Somehow their clothes were off again, and the barrier that had been between them melted away so that there was only a wild taking and giving and taking again. He was the outlaw who’d taken her in that wagon years ago and made damn sure she knew who owned her. He moved over her body with hungry desire, tasting every part of her as though he had to remember every private place that belonged only to Jake Harkner. His fingers explored and claimed her depths and brought her to a wicked climax that made her cry out his name and grasp his hair, returning his kisses with wanton desire as he pinned her arms over her head and buried himself deep, with a fierce determination to make sure she knew who was claiming her. He meant to brand her in places no other man would ever touch.
They finished making love…talked…made decisions…made love again. The second time he took her, he asked the inevitable question.
“Who do you belong to?”
“Jake Harkner.”
“Who owns this body?”
“Jake Harkner.”
He devoured her mouth again with an insatiable need to make sure he remembered how she smelled, how she tasted, how she felt against his fingers, how it felt to be inside this woman who gave him life and a reason for being.
“Are you all right? Please tell me if you’re in pain.”
“I’m not in pain, Jake—truly.” She arched against him, glorying in the fact that this was still so incredibly pleasurable after all their years together. She doubted many men knew all the right moves the way this one did. He rocked her with a gentle rhythm, rubbing against that most pleasant spot, which brought her to another climax. “Don’t stop yet,” she groaned. “Please don’t stop yet.”
His kisses again grew hot and demanding as strong arms wrapped her close and his chest pressed against her breasts. She loved it when he took complete control of her. She felt ravished and fulfilled and adored. He kept up the erotic rhythm in a way that made her feel as though she was in an almost constant climax, until finally he could hold back no longer himself. He wilted against her then, damp body against damp body.
“You sure you’re okay?” he finally asked.
“I doubt many men can be as forceful yet gentle as you can, my darling husband. I’m fine at the moment.”
“That felt so goddamn good, Randy.”
“The feeling is mutual.”
Jake raised up slightly and kissed her once more. “I’m here to please.”
“And you’re so good at it.”
That brought a grin, but he soon lost his smile and moved off of her, keeping her close. “Don’t be afraid, Randy. You know how badly I want to be there for you. And I will be there…in spirit. Tell me you’ll feel me with you.”
“Of course I will. I’ve always felt you with me when we’re apart. I’m not afraid any more, Jake. I’m only afraid for you because this might distract you. Please don’t let it. You have to come back to me, or I won’t care if I come out of this alive or dead. And please don’t ever let anything come between us—ever—ever. I hate feeling far away from you when you’re here even more than when you’re gone.”
Jake hated the thought that they had only one more day before they would be separated by a good fifty miles, her to the world of a bigger city and the terror of surgery and a big hospital, with another man who loved her. What if she died and it was Peter Brown who held her in his arms as her life slipped away? It should be him. It should be Jake Harkner. He’d make sure it was…in her mind and in her heart, even though he would be riding off into backcountry with only the ground for his bed and a saddle for a pillow, no cities, not much of anything. Their little house would sit empty this time, the two of them so far apart.
“Do not forsake me, mi querida esposa, just as I will never forsake you.”
She grasped his hand and kissed it. “Never. I would never forsake you.”
Twenty-two
Randy woke to see Jake already dressed. Her pain had returned tenfold. All yesterday afternoon and last night, she’d been plagued with it. Now she’d ended up oversleeping from the medication Brian had given her. In a bit of a daze she watched Jake. He was already wearing his gun belt, with a third gun tucked in a holster behind his back and his extra belt of cartridges hung on a hook nearby. He pulled on his leather vest with his badge pinned to it, then picked up his duster and hat.
“Jake Harkner, if I didn’t know who you were, I’d be terrified of you. You look like you’re ready for an army.”
He glanced at her. “There just might be something close to an army at the Buckleys or the Bryants, maybe both. I have to take death certificates to Jessie Buckley for her husband and son, both of whom I killed, so it will be no picnic. That woman is as formidable as a man.”