Fires of Paradise (25 page)

In the kitchen, her hand reaching for a pitcher of lemonade, Lucy paused. Of all the lies! Lucy had never worked harder in her life, and she had the calluses and dried hands to prove it! Since she had arrived, it was Carmen who loafed all day—except when she was flat on her back. Lucy marched back into the dining room with the pitcher in hand.

Carmen scowled at her. "Spoiled. She thinks she's better than we are!"

Lucy poured Roberto a glass of lemonade. Her heart pounded in her ears. Shoz calmly told Carmen to shut up. Lucy could feel his gaze again, but didn't care. She walked over to Carmen, and instead of pouring the lemonade in her glass, she poured it straight into her lap—without any pretense.

Carmen screamed, bolting to her feet. Not stupid, Lucy stepped back and out of reach. "Oh, goodness me! Look what I did! Oh, I'm so sorry!" Shoz laughed.

"You bitch, I'll kill you!" Carmen screamed. Still smiling, Shoz exchanged an absolutely warm glance with Lucy. "No you won't," he said. "It was an accident."

Lucy started to smile, too. She had been impulsive. She had poured the lemonade without thinking, just barely restraining herself from pouring it on top of Carmen's head. Her new knowledge had given her added courage. But she hadn't expected Shoz's laughter, nor had she expected him to defend her.

Carmen stomped off to change. Lucy returned with a plate for herself and seated herself beside Roberto. The look she gave Shoz was long and direct. He was no longer laughing.

Chapter 31

Dinner was an awkward affair.

Although Roberto sat between Shoz and Lucy, mutual awareness vibrated tangibly between them. Lucy could not eat. She could feel his gaze upon her. Likewise, when she did look up, her gaze was drawn to him. And then there was Carmen, sitting directly across from her, scowling and trying to kill her with murderous looks. When she wasn't shooting daggers at Lucy, she was leaning against Shoz, stroking his arm and flaunting her possession. Curtly he finally told her to cease and desist, that he was trying to eat. After which she sulked and again stared maliciously at Lucy.

Lucy's heart had become lodged in her throat by the time the meal was over. She began clearing the table while Carmen huffed off to the bedroom. Shoz and Roberto went outside to inspect a pregnant mare. Lucy began rinsing the plates in the sink, using the hand pump. She dreaded the passing of every moment. Soon it would be dark. And then what?

Then Shoz would return, tuck Roberto into bed, and join Carmen in their bedroom.

She paused, leaning against the cool iron sink, gripping the edge of the basin hard. God, she could not bear the thought. She couldn't! She could not stand to be here another moment under these circumstances!

Some time later the scenario she had foreseen occurred. Shoz and Roberto returned just as the heavy curtain of night blackness fell over the valley. He took Roberto to his room, and when the little boy was settled in, he crossed to his own room. Lucy listened to his quiet footfall and to the door gently closing.

She felt sick. She was quivering with nerves. "Sit and rest," Linda advised. "I'll finish the dishes."

They were almost done, but Lucy could not abide doing nothing and giving her mind the leisure to dwell on the two of them together. "No, you go. I'll finish up here. I would rather be busy." Her voice broke.

Linda patted her hand, removed her apron, and slowly ambled out. Lucy found herself staring into the living room, straining to hear something. The house was very quiet.

And then there was a scream and the sound of something heavy hitting the wall or the floor. Another one of Carmen's furious shrieks sounded. Lucy heard glass shattering. Another silence descended, this one pregnant with another imminent eruption.

Lucy didn't have long to wait. She heard a door slam hard against the wall and then Carmen was flying past her and out into the night. One short glance at her face told Lucy that she was enraged.

Lucy was standing in the kitchen doorway, gazing tensely after Carmen. She sensed his presence behind her. Turning, she saw him standing in the hallway where it connected with the living area. He stared at her. For a moment, Lucy couldn't move. Neither did he.

He went back into the bedroom. Lucy returned to the kitchen. She was trembling as she finished tidying up.

Lucy carefully extinguished the gas lamp. She started for her room, but her steps slowed when she entered the short hallway and came abreast of his door. It was still open and she faltered, her gaze drawn irresistibly within.

He was sitting in bed, a heavy book in hand. When he felt her gaze, he looked up, saw her, and put it down.

His eyes were gray and intense and mesmerizing. He wore only his tight, faded Levis. His feet were bare, the jeans unsnapped but zipped. His sleek bronze torso was covered with a thin sheen of perspiration.

He looked incredibly male and incredibly virile in that heavy, masculine bed, lounging against its white sheets. Lucy swallowed and drifted past his doorway with an effort. When she was within her own room, she closed the door and leaned against it, breathless.

Lock the door, an inner voice said.

