Sweet Annie (14 page)

She grabbed the saddle horn and made the transference
easily. Using the stirrup, Luke swung up behind her.

He
was bigger than the last time they'd done this, harder, more muscled, and she
was aware of his chest and thighs against her back and hips, his breath grazing
her neck.

"Can Wrangler handle this?" she asked.

"We're not going
far." Luke took the reins and with a flex of his hard thighs against hers,
the horse stepped forward.

Elated,
Annie clung to the saddle hom and leaned back against his solid reassuring
form. Her second ride was every bit as exhilarating as her first, in fact even
more so. Now she was aware of Luke as a man. She had eagerly anticipated their
stolen time together.

He led the horse through
the dark silent streets of town, passed businesses with living quarters
overhead. Annie glanced up at the dark windows. Luke halted the horse before
the livery. The wide door that stood open during the day was closed, and the
horse stopped near a door to the side.

Luke
dismounted, then reached up. She leaned toward him and he took her weight easily,
carrying her and leading the horse through the doorway and into the dark
interior of the stable that smelled of hay and horses.

He
paused and told her where to reach to locate a lamp and matches. She lit the
wick and carried the lantern, letting the light guide their way as he carried
her down a double row of box stalls.

Luke
lowered her to her feet. "There's a bench there, if you want to sit."

She did.

He
led Wrangler into a stall, removed his saddle, and scooped grain into a bucket.
“You deserve extra oats, boy," he said, slapping his hindquarters.
"I'll brush you down good later."

The
horse nickered as though he'd understood, and Annie smiled to herself.

Luke
fastened the stall door behind him. “Want to walk or shall I carry you?"

"I'll walk."

She
stood and he took her hand, leading her past the stalls, telling her which
horses were his, which he boarded. He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm
and against the solid warmth of his body. They turned a corner and entered a
large room with a waist-high brick fireplace that took up the outside wall.

"This
is the forge." He showed her his tools: hammers, tongs, punches and
chisels. He pointed out the double-chambered bellows above the forge. Two sizes
of anvils had been mounted to tree trunks of a height he could easily reach to
work. Right now the chilly room smelled of coals, and she could only imagine
how hot it would be when the fire was blazing enough to shape and beat iron.

"I
heard the sound of the hammers building this place, and sometimes on a clear
day I can hear the ring of the hammer on the iron. Now when I hear it, I'll
picture you here. You'll seem closer."

He gave her a gentle smile
and touched one finger to her cheek before continuing on.

Another room was completely
filled with tack, and the scent of leather and oil permeated her nostrils.

"Why so many different
harnesses and bits?" she asked after he told her what each was.

“All horses are unique and
work differently. Some like one kind of bit, some another. You don't want your
animal to obey because of pain, so you make sure the bit fits his mouth."

"Oh." She turned
back and he was standing so close that she stepped into his arms. She wrapped
her arms around his waist more because of her pleasure to be with him than for
balance.

He ran his thumb down her
spine to her waistband and back up, and Annie experienced a stunning rush of
excitement. Being alone with a man and any physical contact was strictly
forbidden according to the way she and every other girl she knew had been
raised. If she'd been severely warned about flirtation and flattery, how much
more taboo was
this?

But she just couldn't see
this beautiful thing they shared as wrong.

He lowered his head and her
heart fluttered in response. She raised her lips and met his warm damp mouth
with a soft exhale and a tiny sound of pleasure.

The kiss mounted and
swelled, and he nipped the corner of her lips, dragged his mouth to her chin,
then to her neck.

Annie let her head fall
back and enjoyed the pleasurable sensations his mouth created on her sensitive
skin. Deep inside, tiny bursts of warmth flooded her heart and chugged through
her veins.

“I
like you in the daytime, Annie, when the sunlight is bright on your hair,
making it look like fire and fool's gold. Your lashes are so light and your
skin is as fine as a baby's, so fair and so delicate."

Just
those words made her breasts feel hard and achy. Her breath caught in her
throat.

"But
I like you in the dark, too, when I have to rely on my nose and my hands and
the sound of your voice and your sighs. In the dark it seems like we're the
only two people in the world."

She let her eyelids close
and imagined being alone with no distractions, no parents, no one waiting to
correct her or stop her from being herself. "I wish we were."

He
hugged her tightly, and she buried her cheek against his chest and the erratic
pounding of his heart.

"Where
do you live?" she asked. "You haven't shown me yet."

"It's not much to
see."

"I want to see
anyway."

"Okay."
He took one of her hands and the lantern and led her through a narrow corridor,
then held open a door for her to pass inside.

Annie
limped into the long, narrow room. The space held a small woodstove, a chest of
drawers, a normal-size bed, a stack of crates atop which sat folded toweling
and a pail for water. Pegs in one wall held coats and overalls and hats she'd
never seen him wear.

Another
stack of crates held books and a few personal items. A worn braided rug
covered the plank floor.

"I
told you it wasn't much."

She
glanced around the austere space. "It's not bad."

"It's only temporary until I build a
house."

"I said it's not bad."

"It's not what you're used to."

