“Don’t make my past into some great dramatic tragedy, Jemma, because it’s not. I’m a loner. Things worked out for the best.”
A loner. A man who needed no one. Perhaps he was like Grandpa, she reasoned. A man whose sense of adventure was greater than his love of family. A man whose home was the world at large, not just one tiny corner of it. When she thought of Grandpa Hall, she could fully understand what Hunter Boone meant by being a loner.
He was a man who wanted no ties. No future with a family. He wasn’t looking to tie a woman down with any marriage agreement, wasn’t looking to fill his coffers with her money. His life was his own and he liked it that way.
She understood completely and began to see him in a whole new light. “If you’re such a loner, why did you decide to take me with you?”
“I didn’t have much choice. It was either bring you along or have you solicit the wrong person and end up in the back room of one of those barrelhouses raped or dead. I knew you were safe with me.”
“So more than being a loner, you are a man of honor.”
He ignored her observation. “Do you mind telling me the truth?”
The truth? She waited to hear exactly what part of the truth he wanted.
“What were you doing out on the streets alone? Where did you come from?”
“I told you. The ship I was on had just docked. That’s the gospel truth, Mr. Boone.”
“The ship from Algiers?”
Her gaze slipped away and so did the truth. “Yes.” She decided to change the subject. It was far, far safer that way. “Like you, I’m not looking for attachments, either.” She sat back down beside the fire.
“Just your father and brother. In Canada.”
It took her a moment to remember, and then she quickly nodded in agreement. “That’s right.”
As they sat there chatting, an idea began to nag at her. It was outrageous. It would require her to be downright brazen, but there was only one way to satisfy the curiosity that had been planted with the kiss he had given her in the Rotgut.
“Since you are a self-proclaimed loner, perhaps you wouldn’t mind kissing me again.”
“What?” He became perfectly still, looking at her as if she had just lost her mind.
“Experimentally, of course.”
“Why?”
Jemma shrugged and tried to voice her opinion in a logical fashion. “It has to happen sometime, doesn’t it? To me, that is. It might as well be now.”
“What has to happen?”
She was afraid his big green eyes might roll right out of his head. She started talking faster.
“Kissing. Let’s face it. We’ve been alone together for over a week. I’ve found you to be just the man I thought you were. You are trustworthy and a man of honor. You obviously aren’t interested in women—”
“Hold on a minute—”
“I mean, enough to want to settle down. You said yourself you are a loner.”
He cleared his throat. “I am, but—”
“Exactly. You aren’t looking for attachments. You can remain clear and objective.”
“About what?”
“Kissing. I want to know all about it. I want you to show me the differences. I need to know what to watch out for. I’m a woman alone in the world right now, Hunter Boone, and when it comes to kissing … and all the rest … well, I’m utterly uneducated.”
“I thought you said the nuns covered it pretty thoroughly.”
“Yes, in theory. I’ve had no real experience, except for the kiss you gave me in New Orleans.”
“That was for protection purposes only.” He actually looked shaken.
“So you see. Another aspect of the whole. Obviously, you can remain clear and objective.”
“Objective.” He shook his head. “Do you think you can remain objective, Jemma?”
“Of course. Why not?”
“You are obviously very innocent.”
She brushed off the knees of the baggy wool trousers. “Did you really think I was a whore when I approached you on the street?”
“It crossed my mind. Why are you smiling like that?”
“I’m just thinking about what my father would say if he heard this conversation.” She knew Thomas O’Hurley would probably lose ten years off his life. “Will you help me?”
“Kiss you, you mean?”
“Yes.”
He sat there looking at her for a long while, simply staring at her across the fire as if either he were having trouble making up his mind, or he thought she had completely lost hers while she was frying bacon. She didn’t think she was asking too much. All the man had to do was pucker up and kiss her a few times, stressing the differences in technique. Judging from the way her body had reacted to him at the Rotgut, she suspected he’d already done most everything except slip his tongue into her mouth, which would be the ultimate step before … well, before the unspeakable. They would never get that far.
“What do you think?” She was beginning to feel uncomfortable under such intense scrutiny.
“I think you need to move closer if you’re serious about this.”
She got to her knees and crawled the short distance around the fire until she was kneeling beside him.
“I’m so glad you’re willing to help.”
“Only because I’d hate to have you stumble into trouble later on.” His lips were twitching at the corners again.
“You look as if you’re trying not to laugh, Hunter Boone. What do I do first?”
“Close your eyes.”
She closed her eyes and puckered her lips. Jemma sensed him moving closer. She had a thought and opened her eyes, only to find him very close, staring very intently.
“I was thinking, perhaps you should tell me what you’re doing, right before you do it, so I’ll know the difference.”
“You’ll know the difference.”
“Instinctively, you mean?”
“Yeah, something like that.” He was smiling again. “Close your eyes and I’ll give you the kind of kiss a man gives a woman when he kisses her for the first time.”
“A socially acceptable kiss,” she said.
“A first-time kiss.”