Lucy had bolted her door every night since Carmen had barged in the day Shoz left. Tonight she did not.

She had only a lantern and she lit it. Feeling hot and dazed, she walked to the bureau to wash, a nightly ritual. She observed herself the way a stranger might. The skin of her elegant, high-cheekboned face was golden, and it made her large eyes a vivid sapphire blue, almost purple. Her blouse was very damp—and very indecent. Although she had long since found a chemise, the two thin layers of cloth clung to her breasts as if she were naked. Was this how he had viewed her? There was a constriction in her belly, between her thighs.

She let down her hair and shook it out. A golden red mane, it came to her waist, thick and heavy. She thought she appeared exotic and erotic; she liked how she looked.

She glanced at the door, then back at the mirror. She removed all of her clothing. She had never really bothered to look at herself before, but now she stared at her naked body: at her full breasts, one of them sporting a purple bruise from Carmen, and at her small waist; at her slim, curving hips and her long, long legs. At her womanhood. She touched one of her breasts and was rewarded with the hardening of her nipple. She blushed at her shameful behavior and dropped her hand.

She washed herself by hand and sponge as she did every night and every morning. The water was cool and pleasant on her skin, making it tingle sensually. Tonight her sponge bath took twice as long as usual, tonight her hand moved very slowly over her body. Tonight her every nerve ending was overly sensitized. She told herself that it was the heat. Again, she looked at the door.

Standing naked in the middle of the room, her gaze rivetted there, listening, she lifted the mass of hair from her neck, seeking cooler air against her skin. Then, with a sigh, she dropped it and moved to the bed. She knew that tonight she would never be able to sleep. She sat on the thin, lumpy mattress, her back against the wall, and stared at the door.

It opened. She had known it would.

Shoz appeared, framed in the timbered doorway. Lucy sat up straighter. He kicked the door closed with his bare foot, never taking his gaze from her, and dropped the bolt. Lucy gripped the edge of the metal bed.

"This time," he said, "we're going to do it right."

Lucy tried to reply, but couldn't.

"Lucy?" His glance returned to hers, only to be drawn again in a rapid perusal down her body. "If this isn't an invitation, you'd damn well better say so, and fast."

Lucy opened her mouth. Only air came out. With a shaking hand he had unzipped his jeans, and his penis sprang out, hugely erect. He was shoving the pants down his hard, compact hips, stumbling over them. When he stood again, he was completely naked, lean and hard and sleekly bronze, powerfully male.

He strode to her. Tiny warning bells were sounding. Lucy Bragg, you are going to get into trouble and you know it!

"Well?" he asked, his hands on her shoulders, forcing her down onto her back. "Last chance."

Lucy gulped. He was straddling her, a knee on each side of her hips, and his hands, large and rough and callused, pinned her shoulders to the bed. She looked at his mouth, parted slightly, and her gaze swept relentlessly down his sculpted body to rest with fascination upon his thick, stiff manhood.

Shoz cursed. "Saints be damned," he said, and he kissed her.

Knowing him, she hadn't expected a tender kiss, and she didn't get one. Starved, he crushed her mouth with his, forced her lips open, and mated fiercely with her tongue. Lucy found the curls at the back of his nape and gripped them hard.

He released her shoulders to crush her breasts, to mold them. He shoved one hard forearm under her, lifting her, and found a distended nipple with his mouth. He began sucking fiercely.

Lucy whimpered and strained. Her hands traveled over his body with frenzy. She stroked his hip, his waist. She rubbed his nipples, pinched them. His teeth grated hers in response. She gasped, her nails raking down his side. Shoz lifted his face from her breast and found her lips, brutally forcing them apart.

She gripped his penis, silky smooth, so very hot, wet. Her fingers played him. He gasped against her mouth, arching into her hand. Then he grabbed both of her wrists with one hand, forcing her arms over her head, quick as a wink. He held her immobile, a prisoner to his superior strength. She felt him touch her wet, slick recesses, and she shuddered convulsively.

"Like that, Lucy?"

"Yes."

He palmed her entirely. She throbbed heavily against his hand. Abruptly he kneed her thighs farther apart and thrust in.

It seemed like this was what Lucy had been waiting for, for so very long. He released her wrists so she could hold him, clutch him, sobbing into his neck. He moved fiercely, fast, pounding her, rocking her backward until her head knocked into the wall. She didn't care, didn't even notice. She was shattering into thousands of fiery pieces, and her cries echoed into the night.

'' Lucy!'' Heaving himself into her one last time, he began spasming heavily inside her. Lucy could feel every contraction.

They lay soaked and panting. Shoz slid off her, still holding her, one hand flopping across her belly. Lucy opened her eyes to look at him. She was smiling.

He smiled, too. "Like Sunday bronc-busting, huh?"

"I guess."

