Nevada Heat (21 page)

His breath warm against her flesh, his lips trailed down her neck and his tongue licked gently at the hollow of her throat Miranda's pulse throbbed wildly and Jesse struggled for air. She sighed and threaded her fingers through his hair, shifting her body anxiously.

Jesse's fingers toyed with one rigid nipple and he smiled when he heard the groan from deep in her throat Her hands now on his face, she tried to pull him up to her for a kiss, but instead he lowered his mouth to the taut peak that waited for him. At first his tongue drew warm, lazy circles around the sensitive flesh and he smiled with each tremor of delight that shook her. But soon his own need to taste her overcame his desire to go slowly and he closed his lips over her nipple and suckled her. She gasped aloud, feeding the fever that gripped him. He felt her fingers in his hair again, but this time she held him to her breast.

He looked up at her and found her watching him through softly glazed eyes. She licked at her lips and whispered, "Don't stop, Jesse. Please, don't stop."

"Never," he assured her, and ran the edges of his teeth over her nipple. She arched her back and murmured his name in a breathless hush. Quickly he shifted his attentions to her other breast and allowed his hand to slide down the smooth skin of her belly, past the small, dark triangle and down to the center of the heat that was consuming her.

#

Slowly, teasingly, his fingertips touched the small bud he'd caressed earlier that day and Miranda's eyes flew open. So much the same and yet so different When there was no fabric, no buckskin to separate them… only the magic of his hands.

Miranda's body twisted and stretched, searching for the profound release she'd experienced before. But now she wanted more. Seemed to realize that this time it would be different. More shattering. More complete.

His mouth locked down on her nipple, and as he sucked at her breast, Miranda felt the drawing pull of it snake through her body. Each time his tongue flicked against her skin, she wanted to capture it. Hold it there. Feel that way forever. He drew his head back and blew a short puff of breath onto her damp breast. The gooseflesh spread over her and even the heat of the afternoon sun wasn't enough to warm her. She let the wave of pleasure course through her, willingly giving over to him control of her body.

His long, supple fingers left the bud of her desire and she wanted to cry out at him to come back. Not to leave her. But she couldn't find her voice. And then she realized that he hadn't stopped. He'd simply gone further. His fingers slid down the damp, warm folds of het sex, and when she arched her back and briefly, instinctively, tried to close her legs, he pushed them apart again.

"Just feel, Miranda. Don't think. Feel," he soothed her, his voice as soft as his touch. Immediately she relaxed again, parting her thighs for him. His fingers smoothed over the dampness between her legs, and she didn't think. Didn't care that she should be embarrassed… and wasn't.

Jesse propped himself up on his right arm and stared down into her face. She licked her lips, but they were immediately dry again, in the face of the short, panting gasps of air she dragged into her lungs. The shirt beneath her head had long since become useless as a pillow and she twisted her head from side to side, trying to reach… something.

Suddenly, without warning, Jesse's fingers slipped inside her. Strong, hard, he dipped in and out of her body like a bee in a flower garden. Her eyes wide, she stared up at him, her mouth parted in surprise and an exquisite delight. He was going beyond the pleasure he'd shown her earlier, and Miranda shuddered and lifted her hips to meet his questing fingers, loving the feel of him inside her. It was as if he had become her. And when his thumb moved to caress the too sensitive nub of flesh, Miranda jumped against him, startled by the incredible feelings shaking through her.

"Jesse. Jesse, I…"

#

He lowered his head and covered her mouth with his, ending her attempt to speak. Her hips pushed against his hand and he clipped his fingers inside her warmth once more. The slick dampness welcomed him and every caress of his thumb against her core sent her body into rocking, jerking spasms of pleasure.

Her mouth opened to him as eagerly as her legs and their tongues met and danced in warm abandon. Jesse's breathing strained, he struggled for control, wanting to prolong this first time of joining, for both of them. But the sweet pain of waiting was becoming too much to bear and he didn't think he'd be able to withstand it much longer.

