Gabe (The Buckhorn Brothers)

by Lori Foster

  Rather than hardening at her acerbic tone, his expression softened. “There’s something you’re not telling me, Lizzy.”

  Panic struck; she absolutely could not bear for him to nose into her private business. He was everything she wasn’t, and she accepted that. But she didn’t want her face rubbed in it. “I thought you were going to teach me about baseball!”

  One side of his mouth kicked up, though his eyes continued to look shadowed with concern. “All right.” He touched her chin with a fingertip. “Baseball is something we play in high school, but somehow I think you missed out on that.”

  His searching gaze forced her to acknowledge that with a nod. “I was very shy in high school.”

  “There was just you and your father, right?”

  “Yes. But we were very close.”

  Gabe looked at her chest and she felt her breasts tighten in response. “That’s good. But it can’t make up for all the shenanigans and experiments and playfulness that teenagers indulge in with each other.”

  “My father,” she admitted, willing to give him some truths, “tried to encourage me to go out more often. He was more than willing to supply me with the popular clothes and music and such. On my sixteenth birthday he even bought me a wonderful little car. But I wasn’t really interested.”

  Talking was becoming more difficult by the moment. She knew Gabe was listening, but he was also caressing her with his eyes, and she knew what he saw. Her nipples were peaked, pressing against the white sheet almost painfully. But she liked the way he looked at her and didn’t want him to stop.

  With a bluntness that stunned her, Gabe suddenly said, “I’m going to touch your breasts. That’s first base. All right?”

  He didn’t wait for her permission, but got more of the cooling cream and prepared to apply it her chest. Elizabeth held her breath, frozen, not daring to move for fear he’d stop—and for fear he wouldn’t. She was excited, but also cautious. Whenever she’d imagined getting intimate with a man, she hadn’t envisioned all this idle chitchat. She’d always assumed things would just…happen. She’d pictured getting carried away with passion, not having a man tease and explain and ask permission.

  With the cream in one palm, Gabe closed his free hand around her wrist and gently pried her fingers from the sheet.

  “Breathe, Lizzy.”

  She did, in a long choked gasp. The sheet slipped, but not far enough to bare her completely. Gabe’s nostrils flared and his cheekbones flushed. He carried her shaking hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss into her palm, then placed her hand on her lap.

  She tried to prepare herself but when she felt the cream on her skin she jumped. Again, Gabe whispered, “Shh…” in a way that sounded positively carnal. She was oblivious to the sting of her burned skin as his fingers dipped lower and lower. The edge of his thumb brushed her nipple.

  His gaze leaped to hers, so intense she felt it clear to her bones. He leaned forward to blow on her skin. “I should be shot,” he whispered, “for letting your sweet hide get burned like this.”

  His breath continued to drift over her, making goose-flesh rise, making her shiver in anticipation. His lips lightly touched the upper swell of her right breast. But that wasn’t the only touch she was aware of. His hair, cool and so very soft, brushed against her and his hard muscled thighs caged her calves. Against one shin, she felt his throbbing erection.

  She moaned.

  Gabe nuzzled closer to her nipple, very close, but not quite touching her there. “I like that, Lizzy, the way you make that soft, hungry little sound deep in your throat. It tells me so much.”

  His lips moved against her skin, adding to her sensitivity. She wasn’t used to playing games, and she sure as certain wasn’t used to wanting something so badly that her entire body trembled with the need. It wasn’t a conscious decision on her part, but her hands lifted, sank into his hair and directed his mouth where she wanted it most.

  Gabe gave his own earthy, raw groan just before his mouth clamped down on her throbbing nipple, suckling her through the sheet. Her body tensed, her back arching, her fingers clenching, her head falling back as her eyes closed. It was by far the most exquisite thing she had ever experienced. With her eyes closed, her senses were attuned to every rough flick of his tongue, the heat inside his mouth, the sharp edge of his teeth. She wanted to savor every sensation, store them all away to remember forever. Breathless, she whispered, “It’s…it’s not like I thought it’d be.”

