Lisa Jackson's the Abandoned Box Set (50 page)

“I thought we'd take a ride into the hills.”

“Like this?” She eyed his slacks and crisp shirt. “Are you crazy?”

“Just spontaneous.”

“Yeah, right,” she replied, but wiped out the interior of the basket and lined it with a blanket. Dallas reached into his grocery bag and filled the basket with smaller sacks, a bottle of wine, glasses and a corkscrew. “Did you bring the horses, too, or is that what I'm supposed to provide?”

“The horses and the destination.”

“Oh, I get it—you're counting on me to provide you with a free trail ride, is that it?” she teased, feeling her spirits lifting along with the corners of her mouth.

He laughed and the sound filled the cabin, bouncing off the rafters as he snapped the lid of the basket shut. Approaching her slowly, he held her gaze with his. “Are you going to fight me all the way on this?”

“I don't have a side saddle.” Oh, Lord, he was so close she could see a small scar near his hairline, obviously old and faded with the passage of time from ruffian boy to man. She had to elevate her chin a fraction to meet his gaze, and her throat caught at the depth of blue in his eyes.

“Improvise,” he suggested, his breath tickling her scalp.

“I could change—”

“And leave me overdressed? No way!” His gaze lowered, past her lips and chin, along the column of her throat, to the scooped neck of her blouse and the beginning of the hollow between her breasts, just barely visible. “Besides, you look—” He broke off, his Adam's apple working in
his throat. Reaching forward, he touched a strand of her hair and wound its golden length around one finger.

The moment, only seconds, seemed to stretch a lifetime, and as he laid her curl back against her cheek, his finger grazing her skin, her diaphragm pressed so hard against her lungs, she had trouble breathing.

“I think we should go,” she said, stepping back from him and feeling clumsy and embarrassed and totally unbalanced. Just being close to him caused her to lose her cool facade. This one enigmatic man had managed, in the span of one week, to create havoc with her emotions. “I—I'll saddle up.”

“
I'll
saddle up. You bring the basket.” He swung out the door, and Sam, with one look over his shoulder, trotted after him.

“I'm going to change your name to Judas,” Chandra warned, swinging the basket from the table and following man and dog to the barn. She was struck by the natural way Dallas strode across the yard, as if he belonged here. Sunlight gleamed in his dark hair and warmed her crown. His dress clothes seemed appropriate somehow, though she could just as easily envision him in faded jeans, a work shirt open and flapping in the breeze as he chopped firewood. And Sam, the turncoat, padded happily behind him, tongue lolling, tail moving slowly with his gait.

Within minutes, Dallas had saddled Max and Brandy, and they were riding along a dusty trail. Chandra had hiked her skirt around her thighs and felt absolutely ridiculous as well as positively euphoric. The sky was a clear cobalt blue, and two hawks circled lazily overhead.

The mountain air was clean, the horses' hooves thudding softly, stirring dust, causing creatures in the brush to scurry through the undergrowth. Once in a while, Sam gave chase, startling the horses as he dashed by, barking wildly at some unseen prey.

After nearly an hour of riding through the forest, the trail forked, and Chandra veered sharply to the right, back-trailing downhill.

“You sure you know where you're going?” Dallas asked.

“Positive.” She nudged Brandy in the sides as the pines and blue spruce gave way to a meadow. The game little mare sprinted forward, ears pricked, nostrils flared, her hooves pounding across the field of dry grass and wildflowers in shades of pink, blue and lavender.

Chandra's skirt billowed behind her, and her bare legs held fast to Brandy's sides. Wind streamed through Chandra's hair, and she laughed as she heard Max close to Brandy's heels, his galloping hooves loud against the dry ground.

“Come on, Brandy,” Chandra said, leaning over the little mare's shoulders and watching the horse's ears flatten against her head. She picked up speed, but it was too late. Max, black legs flashing in the sun, raced past. Dallas rode low in the saddle, his shoulders hunched forward, the picnic basket propped between the saddle and his chest.

“We should've beaten them,” Chandra told the mare as she pulled up. Both horses were sweating and blowing hard. Chandra, too, was having trouble breathing, but Sam wasn't even winded. He saw a squirrel, streaked off across the meadow and splashed through the creek that zigzagged through the grass. Spring water gurgled and rushed over rocks, and the big gold dog bounded through the stream before disappearing into the woods.

