My Heart's Desire (28 page)

Jarret found her kiss familiar in an odd sort of way, as if the taste of her was already on the tip of his tongue and he was reacquainting himself with the texture and tang. Her mouth moved over his, nibbling at his lower lip, sweeping her tongue on the sensitive underside of his upper. He tried to catch her lip in his teeth, but she dodged him, spreading hungry, tormenting kisses across his brow and temples.

The blankets tangled between them but they were a minor nuisance compared to his shirt. He laid his hands over Rennie's fingers as she tugged at the buttons. "I'll do it," he said.

Her lips brushed his knuckles as his hands worked. She helped him pull the tails of his shirt free of his jeans. Her palms learned the shape of his chest, the tension of his flesh, and curve of his rib cage. The tips of her nails skimmed his tautly ridged abdomen. His ragged, indrawn breath caught her by surprise. She touched him again, lightly, and felt his hard belly contract under her fingers in anticipation of her touch.

Jarret's hand closed around her wrist, stopping her as her fingers edged just below his jeans. He hauled her upward so that he could have her mouth again. She gave it to him obligingly, engaging his tongue and lips in sweet battle.

Cupping her buttocks in his palms, Jarret pressed the cradle of her thighs against the hard ridge in his jeans. His intimate kiss mimicked the grinding of her hips on his. He turned Rennie so that she was lying mostly under him. His hands pushed her nightshirt higher. He swallowed her gasp as his hands caressed her breasts.

He buried his face in her neck. "Do you want me to stop?" he asked. He felt, rather than heard, her denial. He traced the line of her neck with his tongue and placed a hard, biting kiss in the arched curve of her throat.

His thumbs worried her tautly swelling breasts and pebble-hard nipples. He abandoned them only long enough to slide his palms along her ribs and the tapering curve of her waist. She moved restlessly under him, imprinting his back with the press of her fingertips. Her thighs parted and when his hand dipped lower, past her flaring hips, and his fingers nested in the soft mound between her thighs, he discovered she was warm and wet and ready for him.

And not ready.

Her entire body stiffened at the questing, sexual caress of his hand. He did not move it away, but his fingers no longer moved. "Rennie? I can still stop."

She could hardly hear her own voice. She willed him to understand. "Do you have to touch me there?"

"No, not now," he said, laying his forehead against hers. Their noses bumped. He kissed her with bruising, carnal frankness, and when it was over his hand rested lightly on her hip. "You tell me where," he said. "Tell me where you want to be touched."

For a moment she couldn't say anything. She could only make out the shadowed profile of his face in the darkness. It was both menacing and erotic. She raised one hand and found his cheek, caressed it, her breath catching when he turned his mouth toward the heart of her palm and nipped the fleshy ball of her thumb with his teeth.

"Like that?" he asked, imagining her siren's smile in the darkness.

She took the hand that was on her hip and drew it to her breast. "And here," she said. It was not only his hand she wanted there, but also his mouth, and he seemed to know what she could not ask for. His breath was hot on her skin, his mouth hotter. She felt the tug of it, the wet and warm suck as his lips closed over her flesh. It was just not in her breast that she felt it, but deeper, deeper than her thrumming heart, or the fiery run of blood in her veins. Sensation ran under her skin along the length of her nerves and made her feel a hot, aching void between her thighs.

She almost asked him to touch her there again, but he had moved his attentions to her other breast. Her mind and her voice could not give rise to a complete thought. Rennie's fingers tangled in his soft hair. She stroked the back of his neck.

Nothing he did to her was like anything that had been done to her before, yet the caress of his hands on her body was tantalizingly familiar. She remembered the dream that had sent her into his arms—the second one—and she wondered if she were merely dreaming again, wondered if his touch was a continuation of something not of substance, but of wanting.

The edge of his tongue tracing a line from the center of her breasts to her belly was pleasantly rough. His exploration of her navel tickled.

"It does?" he asked when she told him. "Prove it."

He thought his heart might outrace him as she turned the tables, or that he would melt, or simply come out of his skin. He allowed her to lever him onto his back and raise herself over him. She breathed excitement into his chest with her mouth, flicking his flat nipples with the tip of her tongue, raising them as he had raised hers. She slid over him while his fingers sifted through her silky waterfall of dark red hair. Rennie's mouth worked its way down his flat belly and nipped the skin just around his navel.

"That didn't tickle," he said.

She kissed him there. "I must have done something wrong."

Jarret reached under Rennie's shoulders and drew her up so that she lay flush to his body, her head even with his. Her nightshirt slipped over her breasts. His jeans were rough on her naked legs. "Rennie." He said her name quietly, seriously, his voice edged with suppressed passion. "You know what comes next. If you want me to stop, say it now."

"I don't want you to stop."

"I hope you mean it," he whispered against her mouth. He kissed her, turning her on her back. His hand slipped between their bodies. His knuckles brushed her thighs as he unfastened his fly and drew himself out. She raised her knees slightly when he moved between her legs. She quivered beneath him; her breath rasped at the back of her throat. "Wrap your legs around me," he told her. His fingers curved under her buttocks, raising her.

Rennie wanted him. She
did.
But at his entry she tried to get away, bucking, and forced a deeper thrust. Jarret stilled, holding himself steady within her. He felt her close around him as she tried to expel his body. The grip of her velvet walls was an agony of pleasure. He lowered himself over her and rested his weight on his forearms. His mouth nudged hers.

