Hatfield and McCoy (9 page)

“And I don't have to see you again. I don't have to listen to you, I don't have to talk to you!” Julie said.

“That's right,” he agreed savagely. He was still touching her, though. His hands were still on her shoulders.

He dropped them. Julie gritted her teeth.

He turned, striding to the front door, which he opened and slammed shut behind him.

Julie winced at the sound. She leaned against the wall, closing her eyes. If only her heart would stop beating so stridently. If the pulse that throbbed against her temple would slow down.

If only the sudden …

Emptiness, yes, emptiness …

Would go away.

There was a thundering on her door. She started, then yanked it open.

He was back. McCoy was back. Tall, imposing, towering there in her doorway.

“What—what else did I leave in your car?” she demanded.

“Nothing,” he said briefly.

“Then?”

He could be a bully when he wanted. He stepped inside, closing the door behind him.

Julie backed up just a bit, watching him.

He pulled off his sunglasses, and in his eyes she saw a tumult that matched her own. She swallowed, and her eyes lowered to his throat, and she saw the same pulse beating there.

“Then?” She repeated softly. “What …”

He groaned. “Then—then this!” he stated flatly. Suddenly he was reaching out, and she was drawn irrevocably into his arms. His mouth was on hers, wet, hot, open. Demanding. Parting her lips. And all the heat and electricity that had played between them suddenly met and seemed to explode there in the hallway like soaring red fireworks. The fever scorched along her back and settled into her.

And the kiss went on and on …

The kind of kiss that could never, never stop at the lips.

Chapter 5

H
is kiss was the most wonderful thing Julie had imagined, sweet water on dry earth, magic and mystery, and a slow, burning lesson in the ways of sensuality. His lips touched her lips, but the fire they created touched her skin, swirled to her belly and found root in some central place of her being. Every shift, every movement, each touch, each stroke … all were so natural and fluid, and all touched her anew. She felt the roughness of his fingertips against the bare flesh on her arms, her cheeks. His lips, his tongue … he kissed her and kissed her. Tasting, demanding. Savagely and tenderly at the same time. The feel of his body against hers was overwhelming. The driving tension, the engulfing heat, the steel power seemed to enwrap and encompass her. Then his lips rose briefly, and his eyes touched hers. She didn't know exactly what he sought, but he seemed to have found it. Once again, his lips found hers. His teeth gently caught her lower lip, and the searing warmth streaked through her once again. Her knees were weak, and a fierce trembling had begun within her.

His tongue bathed her lower lip, then he kissed her cheek, her forehead, her lips again. His movement was slow …

And so anxious. So leashed. As if he hungered greatly, but dined slowly to savor each morsel of a meal.

Julie gasped softly, clinging to his neck. He brushed aside her hair and kissed her throat. His tongue teased her flesh; his teeth barely brushed it. His lips moved again, just beneath her ear. Then lower, against her shoulder.

The buttons of her blouse were slipping open. As if they had life of their own, as if they approved of the assault on her senses, as if they gave blessing to it. He found the flaring throb of her pulse and left his kiss there. And then his head moved lower, and she vaguely thought that he had wonderful, thick rich sandy hair, then the thoughts were stolen from her mind, for his kiss was pressed against the rise of her breast, searing hot and more arousing than she could bear. She moaned softly, and her fingers knotted into his hair.

“Julie …”

“Yes …”

She didn't know if the whisper of her name was a question or not. She knew only that he had touched her in some way from the first moment she had seen him. And they had both known that coming to this point was inevitable.

He was the man … the man in her dream. The man who had brought heaven to her, here on this earth. The man who …

A chill swept through her. Danger. There had been so much danger in the dream. Ecstasy followed by fear.

But she wasn't afraid.

Perhaps he felt her tensing. Perhaps not. His arms were more securely around her. His kiss was more tantalizing. No fear …

Either that, or the desire was simply greater. So great that she could not care. Her blouse had fallen open all the way. He moved deftly, swiftly, knowing what he wanted. His fingers brushed against her back, freeing her breasts from the restraints of her white lace bra. His lips kissed the rise of flesh, then his mouth took her in, his tongue brushing her nipple fiercely, his hands … caressing.

