“No, all I remember are his tall black boots.”
Under Trace’s gaze, her eyes opened. She looked like a wounded sparrow afraid of another’s touch. Sensing he wasn’t needed, Rand slid the papers back into his desk, rose, and went to retrieve his hat. Their gazes still locked, they paid no attention.
“I need to go over to the hotel and speak to Elaine about a piece of pie. Lock the door, won’t you, Trace?” His hand grasped the knob and turned it. “I’ll be gone about two hours.” Smiling, he shut the door.
Chapter Fourteen
Listen to your heart
. Trace did just that. His hands framed her face. “Do not cry,” he whispered, and leaned forward, tracing the salty path from her left cheek to her eyelid. She opened her eyes, and he gazed deeply into those limpid pools of blue. “My
Querida
,” he whispered as his lips met hers. Soft, molding, his mouth slid across her skin, and then with his tongue he traced the tender skin beneath her bottom lip. She opened and he suckled the flesh, eliciting a moan of delight.
He felt the flick of her tongue as she met his flesh. Leaning away, he watched the flicker of disbelief cross her face. Then he traced the path up to the other eye. Salt and sweet, kissing her was much more pleasurable than a drink of tequila and lime. Their lips met again, and he felt the warmth of her palms upon the sides of his face. She tilted her head, allowing him better access. Her mouth opened and he sent his tongue inside.
The warmth of her mouth, like a velvet glove, aroused him. He swirled against the roof and felt her tongue stroke the tender underside of his. She rocked forward. He moaned and she captured it. The fire in his blood erupted. He would have her, now, today. Breathing hard, he broke their kiss and leaned his head upon hers, their brows touching.
“So it comes to pass, my Irish Rose.” His voice was raw with emotion. “I need to know, are you ready?”
Her eyes, half-lidded, looked upon him. A pained expression twisted her face. The soft touch of her fingers traced the line of his lips. Her gaze moved back and forth across his face and a trembling smile tugged at her cheeks. “Yes,” she whispered.
Relief flowed through him. “I believe Rand asked us to lock up.”
She gave a tentative nod.
Letting her go seemed so wrong, but Trace knew it would only be for a few precious moments. He moved to the door and slid the bolt into place. The sound of metal hitting metal rolled across the silence. He turned and found her standing to face him, her hip resting against the edge of Rand’s desk.
He moved toward her, each step made with purpose. Her eyes stared with a longing that turned quickly to hunger. Like two opposite poles, their bodies attracted, rushing them together. With eagerness, his hand sank deep into the copper curls. They felt like silk and his fingers could not get enough. He tilted her in his arms so that she rested against his right shoulder as he plundered her lips, hoping she understood the urgency he felt.
Something intense flared between them, a need unquenchable in the openness of the sheriff’s office. He let her go and watched her lashes flutter open. Trace Castillo held out his hand. To his satisfaction, there was no hesitation. Looking into her eyes, he felt the warmth of her palm in his.
“Come,” he urged her, not attempting to hide his rising need.
They paused at the bottom of the stairs. He let her hand go and, without waiting, she lifted her skirts and moved up the stairs.
Thirteen steps, but no hangman’s noose awaited, only the chance for love he’d missed. Each step seemed to last a lifetime. Each step put his past farther behind him. He paused a moment and prayed she wouldn’t change her mind. His heart racing, he rushed up the last few steps, until his arms braced his body in the doorframe.
Mary Rose had not vanished. She stood in the center of his room. Her gaze locked into his.
From the saloon came the strains of a Mexican guitar. The unknown musician strummed the notes and played in sync with his heart. Then he recognized the strains of the song. The same song most Texans knew was played before Santa Anna advanced on the Alamo and meant no quarter. He advanced and recognized her desire by the rise and fall of her bosom beneath the calico she wore.
His eyes begged her not to be afraid as he slid one hand around her waist and pulled her close to his side. Her head turned toward him, her lips full from his earlier kisses but needing so much more. He dipped his head for a sweet taste of nectar and heard his mind whisper,
Listen to your heart
.
