Montana Sky (14 page)

“I had business with Adam. Horse business. And I stuck
around in my supervisory capacity. And for the free meal.”

“I asked Ben to stay,” Nate put in before Willa could snarl. “I talked to the police this morning. They'll be releasing the body tomorrow.” He waited a moment for Willa to nod, to accept. “Some of the papers I have for you deal with the funeral arrangements. There's also some financial business. Pickles had a small passbook savings account and a standard checking. Combined, we're only talking about maybe thirty-five hundred. He owed nearly that on his rig.”

“I'm not worried about the money.” She couldn't have eaten now if there'd been a gun to her head. “I'd appreciate it if you'd just handle the details and bill the ranch. Please, Nate.”

“All right.” He took a legal pad out of the briefcase at his feet, scribbled some notes. “As to his personal effects. There's no family, no heirs, and he never had a will made.”

“There wouldn't be much anyway.” Misery settled over her, heavy and thick. “His clothes, his saddle, tools. I'll leave that to the men, if that's all right.”

“I think that's the way it should be. I'll handle the legal points.” He touched a hand to hers, let it linger briefly. “If you think of anything, or you have any questions, just give me a call.”

“I'm obliged.”

“No need to be.” He unfolded himself and stood. “If you don't mind, I'm going to borrow a horse, ride out after Adam to ah . . .”

“You're going to have to think faster than that,” Ben told him, “if you're going to lie about sniffing after a woman.”

Nate only grinned and took his hat from the hook by the back door. “Thank Bess for the meal. I'll be around.”

Willa frowned at the door Nate closed behind him. “Sniffing after what woman?”

“Your big sister wears some mighty pretty perfume.”

She snorted, picked up her plate, and took it to the counter beside the sink. “Hollywood? Nate's got more sense than that.”

“The right perfume can kick the sense right out of a man. You didn't eat your dinner.”

“Lost my appetite.” Curious, she turned back, leaned on the counter. “Is that what yanks your chain, Ben? Fancy perfume?”

“It doesn't hurt.” He leaned back in his chair. “Of course, soap and leather on the right kind of skin can do the same damn thing. Being female's a powerful and mysterious thing.” He picked up his coffee, watching her over the rim of the cup. “But I guess you'd know that.”

“Doesn't matter around a ranch which way your skin stretches.”

“Like hell. Every time you go within five feet of young Billy, his eyes cross.”

She smiled a little because it was pure truth. “He's eighteen and randy as they come. Saying the word ‘breast' around him drains all the blood out of his head into his lap. He'll get over it.”

“Not if he's lucky.”

Feeling friendlier, she crossed her feet at the ankles. “I don't know how you men tolerate it. Having your ego, your personality, and your idea of romance all dangling between your legs.”

“It's a trial. Are you going to sit down and finish your coffee?”

“I've got work.”

“That's what you've said every time
I've
come within five feet of you the last couple of days.” He picked up her mug, rose, and carried it to her. “You keep working and not eating, Willa, you're going to end up flat on your face.” He took her chin in his hand and gave her a long, long look. “And the face isn't half bad.”

“You're grabbing onto it enough lately.” She jerked her head, struggling to remain cool when his fingers stayed put. “What's your problem, McKinnon?”

“I don't have one.” To test them both, he skimmed a finger up and over her mouth. It had a shape to it, he mused, even in a snarl, that made a man want a bite. “But you
seem to have one. I've been noticing you're jumpy around me lately. Used to be you were just mean.”

“Maybe you can't tell the difference.”

“Yeah, I can.” He shifted, boxing her neatly between the counter and his body. “You know what I think, Will?”

He had broad shoulders, long legs. Lately she'd been entirely too aware of the size and shape of him. “I'm not interested in what you think.”

Being a cautious man with a good memory, he pressed against her to block a well-aimed knee. “I'll tell you anyway.” He took his hand off her chin and gathered up the hair she'd left loose that morning. “You do smell of soap and leather, now that I'm close enough to tell.”

“Any closer, you'd be on the other side of me.”