A long, low moan escaped her. All thoughts of fear evaporated. She had never felt more sheltered.

Or more aroused.

His lips covered hers once again, then his head rose suddenly and she felt the silver fever of his eyes tense on hers. She was in his arms, half naked now, parts of her clothing barely dangling from her shoulders.

“You do live alone, I hope?” he said.

She smiled, a slow, warm smile that curled across the fullness of her lip. She nodded.

Then she was swept urgently into his arms. Her arms curled around his neck.

“Where?” he demanded huskily.

“Upstairs.”

Julie closed her eyes and leaned against him, secure in his hold. McCoy took the stairs two at a time.

There were five doors on the second floor, all standing ajar.

Perhaps he did have a touch of some form of power within his own doubting heart, for he chose the second door, the one that led to her bedroom. It was a beautiful room, with age-old mahogany furniture and a bed with a tall canopy and a plush, deep red, patterned comforter that matched the valances above the lighter drapes. Julie was glad she had made her bed that morning.

And then she knew it would not have mattered in the least because McCoy managed to one-handedly strip off the comforter and top sheet before placing her within that cocoon of covers. He came with her, not just a graceful lover, but an urgent one, his lips finding hers again before her head touched the pillow. Graceful, able, nearly frantic. His kiss broke as he found her shoes and dropped them heedlessly to the floor, his eyes on hers. Julie simply watched him for a moment, then she roused herself, shimmying from the remnants of her top garments and reaching out for him. Her fingers seemed so small and delicate against his chest as she worked at the two buttons on the turquoise knit shirt. Perhaps she didn't move them quickly enough. A strangled sound seemed to escape him, and he wrenched the shirt over his shoulders. For a moment they paused on their knees, watching one another, and then he pulled her into his arms, and the feel of her naked breasts against his hair-roughened chest was exquisite.

His hands covered her as he pressed her to the bed again, then he found the zipper at the rear of her skirt, and the rasp as it went down seemed to fill Julie with an ever greater longing. He slipped the skirt from her hips and she was left in a wisp of white lace bikini underwear, and for the first time, something gave him pause.

He stared at her as seconds ticked by. Then he touched her lip, and delicately drew a line from her mouth along her throat, between her breasts, down past her naval and straight to the throbbing center of all her heat and desire. She moistened her lips, amazed that such a delicate touch could create such a sensation. She could lie there no longer, her body on fire. She started to rise, but he pressed her back, his lips covering hers, then tracing that same pattern he had already drawn down the length of her body with his finger.

Julie twisted violently as the sweet sensation tore wildly through her. A flick of his finger had broken the thin band on the panties, and the wisp of lace was tossed away with no apology. And once again, she found the heat and desire within her rising to an unbearable point, half agony and half ecstasy, the longing and the pleasure so acute.

Then he was with her. His own clothing was shed and strewn, and the magnificent warmth of his body covered all of her. She entwined her arms around his neck and touched his lower lip gently with the tip of her finger. She stroked his shoulders, her fingers trailing down his back. He groaned, and she brought her delicate, sweeping touch around, teasing his midriff, his hip. Lower. Closing her fingers around him …

Some harsh sound emitted from him and it was over, this brief, sweet time of play and exploration.

It could be no other way.

Julie wrapped her arms and legs around him, welcoming him as he thrust into her, gasping, shivering, trembling, as she accepted the whole of him. He paused. He moved so slowly. Drawing out the touch, the wonder …

The longing.