  Gabe stroked with his tongue, soaking the sheet and plying her stiff nipple. “No?” His voice was a rough rasp and he sat back to view his handiwork, eyeing her shimmering breasts with satisfaction.

  She didn’t care. He could look all he wanted as long as he kissed her like that again. Shaking her head, Elizabeth ignored the way some of her hair tumbled free. “No,” she admitted. “I used to daydream about a man doing that some day.” She stroked his head, luxuriating in the cool silk of his thick hair. “But never a man like you, and it never felt quite that…deep.”

  His hands settled on either side of her hips, his long fingers curving to her buttocks. Heavy-lidded, he watched her. “What do you mean by deep?”

  Elizabeth placed her hand low on her belly. “I feel it here. Every small lick or suck…I feel it inside me.”

  Gabe groaned again, then feasted on her other nipple. Elizabeth let her hands drift down his strong shoulders, then farther to his upper arms. She felt half insensate with the pleasure, half driven by curiosity to explore his pronounced biceps. His arms were rigid, braced hard on the chair and her behind.

  He leaned back again, his breath heavy, his mouth wet. Still he looked at her body, not her face. “What did you mean, a man like me?”

  Elizabeth had to gather her wits, had to force her eyes open. Gabe lifted one hand and, with the edge of his thumb, teased a wet nipple. The sheet offered no barrier at all, and when she looked down, Elizabeth could see that the sheet was all but transparent.

  She wanted his mouth on her again.

  “I always thought…” She swallowed hard, trying to form the correct words. “I’d hoped that some day I’d get intimate with a man, but I assumed he’d be more like me.”

  Slowly, Gabe’s gaze lifted until he was studying her intently. But his hand was still on her breast, still driving her to distraction. “Like you, how?”

  She shook her head. “Boring. Introverted. Something of a wallflower. Homely.”

  She gasped as Gabe lurched to his feet and glared at her. Her mouth open in a small O, her eyes wide, she watched him, uncertain what had caused that sudden, heated reaction.

  Gabe propped his hands on his lean hips, and his chest rose and fell with his labored efforts to gain control. His eyes were burning, his brows down, his mouth a hard line.

  He shook his head and made a disgusted sound. “Damn it, Red, now you’ve gone and made me mad.”

  * * *

  GABE WATCHED HER struggle to follow his words. She looked like sin and temptation and sweetness all wrapped together. Her heavy dark red hair was half up, half down, giving her a totally wanton look. Her skin was flushed beyond the sunburn, her eyes heavy lidded with sensuality but somewhat dazed by his annoyance.

  It made him unreasonably angry for her to put herself down, though what she’d said had mirrored his earlier thoughts. Looking at her, he doubted any man could think her unattractive. He sure as hell didn’t.

  Reminded of that, he stalked a foot closer and grabbed her wrist, carrying her hand to his groin. Her mouth fell open as he forced her palm against his erection. “You know what that means, Red?”

  She nodded dumbly, so still she wasn’t even breathing.

  “What? Tell me what it means?”

  Her eyes left his face to stare at her hand, then to his face again. “That you’re excited.”

  “Right. Do you think I’d get excited over a homely woman?”

  She didn’t answer.

  He moved her hand, forcing her to stroke him,
driving himself crazy. “The answer is no,” he said with a rasp. “Now here’s another question.” The words were forced out through his teeth because Lizzy was no longer passive. Her hand had relaxed, opened, and her fingers curved around him. In a moment of wonder, Gabe realized he was the first guy she’d ever touched.

  It was a heady thought.

  He wasn’t having an easy time controlling himself, but two deep breaths later, he finally managed to say, “Do you think, Red, that this happens to me often?”

  “Yes.”

  That one breathy whispered word nearly made his knees buckle. He released her wrist and stepped back, but she leaned forward at the same time, maintaining the contact. “Well, you’re wrong.” He nearly strangled when she licked her lips in innocent, unthinking suggestion, her gaze still glued to his crotch. Gabe growled and said, “If you stroke me one more time you’re going to see the consequences.”

