Only Hers (22 page)

“I see,” she said, not knowing if the sadness in her voice was because of her conversation with James or knowing Matt’s involvements with women were brief and sexually motivated. She was very afraid it was the latter. She wasn’t as worried about breaking off with James as she was at the frightening possibility of never having a relationship with Matt or, worse, having one and watching him walk away.

“You cool enough with the air-conditioning off?”

“Yes.” She clamped her hands in her lap, because she wanted so very much to wrap them around Matt and ask him to hold her. Friendship was better than nothing. Her head lowered.

The impulse was stronger this time to offer her the comfort and strength of his arms. He needed some air.

“You want to get out?”

“I haven’t gotten used to the total darkness in the country,” she admitted softly. “It makes me feel small and rather insignificant. Except for the few stars there’s no other light in the sky except the moon.”

Propping his arm on the back of the seat to keep himself out of trouble, Matt stretched out his legs. “I like the isolation, the quiet.”

“That’s because you have never probably known a moment of fear in your life,” Shannon said.

“Anyone who says he’s never been afraid of something is a liar.”

“You don’t impress me as a man afraid of anything.”

“A man without fear is a fool waiting to get his comeuppance,” Matt said with feeling. “There’s not a man or woman who has ridden the rodeo circuit or ranched who hasn’t been a tiny bit afraid of the animal they drew, afraid they won’t make the slack, or worried about the weather, or fluctuating beef prices. I went from one profession to another, where each new day brought new problems.”

“And you wouldn’t change it for anything.”

The certainty in her voice somehow pleased him. “No. There’s not another place I’d rather be.”

Shannon leaned her head against the seat. “It must be nice knowing where you belong, where you’re going.”

Something about the wistfulness in her voice pricked at him. His fingers touched something soft and silky. Her hair. Instead of moving away as he planned, he wrapped a curl around his finger. “You don’t?”

“I thought I did, but now I’m not so sure.” She glanced out the window. “I’m ready to go back if you are.”

She’d shut him out. She’d done it politely, but she had done it just the same. Just as she had the jerk who wanted to marry her. Somehow that angered him. He didn’t want her to treat him like every other man in her life.

He knew one way to get her attention. Warm fingers settled more firmly in her hair, then turned her head toward his descending one. He felt the warmth of her breath, inhaled the exotic scent that seemed so much a part of her, savored the gentle touch of her lips against his.

He stopped thinking.

His arms gathered her closer, his mouth slanted across hers. Her lips opened without hesitation. He needed no further invitation. His tongue swept inside the dark interior. Forbidden and delicious and hot.

At the first taste of him Shannon forgot everything but the need to get closer. He kissed her relentlessly, taking from her, giving to her until her mind was filled only with incredible sensations that began and ended with Matt. She felt as if she were being enveloped in a thick, sensual haze of passion.

Under his nimble fingers, her blouse eagerly parted. The touch of his hand on her stomach wrenched a low moan of pleasure from her. Her breasts tingled and tightened in anticipation as his searching hand slowly moved upward. Then, he was there, cupping her.

She arched against his hand, her entire body quivered in mindless pleasure. He caught her lower lip between his and suckled. She felt restless, needy, hungry. She needed to touch him the way he was touching her.

Hands that trembled somehow unbuttoned his shirt,
then touched almost reverently the hard, hot muscled flesh beneath. His mouth found her again. She whimpered and strained against him.

She was burning him alive and he was enjoying every consuming flame.

His thumb raked across the tight bud of her nipple, and he caught her low groan of pleasure. He never knew a woman to be so responsive or her skin to be so soft. He didn’t seem to be able to get enough of touching her, of tasting her.

He wanted to taste her everywhere and then start again. The agony was exquisite torture. He had never wanted anything as badly as he wanted to bury himself in Shannon’s sleek body.

The last thought rocketed through his brain. With wild desperation he tore his lips from hers and fought for control. Somehow he had forgotten she wasn’t for him.

Her breathing as labored as his, her eyes dazed, she stared up at him. Her hands remained on his skin, her soft curves pressed to him. With more power than grace he set her across the seat from him. And prayed she stayed there.

