Honey and Smoke (17 page)

His whole body tensed. Instantly awake, he shoved himself up on one elbow. “Max,” she whispered, drawing her hand down the softly furred muscles of his chest. “No regrets, Max. We need each other in so many ways.”

Above her he was a large, potently masculine form of shadow and warm, musky scent. His hair was ruffled in a way that made her hands anxious to stroke it.
then ruffle it again. His eyes were hooded from sleep, but weren’t sleepy. Her breath drew short as she measured the sexual energy leashed in his motionless scrutiny.

“I’ll do my best to make you happier than you’ve ever been before,” he promised in a low, gravelly voice.

“I’ll return the favor.”

He took the edge of the covers, and she quivered as his fingertips trailed across the tops of her breasts. By intimate degrees he drew the covers back. His gaze caressed her, creating almost tangible sensations on her skin and deep inside her womb. Her back arched instinctively; her legs shifted against his, and her breasts ached for his touch.

Pulling the covers down further, he traced her navel with his thumb, then pressed a knuckle into the soft indentation and rubbed gently. Trickles of exquisite desire ran through her belly. She grasped his shoulders as he molded his hand to her stomach and began to stroke the supersensitive skin. His hand moved upward.

“Great ribs. I suspected it,” he teased hoarsely. “And look what I found on top of them.”

Betty moaned as his hand moved over her breast. The air seemed to hum with expectation. The heat from their bodies mingled with the earthy fragrance of arousal. There would be nothing inhibited about their lovemaking; no coy games, no holding back.

With an abrupt, ragged sigh, his restraint failed him and he scooped his arms under her. Betty cupped his face as he crushed her to the bed, and their mouths met in a sweet but frantic search for satisfaction.

She stroked her hands over his shoulders and back, skimming the flexing muscles, then raising her hands to his hair, sliding her fingers into it. It was like short, luxurious mink, contrasting delightfully with the coarser hair of his body. She continued her explorations, reveling in the changing shapes, angles, and textures she found. Her fingertips danced over his jaws, loving the play of the sinews as his skillful, inventive mouth moved
against hers. She cupped his heavyset shoulders and slid her hands down his arms, pausing at small, puckered spots that puzzled her. She had felt similar marks on his back.

“Shrapnel scars,” he whispered hastily. “From ’Nam. They’re not as noticeable as they feel to the touch.”

A soft, anguished protest burst from her throat. “They’re fine. Fine. I don’t mind them at all.” She kissed him and was rewarded with his smile against her lips.

He dragged his hands down her spine and under her hips, squeezing their round pads erotically, then curving his fingers under her thighs, tantalizing her.

Betty writhed upward, seeking the hard plane of his belly and finding the straight, thick ridge of his sex through the thin pajama bottoms he wore. She tucked her hands between their bodies and fumbled with the pajamas’ tie string. It was secured with a tight knot. “Max, what did you do to this?” she asked in dismay. “Is this an anti-invasion device?”

Chuckling gruffly, he sat back and unfastened the cord. “I was trying to protect you from a military secret.”

He lifted his hands. The waistband of his pajama bottoms sagged loosely, revealing his navel and a swath of the lean, hairy abdomen beneath it. Betty sat up and clasped his waist, drawing her palms down his sides.

She tilted her head back so that she could watch his expression. “Perhaps I should lower your defenses, Major.”

Max took her face between his hands. His thumbs stroked her cheeks gently. “I surrender.”

Trembling with love and desire, Betty pulled the pajamas to his thighs. Studying him breathlessly, she thought of no words that could do him justice. Mewling her appreciation instead, she leaned down and kissed his straining body.

“You’re generous … in victory.” He tried to joke, but the words faded into a low sigh.

She stroked his thighs. “Lay down and let me show you how generous.”

He settled on his back and watched her in electric silence. The short, quick rhythm of his breathing matched her own. She knelt beside him as she eased the thin cotton pajamas down his legs and over his feet.

Betty noticed the left foot and bit her lip to keep from crying out. She ran her fingertips over the surface scars, then touched the area where his little toe had been.

He cleared his throat and murmured, “That piggy went to market.”

She laughed shakily, then bent and gave the spot a kiss. “Poor thing.”