“
Mi amour
,” he murmured, lifting his lips from hers.
Her eyes grew seductive. She raised her hand and he felt the brush of her fingers against the open collar of his shirt. Skin to skin, the timid first touch of intimacy had begun. A blush stained her cheeks. Lifting his hand, he took his finger and traced the outline of her face.
The hesitation left her eyes. His fingers moved down the side of her neck, feeling the pulse of her heart, before they touched the buttons of her blouse. The deft movement of his hands released them from their restraints. “Turn around,” he whispered.
She turned. He drew the cloth from her body. Then the lace of her chemise fluttered as he slid a finger along her shoulder’s edge. She inhaled sharply. Carefully, he draped her garments on the chair before pulling her back into his arms.
Lips found lips, and his mouth blazed a trail across her cheek to the tender skin of her neck. He nipped and then soothed the tender bites with his tongue swirling over the pounding of her blood. His hands loosened the skirt. It fell, pooling around her feet.
Trace’s mouth brushed across her shoulder. He felt Mary Rose lift her hands to his shirt, her movements apprehensive, a reminder that she wasn’t experienced, which made the gift she bestowed upon him even more precious.
His shirt jerked against his neck in an almost frantic motion as the buttons finally came free. He lifted his head to look again into her eyes. She blushed as his hand covered hers. Offering a crooked smile, he loosened the last two, and drew the cloth over his head, tossing it aside.
Trace heard a gasp of delight and reveled in her eagerness as the warmth of her palms found his chest and her fingers traced the contour of his torso. She leaned forward and kissed his skin just above his heart. He tilted his head and closed his eyes, enjoying the splendor of her lips. A tempest of emotions rose and swirled in his gut as those kisses spread to the other side of his chest.
Her sweet administrations turned to torture as her tongue laved his nipple, causing his groans to fill the air. Blood rushed to his loins. His trousers grew snug. He could stand no more of her exquisite torment. With a rumbling growl, he slid his hands around her back and beneath her knees, lifting her from the floor.
He could see the anticipation in her eyes as they moved across the room and he laid her onto the bed. Trace gazed at her with pure male delight. She was his. The wanting need to fill her with his seed erupted like a wildfire. He lowered his body to the bed.
“Lean forward,” he whispered.
And she did. Trace brushed her hair from the back of her neck to fan across his pillowcase. His breath caught in his throat. Even his wildest dreams had left him unprepared for this reality. Lifting his hand, he brushed his knuckles across her tender cheek, and she leaned toward it, bestowing his hand with a kiss.
Under his gaze, she took a deep breath and closed her eyes. The sheer cotton fabric of her chemise framed the outline of her rising breasts. Dusky rose nipples peaked. He leaned down and blew a warm breath across the fabric, plastering it against the skin before drawing it into his warm mouth. He suckled her through her clothing and Mary Rose arched against him. Her fingers threaded across the back of his head, into his hair, holding him close.
“More,” she breathed behind a shuddering breath.
Compelled by her request, Trace raised his head and lovingly did the same to the other breast. Her hands moved against his shoulders, kneading the muscles, urging him on. His fingers slid down her ribcage, while he made love to her breasts, and came to rest upon her hips. The more he kissed, the tighter his trousers became. His libido demanded their bodies be skin to skin.
Mary Rose whimpered as his mouth drew away.
God, but she was beautiful.
The soft blush of arousal painted her cheeks, her neck, her shoulders. Trace stood. His eyes roved possessively across her as his trousers slipped away. To his surprise, she didn’t flinch or turn away. A coy twist of her mouth and she gathered the hem of her chemise. Rising to her knees, Mary Rose drew it over her head and let it flutter to the floor beside them.
“
Madre Dios
,” he swore. “How can one woman be so perfect?”
He closed the distance between their bodies and took her breasts in his hands. He stared down, surprised to find tears choking his vision as his thumbs brushed her nipples and caused them to bead.
“Kiss me.”