She did, but it wasn’t far enough. His senses were too attuned to her. He still smelled her, still remembered the satiny texture of her skin, still tasted the honeyed sweetness of her lips, still wanted her so much he ached.

Every button she slowly did in the lengthening silence he wanted to undo. All he had to do was . . .

He gripped the steering wheel instead of reaching for Shannon. His head spun, his body was in torment.

Shannon kissed like she did everything else, with power and passion. She put her entire body into it. More than his next ragged breath, he wanted to pull her down on the seat and make love to her until nothing else mattered.

He started the engine, backed up and took off to the ranch. He left the windows down. Maybe the wind whipping across his face would cool him off. As delectable as Shannon’s body was, she wasn’t worth his ranch.

The truck tires screeched as he came to a halt in front
of the ranch house. He stared straight ahead. The passenger door opened, material glided over the leather seat. When he didn’t hear the door close, he glanced around. And wished he hadn’t.

The porch light behind Shannon threw her into sharp relief. He saw her tousled hair, her kiss-swollen lips, the mismatched button on her blouse. She looked rumpled and needy.

“Somehow I don’t think going to the meadow will help either of us sleep tonight.” The door closed.

Matt stomped the accelerator and took off for the garage. That was the last time he’d try to be nice. From now on, Shannon was on her own. He didn’t care if she flooded the entire state with tears.

Matt was avoiding her.

Sighing, Shannon lifted the curtain in the kitchen and looked out. Lightning streaked across the night sky followed by an ominous rumble of thunder. The weatherman had predicted a rainstorm. And Matt was out there somewhere. She shivered and let the curtain fall.

Today he had assigned her to Octavia and Cleve. This morning over the strained atmosphere of the breakfast table she had tried to talk to him about her duties, but he had brushed her aside saying he had more important things to do than listen to her complain.

The unfairness of his remark hurt. He was the one who said she needed to learn about the ranch. Somehow she didn’t think he meant tending the vegetable garden or taking over Octavia’s job as cook. She wanted to be out working on the ranch. She had enjoyed being outdoors, enjoyed knowing she was helping Matt in some small way.

But the kiss last night had changed things.

Now there was an awareness between them. Almost like an electric charge. All it would take was a tiny spark to set it off.

Matt was going to make sure that didn’t happen.

In principle she agreed with his decision. When he
touched her, her brain turned to mush. She wished this awareness didn’t keep them from being friends.

She wanted to get to know him better. There was a tenderness beneath Matt’s tough exterior just as Wade had said, just as she was slowly discovering.

For all his gruffness and arrogance, he had cared that James’s call had upset her. In Matt’s own way he had been trying to help her.

Then they had kissed and everything had changed.

A loud clap of thunder shook the house. Startled, Shannon lifted the curtain again, praying Matt wasn’t still out there moving the herd as Cleve had told her earlier, praying he was safe in the barn.

In her mind came the memory of a horse spooked by lightning, an unseated rider injured and alone as the rain unmercifully plummeted his body. It had been in a movie, but it was still a real possibility.

Shivering, she strained her eyes to see past the slight drizzle of rain that had begun to fall. He was probably all right. She had seen for herself how well Matt rode. Octavia wasn’t worried. The housekeeper had retired to her bed an hour ago. Shannon had gone to her room, but she hadn’t been able to stay put. So she had come to the kitchen, the first room Matt always entered when he came home.

A flash of lightning illuminated the yard. Shannon gasped. A cloaked figure in a duster-style rain slicker and Stetson strode toward the house. Head bent against the rain, he came toward her.

Matt.

She wanted to run to the door and berate him for scaring her, hold him to make sure he was safe. She could do neither. It was after nine. He’d know she had waited for him. She started from the room.

The back door opened. Light flooded the kitchen. It was too late. Slowly she faced Matt. Hat in hand, his black rain slicker glistening with water, he looked dangerous. A dark angel.

“What are you doing here in the dark?”