His smile faded, but his gaze was direct and searching. "I'm sorry. I meant to go slow. Things got out of hand."

"I didn't want it slow." She blushed at what she had said.

His grin reappeared. So did tiny crinkles at the corners of his eyes. He was so very handsome. "No, you didn't, did you?"

His gaze moved from her face to her breasts. He swept his hand over the bruised one, gently caressing her skin. "What happened?"

It wasn't so easy to answer. Lucy watched his palm brushing her nipple. It tightened into a hard, elongated nub. "I got into a fight with Carmen."

Shoz's hand stopped and he stared. "You and Carmen fought?"

Lucy thought she detected both amazement and concern in his tone. "Yes." His expression grew grim. "And she did this?" "It doesn't really hurt. It felt good to hit her." "You hit her?" Lucy nodded.

He suddenly smiled. "I hope it was a good one." "It was—right across the face." His eyes were wide. Then they narrowed. "Then she did this?"

"I didn't expect it."

"I'll bet you didn't." He cupped her breast and held it, almost protectively, possessively. "You ever fistfight before?"

"Never!"

"I didn't think so. Let me tell you something, Lucy, and don't forget it. This isn't Fifth Avenue. If you get in the gutter and fight, then you fight to win. And in the gutter there are no rules."

Lucy nodded, wide-eyed.

"If you ever come up against Carmen again, you fight to win. That means anything goes."

Their glances held. His gaze dropped to his hand as it moved lazily over her breast. "Does it hurt?" His tone was low.

"No," she whispered.

"I don't want to hurt you," he said, lowering his head. His kissed the contours of the bruise. Lucy's head fell back and she sighed.

"Am I hurting you?" His thumb toyed with her nipple while his mouth brushed her skin.

"N-no." Breathless.

His tongue traced the path his mouth had taken, only to detour around her nipple. "Feel better?"

"Yesss."

He drew her slowly into his mouth. "This time it will be slow and easy," he promised.

But it wasn't. The fires within both of them burned too brightly.

Lucy realized she had fallen asleep. She opened her eyes to find Shoz lying on his side, his head propped up on one hand, his other palm on the mattress, his fingertips just touching her arm. He was watching her.

Now, passion momentarily spent, Lucy felt awkward. She smiled slightly, uncertainly. He didn't smile back, but his gaze roamed her face intently.

For lack of a better topic, she said, "Did I sleep for long?"

"Maybe a half an hour."

Lucy rolled onto her side, facing him. His glance moved to her breasts and then right down to her toes before returning to her eyes. Lucy blushed, embarrassed at being stared at while she slept naked, and knowing she should be scandalized for her lack of modesty—and morals. But she wasn't. In fact, she was just as curious, and her glance wandered down his body, noting every detail with great interest.

She wondered what would happen now. Would he just get up and go, back to his own bed, back to the one he shared with Carmen? "What is it? Why are you frowning?" Lucy looked at him.

"More regrets?" His tone changed, became mocking. Instantly she shook her head. "No. No regrets."

His mouth was tight. He reached out to finger a curl. "Good." "Shoz? Do you love her?"

He didn't have to ask who she was referring to, and he didn't hesitate, not for a second. "No."

"You must have loved her once."

"I never loved her. I'm not that kind of man."

Lucy wanted to ask him exactly what that meant, but was afraid of his answer. "But you love Roberto."

He smiled. "Yes. I love Roberto."

Lucy leaned back on the pillow. He made a face and cupped her chin. His mouth was very close. "When you start thinking too hard, I can feel it. Now what? Feel free."

She smiled, but it faded. "About what happened. In Paradise. At the ranch."

He made a sound and rolled onto his back, staring up at the beamed ceiling.

She sat up so she could see his face. ''What did happen?''

"I didn't steal that damn horse."

"I want to believe you. Tell me what happened."

He shot upright, and the look he gave her was scathing. "Now you want to believe me? Why? Because I'm a good fuck?"

There was so much bitterness in his tone that Lucy hurt for him. She touched his arm; he drew away. "No!" she protested.

"Then why?"

"Because—because I know you better now. Because I see the kind of father you are, a wonderful father, and Roberto isn't even your natural son. Because I don't think you did it, but I need to hear about it from you."

He had flushed at her compliment about his fatherhood. He looked out the window. Outside, the night was like a black wall, thick and impenetrable.

"I hated the party and I wanted to have a smoke in peace and quiet," he said. "And I was waiting for you." He looked at her.

She colored a little.

"When I went into the barn, the old groom was already dead and the horse was already tacked. The groom was the inside man, Lucy, and at the last minute the thieves killed him. Probably out of greed—why split their prize three ways? And probably because he was too old to keep up with them. Or maybe they just didn't give a damn; who knows? That's what happened."