She closed her eyes. Her heart fluttered like a leaf in the wind. Hunter put his hand on her shoulder and pulled her closer, but not too close. His breath was warm on her face. So were his lips when he touched his mouth to hers. It was barely a touch, more of a stroke, an invitation for more. His lips met hers and pressed gently against her closed mouth. Just as she had in the bar, she experienced a warm, heady sensation that spread like slow molasses through her veins.
Suddenly his lips were gone and the kiss was over. She found herself wanting the closeness to go on and on. She felt cheated of something that had beckoned just beyond that simple meeting of mouths. Slowly, she opened her eyes.
His face was still near, his eyes dark, contemplative. She had to clear her throat to speak.
“What comes next?”
“I’ll kiss you the way a man kisses a woman he’s known a while. You shouldn’t let anyone kiss you like this unless you want him to.”
“Should I close my eyes?”
He nodded. She did.
His lips were on hers before she was ready. There was no gentle invitation to this kiss. It began with more intent, with a sense of purpose. His lips were actually moving against hers, his mouth pressing harder than that first time. She felt compelled to reach up and slip her arms around his shoulders for fear that she might tip over backwards.
By hugging him, she was able to steady herself, to give resistance to his pressure. It was all very stimulating. She actually felt tingles run through her. Before she knew what to think, she felt his tongue teasing the seam of her lips. A shiver ran down her spine and back up again. She held on tighter, shocked and delighted by the warm, slippery, seductive feel of his tongue as he traced her lips again and again.
He pulled back abruptly this time, so suddenly in fact,
that she had no time to let go and nearly fell against him. Hunter steadied her. The smile had faded from his mouth—probably, she suspected, because they had reached the more serious part of the lesson. He seemed to be having a hard time breathing.
“Are you all right?” she asked softly.
“Yeah. I’m … I’m all right. You need to open your mouth.”
“I need to what?” Indescribable things were already happening to her. She shuddered to think what might occur if she did as he asked and took another big step.
“Open your mouth.”
She knew what he was asking. Sister had outlined the forbidden act of open-mouth kissing in glorious detail. Definitely, the nun had warned, this sort of activity would lead to other things. Now Hunter Boone wanted her to actually open her mouth when he kissed her.
She was on the brink of one of life’s darkest carnal secrets. She was terrified. She was exhilarated. There was no way she was going to let this moment slip away.
“All right,” she said, adjusting her arms on his shoulders. “I’ll do it.”
“This is the kind of a kiss,” he whispered, “that you shouldn’t let anyone give you unless you’re ready to … unless you want …”
“More.”
“Yeah. More.”
“I understand.”
“I don’t think you do, but I’ll try to show you.”
He slipped his hand behind her head, cradled her, and turned her so that his mouth, when he brought it down to meet hers, slashed across her lips. She was so overwhelmed by the force of the kiss that she had forgotten to open her mouth as he requested. When his tongue stroked her lips, she remembered. Shock waves rocked her to the core when his tongue slid into her mouth and teased hers. More than molasses was flowing inside her now. She was melting in unspeakable places.
Her body was drawn to his like a magnet. He was still sitting back against the log. She went from kneeling beside him to pressing against him full length. His hard, muscled thighs were like stone. His arm tightened around her; his hand continued to cradle the back of her head, but she no longer needed the silent instruction to move her mouth against his.
Their tongues swirled around each other. Teased, tempted, tasted. She heard Hunter groan low in his throat. An intense desire to get closer was nearly driving her over the edge of rational thinking. She began to wonder what it would be like to feel his skin against hers and the very thought made her ache all over with a forbidden need.
When she felt his hand moving over her shirt, playing along her ribs, trailing up to the underside of her breast, she quivered with shock and the heat of desire. Oh, how easy it would be to slip over the edge, to abandon herself to this man and let him show her, step by step, what to avoid in the future.
She flattened herself against him, forcing him to cup her breast. This time she moaned, unable to stop the sound when the unbearable pleasure of his touch was nearly overwhelming. She was definitely on the verge of throwing caution to the wind and trying a few other things right now.
Suddenly, he was no longer caressing her breast, no longer laving her mouth with his tongue. He put his hands on her shoulders and pushed her back to her knees. She opened her eyes and nearly burst into tears at the sheer, unsettling notion that the lesson was over.
Shaken, she reached up and tried to shove her curls into some semblance of order. Her breath was coming fast and shallow. Her hands were unsteady.
“I’m sorry,” he apologized.
She couldn’t quite put two thoughts together and simply stared at him. At his lips, in particular.
He looked down at his hand as if he’d never seen it before, as if it had a life of its own. “I didn’t mean for things to go that far.”
Jemma opened her mouth to speak, couldn’t get a sound out, then closed it and swallowed before she tried again.
“Of … of course you didn’t. I see now, why Sister Augusta Aleria was so adamant about never engaging in open-mouth kissing. The sins of the flesh.” How easy it had been to let her traitorous body lead her astray. It was astounding to realize she wasn’t virtuous at all. When she thought of poor St. Apollonia, the aged virgin who had all her teeth broken out, of St. Thecla and all the other virgin martyrs who had fought and died to preserve their virtue and their faith, she was convinced they had never met a man who could kiss like Hunter Boone.
