Montana Sky (20 page)

Tidy as a Currier and Ives painting, she decided. The well-plowed dirt road with its fresh sprinkle of white, the
neat outbuildings and rectangles of fence, the rising shadows of trees.

Her headlights must have stirred the horses, as three trotted out of the barn and into the corral to watch her drive by.

Pretty as a painting themselves, she thought, with their flowing tails and dancing hooves. One of them loped over to the fence, luring her into slowing down to study its trim lines and glossy color.

She drove on, taking the gentle curve in the road that led to the main house. It, too, was pretty and neat. Unpretentious, she decided, a boxy two stories with a generous covered porch, white shutters against dark wood, double chimneys with smoke pumping into the snowy sky. Simple, she mused, hold the pretenses and fancywork. Just like the man who lived there.

She was smiling as she gathered up her bag, the gift, and climbed out of the rig. And managed, barely, to hold back the scream when she spotted the wildcat.

She took three stumbling steps back, rapped up hard against the rig. The cat's eyes stared into hers. It was dead, stone cold dead and draped over the hitching rail. But it gave her a very bad moment.

The fangs and claws were lethally sharp and told her exactly what would happen to a woman careless enough to stumble onto a live one. It hadn't been mutilated, and the lack of blood settled her thundering heart. It was simply draped, like a rug, she thought in wonder, over the rail. With a shudder, she gave it a wide berth and climbed the steps to the front door.

What kind of people, she wondered, draped the carcass of a wildcat over their front entrance? With a nervous laugh, she looked down at the gift in her hand. Then read Keats?

Jesus, what a country.

Even as she lifted her hand to knock, the door opened. In the mood she was in, Tess was pleased she didn't add a shriek to her jolt.

The short, dark woman studied her solemnly. She was nearly as wide as she was tall, wrapped now in a thick black
coat and many scarves. Her black hair was bundled under yet another scarf, but Tess could see it was salted with gray.

“Señorita,” she said in a gorgeous, fluid voice. “May I help you?”

The liquid, sexy voice coming out of the tiny, wrinkled face fascinated Tess, and she immediately started casting character. Her smile spread and brightened. “Hello, I'm Tess Mercy.”

“Yes, Señorita Mercy.” At the Mercy name, the woman opened the door wider, stepping back in invitation.

“I'd like to see Nate, if he's free.”

“He's in his office. Just down the hall. I will show you.”

“You're on your way out.” And Tess didn't want her arrival announced. “I can find it. Señora . . . ?”

“Cruz.” She blinked a moment at Tess's offered hand, then took it in a brisk grip. “Mister Nate will be pleased to see you.”

Will he? Tess thought, but she continued to smile. “I have a little gift for him,” she said, and held up the brightly wrapped book. “A surprise.”

“That is very generous. It is the third door on the left.” The ghost of a smile around the woman's mouth told Tess that the underlying reason for her visit was all too obvious. At least to another female. “Good night, Señorita Mercy.”

“Good night, Señora Cruz.” And Tess chuckled to herself as the door closed between them and she was left alone in the quiet hall.

Bright geometric-patterned rugs over dark wood floors, clever pen-and-ink sketches on ivory-toned walls. Lovely dried-flower arrangements in brass urns—that would be the señora's touch, Tess assumed as she wandered.

A fire was burning nicely in the living room, simmering in a stone hearth beneath a stone mantel on which stood pewter candlesticks and a collection of intriguing paperweights. The furniture was wide and deeply cushioned and masculine. Dark colors to contrast with light walls and the bright rugs.

An interesting mix, Tess decided. Simple, male, yet pleasing to the eye.

She caught the low strains of a Mozart concerto as she walked closer to the open office door.

And there he was, all gangling and sexy and Jimmy Stewart-ish in a high-backed leather chair behind a big oak desk. The desk lamp slanted light over his hands as he made notations on a yellow legal pad. His brow was knotted, his tie loose, his hair, all that thick gold of it, mussed. From his own hands, she noted, as he raked his fingers through it.

Well, well, she thought, just feel my heart go pitty-pat. Amused at herself, she watched him another minute, pleased to be able to study him when he was working and unaware of her.

