Catch a Falling Star (16 page)

“I'll bet you can't
wait to get back to civilization.”

He had been watching
her face, her lips as she spoke. As she touched him. “There are
a lot of things I cannot wait to do,” he answered her, his voice
low with suppressed desire. Gently, he took her by the calf and
heel and knelt before her for the best possible angle.

Starting with her
foot, he used a thumb to firmly hold the edge of the stretchy
wrap and began to wind it around, leaving her toes and heel
unfettered when he moved on to the swollen ankle. “I will know
when my people are close,” he added, careful in his
ministrations. “Until they come, I have nowhere else to be.”

Nowhere else he
wanted to be, either
, he mused as he glued the adhesive
edges shut around the top of her calf. Lingering there, he
indulged in a tentative stroke of her knee, just below where the
quilt parted around her leg. Her shin had been skinned but would
heal and the purpling would get worse before it got better. A
surge of violence surprised him, and in that surprise it was
banished, but for just a moment... a split second...

“How long before he
reaches help?” Miguel asked, finally raising his eyes to hers
from where he still knelt, one hand cupping the back of her
wrapped calf, the other deceptively at rest upon her knee. “How
long,
querida
?”

Her hands moved to
his shoulders and she had to restrain herself from scooting
closer. She couldn't stop herself from looking into his eyes,
though, and she took longer to answer than she should have,
caught by the look in them. Or, she scolded herself, what she
was imagining that look to mean. He was just wanting to know how
much distance he could put between himself and the authorities
who would come looking for him. And she wanted that distance to
be sufficient to buy him the time to be picked up by his people.

“We're talking about
Farley. Even when motivated to try running, he's going to take
at least several more hours.” She was finding it impossible to
think while looking at his beautiful eyes but couldn't break the
spell of them. “Probably closer to four hours, to be honest.”
She knew she should move but she didn't want to. Instead she
smiled encouragingly. “You have time.”
Time enough to get
away
, she thought.
Far away, where you'll be safe when
they come for me
.

He smiled back at
her, one corner of his mouth edging higher. “That will not be
enough time,” he told her, and leaned down, guiding her legs
further apart to prevent them from rubbing and causing her pain.
“But I will make do.”

Miguel's lips brushed
tenderly over the bruised shin, just above the medical wrap. He
did not remove his gaze from hers as he then kissed the side of
her leg, to the inside of her calf. “Ask me to leave again,” he
challenged her, another kiss he lay soft above the other while
against the back of her knee his thumb caressed the hollow. “Ask
and I will comply.”

He touched the other
knee; just a promise in his warm hand. “Ask what you will of me,
querida
. I have not much time.” His lips again found the
soft flesh of her leg and parted, his breath hot against her,
barely an inch from her scraped skin. “Ask.”

Don't think
,
she told herself.
Just don't think or you'll wind up doing
what you know you should do and ask him – no tell him - to
leave
.

She slowly shook her
head and smiled. Taking one of his hands, she leaned toward him
as she guided the hand up then released her hold on the blanket,
pushing it out of the way. Not thinking beyond the need that
dominated her existence at that moment, she placed his palm
against her breast then closed her eyes, slowly exhaling a held
breath. Her voice was barely a whisper. “Don't leave. Not yet.”

Miguel rose up and
over her, his free hand moving behind her to mirror the one she
herself had placed, holding her upright between them. Catching
her lips with his, he kissed her with need, his tongue stroking
a plea for deeper intimacy.

She arched her back
to increase the pressure of his hand against her breast. As
satisfying as it was, she realized she wanted more than just
that single contact. Instinctively, surrendering herself to what
her body was craving, she grew more bold. She managed to free
her legs from the folds of the quilt and she wrapped them around
his hips. With her hands buried in his hair she pressed her lips
fiercely against his, responding to him then demanding more.

