a rocket launch to the moon. It was the moment of unalloyed happiness he’d waited for all his life.
When he finally stopped shaking he gathered her against him until her own tremors stopped. She fit perfectly but then he’d always known she would.
“Wow,” she said, drowsily. “Wow.”
He smiled against the top of her head.
“I couldn’t have said it better myself.”
****
Fingers of sunshine slipped through the blinds on Molly’s east window. They gently touched Molly’s face and she lifted her eyelids, which felt unaccountably heavy until she recalled the bout of crying the night before. She should probably apologize to Cam for that but, at the moment, she was just enjoying the warmth and comfort in the cozy bed.
The comfortable sense of wellbeing ended seconds later, destroyed by a sudden attack of nausea.
“Oh, no.” She struggled to her feet, staggered toward the bathroom, flung open the door and launched at the toilet bowl. She discovered that space was occupied when she got herself tangled in a pair of bare, hairy legs.
“What the hell?”
There was no time to apologize or explain.
“Move,” she yelped.
Cam had good instincts. Or maybe it was his previous experience with a pregnant wife. He got out of the way in record time and the contents of Molly’s stomach swished into the bowl.
Two points.
She didn’t have time to savor her accuracy. The next wave hit immediately. As she retched and hurled she felt him lift the hair out of her face and off her sweat-soaked neck. Long minutes later she felt settled enough to get off her aching knees and rest her back against the cool tiles of the wall. She closed her eyes, hoping that, against all odds, when she opened them again that both the nausea and the man would be gone. She was not up to any explanations at the moment.
There was no miracle. She opened her eyes to find him leaning against the wall, his arms crossed, staring at her with those sky blue eyes. She closed her own eyes again. This was no more than she deserved. Her sins were finally coming home to roost.
And then she felt the butterfly light touch of his fingertips on her cheek. She moaned, fully aware that she didn’t deserve his concern.
“Again?”
She didn’t know. She wished she could just remain there on the bathroom tiles until she knew whether she’d be sick again and how on earth she was going to explain this to Cam but she knew she couldn’t.
“I’m all right now,” she said. “Thanks for your, uh, help.”
“It was no trouble,” he said, with a crooked smile. “I was right here.”
She felt a rush of heat and humiliation.
“We’ve gotten awfully intimate, awfully fast,” she muttered.
“I didn’t
mind,” he said, smoothing the hair off her forehead. “It feels right.”
Her heart twisted. It wasn’t right. There were too many secrets between them. Too much betrayal. And it was all on her side.
She realized he’d been naked when she burst in before. Now he was wearing jeans and nothing else and he looked sinfully sexy. Not that she was in any condition, physically or emotionally to do anything about that.
”C’mon,” he offered her a hand. “Let’s get some clothes on you.”
She felt a rush of heat. Good grief. She was naked, too.
“You know,” he said, as he lifted her to her feet and put an arm around her waist to help her out to the bedroom, “over the past twelve years, I’ve spent a fair amount of time imagining us, you and me, in various settings. None of those was a bathroom.”
She started to smile but another wave of nausea punched her. She hurried back to the toilet, balanced on her sore knees and gripped the sides of the porcelain bowl. Once again he held back her hair. Afterwards, he got her a cool washcloth and a glass of water. She sipped just enough to clear the taste out of her mouth.
“Thanks. I think I can make it back to bed.”
He helped her to her feet and out into the bedroom where he eased her into a nightgown.
“Looks like you picked up a touch of the flu.”
It was a natural assumption and almost certainly wrong. She felt a surge of guilt.
“You’re pale again,” Cam said, quietly. “Feeling sick?”
Not in the way you mean.
“No. I’m all right.”
“Does your head ache? Your throat hurt?”
She shook her head.
“Well, maybe it isn’t flu,” he said, in a light voice. “Maybe you’re pregnant.”
It could have been a joke. Or not. He probably suspected her of a recent affair with someone else. For some reason that hurt terribly.
Nausea boiled up again and she made a gagging sound.
“Hang on,” he said. He disappeared and returned moments later with a plate of soda crackers. “We need to settle your stomach.”
Soda crackers, the best known remedy for morning sickness.