Colton's Folly (Native American contemporary romance) (26 page)

“I’m glad you’re pleased,” she replied with mild sarcasm.

“Abby, I
--”

She cut him off. “Don’t. Don’t say anything you don’t really mean. We both know where you stand.”

She turned abruptly and opened the front door to leave. She wanted only to end the conversation and be gone, away from him and the anger and pain that his closeness aroused in her.

“Wait! I’ll walk you home.”

She halted on the top step and turned. “Don’t bother.” Her tone was cold and deliberately discouraging. She continued down the steps and out onto the unpaved street, feeling the hard-packed soil beneath her feet, hearing the soft crunching sounds made by the soles of her moccasins. She’d thrown a sweater over her shoulders when she left her house; now she slipped her arms through the sleeves and jammed her knotted fists into the pockets.

A sound filtered through her jumbled thoughts, and she turned her head slightly. He was following her home, walking slowly some thirty feet behind. Feeling an urgency she couldn’t explain she quickened her step, hoping to lengthen the distance between them. When she heard him pick up speed to keep pace with her, she broke into a run, sprinting the remaining distance to her house.

Cat caught her just as she opened her front door, and in the light that came spilling out from her living room he saw the tears well up and slide down her cheeks. She closed her eyes and turned her head away from him, but his hands on her arms held her in place.

“Don’t go in yet. Stay and talk to me a minute.”

She looked up at him, and he was stunned by the pain he saw etched on her features. He could have handled her anger, but her unhappiness was another matter. Pulling her close, he folded his arms around her, whispering against her hair, “God, Abby, I’m sorry for all this.”

She pushed lightly against his chest, and as they separated she asked, “Sorry enough to change anything?”

She watched his face as he struggled with himself until his answer came softly. “I can’t.”

“Can’t... or won’t?”

He hesitated, then, without an answer, turned and walked away.

A few nights later Abby answered a knock at her front door and found Cat leaning against the frame.

“Hullo,” he said simply.

Her breath caught in her throat, and she answered only, “Hi,” wishing fervently for a time when the sight of him no longer brought her pain.

He noticed that she was in a robe and closed his mind to the memories of what lay hidden beneath the turquoise wrap. “Did I wake you?”

“No, I was just relaxing.” She’d been about to step into a hot tub for a soak.

“Can I come in?”

After a moment’s hesitation she stepped aside and let him enter. They sat down at opposite ends of the sofa, awkward, silent.

“Would you like some coffee?” Abby asked, needing an excuse to leave and catch her breath.

“That’d be great, thanks.” He heard her moving around in the kitchen and suddenly realized that he had no business being there, that he shouldn’t have come, shouldn’t have given in to the compulsion to see her, to hear her voice
--

She came back and handed him a cup; their fingers touched and lingered as he reached for it. Finally Abby removed her hand and sat down. “When did you get in?”

“About half an hour ago. I dropped the girls off and came right here. I thought you might want to know how things are.” Liar, he thought, and searched her face, wondering if she could see through his flimsy story.

“How’s Connie?”

“Okay. I didn’t realize how bad off she really was when we first got there. She seemed calm and in control. Finally my mother took her out for a walk one day, and when they came back, we could tell she’d been crying. She seemed different, looser, and it was okay after that.”

“Is she coming home?”

“No. Connie says she’s fine where she is and wants to stay. The company paid off their house, and they’re giving her a job in the office, so my other sister Sharon will watch the baby--she lives quite near. There’s some insurance money, too. I think it’ll work out.”

Abby looked at him, unable to think of a thing to say. He wore a strange expression, and his body was tense, as if he couldn’t decide whether to stay put, or cut and run. She knew exactly how he felt.

“Have you eaten supper yet?” she finally asked.

“No.”

“I’ll fix you something.”

