Aspen Gold (46 page)

He nibbled his way along its ridge, then began a slow and leisurely exploration of her neck and throat with his mouth, his teeth, and his tongue.

For Kit, it was like sinking into a dream, too impossibly beautiful to be real, because he made her feel loved.

Even as his mouth continued its downward journey, his hands moved to her rib cage and lifted her higher on his body. He cupped a hand around her left breast and lightly, so very lightly, rubbed his lips over a nipple, teasing it until it was taut and aching. A protest against this torment formed on her lips, then dissolved in a sigh when his mouth closed around it, flexing in languid, sucking motions. It was death and life all rolled into one. She dug her fingers into his hair, trembling when he shifted to her other breast and laved it with his tongue and mouth, too.

With a slight turn of his body, he slid Kit off him and onto her side, then continued his downward travels, intent on carpeting every inch of her with his moist kisses, from her navel to the curve of her hip, down her long thigh to the point of her knee, along her calf to the break of her ankle, over the sensitive skin of her arch to her instep, from her toes to her heel, leaving her alone in the darkness, adrift in the sensation of it, unsure how she came to be on her stomach while he made his way up the back to nuzzle the hollow behind her knee, trail kisses over her bottom, linger at the dip at the base of her spine, then follow her backbone up to her shoulder blades. He scraped her hair aside, exposing the back of her neck and kissing every cord and muscle in it.

Never, never had she felt so loved, so cherished. Cherished. That was the word. She felt cherished by him, something to be treasured, to be treated with loving care and deep tenderness.

He turned her into his arms, at last seeking her lips. She lengthened the kiss, needing him, wanting him. She hadn't known she could feel so weak yet so strong, so limp yet so excited.

Dear God, but she wanted this moment to last into forever.

She drew back. "Let me touch you, Bannon."

He hesitated, then let his hands trail off her arms, and rolled his shoulders back onto the mattress. "I want you to."

For an instant she simply stared at him, the long, lean length of his body, the muscles coiled under darkly tanned skin. Rangy and loose-limbed, his body had been toughened by physical work, bronzed by the elements into something sleek and powerful.

"I like the way you look." She stroked a hand over the long ropes of muscles in his chest. "I like the way you feel."

Lowering her head, she brushed her lips over his shoulders--shoulders wide enough for her to lean on if she wanted to, but not so wide they overwhelmed her. The muscles in his arms were strong and hard, strong enough to protect her if she wanted to be protected, yet she knew they'd never try to dominate her. And his hands--she picked one up and pressed it to her face--they'd never hold her back; they were the kind that would always be there to reach out and welcome her.

She pressed a kiss in the center of his palm, her mouth opening to breathe in the scent of him, her tongue darting out to lick the salty flavor of his skin. "I like the way you taste."

His fingers closed around her chin. "Come here."

She leaned down, pausing just short of his lips and smiling. "And I definitely like the way you think."

As he kissed her, his hands shifted her on top of him, their bodies matching, fitting, and again he was inside her. "Ride me, Kit," he growled the words in his throat. "Ride me hard."

She did, and her hands braced on his shoulders, his hands on her hips, his body urging her relentlessly on. There was madness here; she knew it. It was impossible to feel so much and still need more, impossible for the pleasure to keep building and not explode. Impossible.

When she was on the edge of going over, he flipped her onto her back, his hands sliding up her forearms, his palms covering hers, his fingers linking tightly with her own. His face was inches above her, his eyes not letting her look at anything else but him. She thought he whispered her name, but she was beyond hearing, beyond thinking as she wrapped her legs around him, discovering pleasure alone was a mild thing, but pleasure combined with love was all.

The soft pearling gray of dawn glowed outside the bedroom window, the hint of light making itself felt on her closed eyes. Kit stirred and instantly became aware of the tight bands that held her, trapped her--and the block of heat pressed against her, running from shoulder to toe.

