Patricia Potter (33 page)

No other words could have inflamed him more. No one had ever needed him, had ever wanted him. And now she was offering him the moon and the sunrise. Her mouth parted and he leaned down and touched his lips to hers with haunting gentleness. His hands slipped his trousers down. Carefully, he settled his body on top of hers to allow her to know it slowly.

Hesitantly, his mouth moved from her lips to her breasts, licking them, sucking on them, letting them brush his cheek. Then his tongue trailed downward to her stomach and he felt her whole body quiver, just as his was.

Willow felt like a very precious object. She had been surprised at first by his gentleness but now she wondered why she ever thought he would be otherwise. She’d seen him tenderly handling Chad, and putting jelly on a biscuit for Sallie Sue, glimpses of a side he’d hidden so well.

She loved him so much. Loved those turquoise eyes that sometimes flared with a fire he tried to contain, that tense body trying so hard to hold back when he was crying out for her, just as she was for him. She loved that scar on his shoulder because it was part of him, and she loved the strength in him and the grace.

Her hand went to his cheek and guided it up until once more their lips met. This time there were no reservations between them, only an all-consuming need to become one, to give to each other in a way they’d never given before.

She felt his manhood at the entrance of the most secret, private part of her, and she relished the hot, pulsating skin that moved against her. A deep, intense craving gnawed at the deepest core of her, making her move shamelessly against him and savor the contrast of her soft body against his hard one.

The very tentativeness of his movements when she could see the need etched on his face and in his taut muscles made her throb with love for him. She ached with compassion for this man who was so afraid of caring, yet had so much caring within him.

Then everything dissolved as he probed deeper, and she felt a sudden sharp pain, so unexpected that she cried out. He stilled, but his manhood continued to quiver against the inner confines of her body. The pain receded, and the need in her overcame the surprise, the need to wipe away the self-disgust that flitted across his face.

“No,” she whispered. “Don’t go away. Please don’t go away.” And her body said more than her words did as it arched against him and her arms pulled him down. She heard his long, raw cry and felt his heated lips back on hers.

He was all fierceness now, but still his mouth treasured her. The fullness in her, the strangeness of it, changed into something so sensuous and beautiful that instinctively she started moving with him, reaching for some unknown destination. Heat flooded her as his rhythm increased, as he ventured deeper and deeper. Pleasure rolled through her like rumbles of thunder, each wave more powerful than the one before as the momentum mounted and she was lost in one great storm of flashing lightning and bursts of splendor.

She cried out, and his lips captured hers as he thrust once more, igniting one final explosion that left her entire body feeling wonderfully sated and warm.

She looked up at him and saw the disbelief in his eyes, the wonder, the passion that made the blue-green color even more brilliant. He made no move to disengage himself from her, and she treasured the feel of his body so intimately connected to hers. His mouth touched the corner of one of her eyes, and lingered there, catching a tear that had gathered.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“No,” she said. “That’s not regret. It’s gratitude.” She was rewarded with a smile both unexpectedly boyish and uniquely sweet.

They lay there together, still linked in the most intimate of ways, both reluctant to break the enchantment and closeness of the moment, both afraid to say anything that might shatter their peace and contentment. His hand took hers and simply held it. She suspected that was the first time he’d ever done such a thing, and her fingers tightened around his.

“I never knew,” he said finally. “I—”

Her throat went tight at the emotion and awe in his voice.

He moved slightly, and she felt the sudden loss of his warmth. She rested her head against his chest and heard his heartbeat. There was a light film of moisture on him, and she licked it, feeling him react in the most basic of ways.

“Be careful, lady,” he said roughly, but there was also a note of tenderness, almost a caress, in the sound. She felt a rush of love for him, overwhelming everything she was or knew or cared about.

She knew he saw it in her eyes, for he suddenly moved away, his eyes filling with despair, his hands reaching for his clothes.

“Jess?”

“Lobo,” he answered, his voice low and angry. “Lobo.”

And clutching his clothes, he stalked off into the trees.

19

W
illow dressed slowly.
Her body still tingled and quivered. Each sensation remained wondrous to her.

She should have been bereft at his abrupt departure, but she wasn’t. She knew how much he’d tried to keep his distance, to keep from being involved, and how much his abysmal failure must have bothered him.

And it was, from his viewpoint, an abysmal failure indeed. For he had done much more than mate with her. He had given her part of himself. In his tender touches and gentle gestures he had reached deep inside himself, into parts even he didn’t know existed, and opened himself up.

He was probably regretting every lovely minute now.

But like Pandora’s box, once released, those feelings and emotions would be impossible to confine again. He might try. In fact, she knew he would.

He would fail.

She wanted to go after him, but her instincts told her that would not be wise. He had to work out things on his own. He had to come back on his own. And he would for a while. And then…

Willow didn’t want to think about “then.” She was willing to take this time, as much of it as she could have.

She rose slowly and went over to the riverbank. The water was very low, not much more than a foot deep in some places, and she thought about Jess’s plan. It was both dangerous and ingenious, and she wondered again at how very good he was at whatever he did, whether it was working with horses, or raising the barn, or building the defenses around the ranch house.

She also knew from the other night he was equally good with a gun!

But she simply couldn’t think of him as a cold-hearted gunfighter. It wouldn’t be the first time a man’s reputation had been twisted and embellished. Perhaps that was it; perhaps everything about him had been exaggerated until there was no distinguishing between truth and myth.

Nothing she’d been told of him fit what she had seen of Jess, what she knew of him.

