Calder Storm (7 page)

“Next time I'll try to be sure I'm struck on the cheek,” Trey replied in a similar tone. “So, who won the race? Did Johnny make it all the way around the track?”

“He made it all right,” the girl confirmed. “When he came around the turn, he was so far ahead of the others, it looked like Johnny was going to be an easy winner. About twenty yards from the finish, the horse spooked—who knows at what—turned end for end and went into a bucking frenzy. Johnny stuck tight as a burr on that saddle, but he couldn't get that crazy bronc to turn around in time. The casino team won.” Her shoulders lifted in a fatalistic shrug. “Now Johnny's spittin' mad, stomping around, cursing his luck.”

“He'll get over it,” Trey said without sympathy.

“He'd better. Right now he isn't fit to be around.”

Finished with the antiseptic, the paramedic put it away and took out a prepackaged bandage. Sloan threw him a sharply questioning look.

“Aren't you going to put stitches in it first?” she challenged, darting another glance at the gaping cut.

“I probably could,” the man conceded. “But these butterfly bandages work just about as well at holding the flesh together as stitches do. And they're a lot less painful.”

“You know best,” Sloan admitted, then found herself the subject of the blonde's openly curious stare.

Trey took notice of it as well and made the introductions. “Sloan Davis, meet Kelly Ramsey. Her dad works at the Triple C.”

The young blonde was quick to stretch out her hand. “Hi. I remember seeing you with Trey last night in town.”

“That's right.” Sloan clasped the girl's hand in brief greeting.

“Say,” Kelly began, dividing a bright glance between them, “a bunch of us are going to the street dance tonight. You two are welcome to join us.”

Sloan didn't hesitate in her answer. “Don't count on me. I'm going to pass on the street dance tonight.”

“Too bad. They're a blast,” Kelly declared and took a preparatory step back. “I guess I'll go see if Johnny's cooled off any. Catch you later, Trey.”

Trey responded with an acknowledging lift of his hand, then sat silently while the paramedic applied the bandage to the cut. When the man finished, he turned away and began tidying up the area as he said, “You know the drill, Calder—keep the wound clean and dry, change the dressing in a day or two, so on and so forth.”

“No problem.” Trey rose from the chair. “And thanks.”

“Don't thank me,” the man countered. “Just be glad you Calders are a hard-headed lot.”

“Always.” Trey grinned and eased his hat back on, taking care to keep the band away from the bandage's adhesive ends. There was a twinkle in his eyes when he moved to Sloan's side. “Satisfied?”

Amusement tugged at the corners of her mouth, but she was serious when she said, “At least now you don't look like something out of a Halloween movie.”

“That bad, was it?” As one, they drifted in the direction of the arena.

“It was.”

His interest in small talk faded the closer they got to the chutes and the mix of contestants and onlookers. And Trey was reminded of the shortness of time they had.

“Did you mean that about not going to the street dance tonight?” He let his gaze travel over her face, certain he would never tire of looking at it.

She nodded and slid him a quick look. “Last night was fun, but once is enough,” she said, then admitted, “I've never been much of a party-hearty type.”

“After a while it gets to be all the same, doesn't it? A lot of drinking, loud talking, and equally loud laughter.” That hadn't always been his attitude. Yet lately Trey had noticed that rowdy nights spent carousing had lost much of their excitement and fun. “So what are your plans instead?”

“I haven't really made any. But after two days of the crowds and noise, a quiet dinner somewhere sounds good.”

The prospect appealed to him, too. But he knew the unlikelihood of that happening. “I don't think there's a place in town where you can have a quiet dinner this weekend. But I do know a good place to eat.”

“Not another picnic,” she teased.

His answering smile was wide. “No. I had in mind a sit-down dinner with someone else doing the serving. Are you game?”

“What time?”

“Whenever you say.”

Halting, she checked her watch, made some quick mental calculations, then cast a thoughtful look over the chute area. “I'm losing the natural light. From now on it's going to be a battle to get a good shot with the sun at this angle. Since the rodeo will still be going on tomorrow, there isn't any reason why I can't wrap it up for today and head back to the motel. Say, an hour to shower and change, and I could meet you for dinner sometime between six-thirty and seven. Is that all right?”

