The Fortune (24 page)

His eyes flickered. “Ah, you need any help?”

Frankie contemplated the request and the consequences. She wanted to be with him, but she also wanted it to be perfect.
 

“No, it will not take more than a few minutes. I would rather you wait here for me.” She sounded breathless, which made her feel like a foolish girl. Or a woman in love.

“All right. I’ll wait for you, Frankie, right here.” He stretched out and put his arms above his head. His purely masculine form stretched out long and lean. Like a banquet of delicious man waiting for her to dig in.

She turned and walked away before she changed her mind about washing up and feasted on him now. The creek was easy to find and she made quick work of removing her boots and stockings and pantalettes. She stepped into the cold water, holding her skirt and petticoat up. She gasped when the shock of the frigid water hit her.

Although it was colder than snow in January, the water was just what she needed. She was already overheated from looking at John. Her body needed to relax and prepare for what was to follow. She pulled her skirt and petticoat up to her waist and splashed water up her legs, then higher still.

When she reached her pussy, she wasn’t surprised to find lingering heat. Although they had known each other a short time, her body knew his instinctively. Her fingers brushed the sensitive bud hidden in the folds. Bolts of pleasure echoed through her and she imagined it was his fingers touching her, stroking her. A moan worked its way up her throat, low and deep.

“I thought seeing you in my bed was beautiful, but this is enough to make me explode without even touching you.” His husky voice broke through her spell of self-pleasure.

She wasn’t startled to find him watching her. Instead of feeling embarrassed, his presence heightened her arousal. She opened her eyes to find him on the bank of the creek, his hand down his trousers rubbing his cock. The sight sent tingles through her.
 

“Keep touching yourself.” He unbuttoned his pants and groaned when his dick sprang free. It visibly pulsed, hard and tempting.
 

She circled her bundle of pleasure and he resumed his own ministrations. They weren’t touching, but they might as well have been. It was by far the most erotic moment of her life. She plunged two fingers inside her core and used the heel of her hand to rub her nubbin.
 

“That’s it, sweetheart. That’s my hand touching you. My mouth tasting you.” He licked his lips and she jerked at the answering jolt within her. She felt her release rising and was helpless to stop it.

“I am, ah,
mon Dieu
.” Her body convulsed with the force of her orgasm. The water splashed around her, cooling her heated skin. Her legs shook from the pulses of pleasure coursing through her.

“Jesus.” He continued to watch her, his hand moving up and down his staff.

She managed to move toward him, her skirt still up, her hand wet with her own juices. When she reached him, she pushed his hand aside and took over. She wrapped her hand around him, the heat from his skin almost searing her hand. He was beautiful, silk on steel. He closed his eyes and gave himself over to her. Power surged through her—he was hers to command.
 

“Lie down.” She almost didn’t recognize her own voice, husky and rough.

He obeyed, shucking his trousers to use as a blanket on the ground. John looked up at her, his expression of trust and love, lust and passion, was a heady aphrodisiac. She straddled him and guided his hardness into her softness. Her body welcomed him, stretching, quivering, tingling. As she sank onto his length, they both groaned aloud, startling a squirrel above them.

Yes
.

This was what she needed, wanted. To be connected to him at an elemental level, with her mate, with her man.

He took hold of her hips, moving her up and down until she caught the rhythm and took over. She had no slow, measured strokes like John. On the contrary, she put everything into making love to him. She slid down his length again and again, deep and hard. He touched her womb, he touched her soul, he touched her heart.

She laced her fingers with his and rode them both into pleasure. He stared into her eyes, telling her with his eyes and his body how she felt. She hoped he heard her response, bringing them both into a sexual journey.

Her body tightened around his, another release imminent. She pulled his hands to her breasts.

“Touch me.”

“Mmmm, yes.” He pinched her nipples lightly until she grunted, then he flicked them harder.
 

“Harder,” she ordered.

To her delight, he obeyed again. She slammed down onto him one more time and her body came apart. She screamed his name into the sky as a powerful orgasm tore through her. He unbuttoned her blouse, then captured a nipple in his mouth and bit down, pulling another wave of pleasure from her release.

He jerked within her, filling her with life. She hung onto the moment, the absolute perfect moment of joining with him. There was little doubt he was the love of her life, her mate. She had to find a way to hold onto him forever.

“I love you, Frankie,” he spoke into her hair. “I love you.”

Tears stung her eyes as she took his confession of love into her as she had done his seed. The words were more precious than anything. Her throat would not work and her confession remained trapped within her heart.

John woke in the morning with a soft, warm body snuggled up against him and a feeling of peace in his heart. She had initiated their lovemaking, had shown him with her body how she felt. Although she hadn’t yet said the words, he sure as hell hoped she loved him. If she didn’t, he would never be the same person again. Hell, he was different now. Because of her.

He held her close, selfishly loving the feel of her pressed against him from head to toe. Her head fit right under his chin and his arm fit right under those beautiful breasts. Their weight lay temptingly on him, daring him to do something with his morning hard dick.

His body pulsed with need, the memory of being inside her insistent. He could spend the rest of his life making love to this woman. One woman. And he would do it without hesitation. How the world had changed. The memory of the angry young buck who had landed on Fuller Gates’ ranch and who he was today were two completely different people.

Time had matured him, but Frankie made him realize what he wanted in life. Not only a ranch, but that had paled in comparison to having a wife and a family. That was what was important to her. Now he knew how important it was to him. Family. Wife. Children.
 