“From now on, maybe you should avoid kissing altogether,” he told her.
His voice was gravelly in his throat. There was a very pinched, uncomfortable look on his face. Hunter ran a hand through his hair, drew his leg up, and casually draped his arm across it. She wondered how he could be so unaffected when she felt as if she were about to come out of her skin.
It was a struggle to get to her feet, to leave his side when all she wanted was to have him kiss her again. She wanted to experience the wild tingle, the spreading molasses, the fire, the forbidden heat again and again.
“I’ll take the first watch,” he offered, but he didn’t budge.
“All right.” She was back on her side of the fire. More than happy to bed down and think about his kisses without having to watch the camp, she quickly agreed. She was eager to let her mind wander over and over the experience, committing it to memory.
Jemma slipped into her jacket, then crawled beneath her blanket and pulled it up to her chin. Before she lay down, she lifted herself up on an elbow and smiled at him across the fire.
“Good night, Hunter,” she whispered.
It was a minute or two before he responded. “ ’Night, Jemma.”
Kissing.
What in the hell had he been thinking? Rock-hard and aching for release, Hunter watched Jemma roll up like a contented little snail and nestle down for the night. He, on the other hand was left to suffer the result of his foolish attempt to teach her a lesson, and had learned a hard one himself.
He was not as immune to Jemma as he had fooled himself into thinking. Day after day, night after night, he had fought not to become captivated by her impish dimples, her flashing eyes, or that lush, ripe young body just made for loving.
Things had almost gotten out of hand a few moments ago. He shook his head when he realized things had been damn well in hand a few minutes ago. Her breasts had felt full and ripe—just the right size, as far as he was concerned. Her lips were tempting and sensually seductive. She was a more than willing pupil. Even though he cursed himself for noticing, a man couldn’t help but observe certain things, even a self-proclaimed loner.
He was a loner, despite the distractions and obligations that fate had continually thrown in his way. In his heart he always had been. It was his drive for open spaces on the frontier that had led him out of Ohio when his mother died, but that trip had been coupled with duty. He had carved a place out of the wilderness for his brother Luther and Luther’s wife Hannah and their children. When Sandy Shoals was established, he had stayed on to help Luther expand the farm to include a trading post and tavern on the river.
His own dream had always been to head further west, to the far reaches where few white men had ever trespassed. Just when the post was beginning to flourish and he was about to set out on his own, Amelia White had arrived on a flatboat headed to New Orleans. When she looked up at him and smiled, he had lost his head and forgotten his dreams. She had been his one great mistake.
Traveling downriver with her daughter Lucy, aiming to make a name for herself as a singer, Amelia had taken stock of the trading post, the tavern, and the admiration in his eyes. When the flatboat swung back into the current and continued on with the other passengers, Amelia and her daughter had stayed behind.
She had never loved him. He had realized that with an embarrassing clarity the day he returned from fighting alongside the other Kentucky recruits under Andrew Jackson and learned she had not only walked out, but had taken his and Luther’s hard-earned savings with her. The woman had even gone so far as to abandon young Lucy, her daughter by some long-ago lover.
Now her
e he sat, staring across the fire at a sleeping Jemma-with-no-last-name. No matter how much time he spent with this girl, he doubted that he could ever fathom the workings of her mind. Her romantic wool-gathering had quickly spun what was nothing more than a tale of rejection and duplicity between him and Amelia into unrequited love; then immediately she had turned the tables and wanted him to teach her about kissing.
Hunter picked up a handful of pine needles and began tossing them, one by one, into the fire. He doubted he’d ever get the truth out of her, but he was more than happy to let her live a lie for the rest of the journey.
It would be easier knowing she could never completely trust him with her secrets than to become close enough to gain her confidence. All he had to do now was keep from thinking about the way his body had reacted to hers when she was in his arms, keep his distance, and see her upriver. Then he’d be done with it.
After that she was on her own. Someone else could worry about St. Theresa and her damned dimples.
They were up at first light. After a hasty meal of ground corn mush and coffee, Hunter set the ponies to work; they quickly turned surly, offended by the task of hauling fallen logs into the water. He chose a bend in the river where the current eddied slowly and curled back on itself, so that the logs were not lost as soon as they hit the water. He left Jemma nearly waist-deep in river water, howling like a screech owl for him to hurry while she held on to a rope that kept the raft from swinging out into the current.
“Are there any alligators in here?”
He could hear her shouting as he worked the ponies down the riverbank with the last load.
“No. Too far north.”
“How do you know? There were hundreds in that lake we crossed outside New Orleans—”
“Pontchartrain.”
“How do you know for certain they don’t crawl this far north? How do you know there isn’t one somewhere nearby working up an appetite? I really don’t think I’m the one to be standing here in this water. Do you know how long it’s going to take my clothes to dry? Last time we crossed a river it took hours, and these things itch in unmentionable places.”
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