Jane Bonander (12 page)

He didn’t smile, but his eyes were warm. “Yes, no doubt I should. That doesn’t mean I will.”

She had trouble breathing, and what breath she had shook. “Why would you want to touch my leg?”

He continued to stroke her calf. “There are other parts I’d rather touch, but you’d ram your heel into a very special part of my body if I did.”

It was a game, and she’d never played it before. But the lure was strong. “What else would you touch? If you could? I mean, if … if I let you?”

He smiled, his strong teeth white against his tanned skin. “It wouldn’t be gentlemanly to say.”

She couldn’t prevent a laugh. “Since when has that ever stopped you?”

His fingers moved higher, just to the top of her knee, inside her thigh. The place between her legs tingled and felt swollen. It throbbed like a heartbeat.

“I love women, Miss Julia. Ever since—” He stopped, giving her a lazy grin. “Ever since I was old enough to know there was a difference between us.”

A rich stew of emotions swirled inside her, both good and bad. She’d never liked being compared to other women, but her curiosity got the best of her. “What things do men like? What do you like?”

His fingers moved higher, and she had the urge to spread her legs. Instead she trapped his hand between her knees. He gave her a wicked grin. “Thanks,” he said. “It’s nice and warm up there.”

Giving him a stern look, she reached under her skirt and removed his hand. “Are you going to answer me or not?”

He leaned on his elbow and studied her. “Why are you so interested, Miss Julia?”

“Because I don’t know men very well. And since you
are
my legal husband, I thought perhaps I could get a straight answer out of you.” Marymae was awake. Julia found her bottle and lifted the child into her arms, avoiding McCloud’s gaze. “I guess I was wrong.”

“I’m an ass man, myself.”

She gasped. “McCloud!”

“Well, hell. You asked.”

“Yes, but I didn’t expect you to … to—”

“You expected me to use flowery language, maybe? Like, ‘Ahh, Miss Julia, I love your lips and your eyes. I want to drown myself in them, and in you. Your hair reminds me of wheat, ripe to be mown. I want to bury my face in it.’ Is that what you wanted to hear?”

She flushed, angry with herself and with him. She didn’t know what she’d expected, but it wasn’t such a bold statement about a woman’s backside. “I’m sorry I asked.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I am, too!”

He took her ankle, rubbing the bone with his thumb. A jolt sped up her leg, settling in her pelvis, and she couldn’t suppress a shudder.

“You want to know what I like?”

She put Marymae on her shoulder and rubbed her back to burp her. “I don’t think I even care anymore, but I suppose if you’re going to tell me, I’ll have to listen.”

He continued to caress her ankle. “What do
you
think men like?”

She inhaled, snorting in the process. “That’s obvious. Men seem to find a woman’s … um … bosom, fascinating.” She felt herself blush. This was not a topic she should be speaking of with a man, even if he
was
her husband.

He chuckled. “It’s because we don’t have anything like it.”

She understood that. “But everyone has a backside, McCloud. What’s so fascinating about them?”

“You’ve never seen yourself from behind. You filled out your father’s trousers far better than he did, Miss Julia.”

Her blush deepened, spreading into her neck. “But what’s to see? I mean—”

“Would you slap me if I said you have the best set of ‘walkaways’ I’ve ever seen?”

She fiddled with the edge of her cape, trying to appear casual amidst her tumultuous feelings. She was beginning to believe that he actually found her attractive. It was a hard thing to accept after so many years of thinking she wasn’t. “Walkaways?”

“You know what I mean, Miss Julia. I love to watch you walk away.”

She studied her lap, a blush creeping into her cheeks. “Oh. I see.”

“And then do you know what I like?”

“No, but I’m sure you’ll tell me.”

His mouth lifted into a half smile. “I like to say to her, ‘Take off your drawers, sweetheart. Get naked under all those petticoats. Ache for me. You’ll like it, I promise—’ ”

“McCloud!” Her face and neck were so hot she was afraid steam was shooting out around her collar.

“I love a woman’s ass,” he said, not the least bit apologetically. “What can I say?”

She blew air onto her face, hoping to cool it. “You should be ashamed of yourself. These are things a gentleman wouldn’t talk about.”

He continued to stroke her ankle. “Not even to his wife?”

“Not if he had any respect for her,” she argued.