His voice became a roughly grained purl, as provocative as a caress. “Do you know how incredible you look, sitting there naked?”

She heard herself make a trill of pleasure. It was so birdlike that both she and Max broke into low, private laughter, sharing a joy that erased the sadness of a second earlier. He held out both hands and she went to him swiftly, lowering herself atop him and trilling again, this time in unison with his husky murmur of delight.

Now each kiss was slow and thorough, meant to ignite slow writhing movements and complement the new journeys of their hands. He curved his down her hips and thighs, then delved into her with careful, unhurried fingers. His light, almost teasing strokes brought her to a level of dazed bliss.

“You make me feel as if I’m perfect,” she told him, knowing that she was returning his urgent, desire-drugged gaze. “Or that parts of me are perfect, at least.”

He shuddered and laughed hoarsely. His hips rotated between her thighs, gently grinding his length against the downy center in a way that made her body throb. “All of your parts are fantastic. My parts are crazy about them. And the
sum
of our parts—”

“Feels like this.” She slid herself onto him, smoothly, quickly, calling his name.

His body bowed in startled response, and his hands
dug into her hips. Throwing his head back, he shut his eyes and cursed joyfully, his tone as tender as a love poem. When he shot her an apologetic look, Betty smiled and shook her head at him. “Point accepted,” she whispered. “Well said, Major.”

His eyes gleamed. He wrapped his arms around her. In one powerful movement he rolled her onto her back, their bodies still intimately merged, his thrusting even deeper. The commanding ache inside her belly began to grow into a storm that couldn’t be contained. She held Max tightly and whispered against his ear, “Take us there. Max. Take us there.”

He kissed her until neither of them had breath or control or concentration enough to do anything except make the fast, sweet trip home.

Coming home to Betty felt right. In fact, after just a few days, it felt not only right but essential. Max had never been happier with the fact that Webster Springs needed only a part-time magistrate. The afternoon stretched ahead, waiting to turn his anticipation into all sorts of delights.

“Where’s my woman?” he bellowed cheerfully, striding into the house and slamming the front door behind him.

She staggered out of the bedroom and grinned at him. She was nearly hidden behind an enormous armload of clothes. All he could see of her were her head, arms, and bare feet. “I just got back from Atlanta. Look! I have clothes again. You can take the Daisy Mae outfit back to the parlor.”

“Damn. That was my favorite costume. And it had great accesories. A white shotgun for the father of the bride to carry.”

From behind the mountain of clothes she made a mild sound of disgust. “I should have retired that costume for good.”

He strolled toward her, smiling drolly, calculating just how long it would be before they were in bed. “Babe, I’m glad that you had clothes in storage down in
Atlanta, and I know that you’ve been traumatized by the fire, but you don’t have to clutch what’s left of your possessions for safekeeping. I’ll give you closet space. You look like an ant trying to wrestle a cotton ball.”

“Oh? What do I look like now?” She dropped the clothes. She was wearing only a pair of sheer black panties.

Max vaulted to her and swung her up in his arms. “You look like a woman who’s about to be kissed, fondled, and—”

“I knew you’d get the point.” Laughing, she unfastened his string tie and shirt collar, then nuzzled her lips to his throat. Her voice became husky and serious. “I thought you’d
never
get here.”

He trembled as he carried her to bed. Once there he made her tremble along with him. It was good to be home. It was good to know that home meant Betty. When he was deep inside her, holding her, losing control to the sounds of her moans, he knew that home would never be the same if he lost her. It was a sobering thought.

In the quiet aftermath, she sensed his change of mood. Raising her head from his shoulder, she stroked a strand of damp hair from his temple and smiled at him curiously. “What are you thinking about so hard?”

Max cupped her face in one hand and studied the loving gray eyes, the generous mouth, the unconventional beauty of her angular, imperfect features. “You’re unique and wonderful. That’s what I’m thinking.”

“Such good taste you have.”

“You’re awfully quiet yourself. And you look pale. How do you feel?”

She idly stroked the matted brown hair of his chest, then rested her hand there and propped her chin on it. “I keep thinking about my house. And trying to decide what to do next.”

