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"I don't think you really want me to do that, Jenny," he murmured dryly.
"Why?"
"Because if I let go of your hands, I have to put mine somewhere else." He looked down pointedly at
her blouse. "And there's real y only one place I want to put them right now."
Her chest rose and fell quickly, unsteadily. His closeness and the long abstinence and the sun and
warmth of the day were all working on her. Her eyes met his suddenly and the contact was like an
electric jolt. All
the memories came rushing back, al the old hungers.
"Do you remember that day you fell off the horse?" he asked in a soft, low tone, while bees buzzed
somewhere nearby. "And your blouse came open, and I looked down and you arched your back so
that I could see you even better."
Her lips parted and she shook her head nervously.
"Oh, but you did," he breathed. "I'd seen you, watching my mouth, wondering ...
and that day, it all came to a head. I looked at you and I wanted you. So simply. So hungrily. I barely
came to my senses in time, and before I did, I was hugging the life out of you. And you were letting
me."
She remembered that, too. It had been so glorious, being held that way.
He let go of her hands all at once and slid his arms around her, half lifting her off her feet. "Hard,
Jenny," he whispered, drawing her slowly to him, so that she could feel her breasts flattening against
his warm chest. It was like being naked against him.
She caught her breath and moaned. His cheek slid against hers and he buried his face in her throat.
His arms tightened convulsively. And he rocked her, and rocked her, and she clung to him while all
around them the wind blew and the sun burned, and the world seemed to disappear.
His breath came roughly and his arms trembled. "I don't feel this with other women," he said after a
while. "You make me hungry."
"As you keep reminding me," she whispered back, "I'm not on the menu."
"Yes, I know." He brushed his mouth against her throat and then lifted his head and slowly released
her. "No more of that," he said on a rueful sigh, "unless you'd like to try making love on horseback.
I've got a man coming to see me about a new bull."
Her eyes widened. "Can people really make..." She turned away, shaking her head.
"I don't know," he murmured, chuckling at her shyness. "I've never tried it. But there's always a first
time."
"You just keep your hands to yourself," she cautioned as he put her into the saddle and climbed up
behind her.
"I'm doing my best, honey," he said dryly. He reached around her to catch the reins and his arm moved
lazily across her breasts, feeling the hardened tips. "Oh, Jenny," he breathed shakily, "next time you'd
better wear an overcoat."
She wanted to stop him, she really did. But the feel of that muscular forearm was doing terribly
exciting things to her. She felt her muscles tauten in a dead giveaway.
She knew it was going to happen even as he let go of the reins and his hands slid around her to lift and
cup her breasts. She let him, turning her cheek against his chest with a tiny cry.
"The sweetest torture on earth," he whispered unsteadily. His hands were so tender, so gentle. He
made no move to open the blouse, although he must have known that he could, that she would have let
him. His lips moved warmly at her temple. "Jenny, you shouldn't let me touch you like this."
"Yes, I know," she whispered huskily. Her hands moved over his to pul them away, but they lingered
on his warm brown fingers. Her head moved against his chest weakly.
"Do you want to lie down on the grass with me and make love?" he asked softly.
"We could, just for a few minutes. We could kiss and touch each other, and nothing more."
She wanted to. She wanted it more than she wanted to breathe. But it was too soon.
She wasn't sure of him. She only knew that he wanted her desperately and that she didn't dare pave the
way for him. It was just a game to him. It kept him from getting bored while he found himself a wife.
She loved him, but love on one side would never be enough.
"No, Rett," she said, although the words were torn from her. She moved his hands gently down, to her
waist, and pressed them there. "No."
He drew away in a long, steady breath. "Levelheaded Jenny," he said finally. "Did you know?"
"Know what?"
"That if I'd gotten you on the grass, nothing would have saved you?"
She smiled ruefully. "It was kind of the other way around." She felt him shudder, and she turned and
pressed herself into his arms. "I want you, too. Please don't do this to me. I can't be what you want.
Please, let me decorate your house and go away. Don't hurt me any more, Rett."
He lifted and turned her so that she was lying across the saddle in his arms. He held her close and
took the reins in his hand. "I'm going to have to rethink my strategy, I'm afraid." He sighed. "It isn't
working."
She looked up. "What do you mean?"
He searched her eyes and bent and kissed her forehead softly. "Never mind, kitten.
You're safe now. Just relax. I'll take you home."
She snuggled close and closed her eyes. This was a memory she'd keep as long as she lived, of riding
across the meadow in Everett's arms on a lovely autumn morning. His wife would have other
memories. But this one would always be her own, in the long, lonely years ahead. Her hand touched
his
chest lightly, and her heart ached for him. If only he could love her back. But love wasn't a word he
trusted anymore, and she couldn't really blame him. He'd been hurt too much. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]