Forget Me Not (36 page)

She had been courted by Hugh for nearly a year before her emotions of love had evolved fully and reasonably, before she'd committed herself mind and soul to him. Their engagement had lasted a respectable ten months before they were wed. She had had time to plan and arrange her life with him. But as she looked back, she saw that she had never taken a stand for what she believed. She had had no relation to her own life, her own way of thinking.

Josephine had never considered herself a free thinker, a woman of whim and careless action. But she was thinking along those lines now.

When she gazed into J.D.'s face, she was physically moved. Passions stirred. He was in her room . . . alone with her.

“Are you feeling all right?” he asked, his gray-blue eyes contemplative.

“Hmm,” she replied, not really focusing on his words but on his lips as they moved. She wanted him to kiss her, but she could never ask him to—not even if she
was
a woman of whim.

J.D. ran his fingers through his hair, the ends ruffling on his shoulder. “How would you feel about my sleeping in here?”

Her heartbeat tripped.

“When those runners got a look at you in your underwear on the stairs, they took a lot more notice than when you'd been buttoned up in my clothes.” His eyes narrowed speculatively. “A pair of them have a room at the end of the hall. They were pretty drunk when they went in there, but I wouldn't put it past them to mosey on over and pay you a call.”

Josephine's confidence spiraled. She may have shot an arrow at a snake, but a man? She knew she couldn't do it.

Recovering from his offer, she asked lightly, “Don't you have a room?”

“I did. Boots is snoring on my bed.” Standing, J.D. went to the door. “I can sleep on the floor. The room's right next door.” He put his hand on the doorknob. “If anybody walks down the hall, I'll hear them.”

Josephine sat upright, the damp cloth falling into her lap. “No,” she blurted. “Stay.”

When he turned around, she added, “I'll feel much better knowing you're here. Those men . . . they looked dishonorable.”

J.D. leaned against the side jamb, his head nearly brushing the top, and folded his arms across his chest. “Dishonor isn't the half of it.”

He strode to the bed. Josephine scooted back against the pillow. “Are you tired?” she asked, unable to think of anything else to say. She couldn't deny the spark of excitement over the prospect of his staying in her room with her.

She was treading dangerous waters, waters that she didn't know how to swim in. What should she do?

She hadn't planned any kind of romantic liaison with him when she'd invited him to stay. She had just wanted his company. But she couldn't deny that she wanted to kiss him. To feel his arms around her. To be comforted and safe in his embrace.

“I'm tired,” he replied. “But I drank too much coffee to go to sleep.” Taking the extra blanket off the end of the bed, he spread it out on the floor. “I'll blow the lamp out so you can.”

“I'm not sleepy anymore,” Josephine said, flipping her braid over her shoulder. “I hate to say it, but I've gotten somewhat used to this abominable hour of the night. It seems like I ought to be doing something. Mixing biscuit dough. Or putting on a pot of coffee.”

J.D. removed his boots and lay down. Peeking over the bed's edge, Josephine frowned. He had put his hands beneath his neck to support his head. She reached behind her and tossed him the pillow. The
downy square hit him on the shoulder, and he looked at her while dragging it under his head.

“Thanks.”

“You're welcome.”

Josephine leaned back once more, studying the hat dangling on the bedpost. She grew entranced by it, the soft glow of the lantern playing across the room. She felt . . . protected. The wrought rails of the bedstead pressed into her shoulders. Sliding downward, she bent her knees and pulled the covers over her.

“What time are we leaving?” she ventured quietly.

“I reckon when everybody drags themselves out of bed.” His voice drifted up to her. “Why? Are you in a hurry to get back to Sienna?”

“No . . . but I was thinking you might be.” She bit her lip. “Somebody might be waiting for the cook's job.”

“I wouldn't bet on it.” A pause stretched between them. “I suppose you're sick of the outdoors and are ready for a nice hotel room in San Francisco.”

She leaned over once more, staring at the top of his head. He had crossed one leg on top of the other and closed his eyes. The blanket was barely draped over his middle and the length of his legs.