“Should we worry about him?” Dallas asked, swinging off Max at a bend in the creek where the water pooled and reflected the intense blue of the sky.

“He'll be back. He's used to it.” Chandra hopped to the ground and felt the tickle of grass against her bare ankles. “That's how I found him, you know. He crawled into the
yard, ripped from stem to stern by something—bear, raccoon, possum or something else, I suppose—and I had to sew him up. I've had him ever since.”

Dallas's eyes narrowed on the forest into which the dog, joyfully yelping and giving chase, had disappeared. “Hasn't learned much.”

“He'll be all right,” Chandra replied.

While the horses grazed near the stream, Dallas and Chandra unfolded the blanket in the shade of a pine tree. He uncorked the wine and poured them each a glass of Chablis. “What are we drinking to?” she asked, and his blue eyes deepened to a mysterious hue.

“How about to us?”

She laughed, tucking her legs beneath her as she sat on the edge of the blanket, her skirt folded over her knees. He wasn't serious. This was all a lark, a fantasy. “Us? I thought there wasn't any us—that you couldn't get involved or muck up your life with a woman.” She took a long swallow of wine and watched the play of emotions across his face.

His jaw slid to one side, and his hair was rumpled by the breeze that blew from the west. “I didn't want any complications.”

“Didn't…?”

“Still don't,” he admitted, lying on the blanket and leaning back on one elbow while he sipped from his glass. “But sometimes things change. And what you don't want changes with it.” He plucked a dry blade of grass and chewed on it. “From the minute I saw you in the emergency room, I knew you were going to be trouble—big trouble.” He squinted as a pheasant, wings beating frantically, rose from the grass as Sam leapt and barked in the frightened bird's wake. “And I thought the only reasonable thing to do, the only sane path to take, was to avoid you.”

She smiled. For the first time since she'd met him, she
felt that Dallas was being honest with her. His eyebrows were pinched together, and his lips, moving on the straw, pursed hard, as if he were angry with himself.

“So…” she prodded.

“So I did. And then my brother gave me that damned coupon.”

“But you still weren't convinced that I wasn't trouble,” she said.

“Hell, no. Then I knew you were more trouble than I'd even imagined.” He laughed again and took a long swallow of his wine. “And that's when things got really out of hand.” He looked at her directly then, his gaze holding hers. “I couldn't keep my hands off you, and that's not the way it usually is with me. In fact,” he admitted, glancing away, as if the admission were embarrassing, “I was starting to become obsessed.”

“With…?” she asked warily.

“You.” A muscle in his jaw convulsed, and Chandra realized just how difficult it was for him to bare his soul. They weren't so different, she decided; they both bore wounds that wouldn't heal. “Anyway, I wasn't sleeping at night, and I couldn't think of anything but you. Making love to you.”

Chandra nearly dropped her glass. Her hands began to sweat, and she took a long swallow of wine to avoid those blue, blue eyes.

“So that's when I decided never to see you again.”

She glanced up sharply. “But you're here—”

“Believe it or not, I ran into Brian and he told me I was crazy to keep avoiding you. He told me I should loosen up, enjoy life, take a chance or two….” Dallas lifted a shoulder and beneath the crisp white fabric, his muscles moved fluidly.

A tight knot formed in the pit of Chandra's stomach.
He reached over and refilled her glass before adding more wine to his own.

“So, for the first time in my life, I took Brian's advice. Believe me, it wasn't easy.” He studied the label for a second before propping the bottle against the inside of the wicker basket.

Chandra felt as if time were suspended between them. Surely she could think of something clever to say, something that would lighten the mood. But all words escaped her, and she could feel his gaze moving slowly over her, caressing her, causing her skin to tingle under his silent appraisal. “So what is this?” she finally asked, her voice as soft as the wind in the pines. “A seduction?”

“If you want it to be.”

“No!” she said quickly, breathlessly. She'd thought of making love to him. But it was one thing to fantasize, another to actually do it. She gulped her wine and glanced his way, hoping that she could see some indication that he was joking, but not a glimmer of humor sparked in his eyes.

“Afraid?”

