Sleepless in Montana (28 page)

“I won’t hurt you,” he promised again, and
lowered his head for a long, sweet kiss that left her floating.

“Hurry,” she whispered, desperate for him
now, her body humming, tight with hunger.

Against her mouth, he whispered softly, “I’ll
treasure this, here with you.”

He’d startled her, the words spoken as a
romantic vow. The frantic blush rose up her cheeks, and she looked
away, shy of him as a gentle lover. In her mind, despite the heat
and need of her body, she knew that making love with Hogan would
change her life....

In that instant, she knew that Hogan had
chosen her for his own, that he’d brought her here to claim her,
not to serve a sexual need alone. He’d wanted to forge and deepen
the ultimate tie with her. This moment would bind them in a way she
could not ignore... Hogan wanted her quickly this first time, a
primitive male need for reassurance from a woman....

“Look at me,” he ordered softly.

Jemma shivered as Hogan eased over her, his
hard arousal branding her stomach. He held her hands, roughly
nuzzled her breasts, and when she cried out, arching against him,
fighting for him, against him, Hogan held her wrists. He lowered
his lips to hers, suckling gently, giving her his scent,
taking....

His hand ran down her thighs, fingers firm
upon her, smoothing, easing, and stroking. Against her skin, his
was fever-hot.

“Don’t hold back with me, honey, let yourself
fly,” he whispered rawly, that smooth control growing thin....

His taut shiver told her that Hogan wasn’t
certain of his need, of her or himself.

Hesitating, needing to reassure him that she
wanted this tumbling river of heat between them, Jemma reached to
touch him, to curl her fingers around him, to explore.

Hogan groaned slowly, unsteadily, his hips
lurching against hers. Yet he held her firmly, carefully, his hands
light and erotic upon her skin, touching, brushing, sensitizing.
Then she eased him closer, damp and warm and hard against her. The
blunt pressure pressing intimately against her, and the gentle,
seeking nudge reminded her that Hogan would wait, controlling
himself until she was ready.

“Slowly,” he whispered unevenly against her
breast, his skin burning hers. “You’re so tight.”

She tried to tell herself this was a simple
act. She’d been married after all.

But this was Hogan— huge, trembling, his
heart racing against hers, his hard body braced above hers. He
eased deeper, just there at the beginning, where she was tight and
aching, her body clenching, resisting his.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured, suckling her
breast, caressing her as he eased into her full length, drawing up
her legs beside his hips until she cradled him.

His kisses were sweet, tender as he lay still
upon her, bracing his weight away.

“Look, sweetheart. Look how we are together.”
Hogan’s usually low even tone was raw now with emotion.

Jemma had never played or examined her body
during sex; she hadn’t really cared, but with Hogan, she wanted to
know. The sight terrified and elated her, her body adapting to his
more easily as the swift tug of desire caught her, winded her,
knocked her resistance aside. The taut muscles inside her began
contracting with pleasure, the starlit night spinning out of her
control. “I can’t stop, Hogan— I—”

He caught her mouth, the kiss taking her
higher, his hand lifting her hips and they moved quickly,
perfectly, flying higher into the stormy heat. His body was hers,
thighs hard and surging against hers, demanding, pushing,
retreating—

She flung herself around him, locking him
tight to her, keeping him safe as they flew... She heard thunder
roll and knew it was her heart— She knew it was Hogan’s, too, that
his strong body fought for release, fighting it, and then pouring
into her.

One clear thought sliced through Jemma at
that moment: Hogan had come to her with a shocking, primitive need
to bond with her. She knew that as surely as she knew her body
received his to the hilt, clenched upon him, her arms and legs
binding him close.

Whatever else they sought from each other
would come from this moment. Hogan’s claim was eternal, primitive,
and binding at a base level they both understood. He was as much
hers as she was his, each torn apart at that moment, and when
restored, would carry a part of the other—

Jemma knew, deep within her, that Hogan
trusted her with his essence and his storms. He needed her in a way
he’d shared with no other woman, there on that primitive burning
plane.