“That will give me time to clean up, too.”

“You need it. There's blood on your shirt and a few crusty bits of it near your temple.” Without thinking, Sloan reached up and touched the places, then felt a modicum of surprise at the sense of freedom she felt to do it. It was rare for her to be the one to initiate contact. “But don't get the bandage wet,” she added in quick admonishment.

“Yes ma'am.” The laughing glint in his eyes was at direct odds to his polite answer. “Do you want to meet in the lobby, or shall I come by your room?”

“Let's make it my room.” The answer was given in an off-hand
delivery, but she felt anything but off-hand the instant the words were uttered. Her choice suggested a familiarity and intimacy between them that they hadn't yet reached. With a sudden, heady rush of certainty, Sloan realized it was something she wanted.

“I'll be there with bells on,” Trey told her, his voice a little husky with promise.

“With bells on,” she repeated and released a short, soft laugh. “What a strange expression. I've never understood what it means.”

“It's not so strange,” Trey stated. “It goes back to the old days out West. Back then, when a cowboy got dressed up to go to town, he attached jingle-bobs to his spurs.”

“Really?” She injected the single word with both doubt and hope.

“Really.”

“I'm glad. I like the story.” Again her gaze strayed to the chutes. “I wonder if anybody is wearing jingle-bobs on their spurs. That would be a great shot.” Sloan caught herself and laughed. “That better wait until tomorrow or I won't be ready when you knock at my door tonight.” With an odd reluctance, she moved away from him. “See you in a bit.”

As far as Trey was concerned, the time couldn't pass soon enough. Turning, he headed in the direction of the pickup parked in the infield.

 

Six-thirty on the dot Trey arrived at the door to Sloan's motel room. There was a dark sheen to his hair, still damp from his recent shower, and his face was shaved smooth of any end-of-the-day stubble. Blood ran hot and strong through his veins, part of the heady anticipation that put the dark and eager sparkle in his eyes.

A rap of his knuckles on the door drew an immediate and muffled response. “Be right there.”

The seconds' wait seemed interminable. At last there came the rattle and click of the security chain and dead bolt. Then the door swung inward.

“Come in.” Sloan backed away from the opening in further in
vitation, a bath towel in her hand and a white terry-cloth robe swaddled around her slight frame. Her hair was a tousle of slick, wet strands that framed a face absent of any makeup, revealing a beauty that was absolutely natural. “I'm running a little late, I'm afraid,” she said and turned away, reaching up to briskly towel her wet hair as she retreated into the room. “When I checked with my answering service, there were some calls I had to return, and they took longer than I planned.”

“No problem,” Trey told her and stepped into the room, closing the door behind him.

“Have a seat.” Sloan waved a hand at the room's lone chair. “I promise I won't be long.”

“You don't have to hurry on my account.” But Trey made no move toward the chair, not with a king-sized bed dominating his view.

For a moment he stared at its smoothly made surface, the sight of it conjuring up images of the way he wanted the night to end. The rawness of all those desires made him restless and edgy. He took off his hat and turned it absently in his hand, while his glance scoured the rest of the room. Except for a black carry-on bag on the luggage rack and a smaller leather bag on the floor next to it, there was little evidence of the room's occupant.

“Are you always this neat?” he asked, thinking of his sister, who would have had her stuff strewn all over.

Sloan moved back into his line of vision, flipping open the carry-on and retrieving a cosmetic bag from it. “It isn't so much a matter of neatness as it is organization. Keeping things put away eliminates the risk of leaving something behind and makes the packing process go much faster.”

“Makes sense.” It also made sense that she could leave at a moment's notice. It was a knowledge that reached down into his guts and churned them up.

“It does to me.” Sloan disappeared into the bathroom.

But she didn't close the door. Trey gravitated to the opening, arriving as the loud hum of the hair dryer started up. Sloan stood
facing the mirror, holding the dryer in one hand while she finger-combed and fluffed with the other. She turned her head to aim the dryer at the other side and caught sight of him in the doorway.

“This really won't take long,” she told him, her voice lifting to make itself heard above the dryer's noisy hum. “I just want to get it damp-dry.”