“I’m thirsty.” It wasn’t exactly a lie, her mouth was dry. Deciding to brave it out, she crossed to the refrigerator. She had taken two steps before she remembered she was wearing pajamas. Her steps faltered. The oversize boxy top and above-the-knee leggings in a rose print covered everything, yet knowing she didn’t have on any underwear caused her to wish she had been a coward and gone to her room.

Out of the corner of her eye, she glanced at Matt. He hadn’t moved. His stillness unnerved her. He was watching her, his black eyes stripping away her clothes, touching her, wanting her, making her body tingle and burn and want his.

“Y-you’re making a puddle.”

His head jerked up, then down. Water ran from his duster and pooled on the floor around him. His gaze arched upward. His mouth tightened beneath his mustache. Shrugging off his slicker, he headed for the utility room.

Trembling so badly she could hardly walk, Shannon somehow managed to get a towel and clean up the floor. The door to the utility room reopened. Her skin felt hot, prickly, too tight for her body.

“Get your water and leave. I’ll take care of the floor.”

Gripping the towel, she stood. This was one time she was glad to take orders from Matt. She needed to leave while she was still thinking clearly. Placing the towel on the far end of the counter, she washed her hands, then got a glass of water.

The glass clinked against her teeth. Hoping Matt hadn’t heard the sound, she clutched the shaking glass tighter and lowered it from her lips. Preparing to make her escape, she took a steadying breath and faced Matt. “I . . . er, think I’ll take this upstairs.”

“Night.” The word was low, husky, as if forced through clenched teeth.

“Good night,” she said, and began inching her way across the room, her eyes unable to keep from roaming over his powerful body one last time to reassure herself he was all right.

He needed a haircut. There were dark smudges beneath his eyes. His shoulders, encased in a faded green shirt, were as wide as she remembered. The wide silver belt buckle emphasized his trim waist. His hands—

“You’re hurt,” she cried. Crossing the room, she reached for his bandaged hand.

Matt moved it out of reach. “It’s nothing.”

Shannon glanced from the blood-specked white handkerchief tied around the palm of his left hand to Matt’s tight features.
This
she felt fully confident to handle. “Then you won’t mind me taking a look.”

Setting the glass down, she retrieved the first-aid kit from beneath the sink. After putting away the groceries and cooking, she knew where everything was located in the kitchen. Without giving him a chance to protest further, she caught him by the arm of the injured hand and led him to the sink.

“I can do this myself.”

“I didn’t say you couldn’t.” Her back to him, she pulled his arm under hers and began untying the bandage. She breathed a sign of relief as the bandage easily slid off. “How did it happen?”

“Barbed wire” came the succinct reply.

She glanced at him over her shoulder. “Why weren’t you wearing your gloves?”

Black eyes drilled into hers. “Are you gonna fix my hand or ask foolish questions?”

She glared right back. “Is your tetanus shot—”

“Yes,” he snapped.

“At least you remembered something important.” With that parting shot, she opened the first-aid kit with one hand, held Matt’s hand with the other, then turned the water faucet on low. “This cleaning solution might sting a little.”

Matt remained silent.

Slanting his hand downward beneath the stream of water, she cleaned the two-inch wound at the base of his palm, then gently probed the area. It wasn’t very deep; the sides
easily met. But it must have hurt, must still be hurting. The thought of him in pain caused her stomach to knot.

She shut off the water. The pads of her fingertips brushed across his upper palm, the callused ridges of his hand, trying to soothe away the pain. Once, twice.

Matt shifted from one foot to the other. The front of his thighs brushed against her hips. Awareness shot through her like lightning. The hand that had been so steady moments earlier trembled.

His uninjured hand came to rest on the sink by her waist, effectively trapping her. Her throat dried. Trying to regain her professionalism, she took a deep breath. And felt his muscled hardness from her shoulder blades to the bend of her knees.

Air wobbled out of her lungs.

Fingers that refused to remain steady and cooperate finally dried his injured hand, applied too much antibiotic ointment, and put on the adhesive bandage about as well as a four-year-old could.

“Th-that should do it.” Not wanting to step back against him, she glanced over her shoulder with what she hoped was a professional smile.