She reveled in that shocking pulse deep
within her, the man upon her, his muscles sliding tautly, rippling
beneath his smooth, damp skin. Hogan’s face was harsh above hers,
eyes fierce, his jaw clenched as his body quivered and trembled,
his hips moving in the aftermath of passion just past. His belly
quivered against her, his body easing, his head coming down to rest
upon her breast.

Hogan forced the air scented of Jemma and
their lovemaking into his body, his heart still pounding in the
aftermath of their shattering, mind-blowing climax. He’d desired
her, wanted that sleek curved body flowing with his, but he hadn’t
expected the tenderness of the taking, the stormy heights that
stripped away his control.

He shifted, still deep within Jemma, aware
that he wanted to linger in a woman’s body for the first time.
She’d been so tight, quivering around him. She took him slowly,
deeply, moistly, and he could feel her clenching life-pulse, feel
his life and his long-buried needs to make a child. He hadn’t
expected the deeper needs, to be soothed and held later, to wait
until his desire sprung to life again, that taut fit of steel and
moist silk.

He smoothed Jemma’s breast, noted the quiver
of soft flesh filling his hand, the still-taut nub etching his
palm. He moved his palm, circling the nub, enjoying the play.

In the moonlight, her nipple fascinated him,
the aureole an exciting texture. He circled the tiny bumps, noting
the difference of color between dark rose nipple and creamy breast,
the eternal woman— a lover and a mother, a creator of life and
comfort and shelter and passion—

Jemma placed her hand over his, her voice
drowsy, laced with pleasure, and perfect in its intimacy. “Stop. I
know that look. You’re creating again.”

Hogan smiled. Jemma was shy of him now, and
he hadn’t expected his instinctive urge to show himself for her
inspection. He wanted Jemma to know how he was made for her body,
how they would be locked as one. None of that had mattered before,
only the need quickly filled.

He hadn’t meant to go so deep, to hold her so
tightly. He hadn’t expected the passion heating him, the fever
heightened by her soft cries, her nails digging into his skin, and
that tiny bite on his shoulders as she pitted herself against her
own desire and his.

Relaxed now, his body needing a brief rest,
Hogan placed his lips over the heavy pulse in her slender throat,
eased his hips down to savor her enfolding him. He rubbed his chest
luxuriously against her soft breasts, noting the path of her
nipples across his. He sighed, settling into Jemma as he would a
work he intended to enjoy.

*** ***

At the Bar K, Carley wrapped her arms around
herself. Jemma had gone with Hogan—just like that. Heat ran between
them, electric charges easily sensed by the rest of the family.

Hogan had never sought out a woman, captured
her, and that alone told Carley that Jemma meant more than an
outlet for his needs. Carley shivered and studied Mitch beside her.
She wiped away a tear. “They’ll probably get married and have ten
kids. Hogan’s got that slow relaxed, nothing-can-stop-him style,
and Jemma will be hurrying, and I’ll be baby-sitting the whole lot
of baby Kodiaks while he packs her off again.”

Mitch wrapped his arms around Carley. For
once, feeling alone without Jemma, Carley rested back against him.
“I don’t even want to think about the wedding. Jemma will drive us
nuts.”

“Shh!” Mitch began to rock her gently, his
arms around her.

“But Mitch, I’m going to lose my best
friend.”

“You won’t lose Jemma, ever. But let me help
fill the gap,” Mitch whispered and bent to kiss her cheek.

Carley held very still, then eased away from
him. She couldn’t bear being too close to Mitch, to feel the
awesome heat of his body, sense the strength and desire humming in
it. And none of it made sense— that he should want her. Mitch’s
taste in women had run to experienced full-bodied Amazons.

“You want me,” she stated coldly. “As a
woman? Why? Don’t you realize I’m defective? Everyone else
does.”

For an answer, Mitch took her hand and placed
it over his heart. “You’ve always been there.”

Mitch shook his head as Carley ran inside. He
knew that he’d never love another woman, but this one was difficult
to hold.

*** ***

Jemma must have fallen asleep, wrapped in
that soft, pleasant cloud, drifting between sleep and pleasure,
stroking Hogan’s hair, soothed by his lips against her skin.