She glanced up at him.
"I've never had to pay for anything myself."

An uncomfortable silence
stretched between them. Annie's tired legs wobbled, and she made her way to the
edge of his bed and sat. "I had an abysmal day."

Luke sat the lantern on the
chest of drawers. "What happened?''

She told him about the ham and the incident with
Will and the ball and the tea. He pulled an upended nail keg from a corner and
perched atop it in front of her.

"Sometimes I feel like
I'm swimming upstream and all the other fish are going the other direction. I'm
the only one fighting the current and it's a losing battle. The other fish all
say, 'Why don't you turn around and go the way we're going?' and I wonder that
myself sometimes.

"But I'll die. I'll
just die if I have to wither away in that chair and be treated like an invalid
for the rest of my life." Her mother's words pierced her again. "Do
you know what she said? Her first words were 'What if someone had seen you?' As
if that were the worst thing that could happen. As if I'm so gauche and ugly
that she's ashamed of me."

Luke lifted her hands and
pressed his lips to their backs. "I can't believe she's ashamed of
you," he denied. "She loves you, and she's protective."

"It's more than that.
It's as though I'm a pretty pet when I stay in my chair, but if I look awkward
she's embarrassed."

"I think you're beautiful just the way you
are."

She smiled into his eyes,
still disbelieving he saw her the way he claimed. But she even felt pretty when
she was with him. "I did discover that I have an ally in Diana, however.
I'd suspected all along, but today confirmed it."

"Well then, somethin' good did happen today."

"And tonight,"
she said softly. "Something real good is happening tonight."

He smiled that devastating
smile that carved slashes in his cheeks.

Annie pulled a hand from
his easy grasp to reach up and tentatively stroke one long dimple with her
fingertips. His skin was surprisingly smooth and warm. She drew the caress
across his lips and he kissed her fingers in passing.

Her stomach fluttered crazily.

She touched his eyebrows next, so black, and yet
they, too, were remarkably soft.

He circled her wrists and
brought her palms to his cheeks to frame his face, and her skin felt cool
against the divine heat of his. His ebony lashes swept down and his eyes
closed.

He was beautiful, with strong sharply angled lines
to his face, a soft sensuous mouth, hair and brows as black as midnight, his
chin and jaw molded in clean lines. She could look at him forever. She could
touch him forever. Her throat tightened with the sweet ache of emotion she felt
toward this forbidden man.

What was it she felt?
Gratitude? Of course. Friendship? Not really, not compared to what she felt
toward Charmaine or Diana. These feelings were more intense ... more
consuming... more—
physical.

Was this lust or love or a combination?

All she knew was that she
couldn't get close enough, couldn't spend enough time in his company, couldn't
draw enough pleasure from their touches and kisses to satisfy this wild greedy
hunger she had for him.

"Come closer," she begged softly.

His eyelids rose and he
slid from the keg to kneel on the braided rug at her feet. She turned her knees
to one side to allow him to lean in close and he released her wrists to circle
her waist.

She felt his mouth move over hers as much in her
hands as against her lips. His jaw moved as he angled his head and parted his
lips against hers.

His tongue dipped out to
taste her, hot and satiny textured. Hesitantly she parted her lips and his next
sweep brushed his tongue against hers.

The erotic contact reached
to her very core. Threading her hands into his silky hair, she held him fast,
returned his kiss, relished each thrust and foray and bewildering jolt of
sensation.

His hands, bracketing her waist, rubbed up and down
her ribs through the fabric of her dress and un-derthings. The heat melded
right through the fabric to her flesh. His thumbs brushed the undersides of her
breasts, and her heart hammered double-time.

She must have taken over
someone else's body, someone beautiful and healthy and desirable for him to
want her like this. Someone else must be occupying her mind for her to have
cast caution and upbringing aside to engage in fleshly pleasures. Because she
sure wasn't Annie, not the hesitant, self-conscious girl she'd been only a few
months ago.

His
attentions lent her boldness and confidence, and combined with the reactions of
her body, she felt completely new—completely whole. She'd done things the way
her parents expected her to for as long as she could bear. No matter how
dangerous this was, she wanted it. She wanted Luke.

She pulled her mouth away
and rested her forehead against his. "This was the longest week of my
life."

"Once
when I couldn't sleep for thinking of you, I walked over to your house in the
middle of the night and watched the windows."

"You did?"

He
nodded and her head bobbed against his. She smiled a foolishly giddy smile.
"My room is downstairs on the east corner. Next time you'll know."

"You
think there'll be a next time?" he asked, his lazy stroking through her
dress keeping her nerves at a fevered pitch.

"Do you?" she
countered.

"I
hope not. I can't afford to lose sleep and I definitely can't afford to have
your neighbors call the sheriff on me."

Finally,
she reached for his hands, placed them firmly over her breasts and leaned into
him. She closed her eyes and absorbed the sensations. One summer when a
temporary librarian had taken over for Mrs. Krenshaw, she and Charmaine had
read the books they weren't allowed to check out. They'd found the anatomy
books highly informative, and the fiction fascinating, though the romantic
parts regarding physical details between men and women had been sketchy.