The room was filled with books, and a single mug of coffee sat at his elbow while the lovely music murmured in the background.

Nate, she decided, giving her hair a brief stroke, you're a goner.

“Well, good evening, Lawyer Torrence.” Well aware that she was posed in the doorway, she smiled slowly as his head jerked up, as his eyes cleared of business, then surprise, and focused.

“Well, hello, Miz Mercy.” Tension whipped into him as he saw her there, snow still lightly dusted over her hair and the shoulders of her coat. That tension increased when he saw the secret female smile on her lips, but he leaned back in his chair like a man perfectly at ease. “This is a pleasant surprise.”

“I hope so. And I hope I'm not interrupting something vitally important.”

“Not vital.” The notes he'd been taking had already gone completely out of his mind.

“Señora Cruz let me in.” She started toward the desk, thinking of the wildcat. She would take a page from the feline book and toy with her prey before moving in for the kill. “Your housekeeper.”

“My keeper.” He was quite simply baffled. Should he get up, offer her a drink, stay where he was? Why the hell was she looking at him as though she was already licking the remains of him from her lips? “Maria and her husband,
Miguel, keep things running around here. Is this a social visit, Tess, or do you need a lawyer?”

“Social, for the moment. Completely social.” She slipped off her coat and watched his eyes flicker. Yes, she concluded, the dress was definitely a success. “To be honest, I needed to get out of the house.” She draped her coat over the back of a chair, then eased a hip onto the corner of his desk, letting the skirt slide sneakily up her thigh. “A little cabin fever.”

“It happens.” He hadn't forgotten her legs, but it had been a while since he'd seen them in anything but jeans or thick wool pants. Displayed in sheer hose to well above the knee, they made his mouth go dry. “Can I get you a drink?”

“That would be lovely.” She crossed her legs, slowly. Another sneaky slide. “What have you got?”

“Ah . . .” He couldn't remember, and felt like an idiot.

Better and better, she decided, and slithered off the desk. “I'll just see for myself, shall I?” She walked to the decanters on a cabinet across the room and chose vermouth. “Would you like one?”

“Sure, thanks.” He nudged the coffee aside. Caffeine sure as hell wasn't going to get him through this. “I haven't been able to get over for a couple of days. How are things?”

“Quiet.” She poured two glasses, brought them to the desk. After handing Nate his, she slipped onto the desk again, on his side. “Though festive.” She leaned down, just a bit, tapped her glass to his. “Happy holidays. In fact . . .” She took a small sip. “That's one of the reasons I came by.” Reaching over, she picked up the package she'd put on the desk. “Merry Christmas, Nate.”

“You got me a present?” He narrowed his eyes at the package, expecting a slam.

“Just a little one. You've been a good friend, and counselor.” She smiled over the last word. “Do you want to open it now, or wait till Christmas morning?” She touched her tongue to her top lip, and all the blood drained out of his brain into his lap. “I can come back.”

“I'm a sucker for presents,” he told her, and ripped the paper off. When he saw the book he teetered between being
faintly embarrassed and gently moved. “I'm a sucker for Keats, too,” he murmured.

“So I hear. I thought when you read it, you might think of me.”

He lifted his eyes to hers. “I manage to think of you without visual aids.”

“Do you?” She inched closer, leaning down so that she could take hold of his loosened tie. “And what do you think?”

“I think, at the moment, you're trying to seduce me.”

“You're so quick, so smart.” She laughed and slid into his lap. “And so right.” One quick tug on the tie and she had his mouth on hers.

Like the house, like the man, the hunger was simple and without pretense. His hands closed over her breasts, the warm, full weight of them. And when she shifted to straddle him, his hands moved around to cup her bottom.

She had already tossed his tie aside and was working on his shirt before he'd taken the first breath.

“If I'd had to go another week without your hands on me, I'd have screamed.” She fastened her teeth low on his neck. “I'd rather scream with them on me.”

He still hadn't managed to breathe, but his hands were busy enough, pushing that short, snug skirt of the dress up her hips, finding the delight of firm bare skin over the lacy tops of stockings. “We can't—here.” He went back to her breasts, unable to decide where he needed to touch first. “Upstairs,” he managed as he savaged her mouth. “I'll take you upstairs.”