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, breathing in all that was Frankie. His arm tightened a smidge, pulling her against the throbbing erection in his trousers. He wanted to lift her skirt and plunge into her hot core, to pleasure them both until she cried out in ecstasy. It would be so easy too, especially with the drawers that had the slit in them. He’d never been so glad to discover those on his woman.

His woman. A primal feeling of pride swelled within him. Yes, she was his. Now and always.

“Oooh, John.” Her sleep-tinged voice caressed him.
 

He pressed against her, loving the feel of her softness against his hardness. As his hand cupped one breast and reached for a nipple, she made another noise. This one was not an exclamation of pleasure.

“What’s the matter?”

She groaned. “I must have ridden beneath Liberté’s hooves yesterday, not on her back. My behind is, ah, uncomfortable. So are my thighs.” She hissed in a breath through her teeth. “I think I may have overestimated my riding abilities.”

The memory of just what, and who, she rode made him flush.
 

“Try to stretch your muscles a bit before you stand.” He scooted back away from her, his dick screaming in protest as he moved. There would not be a repeat of last night, but he couldn’t convince his wayward staff of that. Blood pulsed through him, aching for a release from the woman now lying in pain. Dicks were selfish bastards.

She rolled on her back and winced. “Can you make some coffee?”
 

He leaned over and kissed her, the soft warmth of her lips damn tempting. He let out a groan as he straightened up. “Yep, I’ll make coffee. You stretch and get yourself presentable.”

“Hmph. I will not be presentable, but I will have clothes on.” She lifted her left leg and John about ran from the bedroll and snatched the coffee pot from its perch on a nearby rock. The flash of white thigh, and the memory of how it felt, how it smelled, how it tasted, sent his dick back into howls of need.

The dog watched him, his brown eyes sympathetic. The damn mutt was in love with her too. Although a small part of John had wanted to leave the dog behind, he was grateful for its presence and its loyalty to them. He wouldn’t admit it to Frankie, but he was growing to like the dog. He was a scrapper, a fighter, and had stayed true to his mistress since she first showed him kindness.
 

How had he turned into such a fool over a woman? He never expected it and he sure didn’t know how rid himself of it. After stirring the embers of the fire, he banged around the tin pot, smashed up the beans with a small rock and put the coffee on to boil. He made as much noise as possible to drown out the sounds Frankie made.

She damn well sounded like she was having sex. Although he knew she was getting the kinks out of her muscles, he’d heard her breathy moans and her cries of ecstasy. There was a fine line between them and his body couldn’t tell the difference. Then of course she cooed at the damn dog and he wagged his tail, experiencing pure pleasure from his adopted mistress.

Stupid dog.

The coffee bubbled away, unaware of how tortured he was. Frankie shuffled toward him and his body tensed, her scent washing over him. She pressed her head into the center of his back and wrapped her arms around him. He put his hands over hers and closed his eyes, reveling in the experience.

“The coffee smells good.” Her voice was muffled against his back. “Dare I hope there is breakfast in those saddlebags of yours?”

John heard the pain in her tone and willed away the arousal that burned within him. She was more important than his foolish dick.
 

“I think there are some biscuits and definitely ham.” He patted her hands. “Let me pour you some coffee and I’ll scrounge up breakfast.”

She released him and he forced himself to move to the fire and pour a cup of coffee. As he handed her the cup, he glanced at her face. Dark circles sat below her beautiful green eyes. Lines of pain bracketed her mouth and she was pale, making the freckles on her nose stand out. Guilt over her condition chased away any lingering arousal.

This time when he kissed her, he did so gently and on her forehead. “Drink.” He handed her the cup.

She managed a small smile and took the cup. “Thank you, John. You are a gentleman, no matter what I first thought.”

He barked a laugh. “If I remember correctly, you shot me in the hand when we met.”

Frankie raised one brow. “I was defending myself against a man who yanked me into the mud.”

“You, Frankie Chastain, are a pain in the ass.” He smiled, waiting for the fire to spark in her eyes.

Her gaze narrowed. “I think we can safely say one of us is a pain in the ass and it is not me.”

John kissed her. “Damn good thing I love you, woman.” Before he could snatch the words back, they were out of his mouth. She opened her mouth and closed it again without making a sound.

He whirled around and headed straight for his saddlebags. No matter what, he was sure—or he damn well hoped—she loved him. He couldn’t stand around expecting her to admit it, though. The rest of their lives were waiting. By the time they reached the wagon train, she either had to tell him she loved him or he would start his ranch alone. There was the ridiculous situation with Veronica he had to face as well. No matter what her father insisted, or Buck, John was done being manipulated. He couldn’t possibly marry her now. For sure there would never be another woman in his heart except Frankie.
 

Frankie was there for good and nothing on earth was going to dislodge her.

After an awkward breakfast she hardly tasted, Frankie had a lesson in saddling Liberté from an equally uncomfortable John. He’d told her he loved her, again, and she stood there like an idiot. Frankie loved him, deeply and wholly, but the words simply would not come out of her mouth. She froze up like a pond in winter, unable to move.

Misery settled over her like a cloak and they spent most of the day in silence. Her lower half grew numb and she spent time trying to think of clever ways to tell him she loved him. No matter what she plotted, however, every time she thought of actually speaking the words, her throat closed up.

What was wrong with her?

Didn’t all girls dream of hearing a handsome man tell her he loved her? And falling madly in love with him to live happily ever after? Frankie had had those dreams, many years ago, before life taught her about the dark side of humanity. Her love for John had healed the scars that remained within, but Frankie had to be the one to unlock the last secret door in her heart. It was still closed, and the scared girl inside her refused to come out.