She escaped into the safety of her kitchen, pulling out chunks of cheese and cold meat from the refrigerator, pickles and olives, and some sliced tomatoes. As she began to cut thick slices of bread from a freshly baked loaf, she felt him slip up behind her and put his arms around her waist. The knife clattered down on the cutting board, and she gripped the edge of the counter for support. Struggling for breath as her heart began to pound, she whispered fiercely, “Please don’t do this to me.”

“I need you, Ab,” he murmured against her ear.

She slid out of his arms and left him standing in the kitchen as she walked back into the front room. Kneeling before the grate, she laid the makings of a small fire, then touched a match to the wood. There was no need for the added warmth; her body was already ablaze with a different kind of heat, but she wanted a distraction, and this was as good as any. Straightening up, she leaned her hands against the mantel, watching the flames grow and take hold until a modest fire crackled in the hearth.

Send him home, a strong inner voice admonished.

No, came the reply. I want to be with him just once more.

To what end? One more memory?

I won’t need tonight to remember him.

She shrugged off the internal dialogue as she heard him behind her.

“Abby?”

His arms were around her once more. She turned within the circle they made and looked up at the man she loved, still loved, would always love. She saw the raw desire, the longing, reflected in his face, and melted against him. His lips found hers, and their need for each other, held in check for too long, consumed them. Her arms went around his waist, and she groaned against his mouth as her legs went weak and an ache for him swept through her. She moved against him, fitting her body to his. Their hearts beat as one; the heat from their bodies fed each other; and the breath flowed one to the other as their mouths joined.

“Damn you,” she whispered fiercely against his lips.

“And you,” he countered.

She eased away and went to a far corner, taking a fur lap robe from a small storage chest in the corner. She moved around the room, turning out first one lamp, then another, until the only light came from the fireplace.

She pointed to the fire and said softly, “Add some wood, won’t you?”

She shook out the fur and laid it down on the floor a few feet away from the hearth, feeling her heart fluttering wildly inside her chest, then moved to the windows, drawing together the cafe curtains, shutting out the view. She turned back to him again, her mind suddenly blank, as though feeling had shut off all thought.

As if in a dream she moved toward him and undid her robe, allowing it to slip to the floor behind her. His eyes traveled over her body, drinking in every lush curve, remembering how her firm breasts had felt in his hands, how the nipples had hardened beneath his lips.

Am I still beautiful to you?
She wondered, knowing her body had begun to change. But she watched his chest rise and fall as he took a long, agonized breath and slowly exhaled, and she looked at his eyes and saw the longing and the familiar look of defeat that said, I couldn’t stay away any longer, and she had her answer.

Taking two throw pillows from the couch, she knelt to place them under one end of the fur rug, improvising a bed for them. When she glanced up he was looking down at her, as naked as she. Her eyes examined him, taking pleasure in the beauty and feline grace of his muscular body, rejoicing in the obvious power she still possessed to arouse him. Her hand reached up and touched him. His eyes went soft as velvet, and she knew that he remembered the last time they’d been together.

He dropped to his knees and took her in his arms, claiming her lips, feeling her body pressed against his, warming him, calling him back out of the loneliness that had plagued him since their separation. He lowered her gently to the floor, and they lay facing each other. He touched her hair, her lips, her shoulder. His touch was tender despite the intensity of feeling Abby could sense lying tightly leashed just beneath the surface.

His dark eyes smoldered, and a vein beat in his temple, and she knew what his control was costing him. She kissed his hand as it lingered beside her cheek, then buried her face against his neck. She heard him murmuring soft words to her, words of love and yearning, words asking for forgiveness, asking for her trust, words spoken so quietly they seemed hardly more than the rustle of leaves in a lazy summer breeze.