“I don’t believe that. I think a husband should be able to excite his wife any way that works. And words can be damned exciting.”

She jabbed at his hand with her other foot, but couldn’t dislodge his fingers. “And what makes you think I find this talk the least bit exciting?”

He grinned again, exposing his white teeth. “The same things that get a man horny excite a woman, Miss Julia. Any woman honest with herself would admit that.”

She tried for an icy glare, but knew her eyes were shiny with emotion. “If you’ll please tell me what I can do to make my
bottom
less interesting, I’d appreciate it.”

His mouth curled into a full smile. “The more you think about it and try to stop the natural motion, the more I’ll enjoy it.”

“You are incorrigible.” And he was. He was also a very sexual, sensual man. She swallowed, hoping to quell the hunger that rose up inside her. She knew nothing about men and women, and he knew everything. How in the world could she ever hope to keep him?

“But I’m honest, Miss Julia. I was raised by two very different men. Angus was educated in the finer things. He taught me to read and write, to appreciate music and knowledge. Baptiste—”

“Like your stallion?”

He nodded. “Baptiste is French Canadian. He’s a lover of the flesh.” He grinned. “He taught me to appreciate
carnal
knowledge.”

In spite of where this was leading, Julia was fascinated. It was the first time she’d had any insight at all into McCloud’s past. “This Angus. Where is he?”

McCloud looked away. “He died last year.”

“I’m sorry. But Baptiste. He’s alive?”

McCloud nodded. “He’s living with his fourth wife.”

Julia gaped. “Fourth?”

“Yep. He’s the one who taught me to appreciate a woman’s
derriere.
He’d say, ‘Wolfgang—’ ”

“Wolfgang?” she interrupted. “Your name is Wolfgang?”

He gave her an impatient nod. “Now, do you want to hear the rest of this or not?”

She just stared at him. Her mouth was open, and she knew it. “I’d never have believed your name was Wolfgang. You seem so very much like a ‘Wolf.’ I thought that the moment I saw you. But Wolfgang …” She shook her head, puzzled. “It’s so European. Wolfgang McCloud,” she said, rolling the sound around on her tongue. “So unusual.”

“That’s not my full name.”

When Marymae squirmed, turning away from the bottle, Julia put her on the blanket. The baby rolled onto her stomach then over again until she hit McCloud’s leg.

“Are you going to tell me what it is?” Julia persisted.

“What’s it worth to you?”

“I just want to know, McCloud. It isn’t worth anything to me,” she lied. Her curiosity was bubbling over, nearly coming out her ears.

“I’ll make a wager with you.”

“I don’t gamble.” She pulled the blanket over Marymae, who was falling asleep again.

“I’ll tell you my full name if you’ll let me kiss you.”

Her stomach fluttered. “I’m not sure I want to know that badly.”

His fingers were on her calf again, working their way to her thigh. “Oh, I think you do.”

A cornucopia of dangerous desires careened through her. “All right.” The words came out a husky whisper. “Just stop what you’re doing, McCloud.”

“It could get better,” he promised, moving his fingers higher.

“No,” she said quickly. “I’ll let you kiss me. Just stop … what you’re doing.”
Before I get in too deep.
When he removed his hand, she swore she could feel his fingers on her skin.

He was beside her, his hands at her shoulders, turning her toward him. “McCloud,” she said, putting her hand on his chest. “Your name first.”

His mouth came toward hers. “Wolfgang,” he said before touching her. He nibbled at her lips and she responded, opening for him.

“Amadeus,” he added, pressing his mouth to hers and kissing her gently. She put her hand on his shoulder, running her fingers down his strong arm. His hand came to her breast, and when he touched her nipple, she gasped, lost in wild, wanton sensation.

“Morning Cloud,” he finished, delving into her mouth with his accomplished tongue.

She made anxious, eager sounds in her throat, pulling his tongue in farther, then thrusting it with her own. His hands cupped her face as he devoured her mouth, and out of innocence and eagerness, she took one of them and returned it to her breast.

Desire stirred in her belly like a fireplace blaze with flames licking lower. The heat there was uncontrollable, a burning urgency she hadn’t known before, but one she wanted to experience.

His mouth left hers and he pulled her onto his lap, holding her there. Her breath quickened, and she couldn’t get enough air into her lungs. She needed something—something more—and she sensed she would get it when his hand snaked beneath her skirt again.