Her wish was his command. He leaned into her embrace and lowered his lips to hers. His hands drifted over her back, then further down to cup her sweet bottom, bringing them together. Trace’s erection pushed against his innerwear, straining to be set free. His belly jerked as her fingers brushed across his navel and moved lower. With one easy tug, his innerwear fell to his knees, and he pulled his body free.
She sighed against his lips and he gave in to the wonder of her touch. As they kissed, she stroked and explored his anatomy until his reserve nearly broke. Capturing her hands, he pulled back.
“Did I do something wrong?”
He shook his head. “No. But if you continue, your pleasure will be lost before it even begins.”
In her eyes he could see wonder. Their gazes locked, and her sapphire-blue eyes deepened to midnight blue. His hand found the string of her silk bloomers, and within seconds they were gone. Now nothing stood between them and desire’s end.
Lying back, she raised one hand to him. He took her lifeline. His hand brushed the rise of her hip. “You are beautiful, my
Querida
.”
“Tell me,” she sighed as his lips licked across her collarbone. “Tell me what that word,
querida
, means.”
“
Querida
?” he asked, kissing the hollow of her chest.
She moaned and nodded as his tongue flicked against the swell of her breasts.
“
Dear one
. You are my dear one.” His breath came in husky gasps with each word.
“
Querida
,” she repeated and smiled as his mouth moved lower. Mary Rose closed her eyes and gave over to the moment. His hands moved in an intoxicating rhythm, sliding over her hips and across her thighs. She felt powerless to resist anything he should ask.
The more he touched, the greater the tingling sensation in the pit of her stomach. Lifting her heavy lashes from her cheek, she caught sight of the bronze skin of his shoulders. A scar near his left shoulder blade marred its perfection. Reaching out, she brushed her index finger over it.
His head rose. He looked back at her, his gaze like a soft caress, and her heart rocked against her chest. Mary Rose knew she was in love. Her breath caught. His gaze sharpened. Something cherished passed between them. Something only lovers knew. He moved toward her face and she dampened her lips for the kiss she knew would come.
His mouth covered hers, no longer soft but crushing with want, the same want she could feel rising in the hollow of her hips. As their tongues labored in a seductive duel, he nudged her thighs apart. She gasped as he covered her mound with his hand and, using his fingers, stroked the silken curls between her legs. A wave of heat washed over her. She couldn’t get enough air. Her hands moved to his shoulders, and she clung there for life.
The more he stroked, the more he brought her untried senses to life. She moaned. Her hips began to mimic his fingers’ movements. A dull ache began to grow below her belly. She needed something to fill her. Something only he possessed.
Lost in the sensations that rolled over her, she concentrated on filling that void. Her hands fell away from his body, too heavy to lift. Mary Rose found it difficult to catch her breath. She could feel the damp strands of hair clinging to the sides of her face.
“I need you,” she begged.
“Where?”
His voice seemed as breathless as her own.
Where?
Did she know
? She tried to concentrate, and one of his fingers slipped inside, using her own slickness as a guide. It felt good to have him stroke her there. But she needed more, wanted more. Her thighs opened wider.
“I need you,” she groaned again, and this time instinct took over. “Inside,” she gasped.
Another finger slipped inside. Mary Rose clamped down, trying to keep him from withdrawing. His thumb brushed another part of her, near her mound, and she cried out. The coil below her belly wrapped tighter. She needed release. Thrashing her head side to side, she called upon the one man who could save her from this wondrous misery. “Trace.”
“Look at me,” he called to her.
She whimpered but opened her eyes. He sat positioned between her legs, his manhood jutting proudly before him. Her breathing grew rapid. Her eyes widened. The time was now.
“I want to look into your eyes, my Irish Rose, as we become one.”
“Yes,” she murmured, quivering with excitement.
The ache for his touch as his fingers left her grew to fever pitch. Mary Rose wanted to cry for the loss, but as he moved over her something more marvelous took its place. Warm, thick, it glided into the velvet of her grasp. Frightened at first, she tightened. He paused and leaned forward, capturing the tip of her breast in his mouth. As he suckled, she forgot about her fear. He moved, rocking his hips so that she might learn the steps.