She cried out, rising against him, but then he moved slowly no longer. A whirlwind swept around them. Magical, wonderful. She was aware of the cool feel of the air around them, because her flesh was on fire. She was soaring upward, but she keenly felt the softness of the comforter brushing against her flesh. She rose to some distant plain with him …

But she was so aware of his body. His thighs, so rough against her own, muscled, huge, taut. His belly, flat, damp, teasing her with every brush, every stroke and movement. His fingers, his hands … now at the side of her head, for anything held back was unleashed, and a sweet rhythm was rushing by faster and faster. Wonder filled her again and again, rising. Going even higher. She met his eyes, then she cried out, startled, almost frightened by the volatility of the sweet climax that seized hold of her. She closed her eyes against his, suddenly, ridiculously shy. She wound her arms around his neck, turning her face to the side and holding tight to him. Then she felt a great quaking within his shoulders, a stiffening like rock, and then a slow relaxation. Hot mercury seemed to fill her body.

He held deadly taut for what seemed like forever, then he slowly eased himself down beside her.

Neither of them spoke. He held her easily within his arms, and still the seconds ticked by. Hot, damp flesh cooled in the spring mountain air.

Then he gently ran his fingers over her shoulder. “I told you that I'd see you again,” he reminded her.

Julie smiled. He had banished any discomfort she might have felt over her more than abandoned behavior.

“Yes, you did. You must be psychic.”

It was the wrong thing to say. She felt the tension snake into his body, and it wasn't a sexual tension. He didn't exactly toss her away from him, but she felt him withdraw. Confused, hurt, she determined to draw away herself. Blindly she groped for something to cover herself with so that she could walk to the shower. There wasn't anything there. Her discarded clothing had gone flying and he was halfway lying on the comforter.

She didn't need anything. That would be like closing the barn door after the cow had run away, she reminded herself dryly. She just needed to leap up proudly and stride for the shower.

A long, tightly muscled arm fell over her. She couldn't hide forever. She met his eyes, a steady gray now, hard on hers.

“Julie,” he said huskily, “I don't suppose I ever told you this. I really think you're the most beautiful woman I've ever met.”

She was going to melt. She had to take great care. She sometimes felt as if she was dealing with Dr. Jeykll and Mr. Hyde. “That isn't necessary now, McCoy, is it? We've been where you wanted to go.”

His brow flew up incredibly and he was suddenly sitting, staring her down.

She wasn't going to be intimidated. It was time to make that proud march into the shower. She stood up. “Yes, excuse me—”

He stood and blocked her path. He didn't seem at all alarmed at his own nudity.

It alarmed Julie.

She had more time to look at him now. And she certainly had a more complete picture.

Her knees were weak all over again. She really did like everything about him. Even his arrogance. He was standing there with his hands on his hips, the breadth of his shoulders very straight, and the whole of him seeming to tick and pulse with tension once again. Bronze, taut and big. She felt her palms going damp and her eyes drawn just where they shouldn't be.

He smiled suddenly. “Yeah. I got what I wanted. Like you weren't ready to jump my bones, Miss Hatfield.”

“If you will just excuse me—” she said again, trying to stride imperiously by him.

It wasn't easy. He caught her by the shoulders and swung her around. And she struggled and started to shout out a real protest but she never found her voice. He was kissing her again. That same kind of kiss that seemed to bathe all her insides, that had gotten them here to begin with.

She pulled away from him determinedly. “I'm taking a shower, McCoy.”

She moved quickly, before he could stop her again, her mind in a whirl. What was it with him? There were moments when they seemed so close.

Moments when it seemed as if he was a lover she might have waited a lifetime to meet.

And then …

Then something leaped up between them. A wall, a barrier, as cold, as hard as stone.

She was still a charlatan. Sweet and simple.

That thought gave her the strength to slip by him to her bathroom.

Once the bathroom had been a bedroom. Julie had always wanted a huge bathroom. One with double sinks and a separate shower and tub, and she'd been determined that the tub would be huge and deep and have a nice hot whirlpool in it. Once she had saved enough of the money she received from the sale of her short stories, she had invested it immediately in her bathroom. It was a wonderful place.

But she didn't give it the least heed as she marched in, slammed the door and slipped into the glass-enclosed shower. She jerked the water on. It came out freezing cold. So cold that she gave a little scream, then stood beneath it anyway. Maybe it was exactly what she needed.