“No hurry. We've got all night,” Trey replied, but his mind locked on the night thing.

Remnants of the shower's steam edged the bathroom mirror, beading into moist droplets. Its presence prompted Trey to notice the bathroom's excessive warmth and heavy humidity. His glance strayed to the combination tub and shower and the wet sheen of its sides.

With no effort at all, he visualized Sloan standing beneath the spray, water sluicing down her shoulders onto her breasts and stomach. It was an easy leap to imagine himself showering with her, his hands gliding over her slick skin in an exploration of its rounded curves.

The blood started hammering so loudly in his head that he never heard the hair dryer click off. But the clear sound of Sloan's voice penetrated to shatter the images in his mind.

“Why don't you go watch some television while I finish getting ready?” The tone of suggestion was in her voice, but her hand was reaching for the bathroom door as if to close it on him when Trey jerked his gaze back to her. “The remote should be on the stand by the bed.”

Not trusting his voice, Trey nodded and turned from the opening. He was conscious of the bathroom door swinging shut as he took his first steps away from it. That forward impetus carried him partway into the room. Then he halted at the foot of the bed.

Television held no appeal to him, not with all these fevered longings coursing through him. They left him raw and hungry for the feel of Sloan in his arms. With all his senses sharpened by it, he turned the instant he heard the releasing click of the bathroom door latch.

S
loan stepped out of the bathroom clad in a simple tan dress that intensified the golden hue of her skin. A smile curved her lips, the warmth of it matching the glow in her eyes.

“I told you I'd be quick. Unfortunately”—she turned, presenting her back to him—“I think the material's caught in the zipper. Would you get it for me?”

It was a task Trey had performed countless times for his sister. But this wasn't his sister. This was Sloan.

Rather stiffly, Trey crossed the intervening space to stand behind her, conscious of the roiling needs within. His hands shook when he fumbled with the zipper, finding it hard to concentrate on anything but the nearness of her skin over the ribbon of her spine.

“Your hands are trembling,” Sloan murmured on a marveling note.

“Damned right they are,” Trey admitted with some force. “That's because they'd much rather be figuring out how to get this zipper down than up.”

With a turn of her shoulders, she gave him an over-the-shoulder look that held amusement and something else. “Most men wouldn't admit that to a girl.”

“I'm not most men.” The curtness of his reply was a reflection of the tight control he was exercising over his baser instincts.

“I'm beginning to realize that.” There was a new light in her eyes, a darkening and deepening of interest that seemed to mirror his own.

His own desires were too close to the surface for Trey to care whether he had imagined it or not. He gave up any pretense of interest in the zipper and took her by the shoulders, turning her to face him.

“Do you have any idea how many times I've made love to you in my mind?” His voice was thick and husky.

But it was the possessive darkness in his gaze, so stark and hungry, that stole her breath and charged her senses. Her hands rested lightly on his chest, yet she could feel the heat of his body through his shirt. And it was a barrier she didn't want. The certainty of that made her bold.

“Did I enjoy it?” she asked, her lips parting on the last word, and her head lifting in invitation.

“Let's find out.” It was a challenge and a statement, issued an instant before his mouth covered her lips.

The kiss was rough with need, filled with pent-up longings that awakened her own. Eagerly she returned its hot urgency, ready to be swept up in its seductive force and a little stunned that she hadn't realized she could want this much.

Delicious shudders quivered through her when she felt the zipper slide apart and the air touched her bare skin, but not for long. His big hand took its place, the hint of callus on it creating a pleasant rasp to go with its searing warmth. She swayed against him, her body arching under the slow stroke of his hand.

It seemed the kiss had barely begun when he dragged his mouth away from her lips and onto her cheek, yet her lungs were starved for air. But the breath she took ended in a gasp and a moan when he nuzzled that sensitive hollow near her ear, igniting a dance of erotic shivers over her skin. They only increased when his tongue traced the inner shell of her ear.

For a moment she was lost to the delights of his nips and nibbles and the moist heat of his breath on her skin. When his hands first pushed the dress off her shoulders, she resented the subsequent pinning of her arms to her sides and initially resisted until she realized his intention. In an eager and liquid move, she lowered her arms and quickly pulled them free of the garment's sleeves. The dress slid to the floor, puddling around her feet.