A groan caught
between them and Miguel's body reacted, blood rushing down to
harden him, some hide and laces suddenly all that kept her
virtuous. Both of his hands ran down to her hips and around,
back over her heart-shaped bottom, sliding beneath to grip and
pull her in tight. His erection throbbed as if with a mind of
its own, seeking her wet warmth but denied by the material
pinned between them. Opening his mouth with a rush of air pulled
into his lungs, he caught her lips again and strove to fill her.

She wasn't aware of
when she started the low moan that came from deep within as each
pounding heartbeat increased her frustration at not getting what
she so desperately wanted. Her hands moved restlessly, finally
sliding lower until she reached his hips. She broke the kiss,
her eyes smoldering with the passion he'd awoken in her. Her
parted lips, swollen and still as hungry as the rest of her,
curved into a smile when one hand found the low waistband. She
moved her own hips as her fingers worked the buttons loose and
then she was touching what was beneath.

Miguel jumped in
response, seizing her by the wrist. His eyes were dark and
burning, his smile shaking as he warned her quietly, “Careful,
querida
.
It bites.” With his other hand, he reached over his shoulder to
grab a handful of the shirt on his back, tugging it up over his
head. He had to release her to kick the pants off but he was
reaching for her again at once. His fingers squeezed her thighs
and lifted, tipping her gently back to the bed. He followed, his
knees coming up between hers to climb the mattress and support
his weight.

Still holding her
legs firmly, he gazed down at her, the intensity almost
threatening. And then he grinned rakishly and pulled, jerking
her hard against his stiff erection, a fold of the quilt now
used as a tool to torment.

She moaned in
protest, squirming against the interference. Her lips formed a
pout that transformed into a smile as her eyelashes lowered half
way. She rotated her hips again, taking pleasure from what the
movement felt like against the grip of his hands in back and the
pressure of his erection against her in front. She wet her lips
with the tip of her tongue then rotated her hips again, this
time slowly and deliberately moving them in what turned into a
natural rhythm.

It was his turn to
groan, the sensation exquisite agony but he wasn't ready to give
in. Using his hands again to spread her legs further apart, his
arms hugged her knees against his sides, trapping them, while
his fingers snaked a path under her seat, tantalizingly close to
her secrets.

Catching her gaze
once more, he watched her with ever growing heat as he traced
the delicate folds of her lips from beneath, using her moisture
to slick his fingers and slide them smoothly around the outside
of her need.

Her breath was
catching in her throat as she arched her back again, trying to
lift her hips to help him find the way. Unable to make that
happen she discovered she was incapable of summoning up the
words to tell him. Only inarticulate sounds and gasps made their
way from her throat so she begged with her eyes for him to take
her; to give her what she craved with every fiber of her being.

Grinning devilishly,
he winked an eye at her before leaning forward and slipping two
fingers into her ready body, to plunder her depths in deep
strokes while his tongue delved between her lips to steal her
breath.

She thought she was
going to lose her mind. Her hips moved against his fingers, but
it wasn't enough. And yet, she didn't want him to stop what he
was doing; not with his kiss or his fingers. She'd never
experienced anything like it and it was incredible but she
wanted more. She had to have more. She wanted him to fill her
and reach the fire within her. She could feel the flame growing
past comprehension, building in intensity, pushing at the limits
of her ability to cope until she wasn't sure she could take
anymore. “Please, Miguel. Please.” She broke the kiss, speaking
against his mouth in a breathless plea before he took her words
away again.

Sliding his fingers
out and down the inside of her thigh, he then brought them back
up to toy with her swollen need before continuing on his
sensuous path to the gradual slope of her hips.

Miguel drew his lips
away at last and his hands clamped firmly to the shape of her,
holding her pelvis still and at a tilt. “
Tú eres muy bella,
”
he murmured, a tone of reverence in his voice and a smile
hinting in his deep brown eyes.

Moving his hips, he
slid the hard stiffness of his erection over her wetness,
teasing her open. Keeping his grip on her solid, he eased his
throbbing head inside of her, watching her face and drinking in
the pleasure he found there.