“That’s simple. You’re going to live with me now.”

“Not for long.” She raised her head and looked at
him gently. “I tried that with someone once before, Max. It’s not my style.”

“I thought we’d gotten beyond that problem. It’s not a question of respect, or caring, or commitment. We have all that, don’t we?”

“Yes. Yes, we do. I didn’t say that I wanted to stop seeing you.” She hesitated, frowned as if wrestling with a private decision, then looked at him closely. “I … uhmmm. I have to be honest … damn. I don’t want to be. But I owe it to you.”

She bowed her head to his chest for a second, and he felt the tension coursing through her, her leg tightening as it lay across his thighs, her torso feeling stiff against his side.

“Just say it,” he urged softly, stroking her back.

She met his eyes and nodded. “I still intend to marry and have a family. I’ll give you time, but I won’t give that up.” She put a fingertip over his lips as he started to speak. “That’s not a threat, Max; that’s simply a fact.”

She drew her hand away and waited for his response. Confusion surged through him, along with bittersweet frustration. “I’m not asking you to give up anything. I think we have it all.”

“No.” She rose and went to the pile of clothes in the hallway. She found a shimmering silver robe and belted it around herself as she walked back to the bed. Max pulled the quilt over himself and sat up, watching her body glide under the sheer material, watching the way her chin lifted and her shoulders squared.

She stopped at the foot of the bed and looked at him with a mixture of dignity and sadness. The combination sent shivers of emotion up his spine.

“I love you,” she murmured, as if it hurt her to say it. “I love you dearly.”

He drew a ragged breath. “I love you too. Like I’ve never loved anyone before. Do you believe me when I say that?”

She nodded. “That’s what makes all of this so painful. And so fantastic. And so frightening.”

“And so simple.” He held out his hands. She knelt beside him and clasped them in her lap. “Let’s give it time,” he whispered. “Let’s live for each other and each day.”

“All right. For now. I’ll do anything to be with you. That’s what you’ve coaxed from me, Max. Total devotion.”

“It’s not one-sided,” he murmured, bringing her hands to his mouth and kissing them. “I’m not your wishy-washy musician.”

“I knew that weeks ago,” she agreed with a slight nod and a rueful smile. “Don’t say it that way. He’s not mine—I don’t claim him. I don’t want to claim him. I don’t even want to remember him. I just want to remember what I promised myself because of him.”

Max drew her down beside him and held her possessively. He looked at her flushed, sorrowful face and knew that he’d have to sort out his tangled feelings about marriage, for her sake. It was a task he dreaded. “Do you know how
much
I love you?” he asked gruffly.

A poignant but mischievous gleam entered her eyes. “Show me.”

He did. Trust and confidence flared between them, but later she looked at him with unabashed challenge in her eyes. He returned the look in full.

She didn’t like the way he smiled at her when she finally let him board the bus. He smiled as if he knew a secret, but her stern scrutiny only made him laugh. “God, that barbecue sauce smells good! And the sun feels wonderful! And I’m with you! What a great Saturday!”

He slapped his chest, which was covered in a plaid flannel shirt. Leather suspenders pulled snug across the handsome expanse as he stretched languidly. He
wore brown corduroy trousers and soft leather hiking shoes. “I’m ready to play caterer,” he announced.

Betty adopted a nonchalant facade. “You’re certainly homey and comfortable looking.”
As if homey and comfortable ever looked so marvelous
, she added silently. He held her dreams in the palm of his brawny hand. It wouldn’t do to praise him too much.

He looked around the bus and inhaled deeply. “It really smells fantastic. The sauce is finished, I presume?”

“All done.” She opened a cooler and pointed to a neat row of gallon jars. “When we get to the country club, well just slap the ribs on my trusty portable grill and start spreading the sauce over them.”

He held out his hands and looked at them solemnly. “I have chapped skin. I never spent an entire Friday evening making coleslaw before. I must have washed a thousand heads of cabbage.”

She cleared her throat and tugged brusquely at the bright print sweater that topped her jeans. Then she swaggered up to him and tapped his chest with an imperious finger. “As I recall, you were easily distracted from making coleslaw. In fact, you spent quite a lot of time on other pursuits.”