Deliberately slowing down, Jesse moved his tongue over the inside of her mouth and pulled his fingers free of the damp heat that surrounded them. He felt her disappointment, tasted her sigh of regret, and shared it.

Lifting his head, he looked down at her. The turquoise eyes were glazed, hazy with unfulfilled passion. Hunger.

Her hips rocked slightly, she licked her lips and whispered, "Jesse, I need —“

"I know, darlin'. I know." He kissed her lips gently and smoothed her hair back from her brow. Then he left her side. In only a moment he was kneeling between her thighs and watching the expectation on her face.

His forefinger skimmed over her sex and Miranda's body jerked in response. Deliberately Jesse dipped his fingers inside her once more, smoothing the damp heat to prepare her for his body's entry. She raised her hips and groaned softly, her eyes locking onto his.

His hands moved to cup her behind and he rose up off his haunches, his sex brushing against the warmth of her gateway. Miranda's hips moved again and Jesse couldn't stand it any longer. As gently, as easily as possible, he slid into her warmth. His head fell back on his neck and a moan escaped his throat. So tight. So hot. So right. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a small voice reminded him that there might be pain for her. To go carefully.

And he wanted to. But Miranda's hands reached down to hold his thighs and any rational thought left him. With one quick thrust, he pushed himself home. She tightened and gasped in surprise, but when he looked at her in concern, she only whispered huskily, "Again, Jesse. Again."

He was undone and thrust again into Miranda's warmth. Her nails dug into the flesh of his thighs and he saw her head twisting and turning, her lips dry, her breath coming in short, hard gasps. He slipped his hand between their bodies and teased the swollen bud of her womanhood.

Faster and harder he moved, Miranda's body matching him as though they’d loved together many times. Jesse kissed her hard, his tongue imitating the heated thrusts of his hips. In response, her fingers clutched at his legs, the nails biting deep.

And when he didn't think his flagging control could last another moment, Miranda cried out his name. At the sound Jesse's own release claimed him, and together they tumbled into oblivion.

#

The man poured a little more water from his canteen into the upturned crown of his hat and offered it to his horse. While the tired gray drank, the blond let his gaze travel swiftly over the surrounding area.

Rocks, dirt, sand, and the straggly clumps of desert plants, mostly brown in the near-winter sun. He squinted off into the distance and saw a vague outline of the far canyon. Almost there. He threw his horse a worried glance. Damn good thing he was so close to the canyon. The gray needed a rest as bad as he did.

The animal lifted its big, well-shaped head and shook it fiercely.

"Yeah, I know, boy." The blond patted the animal's neck reassuringly. "Only another day or so now. 'Sides, if I recollect right, there's a small tank not far from here."

The animal snorted as if he understood completely.

"Get you all the water you can carry." The man jammed his hat back on his head, enjoying the cool damp against his skin. "Then, when we get to the canyon, I'll see to it you get some of those oats Birdwell's always got set aside."

He stepped into the stirrup and swung his right leg over the animal's broad back. "Me" — he laughed under his breath — “I’ll take a little of somethin' else Birdwell's been holdin' out." He wrapped the reins loosely in his hands. "C'mon, boy. You and me are goin' callin'."

A touch of spurs sent the big animal into a determined, mile-eating trot.

#

"Miranda?" Shelly knocked on the cabin door again. "Miranda?" She turned the latch and opened the door just wide enough to peer in. Maybe she was still sleeping.

Moving softly, Shelly walked into the cabin and headed for the small bedroom in the back. She didn't even glance at the familiar, painfully neat furnishings. She just wanted to get in, pick up what she needed, and get out again before disturbing Miranda. She should have realized that her friend would still be resting up. She should have told Serena to wait.

It was so quiet. And not just in Miranda's place. The whole damn town was still sleeping. Well, everyone except Serena. Shelly smiled, shook her head, and went on. Childbirth hadn't been enough to make Serena rest. Not once she'd convinced herself that Pike would be riding in soon. Oh, no. Serena wanted to look pretty when her husband arrived. She wanted everything to be perfect. And so she'd talked Shelly into getting the dress Miranda was making for her so Serena could finish up the sleeves and collar while she lay in bed.