“I don't mind the outdoors. I like parks.”

He lifted his head and looked at her. “Parks and prairies are two different things.”

“Yes, I know. Each has its own beauty.” It was too easy to get lost in the way his gaze traveled across her, so she lay back down.

“I'm surprised to hear you say that, Jo. I'd figured you to prefer fountains over creeks.” He didn't give her the opportunity to comment. “You sure you don't want the light out?”

“I'm sure.”

A span of silence separated them. Then J.D. said, “I hear something ticking.”

Josephine sat up. “It's my clock.”

“Where is it?”

She put her feet over the side of the bed. “In my valise.”

Earlier, she'd moved her valise on the floor. It lay open close to J.D.'s head. She moved around him, collected the clock, and rolled it in her petticoat once more, then snapped the lid on her case and put it next to the wall. Turning, she said, “It has that same effect on me.”

She paused. J.D. was staring intently at her. She should have been self-conscious in just the shirt and her underpinnings with him gazing at her so. But she wasn't. She had longed for Hugh to give her that same heart-stopping skim of his eyes, but he never had. She'd talked herself into staying in love with him. Telling herself that he would love her in time.

She'd fooled herself. And just when she'd thought it could get no worse, he'd told her the real reason he'd married her: for her bank account.

Josephine swallowed, sadness drifting across her memories. She still wanted her dreams to come true, only she was afraid to reach out to them. She still wanted to love somebody . . . to have somebody love her.

“What's the matter, Jo?” J.D. asked quietly.

“I was just thinking . . .” Unbidden, her eyes filled with tears.

“Come here,” J.D. said, his voice a rich timbre that caused her to shiver.

She took a step toward him, feeling shy yet daring at the same time. She'd fantasized about a moment like this, one that was driven by sensuality. Though the descriptions hadn't sizzled off the pages, she'd felt the loving emotions between Rawhide and Pearl when they had kissed.

When J.D. stood up, she moved closer. Keeping words to himself, he held his arms open to her, and she went to him.

They kissed, soft and exploring. Her heart thumped erratically. He was so compelling, his magnetism so
potent, she didn't want to think about consequences. This had been coming for a long time. She'd thought about it; she'd accepted it. What was to happen was inevitable. Somewhere along the trail, an intangible bond had formed between them.

She had tried, and been unsuccessful, to ignore the strange aching in her body when he held her. When he kissed her, she was his Pearl, he her Rawhide. Only it wasn't pretend. This was real. What she was feeling was stronger than any ink-written lines . . .

This was real life. Her life.

The strong hardness of J.D.'s lips against hers aroused a hunger within her. She fit herself tightly into the circle of his arms, pressing against him.

A brief quiver rippled through her when his hands slipped inside the open shirt to caress her back, her spine, and upward to the nape of her neck. Blood coursed through her veins like an awakening river. She wasn't inexperienced, but this was so new. Like nothing she'd ever felt before.

He swept her into his arms and carried her to the bed. The mattress dipped by the weight of his knee as he laid her down, gazing at her with passion-darkened eyes. “We can't go back.”

She searched his face, then met his eyes. “I know.”

Bringing his head lower, he kissed her once more. It was as if their words released her. As if they allowed her to abandon herself to the torrent of desire and heat that had been building in her.

She could feel his uneven breathing against her crushed breasts, the jolt of his thigh brushing her hip.

This was shameless . . . she was shameless. But she felt no guilt. Just need . . . and warmth. A space that had to be filled with caresses.

Her skin tingled when he pulled back to slip her arms free of the shirt and toss it over the side of the bed. Softly, his breath fanned her ear, as he dipped low to kiss her, then undo the ribbon at the scooped neck of her chemise. His mouth came to hers, nibbling,
arousing, as he slowly inched the fabric at her shoulders down.

His lips were persuasive, making her impatient. Each new kiss sent spirals of ecstasy through her. Her hands explored the broadness of his back, the stretch of cotton across his shoulders. With a thread of self-consciousness, she reached in the front when he broke the kiss, to undo the column of buttons.