  He clenched his fists, tightened his thighs, and luckily she let him go. When he could focus again, Gabe looked at her. Blinking rapidly, Lizzy continued to study his body. Suddenly aware of his renewed attention, she looked him in the eyes and asked, “Can I feel you some more?”

  Yes. “No, not right now.”

  “When?”

  He nearly choked on a laugh. “You persistent, curious little witch,” he accused.

  “You…you don’t want me to?”

  “I want you to too much.”

  Her tongue came out to stroke her lips again, making his blood thicken. “Then…”

  “Tomorrow,” he said quickly, before she could push him over the edge with her wanton questions. Knowing she wanted him, knowing he’d be the first man she’d ever explored, that she’d learn from him, was possibly the strongest aphrodisiac known to man. “At the drive-in. We’ll go to second base, remember?”

  Her eyes were dreamy. “You promise?”

  Gabe gave one sharp nod while stifling a reflexive groan. He’d never survive. Was she wet right now? He’d be willing to bet she was, wet and hot, and he knew in every fiber of his being that she’d be so tight she’d kill him with pleasure. “I should go.”

  She came to her feet so fast she nearly stumbled over the sheet. Gabe caught her by the upper arms, heard her sharp intake of breath as his hands closed tightly on her burned skin, and he cursed himself. He released her, but she didn’t step away; she stepped closer.

  He felt like a total cad. “I can’t believe I’m here seducing you when you’re in pain.” He’d aroused her, but there wasn’t much chance of satisfying her without also causing her a lot of discomfort. She was so sunburned that just about any position would be impossible.

  Her big eyes stared at him with wonder. “You were seducing me?”

  Gabe stared at the ceiling, looking for inspiration but finding none. “What the hell did you think I was doing, Lizzy?”

  She said simply, “Playing with me.”

  “Oh, yeah.” A fresh surge of blood rushed to his groin, making him break out in a sweat. He felt every pulse beat in his erection, and ground his teeth with the need to finish what he’d started.

  He was so hard he hurt and he knew damn well he’d have a hell of a time sleeping tonight. “I’ll play with you, all right. Playing with a woman’s body is about the most pleasure a man can expect. And when a woman has a body like yours…I’m not sure I can live through it.”

  She stared at him while she chewed on her lips, and he could almost see the wheels turning. Gently, he touched a finger to her swollen mouth. “No, sweetheart, we can’t tonight. You’re in no shape to tussle with a man, and I’m too damn horny to be as careful as I’d need to be.”

  Her eyes flared over his blunt language, but he was too far gone to attempt romantic clichés. She touched his chest tentatively. “Would…would you like to just stay and talk for awhile?”

  So you can work on seducing me? He knew he should say no, should remove himself from temptation, but he couldn’t. She looked so hopeful, so sweet and aroused, he nodded. “Sure. Why don’t you go get a dry sheet and I’ll pour us some drinks. Sawyer did say you should have lots of fluids.”

  Her smile was beatific. “Okay.”

  Gabe watched the sassy sway of a perfect heart-shaped bottom and groaned anew. Damn, she was hot, and her being unaware of it only made her more so.

  He found two tall glasses in the cabinet and opened the tiny apartment-size fridge. There was orange juice, milk and one cola. He poured two glasses of orange juice and carried them into the living room. When he set them down, he again noticed the pictures on the shelves and walked closer to examine them.

  One was of a much younger Lizzy. Her red hair gave her away, although in the photo she wore long skinny braids and had braces on her teeth. Gabe grinned, thinking she looked oddly cute. An older woman with hair of a similar color, cut short and stylish, smiled into the camera while hugging Lizzy close. Her mother, Gabe decided, and felt a sadness for Lizzy’s loss. No child should ever lose a mother at such a young age.

  The other picture was of her father, sitting in a straight-backed chair, with Lizzy behind him. She had one pale hand on his shoulder; neither of them were smiling. Her father looked tired but kind, and Lizzy had an endearing expression of forbearance, as if she’d hated having the picture taken. She was older in this one, probably around seventeen. She was just starting to grow into her looks, he decided. Her freckles were more pronounced, her eyes too large, her chin too stubborn. Added years had softened her features and made them more feminine.

