Dorothy Garlock - [Annie Lash 01] (21 page)

Fain and Rachel had gone into the big, new room. Fain had promised to put in a plank floor and build a big double bed. In the meanwhile they would sleep on pallets on the smooth dirt floor. When they had gone inside and dropped the hide flap that covered the door, it was like the final parting for Berry. Not that she wasn’t happy for Rachel, but . . . oh . . . there was a sick, empty feeling in the pit of her stomach.

Berry sat down on the trunk and looked around her at the things she had known all her life: the pine chest, the spinning wheel, the barrel churn, and the tin chamber pot. She had come here to gain comfort from being among these familiar things.

“I want to talk to you, Berry.”

Simon! His voice was an impassioned whisper in her ears. The constant awareness of him was fire in her veins and energy in her fingers. All day she had worked furiously, danced furiously, to keep him from consuming her every thought. She saw his outline at the end of the wagon and stood slowly feeling puzzled and self-conscious. She looked into his face but could not speak.

“Come on down,” he said and reached for her. His head was bare and his hair looked wet, as if he had been in the pool again. His hands circled her waist and lifted her down. “Let’s walk out a ways.” It wasn’t a request, it was just simply—“let’s walk out a ways.” She felt dwarfed as she moved along beside him.

“We’ll walk down by the river. Soon the mosquitoes will take over and it’ll be misery to be near the river when there’s no breeze.”

Berry drew a deep breath and tried to calm the unease that had been fermenting in her breast. There was something sweetly fascinating in being beside him in the near darkness. Down the faint slope lay the shimmering river with its unbroken border of trees. The night sounds had commenced around them: the low swish of the river, the faint hoot of an owl, the scrappy twit of a bird.

He drew her to a downed tree trunk and they sat down.
What did he bring her here to say?
She turned away from him, letting her glance move over the great river with its acrid, muddy smell of decay, over the little islands that seem to float on the river, tapestried in the pale green of budding cottonwoods. Berry drew a long satisfied breath, consciously permitting herself to enjoy the view.

She must speak, she told herself sternly. She must speak casually, trying to deny with her tone how shaken she was. “It’s . . . pleasant here.”

“Beats a town all hollow, doesn’t it?”

At something in his tone she looked at him. He was not smiling, but there was a wicked mischief in his eyes; she could tell by the tiny creases that fanned out at the corners. She dropped her eyelids and focused on the loosely fitted white shirt that covered his broad shoulders and chest.
I wonder who washes his clothes.
It was her last coherent thought as a strange feeling swamped her, as if she lacked breath and could not speak, as if she were sad to the point of tears; and yet through it, like a rainbow through clouds, the promise of excitement and joy appeared.

He put his fist under her chin and lifted her face. “Are you unhappy that Rachel married? Is that what makes you look so sad?”

“I’m glad for Rachel. She deserves the best.”

“She’s got it. Fain’s the best man I know. He’ll take good care of her and the babe.”

“I know that.”

“Fain said you’ve got it into your head to go on out to the land your pa filed on. I can tell you, now, that land will never be under a plow, will not grow anything but willows and swamp grass.”

“How do you know? You don’t even know where it is!” She cast him a challenging glance.

“Rachel showed me the map. It’s low and swampy.”

“How do you know?” she repeated softly, although she wanted to shout at him.

“I’ve been there. I’ve been twenty, thirty miles back all along the river, and the land your pa filed on isn’t good for anything but water moccasins. Even the Osage stay clear of it.”

“You’re just saying that. Papa wouldn’t take swampy land.”

“He didn’t see it before he filed. He only knew what the land man told him, and he hadn’t seen it either.”

“I don’t believe a word you’re saying! I’ll go and see for myself.” She stood. Simon grasped her hand to keep her from moving away. “I’ll not ask you to take me there, if that’s what’s worryin’ you,” she said scathingly.

“I’m not worried about it at all. I wouldn’t do it,” he said matter-of-factly, his voice deep and low, a smile hovering at the edges of his wide mouth. His very attitude of quiet self-confidence jarred her taut nerves.

“Fish will take me,” she said abruptly.

“Hellfire!” He snorted. “You’d more’n likely have to take care of him.”

“I don’t need anybody,” she said recklessly. “I’ll go alone and take Israel.”