Exaggeration? Lies? She swallowed deep as she thought of them. Vicious, he’d been called. Vicious and merciless.

Not her Jess. Not the man who had pulled Sallie Sue from the well, or saved Chad from a rampaging bull, or pulled a lawman from a burning barn. Not the man who had touched her so gently.

And then she sensed his return, sensed more than heard. She turned slowly and looked at him.

His lips were taut, his eyes veiled. Everything about him radiated tension. “I’m sorry,” he said stiffly, and Willow knew that he’d probably never said those words before. They sounded unfamiliar on his lips, rough, almost disbelieving.

Willow moved over to him, her hand reaching for his. “Come sit down with me for a while.”

“There’s a lot of work to do.” Yet he didn’t pull away, and the back of his hand went up to her cheek and moved along it. “We should go.”

“Please,” she said, and his head bent slightly in surrender. He allowed her to lead him to the bank, where she sat, her movement forcing him down, too, and then she leaned her body against his chest. “Don’t ever be sorry,” she said. “That was the most wonderful experience in my life.”

She looked up and saw a muscle flex in his cheek and his lips clench together. He was fighting something, her probably. Certainly himself.

“I can’t give you anything but trouble,” he said finally.

“You’ve already given me at least three lives,” she replied. “And a barn. Estelle, who’s ready to live again, and Brady, who looks better than he has in a long time.” She suddenly flushed. “And today. You’ve given me today. And nothing can ever take that away.”

He stared at her. She’d misjudged everything. He hadn’t meant to do any of what she’d just said. If he’d had time to think about it, he would have done none of them. He was no good.

Lobo tried to think of the worst thing he could say to her, the one thing that might repel her. And he knew what it was. He tried to force the words, but the secret was the one he’d hidden the deepest, had protected the most. And now was the time to tell her.

He didn’t know how. How could he tell her he couldn’t read or write? Someone like her, whose life was books and learning?

The words finally came because they had to. But they came hard and ragged. “I can’t…even read.”

He was startled at the puzzlement in her eyes.

And she
was
puzzled. She was surprised that he couldn’t read, mainly because he was so competent at everything. But then she thought back to his past, and it made sense. But she didn’t understand why he felt the shame he obviously did. This was obviously something very important to him, and she felt again that vulnerability in him that was so appealing, that separated him from the man everyone else apparently saw.

“That’s easily remedied,” she said softly. “Learning to read is one of the reasons Jake left me the ranch. Jake wanted to learn, and I taught him on weekends. And Chad…I teach him at night. His father wouldn’t send him to school.”

“Jake?”

“When I came here, he wanted more than anything to read the Bible. He was…shy…about it, and I used to come over on Sundays and teach him to read. I think he was prouder to write his wife’s name in his Bible than anything he’d ever done.”

Lobo remembered Newton’s insinuations about Willow and Jake, and he wanted to kill the man even as he wondered over Willow’s ready acceptance of what he considered a major flaw in himself. But then, he was amazed at her acceptance of so many things. It wouldn’t last. He knew that. She would soon see him for what he was, not the man she fancied he was. And he didn’t know if he could bear that.

Yet he had brought this all on himself.

She leaned back against him and looked up, her eyes full of love and pride, and her words momentarily eased his doubts, reduced to rubble the shame he’d always felt about his lack of education. “You know so much. You look at a problem and you know immediately how to solve it. That’s so much more important than someone who knows books and nothing else.” Her hand played with his. “There’s so much strength in you,” she added.

Waves of unexpected pleasure surged through him. He suddenly wanted to be everything she thought he was, but then despair settled in. He wasn’t; he never would be. There was too much behind him. But for this moment he would enjoy it. His hands wound through her braid, separating the strands until her hair fell free around her face. It was so silky and irresistible. He leaned his head down and breathed the fresh, flowery scent while a breeze brushed both of them and scattered rays of sun played against their skin. He had never known such quiet contentment. For the first time in his life he felt peace and joy and love, and he reveled in it, knowing this moment was fleeting and would soon be only a memory. His body ached pleasurably with the recent joining, and he swallowed from the mystery of it, the mystery and glory that he never knew existed between man and woman.

“You are so beautiful,” he said again.

Willow heard the haunting sadness in his voice, and she wanted to assure him and comfort him and love him. The stark loneliness was back, and so was a hint of helplessness. And helplessness did not fit this man of hers.

This man of hers.

And then she said words she hadn’t meant to say, because she didn’t think he would welcome them. But feelings overwhelmed her, and she couldn’t hold them back. “I love you,” she said.

He didn’t say anything. He didn’t jerk back as she had thought he would. Instead, he sat as still as a statue, and his eyes reflected the deepest sadness she’d seen in a human being.

His hands moved over her as if memorizing every curve. Her gaze didn’t move from his face, and she saw a muscle twitch in his jaw. She ran a finger along the muscle’s length, and it seemed to jump under her ministrations. He closed his eyes, and she knew he did so to close out the powerful emotions streaking between them. Passion, yes, but so much more than that, things she knew he didn’t want to recognize or acknowledge.

“That’s the worst thing you can do,” he said finally.

“I think it’s the best,” she said as she leaned up and kissed his lips. When she pulled back, he tried to speak but she put her fingertips to his mouth.

“I’m not asking for anything,” she said. “Not that you stay, although I want that, not for any promises. Just to be with you awhile.”

“That’s not enough,” he said, his words catching in his throat and sounding uncertain to him.

“It is for me.”