  As Gabe went to replace the framed photograph on the shelf, he caught sight of an album. Curious, thinking to find more pictures of her and her life, Gabe picked it up and settled into the sofa. A folded transcript of her grades fell out. As he’d suspected, Lizzy was an overachiever, with near perfect marks in every subject. She’d already received recognition from the dean for being at the head of her class. He shook his head, wondering how anyone could take life so seriously. Then he opened the album.

  What he found shocked him speechless.

  There were numerous clipped articles, all of them focusing on her mother’s death. They appeared to be from small hometown papers, and Gabe could relate because of all the fanfare he’d gotten in the local papers when he’d stopped the runaway boat.

  Only these articles didn’t appear to be very complimentary. Keeping one ear open for signs of Lizzy’s return, Gabe began to read.

  Girl fails to react: Eleanor Parks died in her car Saturday night after being forced off the road by a semi. The overturned car wasn’t visible from the road, and while Elizabeth Parks escaped with nonfatal injuries, shock kept her from seeking help. Medical authorities speculate that, with timely intervention, Mrs. Parks may well have survived.

  Appalled, Gabe read headline after headline, and with each word, a horrible ache expanded in his heart, making his chest too tight, his eyes damp. God, he could only imagine her torment.

  Daughter Slow to React: Mother Dies

  Unnecessary Death—The Trauma of Shock

  Daughter Stricken with Grief—Must Be Hospitalized

  Father Defends Daughter in Time of Grief

  What could it have felt like for a twelve-year-old child to accept the guilt of her mother’s death? Not only had she lost the one person she was likely closest to, but she’d been blamed by insensitive reporters and medical specialists.

  Feeling a cross between numbness and unbearable pain, Gabe carefully replaced the album beneath the photos. He thrust his fisted hands into his pockets and paced. So this was what had her in such an all-fire tizzy to interview heroes. He grunted to himself, fair sick of the damn word and its connotations. How could an intelligent, independent woman compare her reactions as a twelve-year-old child to those of a grown man? It was ludicrous, and he wanted to both shake her and cuddle her close, swearing that nothing would ever hurt her again.

  He swallowed hard against the tumultuous, conflicting emotions that left him feeling adrift, uncertain of himself a
nd his purpose. When he heard her bedroom door open, he stepped away from the shelves and crossed the carpeted floor to stare at her with volatile feelings that simmered close to erupting. They weren’t exactly joyous feelings, but feelings of acute awareness of her as a woman, him as a man, of the differences in their lives and how shallow he’d been in his assumptions.

  Lizzy, wrapped in a very soft, pale blue terry-cloth robe, widened her eyes at him and asked carefully, “Gabe? What’s wrong?”

  It felt like his damn heart was lodged in his throat, making it hard to swallow, doubly hard to speak. He hated it, hated himself and his cavalier attitude. Gently he cupped her face in his palms and bent to kiss her soft mouth, which still trembled slightly with the urges he’d deliberately created. He’d thought to say something soothing to her, something reassuring, but as her mouth opened and her hands sought his shoulders, Gabe decided on a different approach.

  He’d get Lizzy over her ridiculous notions of guilt. He’d make her see herself as he saw her—a sexy, adorable woman filled with mysteries and depth. And he’d make damn sure she enjoyed herself in the bargain.

  CHAPTER 7

  ELIZABETH FELT like she was floating, her feet never quite touching the ground. She said hello to the people she passed on the main street while heading to the diner to meet Misty and Honey Hudson. She hadn’t had much sleep the night before, having been too tightly strung from wanting Gabe and from the slight lingering discomfort of her sunburn.

  Today it was a toss-up as to which bothered her more. Gabe had stayed an additional hour, but he hadn’t resumed the heated seduction. Instead, he’d been so painstakingly gentle, so filled with concern and comfort, it had been all she could do not to curl up on his lap and cuddle. He’d have let her. Heck, he’d tried several times to instigate just such a thing.