“Then there's all this hair, a good yard of it. Straight as a pin and soft as silk.” He kept his eyes on hers, drew her head back a fraction more. “Your heart's pounding. And there's this little pulse right here in your throat.” He used his free hand to trace it, feel it skitter. “Jumping so hard it's a wonder it doesn't come right through the skin and bounce into my hand.”

She wasn't entirely sure it wouldn't happen if he didn't give her room to breathe. “You're irritating me, Ben.” It took every ounce of effort to keep her voice even.

“I'm seducing you, Willa.” He all but purred it, in words like honey. And his smile came slow and potent when she trembled. “That's what you're afraid of, to my way of thinking. That I could, and I will, and you won't be able to do a damn thing about it.”

“Back off.” Her voice wasn't steady now, nor were the hands she lifted to his chest.

“No.” He tugged her hair again. “Not this time.”

“You said yourself not long ago that you don't want me any more than I want you.” What was happening inside her? she wondered in panic. The shivering and shakes, the long, liquid pulls. “There's no point in playing like you do just to annoy me.”

“I was wrong. What I should have said was that I want
you every bit as much as you want me. I was irritated over it. You're just scared of it.”

“I'm not scared of you.” What was happening inside her was frightening. But not because of him. She promised herself it wasn't because of him.

“Prove it.” Those eyes of his, sharp green and close, lit with challenge. “Right here. Right now.”

“Fine.” Accepting the dare, afraid not to, she grabbed a handful of his hair and dragged his mouth down to hers.

He had the McKinnon mouth, she realized. Like Zack's, it was full and firm. But there the similarity ended. None of the dreamy kisses she'd shared with Zack years before compared to this burst, this shock of having a man's skillful lips devouring hers. Or the hot, impatient way he used tongue and teeth to simply overpower, to focus every thought, every feeling, every need into that point where mouth met mouth.

The edge of the counter bit into her back. The fingers she'd twined through his hair curled into a hard, taut fist. And the primal male taste of him coursed through her body and left it in ruins. He hadn't given her even a moment to defend herself.

He didn't intend to.

He felt her body jerk, stiffen against the onslaught. And wondered if what was battling through her was even close to what was battling through him. He'd expected heat, or cold. She had both in her. He'd expected power, for she was anything but weak. He'd hoped to find pleasure, as her mouth seemed to have been created to give and to take it.

He hadn't known he'd find them all, a rage of all that would slam into him like bare-knuckled fists and leave him reeling.

“Goddamn it.” He dragged his mouth away, stared into her eyes, so big and dark and shocked. “Goddamn it all to hell.”

And his mouth came down on hers again to feed.

She moaned, a sound trapped in her throat, a sound he could feel when he closed his hand over that smooth column and squeezed lightly. He wanted to taste there, just there where that pulse jumped and that moan sounded, but for the
life of him he couldn't get enough of her mouth. And she was holding him now, holding hard, moving against him, hips grinding.

He closed a hand over her breast, so firm through the flannel. When it wasn't enough, not nearly enough, he yanked her shirt free of her jeans and streaked under to flesh.

The feel of his hand, hard and callused and strong on her, had the muscles in her thighs going loose, the tension in her stomach pushing toward pain. His thumb flicked over her nipple, ricocheting bullets of heat from point to point through her overtaxed system.

She went limp, might have slid through his arms like vapor if he hadn't changed his grip. That sudden and utter surrender aroused him more than all the flash and fire.

“We need to finish this.” He cupped her breast, fingers skimming, stroking as he waited for her eyes to open and meet his. “And though it's tempting to go right on with it here, Bess might be miffed if she came in and found us waxing her floor the way I have in mind.”

“Back off.” She fought to suck in air. “I can't breathe, back off.”

“I'm having some trouble with that myself. We'll breathe later.” He lowered his head, nipped at her jaw. “Come home with me, Willa, let me have you.”

“I'm not going to do that.” She struggled free, stumbled to the table, and braced her palms on it for balance. She had to think, had to. But she could only feel. “Keep away,” she snapped when he moved toward her. “Keep away and let me breathe.”