What he found, what
she felt, was a pleasure beyond anything she had ever dreamed.
She had no idea how long it was before she drew in yet another
gasping breath, this time forgetting to release it, losing
herself in the pulsing, explosive sensations within her. When
she finally was able to breathe again she opened her eyes to
look into his and she felt as if she was falling into their
depths. She was afraid to move, afraid she would lose the
moment. Then her hips moved against him as her desire ignited
again, building higher and higher. She was still watching his
eyes, wondering how much more she could take, while a smile of
pure sensual power curved her lips. She wanted to find out how
much more and judging by the grin he returned, he was game to
show her.

Chapter 11

Although neither
Lyrianne nor Miguel were aware of it, Fat Farley's great escape
was reaching its conclusion. The big man had achieved physical
efforts beyond even his expectations. He peered through the dawn
light, still shadow filled, hoping to confirm that his ears
weren't deceiving him. He was sure he heard something and it
wasn't coming from behind him. Choking on a sob of relief, he
turned toward the sounds. It appeared luck was fated to be on
his side.

“Here! Over here!”
Wheezing, his breath so tight in his chest it was like trying to
breathe through pond reeds, Farley stumbled out of the tall
grasses and into the cropped meadow. Brambles clung to his
leggings, clawing at his sweaty flesh and tearing the low-grade
material as easily as paper.

“Here!” he tried
again, his arms too tired to wave, instead flopping uselessly at
his sides. He used both hands to hold the ancient rifle, unable
to keep a grip on it with just one. He'd been on his way to
town, homemade hooch and desperation dulling his wits. Had he
headed for his farm first, he could have retrieved a vehicle.
Instead, he'd set out on foot, running until his stomach hurt
and he'd had to stop to empty it in the bushes.

Convinced he was
being followed by that crazy man, he'd tried to put as much
distance between himself and the dumb broad's house, making it
as far as the inner fence before the sweat was falling like rain
into his eyes and he could smell his own sour scent.

“Damned Fed pig,” he
coughed, throat dry and burning. “I'll git you, you wait and
see.” Stumbling over some obstacle he couldn't see in the dark
of early morning in the dense forest, Farley went down like a
felled tree. His weight was taken by gravity and slammed belly
first onto debris, something sharp jabbing him hard in the cushy
abdomen while his knee connected painfully with some nefarious
rock.

Grabbing his knee and
rolling laboriously over on his side, the heavyset farmer
gasped. It was worse than that time he'd collapsed a lung trying
to work under a tractor that wasn't properly secured. In fact,
he was pretty sure he was going to die.

Twin spots of light
appeared on the tree trunks above him, no doubt drawn by the
moans and groans of his predicament. A third spotlight joined
the two and in moments, there were no less than five bobbing
beams growing stronger around him.

Saved, Farley heaved
back over and onto his throbbing knees, a hoarse howl of elation
and a deeply satisfying sense of vindication driving him now. He
was found and that thrice-damned spacer was going to face a
firing squad. Then Lyrianne would be his!

Snatching at the
rifle as he grunted his way to his feet, he raised his arms to
wave the approaching lawmen down. There was no one else it could
be. Only the local law carried blue handlights.

“Hold!” Someone
shouted and the bouncing lights all zeroed in on Farley. “Who's
that?”

“You-” Farley
wheezed, “You... bastard space... man.” Unable to catch his
breath, his arms so tired they were like lead, he stumbled
another two steps forward, still waving his arms, the rifle
still firmly in his grip.

“Stop! Stop right
there!”

“Gun! He's got a
gun!”

Farley squinted
against the cerulean spots dancing in his eyes. “What? Damn
fools!”

“Drop it! Drop it!”
Now many voices were shouting, the sudden sensory overload
disorienting the inebriated farmer, who had gladly emptied the
entire bottle of Devil’s Piss into his gullet earlier in the
evening.

Cheeks reddening,
further flushed from the anger creeping its red madness up his
neck, Farley blustered and pointed the rifle at the shapes he
could now make out behind the blinding torches. “Not me, you -”