She looked up at the stars and knew she’d
never be the same, now that she’d given him a part of her soul and
that he had given her something he’d shared with no one. Then Hogan
caressed her breasts and surged hard and bold within her and she
knew that he wanted more— the second time more hungry than the
first, deeper, more fierce, more demanding—

The incredible heat shocked her, devastated
her until she cried out, a high, keening sound that carried into
the night.

Jemma flung herself upon him when they were
through, caught him close; she bit Hogan’s shoulder to remind him
that he was hers. In return, his rugged face nudged her throat, his
bite gentle and soothed by the flick of his tongue.

He sighed slowly, and to Jemma, the deep,
ragged sound said he’d found peace.

She slept heavily, aware of Hogan’s solid
warmth along her back, spooning her body. He delved gently into her
warmth, moistening her, the soft words against her cheek. He
shifted her hips gently, positioning her, the gentle prod between
her thighs, her body opening for him now, his hand caressing her
breast.

Dozing, Jemma moved back against him, still
hungry, needing the gentle pleasure that came more quickly and
eased her back into sleep.

She awoke later to dawn, and Hogan beginning
to enter her, his large hands on her hips lifting her, his mouth
hungry, devastating hers.

That storm quickly passed, her body quaking
too soon and too high as he filled her and again. She dug her
fingers into his arms, pushing back at him, bringing him closer,
deeper until— Just there, she hovered between fierce pleasure and
the longing to keep him near, her body clenching his rhythmically,
pulling at his.

His hand reached low between them, touched
her perfectly, and she shot off into heat, crying out again, biting
his shoulder. Finished, her body quaking, she pushed him back to
find him smiling tenderly down at her, his fingertip strolling over
her nose.

“Good morning, Jemma. Sleep well?” he asked
in a sexy rumble that would have started her needing again, if she
hadn’t been so drained.

She managed to wake sometime in midmorning,
aware that Hogan was already fishing. She stretched her body, noted
the new ease and unfamiliar aches within it, every muscle perfectly
relaxed.

Tuned to his surroundings, Hogan turned to
her immediately. His smile wiped away her thoughts of how to greet
him on the morning after his lovemaking. She simply smiled back and
enjoyed the tug of her heart, just looking at him in the morning
sun, dressed only in his jeans.

“Hungry?” he asked in a tone that sent her
senses quivering and heating.

“Starved.” She struggled to tug on his shirt
before rising from the bedroll and tried to look casual as she made
her way to the campfire and coffee. Hogan continued to fish, and
she hurried to make a curtain with his blanket, draping it across
two limbs. She was just finishing, cleansing her breasts, and
noting the heaviness, the small red marks when Hogan looked over
the blanket, studying her body closely.

“You’re blushing. It suits you.” He lifted
her wrist, took it to his lips, his eyes solemn over their hands.
“I hurt you. I’m sorry.”

Unnerved with the intimacy and his
tenderness, Jemma grabbed the blanket, wrapping it around herself.
“Look. Everything is just fine. I’m fine, really.”

He scanned her face, found her shy desire and
ran his thumb lightly across her bottom lip. “You look beautiful
this morning, sweetheart…. All rosy and wild and soft. Like a wild
rose in full bloom.”

The way Hogan whispered “sweetheart” caused
her knees to weaken, her heart to race. The word wasn’t smooth, but
untested, as if he’d saved it for her.

When he began to kiss her in that slow, soft
sweet way, she found her arms locked around his shoulders as he
carried her back to the bedroll.

Hours later, Jemma awoke, flinging out her
hand to find him gone and the early-afternoon sun burning her face.
She struggled to sit up, brushing her hair from her face and found
Hogan calmly fishing again, the line a graceful arc in the sun.

Groaning as she stood slowly, Jemma ate the
lunch he had prepared, then sat, placing her feet in the cold
water. She cleansed herself again, using soap while Hogan continued
fishing.

“So much for romance,” she muttered, just as
he turned.

Hogan walked swiftly toward her, his black
eyes burning upon her face and down her body— He was already
aroused, his desire thrusting at his jeans, which he quickly
stripped away. “Hogan?”

He terrified her like this— that raw need
pouring out of him, curling around her, setting her body to
trembling and heating.

Jemma sucked excitement into her, quivered
with it, eager for the next time his body became hers—