Rain Shadow(37)

"It doesn't matter?"

"No." A chill racked her body, and she shook beneath him.

"Are you better than Annie Oakley?"

"Yes," she hissed.

"Then prove it."

She couldn't read his expression. "What do you care?"

She sensed the change in his body, sensed she'd gone too far, and she  hated hurting him, hated angering him. I'm sorry. Without considering,  she yanked her hand from his grasp, the other from beneath his chest,  and framed his cold face. Raising her head, she kissed him, their icy  noses bumping before he angled his head and returned her desperate kiss.  With the frigid ground along her spine and the chill wind whipping  their hair in a reckless tangle, she lost herself in the glorious heat  of his seeking tongue.

Anton's breath became labored. His hand moved inside her coat and  caressed her through her clothing. Rain Shadow almost groaned with  frustration. How good he made her feel. How much she needed these  feelings. But the bitter wind, their layers of clothing were  intolerable.

She pulled her mouth from his, breathed against his chin. "Let's go inside. Please."

Anton helped her off the ground, picked up his rifle and stepped back. "I left the barn door open."

She nodded and ran to the cabin.

He watched her go, his heart sick. He'd never had these feelings for his  wife. He had never looked at Sissy with thoughts of intimacy, hadn't  been able to imagine touching her once they were married. It was wrong  that the only woman who made him feel this way was the one who'd married  him for protection and planned to leave once she felt safe. Rain Shadow  made him think and feel too much when he wanted to feel nothing and  think less.                       
       
           



       

He secured the wooden door and ran to the cabin. She waited in the  rocker near the fire, her shiny hair an ebony mass of tangles. Anton  hung his coat and warmed his hands over the flames she'd stoked, feeling  her gaze on his back. He could smell her from here. Her. No perfume or  talc masking a scent more exotic than anything bottled in France. As  always his response screamed through his veins, accentuated his senses  and hammered into his belly. Finally, he turned to her.

She swallowed.

He wanted to kneel before her and undress her...what did she wear  underneath? The fantasy seared decadent images in his mind until his  body grew taut.

She shivered.

"Cold?" At her nod, he knelt on the braided rug at her feet and reached  for her boot. She extended her leg, and he pulled off her boot, then her  woolen sock. She curled her toes into the rug while he bared the other  foot. Holding her ankle, he massaged her cold toes and polished the sole  of her foot with his thumb until warmth returned. He treated the other  foot the same, finally spreading his palm from heel to toe, comparing  the length of her foot to his hand. His fingers extended well over the  end of her toes.

She smiled.

He took her hands, rubbed them vigorously between his and slanted his  head toward her face. Firelight flickered over her features, lashes  drooping over smoldering violet eyes. He read the desire in her eyes,  her open lips, the traitorous breath that escaped her flared nostrils.  He wanted her. Satisfaction impaired his judgment. He wasn't angry. His  body throbbed with ungratified longing.

Her gaze shifted to the loft above.

He should have used that tiny hesitation to collect his wits and  remember the danger in displaying the least vulnerability, but he  discovered his heart wasn't as hard as he'd worked to make it. How could  he resist her when she looked at him as if he was the only pool of  water in the middle of a desert? "They're asleep," he assured her.

It was so like her to reach for him, to take what she wanted. No  shrinking violet, Rain Shadow was ardent rather than romantic, one of  the many unusual things that drew him to her, much as he resisted. She  placed her fingers over his lips, and he kissed them. She ran her index  finger across his lower lip, and he dropped his gaze to the pulse at her  throat, beheld the rise and fall of her breasts beneath her shirt.

Her hands fell to his shoulders. Anton rose to his knees to kiss her.  She met his lips and plucked a series of moist kisses across his mouth.  He returned the caress, sliding his nose into the soft skin behind her  ear, running his teeth along the column of her throat. He opened his  mouth wide and sucked at her flesh.

The rocker creaked as she slid forward and found his shirt buttons. Her fingers worked them loose and slid inside.

She traced his collarbone, his shoulders, her cool fingertips sliding  over his heated skin. Her touch made him feel like a man again, a  prideful, ego-boosting sensation he hadn't experienced for a long, long  time-if ever. She ran her palms across his chest, his muscles  reflexively tensing. No one had ever touched him like this. In awe of  the pleasure she took in him, in his flesh, his kiss, he forgot to  breathe.

His hungry expression kindled Rain Shadow's appetite. She could barely  think when she touched him, less when he touched her-she could only  feel. And right now she felt as if a fire had ignited deep inside her  and spread beneath her skin. He was a beautiful, golden man, and she  needed him to soothe the flame his eyes, lips and hands fueled. She  should have felt clumsy and inexperienced, but stroking her palms down  his chest to his hard, flat belly, his reaction gave her a power that  excited her beyond measure.

He inhaled so sharply, air whistled through his teeth. He clamped his  fingers over her wrists and wrapped her arms around his waist, covering  her mouth in an unrestrained melding of lips and tongues.

Rain Shadow dug her fingers into his back, eagerly returning his kiss,  silently cursing the barrier of their clothing between them.

"Anton," she whispered against his lips.

He pulled back, holding her so he could look at her.

She threaded her fingers into his hair.

He loosened her grip and held her hands between them, regret in his eyes. "I can't do this just to prove something to myself."                       
       
           



       

She tried to focus on his words.

"It's not fair to you."

"Anton, I'm not sure what you're saying."

He released her, and immediately coldness and emptiness enveloped her.  Sitting on the floor, he scrubbed a hand across his face, hung his head  and bracketed his temples with thumb and fingers. She stared at him in  confusion.

As if sorting his words carefully, he dropped his hand, wrist draped across his knee, and met her gaze. "I'm not a gentleman."

She would have laughed had her body not been weeping for his. She made a  pretense of straightening her clothing. "You'll have to understand if  that doesn't come as a revelation to me."

"Listen." He stood and paced the small room, coming to stand behind her  chair. The clock on the mantel ticked away interminable minutes. Wind  whistled at the crack beneath the door. "You scare me," he whispered.

Her heart tumbled drunkenly. She curled her toes into the rug. "Why?"

"You want everything just as much, just as hard and fast as I do."

She only knew she wanted him. No doubt she'd breached some unspoken rule  of propriety. Perhaps wives didn't want everything as hard and fast as  their husbands. Humiliation burned her cheeks. "How unladylike of me."

"No, Rain Shadow." He knelt beside her chair.

She forced herself to meet his earnest gaze.

"No," he whispered. "I was proving something to myself."

"That you could have me if you wanted?"

"No." He took her hand and rubbed his thumb across the back. "Please, don't think that."

"What am I supposed to think?" She watched his thumb stroke back and  forth and wanted to draw it to her mouth, wanted to pull all of him  against her, inside her.

He laid her hand in her lap. "Just think about what you really want.  Think about it tomorrow when we're not together, and you can see more  clearly."

When you're not near, and my judgment isn't influenced by my traitorous body, you mean. "All right."

"Go to bed, now."

She rose obediently, gathering her boots and socks. The clock chimed, punctuating her good-night.

"Good night, Rain Shadow. Sleep well."

Rain Shadow almost laughed. Any sleep at all would be a miracle.

* * *

"Do I hafta finish these numbers, Ma? You know I can do 'em." Slade  twirled a tooth-scarred pencil between his fingers and served her his  best martyred-little-boy expression.

Rain Shadow sliced a slab of bacon. "Your mind needs to be as healthy as your body."

"I know, Ma. But you know how sometimes your...seat hurts after you  practice too much? Or your arms? That's how my head feels today."