It was the lick of real panic in her voice that had him leaning back against the counter. “All right, breathe. It isn't going to change anything.” He reached for the mug of coffee beside him and, when he noted his hands weren't steady, left it where it sat. “I don't know if I'm too pleased about this either.”

“Fine. That's just fine.” Steadier, she straightened, faced him. “You think because you've talked a dozen women onto their backs you can just come in here and talk me onto
mine. Easy pickings, too, since I've never done it before.”

“Can't be more than ten women by my count,” he said easily. “And I didn't have to—” He broke off, eyes going wide, jaw dropping. “Never done what, exactly?”

“You know damn well what, exactly.”

“Ever?” He pushed his hands into his pockets. “At all ever?”

She merely stared, waiting for him to laugh. Then she'd have the perfect excuse to kill him.

“But I figured you and Zack . . .” He trailed off again, realizing that might not have sat too well with him under the circumstances.

“Did he say I did?” Her eyes narrowed to slits as she poised, ready to spring.

“No, he never—no.” At a loss, Ben dragged a hand out of his pocket and raked it through his hair. “I just figured, that's all. I just figured you . . . at some time or other. Well, hell, Willa, you're a grown woman. Of course I figured you'd—”

“Slept around?”

“No, not exactly.” Hand me a shovel, he thought. I'm getting tired of digging this hole for myself with my bare hands. “You're a good-looking woman,” he began, and winced, knowing he could have done better than that. Would have, too, if his tongue wasn't so tangled up. “I just assumed that you'd had some experience in the area.”

“Well, I haven't.” Temper was clearing just enough to let in flickers of embarrassment. “And it's up to me when and if I want to change that, and who I want to change it with.”

“Absolutely. I wouldn't have pushed if I'd realized . . .” He couldn't take his eyes off her, the way she stood there all flushed and rumpled, with that sexy mouth swollen from his. “Or maybe I'd have pushed different. I've been thinking about you, that way, for a while.”

Suspicion flickered in her eyes. “Why?”

“Damned if I know. It just is. Now that I've had my hands on you, I'd have to say I'm going to be thinking more. You've got a nice feel to you, Willa.” The humor came
back, curving his lips. “And you were doing a damn fine job of kissing me back, for an amateur.”

“You're not the first man I've kissed, and you won't be the last.”

“That doesn't mean you can't practice on me—when you get the urge.” He walked over to take his hat and jacket from the pegs by the door. If either of them noticed that he gave her a wide berth, neither commented. “What are friends for?”

“I don't have any trouble controlling my urges.”

“You're telling me,” he said, with feeling, and fit his hat on his head. “But I have a notion I'm about to have a hell of a time controlling mine where you're concerned.”

He opened the door, gave her one long last look. “You've got one hell of a mouth, Willa. One hell of a mouth.”

He shut the door, shrugged into his jacket. As he circled around the house toward his rig, he let out a whistling breath. He'd thought a little nuzzling in the kitchen would take both of their minds off the trouble hanging over Mercy. It had done a hell of a lot more than that.

He rubbed a hand over his belly, knowing the knots twisting inside would be there for quite a while yet. She'd gotten to him, and gotten to him hard. And the fact that she had no idea what they could do to each other in the dark only made it more terrifying.

And arousing.

He'd always chosen women who knew the ropes, who understood the pleasures, the rules and the responsibilities. Women, he admitted, who didn't expect more than a good, healthy ride where nobody got hurt, nobody got hobbled.

He glanced back at the house as he climbed behind the wheel, turned the key in the ignition. It wouldn't be so simple with Willa, not when he'd be her first.

He drove away from Mercy without a clue to what he would do about her. All he knew for certain was that Willa was going to have to accept that Ben McKinnon was going to be the one she'd change things with.

He glanced toward the bunkhouse as he drove past and thought of everything she'd been through in the past few
weeks. Enough, he thought, to break anyone to bits. Anyone but Willa.