“Here.” She threw back her head as his lips ran down her throat. He had a wonderful mouth. She'd been sure of it. “Right here, right now.” On the verge of exploding already, she dragged at his belt. “Hurry. The first time fast. We'll worry about finesse later.”

He was with her there. Hard as steel, aching, desperate. He struggled with the zipper in the back of her dress as she struggled with his. “I haven't got any . . . Christ, you're built.” He dragged the dress down far enough to find those lovely, full breasts spilling over the top of a low-cut black
bra. He nipped the bra down with his teeth, then used them on her.

It was a shock. She'd always considered herself healthily sexual. But when that busy mouth on her flesh shot her over the edge without a net, her body bucked, her mind spun. “God. Oh, my God.” Letting her head fall back, she absorbed that first, delightful orgasm. “More. Now.”

She'd exploded over him—wildly, gorgeously—and dazed him. With his hands full of her, he pressed his lips to hers and tried to think. “We have to go upstairs, Tess. I don't generally have sex at my desk. I'm not prepared for it.”

“That's okay.” She let her brow rest against his, drew three deep breaths. Lord, she was quaking like a schoolgirl. “I am.”

Reaching back, she fumbled over the surface of the desk, knocking a number of things to the floor as he took advantage of the thrust of her breast and suckled. She heard her breath wheeze, swore she could feel her eyes cross as she groped behind her for her bag. She opened it, tossed it aside, and let a trail of condoms spill out.

He blinked. A quick guess told him there were at least a dozen. So Nate cleared his throat. “I don't know whether to be afraid or flattered.”

It made her laugh. Sitting there, half naked and aroused to hell and back, she let loose a low, rocking laugh. “Consider it a challenge.”

“Good call.” But when he reached for them, she drew them teasingly out of reach.

“Oh, no. Allow me.”

With her eyes on his, she ripped a packet off, tore it open. Mozart continued to play with grace and dignity as she freed Nate from his slacks, gave a feline hum of anticipation, and slowly, torturously protected them both.

His lungs clogged, his fingers dug into the arms of the chair. Her hands were clever, delicate as a rose. And he was suddenly terrified that he would disgrace himself like a teenage virgin. “Goddamn, you're good.”

She smiled, shifted. “I've been thinking about this since the first time I saw you.”

He gripped her hips as she rose over him, held her there while both of them quivered. “Yeah? Well, that makes two of us.”

She braced her hands on his shoulders, let her fingers dig in for purchase. “Why'd we wait so long?”

“Damned if I know.” Slowly, his eyes locked on hers, he lowered her, pierced her, filled her. She shuddered once, moaned low and long in her throat, and didn't move a muscle. Her eyes closed, then opened.

“Yes,” she said, and smiled again.

“Yes.” His hands stayed fastened on her hips as she rode him, hard and fast and well.

 

L
ATER
.
WHEN SHE WAS LIMP IN HIS ARMS
.
HE MANAGED
to reach the phone. She moaned a little as he shifted her, dialed.

“Will? It's Nate. Tess is here . . . Yeah. She'll be staying here tonight.” He turned his head, nipped at her bare shoulder, and realized he'd never gotten that dress completely off. Plenty of time for that, he thought, and tuned back in to Willa's voice. “No, she's fine. She's great. She'll be back in the morning. 'Bye.”

“That was considerate of you,” Tess murmured. She'd popped a few of the buttons off his shirt somewhere along the line, and now enjoyed the smooth bare skin of his chest under her lazy fingertips.

“She'd worry.” He worked the bunched-up dress from around her waist and pulled it over her head. Now she wore nothing but lace-topped stockings, sexy high heels, and a satisfied smirk. The smirk was the only thing he wanted to see slip off her. “How do you feel?”

“I feel wonderful.” Tossing back her hair, she linked her hands behind his neck. “And you?”

He slipped his hands under her bottom, lifting her as he rose. “Lucky,” he told her, and laid her back on his desk. He took a moment to toss the legal pad that rested beside her head over his shoulder. “And about to get luckier.”