At each one, her fingers trembled. She had never undressed a man before . . . a man had never undressed her before. J.D. gazed down at her, his hair dusting her hands when they rose to the last button at his throat, where his pulse visibly jumped. He pressed a kiss to her knuckles.

Once the checkered fabric was parted, she glided her hands inside, noting that he wasn't wearing the long johns she had seen him in before. Her fingers touched marble-smooth skin.

She ran her palms down his side, feeling the strength of his ribs, the contours of his body. Then she raised them once more to his chest and the sprinkling of dark hair between his flat nipples.

He was perfection, sculpted to an artist's rendering, yet big and broad. He put to shame the men who sat in offices for hours a day. J.D. McCall worked beneath the sun, building muscle, his skin taking on a hue of honey where it was exposed to the rays.

Her hands explored the hollows of his back. The waistband of his denims where the fabric stretched.

His firm lips explored the sensitive skin between her neck and shoulder, leaving dancing kisses in their wake. He moved lower, and lower yet, until he came to the swell of her breast. He eased the chemise down and bared her to his gaze.

A fleeting dart of embarrassment assailed her. No man had seen her naked. And J.D. had all but said her figure was imperfect in Mr. Klauffman's store . . .

Josephine stiffened, uncertain, feeling very exposed. But J.D. murmured against her, “It's too late,
Jo,” then he nuzzled her breast. He kissed the fullness of the sides, then inward to the crest. She moaned as a wave of shock gripped her. It was as if her senses had intensified, that everything she felt was magnified a hundred times over.

She arched her back, her emotions whirling and skidding, as his tongue traced her, sucked her. The combination of the two drove her to a torturous arousal.

His hands slid across the silk covering her midriff, then lower as he eased to his side so he could have full access to her. She still had reservations about how he viewed her, yet she waited . . . wondering . . .

“You're pretty, Jo. Soft and curvy in all the right places.” He ran his thumb downward, to her most intimate place; he stroked her ever so gently. His circular movements made her crazy. Reassured and no longer fearful that he wouldn't find her body to his liking, she caressed the strong tendons in his neck, trying to pull him close; but he stayed away, giving her a torture so pleasurable she could hardly breathe.

His hand moved magically, in a way she could have never dreamed. She gasped in sweet agony, welcoming the release that had been so tight within. His hand caressed her thigh as she burned where he touched her.

Breathless, she felt like her body was half ice, half flame. She wanted more, needed there to be more. He'd fulfilled her in a way she had never known, yet she wanted to be closer to him.

J.D. leaned back, stripped off his shirt and denims, then tugged on the cord of her drawers. He slipped them over her hips, along with the chemise.

They were both naked.

She didn't dare look at him, but her gaze had a will of its own. She drank in his strength, his maleness. Seeing what she had only imagined . . .

Coming to her, J.D. enfolded her in his arms,
kissing her, rousing her tongue in a playful dance. Her legs opened with a will of their own, a driving need of their own. She welcomed him into her body.

They shared a joining of exquisite harmony. This was bliss. She knew it. Everything she had been told about repression and distance was wrong. How could she detach herself from the melting tempo that bound them? She could not. So she went with it, allowing herself to fall. To be passionate.

The pleasure was pure and explosive, rocking her to her toes. She had felt wondrous before when he touched her with his hand, but this was different. This was a togetherness that weakened all her defenses.

This was heaven on earth.

The feel of his rough skin over hers brought her to new heights. Her arms locked around his neck, her lips crushed his. And the fire spread throughout her, to a degree that stunned and shook her.

A raw sensuousness made her eager to respond to him, to move with him. She couldn't control her outcry of delight when the rocking experience of moments before returned to a higher degree of surrender. She couldn't disguise her emotions any more than she could cover them with a mask. She felt; she wanted; she enjoyed.

She moaned aloud with the erotic pleasure that coursed through her, J.D. kissing the sigh on her mouth as he shuddered. Every inch of her tingled, and she savored the feeling of satisfaction he left in her.