Yearning made her weak. Her heart hammered and she began to shake with desire. His fingers took a slow, lingering path up the inside of her calf, past her knee to her thigh. She inched her legs apart, pressing her face into his neck, knowing she was being reckless. The feelings were new, extraordinary, filled with equal doses of pleasure and pain. Wanting and regret.

The place between her legs tingled, and when his fingers met the tops of her stockings, lingering on her bare flesh, the tingle became an ache. She fought for breath now, taking in deep swallows of air to fill her lungs. Yet when his fingers touched her
there,
at the place that ached and burned and screamed to be touched, she clamped her knees together.

“No, no.” She pushed his hand away. “I can’t. I
can’t.”

She flung herself off his lap, pressing her thighs together to rid herself of the pleasure-filled agony of his touch.

“It’s all right to feel those things, Julia.”

She felt tears sting her eyes. Devastated and embarrassed that she’d let him go so far, she croaked, “It’s not all right. It’s
not.”

She swiped at her tears, then threw their lunch into the basket, anxious to get away. “We’ve bothered you long enough. You’ll never finish the cabin at this rate.” She was back in control.

“Julia.”

He didn’t preface her name with “Miss.” She wondered why. When he touched her arm, she yanked it away. “Don’t say anything, McCloud, please. Don’t embarrass me further. I feel terrible enough as it is.”

“You asked me what my intentions were,” he reminded her.

She put her hands to her ears. “Please. If you have any feelings for me, don’t say another word. Just never mind. Forget I asked. It was a foolish thing to do. I don’t know what I was thinking, for heaven’s sake.”

She hauled the sleeping Marymae into her arms and stood, refusing to face him. “If you’ll bring the basket, I think the baby and I are ready to leave you in peace.”

His touch confused her as he helped her into the buggy. “Will you be working late?” she asked.

“I’ll be back before dark,” he promised.

Later that afternoon, Julia unpinned the last dry diaper from the line and dropped it into the basket. She heard McCloud ride up behind her and, remembering what had happened earlier, felt color creep into her cheeks.

She turned, prepared to set aside her feelings of embarrassment and discovered the stallion standing alone, pawing at the ground.

“McCloud?” She felt a bite of concern as she ran toward the barn. She called his name again; there was no answer.

She left the barn; the stallion stood outside. He snorted and whinnied, tossing his majestic head.

The picture of Sally returning without her father was painted in Julia’s memory, and she felt a cold chill sidle up her backbone.

She glanced at the porch, where Marymae gurgled and babbled in the sunshine. She couldn’t leave the baby here while she searched for McCloud. But she knew something was wrong, for Baptiste would never come back without his rider, unless the rider was in trouble.

She stood in the yard, her mind whirling with pictures of McCloud in trouble, and she knew she had to do something. Looking down at her apron, she lifted the corners and tested them for strength. Could she? Would it work as a carrier for the baby?

“Nothing ventured, nothing gained, old girl,” she chastised herself, and went to get Marymae off the porch.

From deep inside the cave, Wolf had heard the deafening rush of rubble, rock, and earth as it plunged downward, entombing him.

He had no idea how long he’d been in there; panic had set in when darkness descended upon him, as he knew it would. Every day, as he returned to the ranch after working on his cabin, he rode past these caves, and every day they drew him, like whiskey draws an alcoholic. But until today, he hadn’t been tempted to test his fears. Fears instilled in him years ago, when he’d been scouting for the Army and had tried to stop the soldiers from murdering innocent women and their children.

His back tingled, as if it, too, remembered, for they’d whipped him into unconsciousness for defying their orders. And when he’d awakened, he smelled the death around him. Tangy, metallic blood had oozed into his mouth, and when he clawed at the dirt, his fingers found the limbs of the dead that had been buried with him.

Closing his eyes to block out the blackness, he fought the panic in his chest. Sudden, violent memories exploded in his mind, and the cloying smell of death-warm bodies permeated his nostrils, coating his lungs, closing his throat.

A cacophony of noises erupted in his ears: the sounds of weeping, shrieking women and frantic, screaming children … the explosive gunfire … the whipping sound of the lash as it landed on his back … Then, the dead-calm silence of the aftermath.