Bannon. She smiled at the

discovery she was nestled against him, their bodies molded together spoon-fashion, his arm encircling the front of her rib cage to keep her close to him, its tickling of hairs barely brushing the soft undersides of her breasts. With growing awareness, she became conscious of his warm, moist breath near her ear, the faint bristle of his night beard snagging her hair, and the male scent of him that always reminded her of deep forests and high mountains, a scent earthy and fresh with an indefinable tang to it. She snuggled closer and felt the imprint of his morning hardness against her bottom. She pushed against it and his arm immediately tightened.

"You'd better be awake," he murmured, a deep throaty sound still gravelly with sleep.

"More or less," she whispered back.

A second later she was consumed by the need to see him, to see his face, the granite chin and brow, the sometimes impenetrable darkness of his wide, deeply set eyes, and the roughly molded cheekbones. His arm loosened its grip, letting her turn to face him, their heads lying on the same pillow.

She'd never looked more beautiful to him, all tousled and drowsy, her eyes all heavy and darkly aglow, her lips soft and full in repose. It was impossible not to think of all the mornings he'd missed waking up with her beside him.

He wanted to tell her, but he didn't have the glibness of the men she must have known in Hollywood, of men like Travis. All he had were the feelings inside him and he couldn't find the words to explain them. Words weren't feelings.

"Good morning." Reaching up, she ran a forefinger over the stubble on his chin, liking the pleasant rasp of it.

"Good morning." He caught her fingers and pressed them to his lips, then lowered them and held her hand against his chest, letting her feel the solid beat of his heart. "Happy?" he asked, then felt the sudden sharp pang of fear. What would he do if she ever wasn't? He'd never be able to bear seeing her look at him with silent loathing and reproach the way Diana had.

"Mmmm, I'm somewhere between happy and delirious," she murmured. "Bordering on ecstatic."

He smiled in silent relief. "Do you know you're a very dangerous woman when you're sleeping? Your arms and legs fly all over the place."

"I have a tendency to attack sleep," Kit admitted.

"The same way you attack life."

"I guess." She drew back a little. "You seem to have survived the attack. I don't see any damage."

"I found a solution."

"What was that?"

"To hold you." He carried her hand to his lips again and started kissing the ends of her fingers one by one. "In the beginning, it was out of sheer self-defense, but the minute I took you in my arms, you curled against me like a snuggly kitten.

You even made a little sound in your throat that sounded like a purr. Of course, you could have been snoring."

"I don't snore." She opened her eyes wide, wondering if she did.

"Then it must have been a purr." There was a twinkle in his eyes that told her he was only teasing.

She relaxed again, a smile forming on her lips. "To tell you the truth, I feel like a cat right now. I want to stretch and arch up against you--"

"Why don't you?"

She caught back a breath, a joy and a pain squeezing her heart. In the next second, their lips and tongues were meeting, her hips and stomach arching against his, her arms snaking around him.

Morning love. Before it was over, Kit discovered how much she loved the slow and lazy languor of morning love. Morning love that filled her up and emptied her out. Morning love that left the bright glow of sunshine in every corner.

She lay contented in his arms, his lips idly rubbing themselves against her forehead.

"Would you believe I have to be in court today?"

he murmured. "Probably all day."

She tilted her head back to look at him, cupping a hand to his face. "I guess that means we should get up."

"I guess it does."

"I could put some coffee on."

"We could take a shower." He touched his mouth to hers, then drew back when she tried to deepen it into an actual kiss. "I'll wash your back."

"I like that idea."

"I thought you might."

"But I have a better one."

"Oh?" He eyed her skeptically.

"I'll put the coffee on now so it will be done when we finish our shower."

"Efficiency. I like that in a woman."

"I have my moments, but not many," she warned, then slipped free of his arms and climbed out of bed, dragging a corner of the top sheet with her, pulling it the rest of the way loose from the foot and wrapping it around her sarong-style--not out of any desire to conceal her nudity from Bannon's eyes, but rather to ward off the room's morning chill.