But it could have waited another hour or two. She stepped up to the makeshift wall that separated Miranda's bedroom from the rest of the cabin. Carefully Shelly lifted the edge of the green-and-yellow fabric hanging from hooks pounded into the ceiling and slipped under it. Thankfully she spotted Serena's new dress, draped across a battered, ladder-back chair in the corner. As she snatched it up she threw a quick look over her shoulder at the bed. It was empty.

Puzzled, Shelly walked closer, staring down at the pale blue quilt as if waiting for an explanation. Pillows plumped, blankets straight and unwrinkled, the bed was obviously untouched. Miranda hadn't been to sleep at all. Or if she had, she was up and gone already. But where?

Shelly turned to look out the back window toward the convenience. But the slat door hung open, swaying back and forth in the canyon wind.

Gripping the dress in one hand, Shelly swung around quickly, swept the fabric wall aside, and walked to the middle of the tiny cabin.

Now she took the time to look around her. Everything was as it should be. Tidy, clean. Absently she noted the new curtains hanging across the window over the small, round kitchen table. The Sullys must have brought Miranda some new fabric. Then her gaze locked on the tabletop. Half a loaf of fresh bread was gone, the knife and crumbs standing evidence. Also, a small jar of preserves always kept on a shelf beside the table was missing. Quickly Shelly’s gaze moved over the rest of the room. Now that she was paying attention, she noticed that the old quilt, usually folded up on a chair, was gone and Miranda's pistol and holster weren't hanging on the peg beside the front door.

Shelly grumbled under her breath. Miranda'd taken off on one of her jaunts. By the looks of the supplies she'd taken with her, she was meaning to be gone for a few hours at least. Shelly's fingers curled tightly around Serena's dress. Dammit, she shouldn't have gone. Not right after an Indian scare. And not with the whole damn town asleep. What if she needed help? What if she got into trouble? All alone out there… Shelly stopped.

Alone? She remembered the look on Miranda's face earlier. And, Shelly told herself, hadn't she noticed Jesse actin' a little peculiar, too? She took a long, deep breath and stared blankly at the opposite wall. It had to be. Somehow Jesse had managed to get around Miranda's usual good judgment and had wormed himself into her favor. And Shelly knew just what he was after. What all men were after when it came down to it. Even Dave, with all his talk of love.

And dammit, she wasn't going to see Miranda hurt. Not for the likes of Jesse Hogan. But first she had to be sure. Shelly marched across the cabin floor, threw the door open, and stalked off down the boardwalk toward the bunkhouse.

#

“M'randa?”

She mumbled something in her sleep and cuddled in closer to the warm man beside her. A low rumble of gentle laughter rattled through the chest beneath her cheek. “M'randa? Wake up, darlin'."

“Hmmm?" Her hand smoothed the tickling, dark, curly hairs away from the end of her nose. She tried to ignore the voice and slide back into her dream. But it was much too bright. The shade of the overhang no longer covered them. Sunlight poured against her closed eyelids, refusing to be ignored.

Grudgingly she opened her eyes and tilted her head back to meet Jesse's amused gaze.

"Woman, you sure can sleep!"

She smiled and stretched her limbs like a contented house cat. Then Miranda reached out one hand and caressed his beard-stubbled cheek. It wasn't a dream then. They really had done everything she'd been reliving in her sleep.

She searched his eyes, looking for reassurance, and found something else besides. For the first time since the night she'd met him, there were no shadows in Jesse's green eyes. Instead there was a spark of amusement A good-humored smile curved his lips and the perpetual frown lines between his brows were gone.

Miranda traced one finger along the contours of his mouth, feeling his breath warm against her hand. His eyes darkened slightly but not with the shadows of pain that she'd come to know so well.