The lacy slip she wore beneath it was like a second skin, blocking none of his body heat or the sensation of his caressing hands. When his attention shifted to the long cord in her neck and the pulsing vein that ran alongside it, Sloan tipped her head, giving him greater access and thrilling to the fresh wave of shivers that swept over her.

She felt a great welling up of need within her, rising and expanding until she thought she would burst with it. She was slow to realize that part of the sensation was caused by Trey's hands, traveling up from her hips to her rib cage and drawing her slip's silken length along with them.

This time she knew instantly that his intention was to rid her of it. It was what she wanted, and yet a sliver of panic raced through her as Sloan realized that if she didn't take control, she would soon lose it. Self-protection came into play, born of a need to keep from becoming too emotionally involved.

“Let me,” she whispered, as she stilled his hands. Her voice breathy with the disturbances he'd created within.

His fingers released the folds of her slip. She imagined that he expected her to remove it. Instead she went to work unfastening the buttons of his shirt. He was quick to help her by tugging the tails loose from his jeans. With the release of the last button, he shrugged out of it and gave it a toss behind him, leaving Sloan free to feast her gaze on the breadth of his shoulders and all his tanned, hard flesh.

She studied the complex roping of muscle, lean, and sharply defined, as if by a sculptor's hand. From the ridged flatness of his stomach to the broadening sweep of his chest and shoulders, there
wasn't an ounce of fat to be found. He was the image of youthful manhood, virile and strong.

“I wish I had my camera,” Sloan murmured even as she smoothed her hands onto the center of his ribs.

“Oh no you don't. You aren't hiding behind any lens tonight.” His voice had an edge to it that held its own warning.

“Not tonight,” Sloan agreed and let her hands glide up to invade the wiry nest of chest hairs, then traveled on to the masculine flatness of his breasts and their pebble-like nipples.

Curiosity had her lipping one, an action that drew a half curse from Trey. She smiled, pleased that her touch disturbed him, and let her hands slide down to his waist.

Moving against him, she used her hands and her body to nudge him backward toward the bed. “I'll help you off with your boots,” she told him, tipping her head to smile at him.

He responded with a small, negative shake of his head. “Nope. Your slip, then my boots.”

The smoldering darkness of his gaze had her heart tripping over itself, but she managed a soft laugh. “A negotiation, is it?”

“Or a fair trade.” His quick hands had already caught hold of the slip and gave it an upward pull.

Acquiescing, Sloan raised her arms. Like liquid, the slip slid up and over her head, then went sailing after his shirt. When she focused on his face again, her breath was taken by the caressing way his gaze moved over the lacy cups of her underwire brassiere, then down to her matching lace briefs.

There was so much desire in his face that it took her a moment to find her voice. “Your boots.” In another attempt to seize the initiative, she gave him a quick, firm shove, overbalancing him and sending him backward onto the bed.

He sat down heavily, the springs creaking under his weight. Not giving him a chance to recover, Sloan quickly picked up his left foot and swung around to straddle it facing the boot, cupping a hand under its heel.

“You push. I pull,” she instructed.

Just as she tightened her grip on his boot, he clamped his hands on her waist and pulled her sideways and down, onto the bed beside him. The suddenness of it drew an outcry of surprise from her, then a laugh when she bounced on the mattress.

“That's not fair,” she protested.

“It wasn't fair that there was no place for me to do any pushing, not as dirty as the soles of these boots are.” He leaned forward and proceeded to tug off his own boots. “As attractive as the view was, it would have taken too long.”

“I could have managed,” she murmured idly, taking advantage of the chance to study, unobserved, the rippling movements of his arm and shoulder muscles.

“But I couldn't.” One boot after the other thudded to the floor, followed by his socks. Swiveling around, he leaned back on an elbow beside her. “The trouble is—a man has no graceful way to get out of his clothes—not like a woman does.”

She marveled that he would think that. Honesty made her say, “It feels just as awkward for a woman.”