When she came back upstairs a scant few minutes later, Kit heard water gushing from the shower head in the bathroom. She followed the sound and found Bannon there, testing the temperature of the water and adjusting the taps. She paused a moment in the doorway, her gaze drifting over the rippling bronze muscles in his back, his hard lean flanks and tight bottom. The thought crossed her mind that he had a gorgeous tush.

As if sensing her presence, Bannon glanced over his shoulder.

"For a minute I though you'd started without me."

Kit said as she peeled off the sheet and tossed it in a corner.

"Not a chance."

He moved to one side of the shower door, letting her be the first to step beneath the steaming spray.

Following her inside, he closed the door.

Water coursed over both of them. Bannon lifted her face to it as his arms curved around her and drew her back against him.

So many warm feelings flowed through her that she couldn't separate them all. For now it was enough to be close to him, to be held, to be loved.

Bannon turned her to face him, his mouth fastening on hers in a wet kiss, water streaming down their faces. She kissed him back, stunned to feel passion flaring again so quickly.

"I thought you were going to wash my back."

"I am," he said. "This way."

Belatedly, she felt the bar of soap in the hand he ran down her spine. She closed her eyes, hearing the spray of water striking the sides of the stall and feeling the enervating steam as it billowed around them. His soapy hands slid over her, spreading the lather, not content to wash only her back, but spreading it to the front as well, until there was soap on both of them, its scent citrusy and clean.

Kit leaned into him, her arms limply curved around his back, her hands firm on his shoulders.

Water sprayed over her, gently pummeling muscle and skin, sluicing off the soap. His mouth was at her ear, his tongue exploring its shell while his hands continued their lathering journey over her body, their touch soothing and arousing at the same time.

Shifting, Bannon maneuvered both of them under the wide rush of water from the shower head, letting it stream onto them. While they stood there, hot, slick, and entangled, he slipped into her. She dug her hands into his shoulders as he took her there, amid the steam and the water and the sharp, fresh fragrance of soap.

In a sash-tied robe andwitha cup of coffee in hand, Kit walked Bannon to the door. He pushed his hat on his head and turned, taking her by the shoulders.

"Don't worry about the Jeep. I'll have Hec get some gas in it and bring it back to you."

"Thanks." She rubbed her free hand up and down the front of his fleece-lined parka, feeling very wifely and liking the feeling of seeing her man off to work.

He bent his head and kissed her in a warm and amazingly tender, lip-nuzzling fashion, then straightened and reached for the doorknob. "I'll talk to you tonight."

Smiling, she echoed the promise, "Tonight."

She stayed in the doorway to wave to him when he drove out.

Through a break in the cloud cover, the moon cast its pale light over the Stone Creek ranch yard, silvering the snow-draped clearing. A whispering wind went about its night's work, stirring up the crystalline powder and sculpting the snow into new drifts, playfully scattering some on the shoveled walk to the house.

It crunched softly underfoot, the stillness magnifying the sound as Bannon made his way to the stone steps. Lights glowed a warm welcome from the windows of the old log house, smoke curled from the chimney, tainting the night air with the smell of wood smoke. On the porch, Bannon stomped the snow from his boots, and hearing the bark of coyotes, threw a glance in the

direction of the winter pasture. He left them to their conversation and went inside.

"Hi, Dad." Laura sat curled in a chair in front of the television set, absently playing with a lock of long dark hair. His father dozed in another chair, but snorted awake at Laura's greeting.

"Hi, yourself. Got your homework all done, I hope." He hooked his hat on a peg and shrugged out of his wool topcoat.

"All done." A commercial came on and she climbed out of the chair to wander over to him. "Did you win your case?"

"In a way." He tugged at the already-loosened knot of his striped tie and pulled it the rest of the way free, leaving the ends hanging around his neck. "The other side didn't like the testimony from some of our witnesses. They made an offer to settle. After some negotiations, our side took it."

"Is that how come you're so late?" Old Tom pushed stiffly out of his chair and went over to poke the fire.

Bannon nodded. "We had to get it all down in black and white, and it took some time to get the documents worded to the satisfaction of both sides.

But it means I won't have to be back in court tomorrow."