"You should have told me you were a virgin," he said.

"I thought you knew." She could feel her body stretching to accommodate him. "Those men... they didn't..."

"Shh," he whispered. Her tentative movement ceased. "I know what happened tonight. I thought in the past nine months that Hollis—" He settled himself more fully against her, driving a little deeper. "That you and Hollis would have..."

She moved again, this time to accept him. "No... we never... I—"

Jarret cut her off, slanting his mouth across hers. His hips rose, fell. He felt the tightening of her legs along his flanks. On the next thrust she rose with him.

The rhythm of their joining threatened to spiral them out of control. Urgency overwhelmed them. Rennie's nails scored Jarret's back. His mouth seared her flesh. Their breathing was harsh, their sentences incomplete and husky. Rennie felt as if she were riding a great wave of tension, extending her entire being for something just beyond her grasp. She was lifted, stretched. Her fingers splayed and her neck arched. She reached outside of herself...

It happened without warning. He was with her, guiding their movements, matching the frantic, hungry rhythm of their coupling, and then he was collapsing, not replete in the aftermath of lovemaking, but empty in the aborted attempt as his shoulder, arm, and hand gave way beneath him.

His body lay heavily on hers, not comfortably, but crushingly. In a heartbeat, humiliation became blinding anger. Jarret withdrew from her, swearing viciously as he sat up. He pushed aside the blankets impatiently and fumbled with his jeans, buttoning the fly. When he felt Rennie's tentative touch on his shoulder he jerked away.

Dazed, Rennie let her hand fall. "What is it, Jarret? What's happened?" When he didn't answer she asked, "Have I done something?"

"Too damn much," he said tightly. "This was a bad idea from the beginning. I was a fool to think otherwise."

"I don't understand."

He glanced over his shoulder, but he could barely make out her profile. "Look, I'm sorry you weren't pleasured, but it's over. The next time you're feelin' frisky find some other man to ride you. I'm not interested."

She recoiled, stunned.

Her silence unnerved him. He swore again, raw, ugly words this time that did nothing to cleanse his wounded pride. He grabbed a fistful of blankets in his left hand and headed outside toward the fire. "Be ready to leave at first light," he said. He dropped the flap back in place and turned his back on her first jarring sob.

Chapter 8

Rennie's movements were stiff and slow as she crawled out of the tent. Her bones ached with cold. The sun had risen an hour earlier but gave no indication of warming the day. Its bright light cast a glare across the crusty snow and forced Rennie to raise her hand to shield her eyes.

Jarret was hunkered beside the fire, his back to Rennie. He didn't acknowledge her approach except to point to the dry log at his right where she could sit. When she was down he handed her a tin mug of coffee without once looking in her direction.

Wrapping her gloved hands appreciatively around the hot mug, Rennie raised it to her face. She breathed deeply of the steam and aroma and then sipped it carefully. The heat on her tongue felt good. Her teeth stopped chattering. "When will we be leaving?" she asked. The horses, she saw, were saddled, and with the exception of her belongings and the tent, they were also packed.

Jarret poked at the fire with a stick, stirring the flames a little higher. "Depends," he said laconically. "You want some breakfast?"

She managed to keep the sarcasm out of her voice. Her words made it unnecessary. "In spite of your gracious offer, I think I'll just have the coffee."

For the first time since she joined him, Jarret bothered to glance in her direction. Instead of staring her down, he simply stared.

The raised collar of her fur coat and the lowered brim of her fashionable little hat couldn't hide the damage that had been done to her. Rennie's skin had no glow and very little color. Tear tracks marred the chalky curve of her cheeks. Her eyelids were swollen, and the tip of her nose was an unnatural shade of pink. There was a purplish bruise and more puffiness along the left side of her face.

Jarret could only imagine what other marks her body bore. He remembered seeing Tom's savage mouth on her breast; then he remembered his own there. His stomach knotted and his teeth clenched. He pitched the cold remains of his coffee on the fire and stood. "I'll knock down the tent," he said. "Be ready to leave when I am."

Tears gathered in her eyes, but she blinked them back. Rennie watched him stride away and begin working with swift, efficient motions. She gingerly touched the side of her face and felt the ache and swelling along her jaw. She didn't clearly remember who dealt her the vicious slap, but she would never forget Jarret's accusatory stare as he looked on it. There was but one interpretation for his cold, angry look that Rennie could find: he blamed her for everything.

She finished her coffee and was waiting beside her mare when Jarret finished with the tent. He gave her a leg up into the saddle. It seemed to Rennie that his touch was especially impersonal, as if he couldn't bear even the most inconsequential contact. She settled herself cautiously against the saddle, more aware than ever of the aching tenderness between her thighs. She felt Jarret's unwavering stare on her again, his disapproval, and she ignored both.

Jarret made certain all the straps on Albion were secure. "What do you have on under there?" he asked.

Rennie blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

He lifted the hem of her coat and her gray, brushed wool dress. "Under here," he said impatiently. "What are you wearing under?"

She flushed scarlet. "I don't think that's any of your concern."

Steadying Albion before the mare bolted away under Rennie's nervous handling, Jarret said, "It is if you can't ride because your bottom's frozen to the saddle. What kind of woman traipses across this country in a dress like you're wearing anyway? Don't you have riding clothes? Or a lady's saddle?" He sighed. "Forget that. You wouldn't get twenty yards in this terrain on one of those."