“No, you won’t. I won’t permit it.”

“You . . . won’t . . . what?”

“You heard me, Berry. You may be a spitfire and need some strong handling, but you’re not stupid. I’ll not allow my
wife
to go traipsing off in the woods like an Indian squaw when she’s got her own work to do on our place upriver.” He pulled on her hand. She was so stunned by his words that she sat down before she realized it. She tried to get back to her feet, but he held her.

“Your . . . wife? You mean . . . ? You mean . . . me?” The air around her seemed to vibrate first with her astonishment and then with her anger. “You . . . you . . . Damn you to hell! You’re tellin’, not askin’! I’ll not wed you to get a . . . place for myself. What do you think I am?” The words burst from her in bitter rage. She was shaking all over and felt as if something inside her was giving way.

“I think you’re a woman with warm, red lips, white arms, and hair as black and shiny as a black-bird’s wing. A woman with stormy green eyes that flash like lightning, a woman that can drive a man mad with wanting her.”

And then he was kissing her, one arm locked around her shoulders, the other at her waist pulling her hard against him. His mouth was hard against hers, and the skin around it and on his chin was rough with new beard. He kissed her until her lips burned, and until the strength dissolved from her body.

Simon raised his head to stare down at the shadowed face and closed eyes when he felt her go limp against him. He had long ago admitted to himself the overwhelming attraction he felt for her. She had touched his heart and entered his mind even as he willed it otherwise. He knew she was willful, headstrong, exasperating, and foolish. He had spent the day wavering between a desire to make love to her and an urge to bend her over his knee for the sound beating she needed for even thinking of leaving the security of this place. Yet there was another side to her. She was spunky and brave. She had fought like a little wildcat to protect herself and Rachel from the river scum who had come to their camp. She was uplifting, fun, and endearing. She made him forget to be so serious about life, made his heart laugh, and he didn’t want that feeling to stop.

He felt a strong desire to force her to want him—to see in her eyes a need and a longing for him. Calmly, he made a vow that he would make that happen, make her want to be with him for the rest of her life, make her depend on him to keep her safe. His eyes roamed her quiet face, her youthful, rounded breasts and trim waist, and her silky black hair. The intensity of his gaze caused her to open her eyes and regain her senses.

“I don’t like to be kissed,” she declared imperiously. She could see his face if she tilted her head back onto his crooked arm.

“Yes, you do,” he said with matter-of-fact confidence.

“I don’t! And you’re no gentleman to say it!”

He laughed softly. “You’re right. I’m no gentleman. But you’re no lady, either.”

“I am,” she declared. “I was taught by my mother, who was a lady! I’m not a . . . tart!”

His laugh was low and rumbling and came from deep inside him. He blew warm, moist breath on her face when he laughed. His lips touched her forehead briefly before his cheek pressed against hers.

“I don’t know what you are,” he admitted in a rough whisper. “I’m afraid to scratch the surface. No telling what I’d find.”

Suddenly the laughter bubbled up out of her. The absurdity of their banter had reached her senses and her sense of humor took over. Her laughter turned to giggles she couldn’t stop. The enchantment that floated about her enfolded Simon in its aura so that he laughed with her.

The mood changed without either of them being aware of it. Berry melted against him, allowing his hands to mold and shape her to his hard form as he wished. His mouth moved over hers, as if he sought to draw her heart out through her lips. For the first time she touched him with her hands, stroking his back and shoulders, then tangled her fingers in the soft hair at the nape of his neck. Simon responded to the touch of her hands and to the movement of her lips with urgent, seeking hands. He drew an uneven breath and his deep voice vibrated with feeling.

“I’ve never seen anyone like you. You’re like finding a soft, beautiful pelt among a pack of mangy hides. I want to stroke you . . . feel you. . . .”

Berry felt a spurt of surprise on hearing those words, but then his mouth closed over hers, parting her lips, blotting out all rational thought. His kiss was tender and probing . . . deep and disturbing. She felt his tongue pushing against the inner pads of her lips, intruding with gentle insistence until she tingled with the unfamiliar sensations he awakened. He lifted his mouth and tucked her face into the curve of his neck. His breath came in gasps and she could feel the pounding of his heart against her breast. Her breast! His hand was on her other one. How long had it been there? He shouldn’t . . . She shouldn’t let him. She tilted her head and opened her eyes to find his inches from hers.