“That's reassuring.” The slow spread of his smile was incredibly sexy and warm. Sloan couldn't help being moved by it. Like him, she found herself wishing there was a way to take the mundane and make it rare—as rare as the feelings within.

The instant that thought crossed her mind, she banished it as foolish, as the kind of thought that invariably ended in disappointment. Even though the number of lovers in her life had been few, it was a lesson she had learned well not to let her expectations get too high.

“What is it?” His hand touched her cheek, his gaze narrowing on her in sharpened study.

“Nothing.” Her smile of assurance was quick, a little too quick. She saw at once that he didn't believe her.

“Sloan…” he began.

Instinctively she silenced him with a kiss that was as hungry for love as her heart was. But her heart's hunger wasn't something a kiss alone could satisfy.

She rolled her mouth over and around his lips, murmuring against them, “We've already talked too much. Let's not spoil it with more.”

With her lips moving hotly all over his, talking was the last thing on Trey's mind. Earlier he had been willing to indulge her essentially playful antics, but this was what he wanted, what he needed.

Using the weight and length of his body, he pressed her backward onto the mattress, not caring that the spread still covered it. He made short work of stripping away her lacy bra and panties and shedding his own clothes.

As he rejoined her, he was glad of the room's light that allowed him to see every feminine inch of her. There was high satisfaction in knowing she was his to explore. And there was much to discover, from the rounded shape of her small, firm breasts and the rosy brown nubs of her nipples to the sexy little bulge of her stomach and the silky matt of her pubic hair.

The pressure grew with every touch and every taste, the heat mounting like a wildfire about to rage out of control. He didn't need the urging of her hands and hips or the little mewling sounds that came from her throat. The instincts that drove him, shifting him onto her, were much more primitive.

Some sane part of him registered the wondrous cry of pleasure that slipped from her when he filled her. Then it all blurred together, bodies straining in rhythm, blood pounding, hands digging, the ache intensifying, coiling into an ever tightening circle. The release, when it came, was like an explosion of sensation that shook and shattered even as it melted away all the tension, leaving them both limp and trembling.

Body slick with sweat, Trey drew her along with him when he rolled off her and onto his back, lying in a loose, spent sprawl, yet keeping one arm securely hooked around her. His heart had yet to slow its rapid beat, and his chest continued its rise and fall with the quick, deep breaths he took.

But nothing registered as strongly as the feel of Sloan curled against him, the feathering of her hair on his arm, and the warmth
of her breath on his skin. She stirred, and he automatically tightened his hold to keep her close.

His own action surprised him. With other women, this was usually when he tried to figure out some tactful way to slip free and get dressed. But this time was different. Everything was different, Trey realized, and it had been from the first moment he met her. He had felt that it was different then, and the feeling was even stronger now.

In a slow, catlike movement, Sloan lightly rubbed her cheek against his chest. “I suppose we should get dressed and go eat, but I don't feel like moving.”

“Me either,” Trey agreed, his voice a low, lazy rumble. “Too bad we can't call room service.”

There was amusement in the dismissing breath she released. “You can forget that.”

“I know.” He rolled onto his side, shifting her from his body onto the bed, giving him his first look at the contented glow in her eyes. “I'm in no big hurry, anyway. Are you?”

“No.” Her hand came up and traced the line of his jaw with her fingertips, then lingered near his mouth, touching the heads of perspiration along his upper lip. “You're all sweaty.”

“I wonder how that happened,” Trey mocked lightly, his eyes agleam with amusement and satisfaction.

“I wonder,” Sloan murmured in return, a smile deepening the corners of her mouth.

“It couldn't be that you had something to do with it, could it?” he challenged, unable to remember a time when he had enjoyed this intimate kind of banter.

“Maybe a little,” Sloan conceded with a touch of smugness.

“Little, hell,” he growled and claimed her lips in a quick, punishing kiss. One taste only made him hungry for more. He nuzzled a corner of her mouth. “That shower of yours looked big enough for two. Care to join me?”

“Only if you promise to scrub my back,” she whispered in answer.

“That's a deal.”

Just as he had imagined, Trey washed much more than her back. Wrapped in a cloud of steam and pummeled by the shower's pulsating jets, they made love again, this time with slow and infinite pleasure.