“Look, Dallas. Maybe you can make all sorts of plans—you know, buy the wine, pick out the right cheese and bread, and just…just map out some way for us to get together. But it doesn't work that way with me. I can't just drink a little wine and say, ‘what the hell,' and start stripping off my clothes. It's just not me….” Slowly, she climbed to her feet and dusted her hands. “This isn't going to work.” She whistled to the horses, and while Brandy ignored her and continued to pluck grass, Max responded.

She reached for his reins, but Dallas caught up with her and gently grabbed her wrist. “I've been accused of being blunt,” he admitted. “Too blunt.”

“Well, at least you don't leave me guessing.” She tried
to pull away, but his grip tightened, and slowly he tugged, forcing her to face him.

“It's just that I want you,” he said. “I want you so much, I can't think of anything else. I ache for you at night, embarrass myself during the day when I start to think of you. I've tried to fight it—hell, I had myself convinced that I didn't want, didn't need, a woman. And I was right. I don't need just any woman, Chandra. I need you.”

Her heart turned over, and she felt the pads of his fingers, warm and smooth against the inside of her forearm. Her heart nearly stopped as she dropped the reins and stared into eyes the color of a mountain sky.

“You want me, too.” He placed the flat of his free hand over her heart, his fingertips skimming her bare skin, his palm resting over the neckline of her blouse, seeming to press against her breast.

Her heartbeat quickened, and her breath, unsteady to begin with, came in quick bursts through her lips.

“W-wanting isn't enough,” she said.

“It was enough on the rafting trip.” He kissed the side of her neck then, and her throat constricted. Somewhere she heard a dog barking and the jingle of a bridle, but those sounds were in the distance, and now she heard only the rapid tattoo of her heart and the rasp of air through her lungs.

Dallas pulled her blouse down over one shoulder and placed his lips against her skin. An endless ache started at the apex of her legs and moved slowly upward.

The fingers surrounding her wrist pulled gently, insistently, forcing her to follow him to the ground, and she didn't resist, fell willingly against him, their arms and legs entwining, his body wedged between hers and the bent grass.

He moved his mouth over hers, fiercely, possessively, until it seemed that the fever in his blood had ignited all
her senses. She felt the pressure of his tongue, the urgency in his hands, the hot, throbbing desire that blossomed inside her.

He pulled her blouse from the waistband of her skirt and slowly ran his hands over her ribs, moving upward, brushing the lace of her bra. She moaned into his mouth as his thumb skimmed against her already taut nipple.

“Dallas,” she whispered as he unbuttoned her blouse and the cool mountain air caressed her skin. He shoved the blouse aside, and then with her above him, craned his neck so that his lips touched her bra and the lace-encased nipple. She writhed, and he pulled her downward, one hand splayed against the bare skin of her back, the other tangled in her hair. He kissed and teased her through the lace, his tongue wet and wonderful in delicious ministrations that caused her to convulse.

“Please, please, please…” she moaned, and he groaned against her flesh, unhooking the bra and letting her breasts fall free, unbound, above him. He took one eagerly into his waiting mouth, suckling hungrily, his tongue and teeth pulling and tugging, creating a whirlpool of warmth deep within her body.

She found the buttons of his shirt and quickly dispensed with them, pushing the white fabric over corded shoulders that flexed, strong and sinewy against her fingers. She arched against him as the shirt was discarded, and her breasts felt the rough hairs of his chest when he lifted his head to stare up at her eyes.

“Chandra,” he whispered, his voice rough and pleading, his hands smoothing her back, exploring the cleft of her spine. “You're so gorgeous,” he whispered, moving his gaze from her eyes and past her parted lips to her breasts, white and firm, floating above him, enticing him to delirious heights of sexuality.

Never had he felt so free, so anxious, so aroused. His lust was like a living, breathing creature he couldn't control.

With his hand, he sculpted her, teasing the hard nipples and kneading the warm flesh of her breast. Shockwave after delicious shockwave spread through him, and she responded by throwing her head back, her luxurious mane of golden hair falling over her shoulders and back. He didn't stop. Couldn't. He fastened his mouth over her nipple again and slowly slid his hand beneath the waistband of her skirt, skimming her abdomen and reaching lower still.