He turned her face toward him and kissed her again, then eased her onto her back. She felt his bare body against the length of hers and forgot everything except the feel of his lips, his hands, the torrent of emotion they aroused in her. He was gentle with her, holding back because he was afraid for her to know just how badly his body craved hers. But Abby wanted the heat, wanted the sweet torture. She raked her hand through his coarse black hair, grabbing a handful in her fingers and slowly pulling, until he moaned and closed his mouth around a turgid nipple. He pulled gently and rolled his tongue around it, sending a bolt of heat to the very center of her, starting a silky burning that made her shudder with pleasure and shift her body impatiently beneath him. But he took his time, caressing, laving, kissing, leaving not a fraction of an inch of her unloved or dormant.

Neither time nor the outside world existed as he explored, discovered, rediscovered, the passionate beauty he had only dreamed about during four months of long, awful nights without her. As he caressed her body, touching the warm, smooth flesh, arousing the heat in her, feeling her quiver and tremble from his ministrations, he knew why his life had seemed so empty, why he could find no comfort in the things that usually gave him pleasure, why he had forgotten how to smile.

As he filled himself with the taste, the scent, the feel of her, the sound of her husky whispers in his ear, he knew contentment such as he’d never known before, had not found with any woman he’d ever known, that he’d never thought possible. And recognizing the gift she’d given him, he made love to her, slow, leisurely love, gentle love, demanding love, time and again bringing her to the brink of fulfillment, only to pull her back and love her in a new way. He loved her in as many ways as he knew how, and for as long as he was able to contain his driving need to find his own answers in her warm, silky depths.

Finally he shifted, parting her legs and slipping his hand beneath her warm, smooth bottom to ease his entry. He looked into her eyes, and though he had never said the words himself, and had no right to seek them from her, he asked, “Will you love me, Abby, though I have nothing to give but this?”

She heard his question, and it brought with it the terrible realization that she would never be with him again. That she couldn’t be with him again, and that she loved him with all her heart. Unable to bear the pain, she cried out with a sound that was somewhere between a command and a wail of despair. Startled, Cat searched her face as she pushed against his chest in a sudden attempt to clear her mind.

But his need for her would not be denied. “It’s too late,” he whispered hoarsely. “We’ve gone too far.”

He lowered his mouth to hers and moved his hands over her body, sweeping her up once more in the wake of his desire. Unable to resist, she received him, and their bodies joined in a final, unrelenting drive for release.

Moments later, their need satisfied, they lay quietly, caught up in thought, sadly aware that rather than slowly, softly easing down from an incredible high, they had crashed. Tears rolled down Abby’s cheeks, and she turned her head aside.

Cat caught her chin and turned her back around to face him. “What happened? Why the hell did you try to stop me?” And then he asked more softly, “I thought you wanted me as much as I wanted you.”

“I did,” she answered.

“Then why?”

“Because what we’ve just shared isn’t enough for me, and it’s no good pretending that it is. I know you needed me tonight. You might even need me tomorrow, or next week. But what happens to me when your guilt returns? When whatever it is that drives you, drives you away from me again? What am I supposed to do then? Stand by and stoically accept my fate? Bow my head and patiently wait until the next time you knock on my door? Do you really expect me to settle for living from one visit to the next, with nothing in between but memories? Well, I can’t do that.”

Angrily, he shifted his weight off her and lay on his back. She shivered at the sudden exposure and reached for her robe, wrapping herself in it before going to the hearth to build up the fire. She heard him moving around behind her, and when she turned, he had put on his jeans and was pulling on his shirt. The eyes that met hers were hard and black.

“Damn it, Abby! You’ve got all I have to give. What more do you want?”

“I want someone who accepts me for what I am, who approves of me...just a little. Someone who’s willing to stick around, who wants to share the future with me, and have kids and grow old together, who isn’t afraid to say, ‘I love you.’ That’s what I want, but you can’t give me any of that. Instead you keep popping in and out of my life, throwing me scraps, keeping me off balance, never letting me forget how much I love you, or how much it hurts.” Her eyes filled with tears, and her throat constricted as she fought to put down the anger and pain that filled her. Looking at him made self-control an impossibility, so she turned back to the fire. He moved closer, until no more than a breath separated them, and although he did not touch her, she felt him.