“What’s the matter?” he asked softly.

“Nothing. I . . .”

“Then relax.”

“You shouldn’t . . .” She grasped the wrist of the hand covering her breast and tried, in vain, to push it away. “I think we should go back now.”

“I don’t.” He rubbed his palm gently over her breast, liking the feel of the soft globe in his hand. He covered her mouth with his again and molded her so tightly to him that she wondered if the imprint of his body would remain on hers when they parted. His kiss was a dark, sweet eternity of firm lips and warm breath. She felt a small fire kindling deep within her.

When he drew back he traced a finger softly across her kiss-puffed lips. “You like what I do. You like being in my arms.”

“No . . .”

“Yes. No man has kissed you but me. No man has touched your soft breast, nibbled on the skin below your ear, held your bottom in his hand.” The words were spoken with deliberate possessiveness before his lips moved back to hers. This time hers opened magically beneath his.

Berry felt her defenses begin to crumble away from the longing that had grown inside her. She became aware of a new warmth spreading over her, and with surprise she discovered his hand beneath her skirt stroking her thighs. She knew this was forbidden and dangerous, but what he was doing was so pleasant, so gentle, that she didn’t want him to stop.

The desire Simon felt for the exquisite form he clasped so tightly to his own was a deep pain gnawing his vitals. Her fierce pride was an intense irritation to him, yet it touched his heart and commanded respect. Stubborn little baggage! No other woman had ever come close to making him feel like this woman did. Someday he would tell her that. His laugh was low and tender when he wasn’t kissing her sweet-smelling mouth.

Why couldn’t she think? What was this leading to? His hand beneath her skirt moved up to cup her bare buttocks. A bold, searching mouth was nipping at the corner of hers, tracing a path to her eyes and then back to close over her mouth as if his lips couldn’t stay away. His tongue was insistent, demanding that she meet it with hers. She responded hesitantly at first, then with welcome, and finally with blatant craving. She clung to him, her hands sliding over him, feeling the strength of his muscles, the smoothness of his shoulders and back. A small warning crept into the back of her mind. She knew she should be pushing him away, but every part of her being was responding to his touch. It was wildly exciting. This is foolish, her sanity argued. But she didn’t want it to end. Not yet!

Berry felt as if she were drifting on a sea of soft, white clouds. Tomorrow she would hate herself for what she was doing and allowing him to do, but that was tomorrow. Right now she felt a wondrous warmth and rightness at what was happening. His mouth was persistent, snatching away her breath as well as her ability to think. There was also a rightness to the feel of his hands on her body beneath her skirt and her arms entwined around his neck.

“Damn! Damn!” Simon groaned in frustrated agony and buried his mouth in the hair behind her ear. “You don’t know what this is leading up to, do you? Soon I’ll not be able to stop! I’ll have all of you right here in the grass. Damnation! You deserve more than that. You deserve long, sweet loving . . . and coaxing . . . and gentling. . . .”

“Simon . . .” she protested softly.

His arms dropped from around her and he slid to the grass and leaned back against the tree trunk on which they had been sitting. He pulled her down on his lap and wrapped her in his arms. She cuddled contentedly against him.

“Berry . . . girl . . .” The sound of his deep voice caressing her name made her tilt her head so she could nuzzle his jaw with her nose. “I can’t let you go back to the house . . . just yet.”

His hand caressed her cheek and moved down over her shoulder. While he kissed the hollow of her throat, his fingers worked on the buttons on her dress, then he brushed aside the garment and gently cupped her exposed flesh. He worked the nipple with his callused palm, teasing it to hardness.

“Someday your breasts will be filled with mother’s milk,” he murmured half to himself. “But now . . . they are only for me.” He moved the fabric farther back and bent his head. Softly he kissed her breast, and then, to her wide-eyed surprise, his lips surrounded her nipple and he suckled her gently. The roughness of his tongue and the pull of his whiskers on her skin caused a warm rush of sensation to surge through her and she felt lightheaded. The feeling was so acute that she arched her back and with her arm around his neck held his head to her breast. The tormenting touch of his mouth brought her to an ardent, fevered frenzy. She made no protest when his hand moved beneath her skirt to wedge itself between her thighs.