The Summerland (22 page)

Then she turned to face him, putting the car door between them, and the look on her face and in her eyes sent each and every drop of blood in his body directly to his groin. She looked like a woman who got exactly what she wanted, exactly when she wanted it, and right now he was it—on a platter.

Strangling on his affirmative answer, he crawled out of the car, popped the trunk, and extricated a sleeping bag and blanket from the emergency road kit stashed behind the spare tire. He looked up to see Arden, straight-laced, businesslike, military-to-the-core Arden Jones, holding her hand out to him like a nymph, the thin moonlight catching and reflecting in her hair as it swirled around her shoulders like a dream.

He took her hand and followed her lead as she floated, straight as an arrow, to one of the few springs on the mountain that ran year-round. He snuck a quick look at her face, wondering how in the hell she’d known about this place, this personal sanctuary of his. Her face was as beautiful, as enigmatic as a goddess’ as she released his hand and knelt to trail her fingers through the lukewarm clarity of the spring. Bill quickly shook his head, trying to dislodge the torrid cobwebs that stretched across every part of his brain, then shook out the sleeping bag and blanket.

He could feel her behind him, sense her turbulent aura of frustrated sexuality before he even turned around. He stood there for just a moment, soaking in the waves of want, need her body exuded, then abruptly turned, gathering her into his arms with a craving just short of pain.

The kiss they shared was molten, flowing between them with a hunger and voracity too honest to be feigned, too complex to be described.

Arden finished the job of unsnapping Bill’s shirt with an unconscious single-mindedness that would have shaken her, had she not been so intent on one thing, and one thing only. Getting Bill Ashton naked. Now. He mirrored her narrow focus, breaking their embrace only long enough to yank her tee shirt over her head and fill his hands with the breasts hiding behind twin cups of cotton and lace.

Arden’s breath literally froze in her chest as she stared, enthralled, at the sight of his tanned, work-roughened hands stroking one of the few areas on her body she’d ever considered delicate, feminine. Then he eased one of her nipples from behind its protective barrier and she stopped thinking completely.

As Bill tasted her, drew her into his mouth, he knew this first time would be hard and fast, neither of them would stand for anything less. He also knew that no one had ever made him this hot, this ready, this fast. He greedily sampled her, lowering them both to the blanket, unhooking her bra as they descended.

Returning his voracious mouth to Arden’s he fumbled with the tab on her shorts, biting back a curse as their fingers collided, tangled with each other as they sought the same goal. As one, they disengaged their fingers for a brief moment, then attacked the other’s button.

He would later think that peeling those shorts off of Arden Jones’ long, tanned legs was another one of those defining moments of life, almost like the first time a boy hits that perfect pitch or sees the neighbor lady naked and wonders about the mystery of the opposite sex. The drawn-out, picture-perfect clarity of moments like those were what kept a man company on long, lonely nights.

He knew, as a man trained to notice such things, that a person may remember that the sex was good or great or even magical, but orgasm was such a fundamentally mind-blowing event that you lost the little details. Those details such as the way downy-white hairs lay, silky and fine, on her upper things, or the small scar just under her pantyline that looked like a botched tattoo removal, or the way her stomach quivered under his scalding gaze. He wanted to remember each and every one of those small things, store them up like a miser for the coming winter.

Shucking his own jeans, he lay down next to her, running an urgent, questing hand over the gentle swell of her body from the collarbone down, watching avidly as her nipples puckered, tightened as his fingers traversed the cleavage between, heading south for her belly. Gentling his touch, he stroked her lower belly, grazing the tawny curls shielding her with the tips of his fingers, then covering her with the broad palm of his hand, his long, callused fingers searching, exploring.

Arden arched against him, blind, deaf and dumb to everything but his touch, seeking more contact, her body and mind crying out with an aching, monstrous need. Her hands sought out and found hard, lean muscles and followed the soft-wiry hair that arrowed down his chest to the jutting proof of his need, his want for her. Her trembling fingers measured the length of him, caressing, approving him with each stroke.

With a muttered oath he reached blindly for his jeans, groping for his wallet and the protection contained within. Arden snatched the package from him, tearing open the foil package with a ferocity approaching glee, then bent over him to dress him in that thin layer of latex.

His blue eyes smoldering, Bill reclined and watched her cover him, then pushed her down with restrained force, levering himself over her, grasping her hands in his, pinning her to the ground, barely touching, until they were lined up perfectly, head to head, chest to chest, groin to groin. And then he sheathed himself within her in one smooth, seemingly endless thrust.

The world moved. There was no other way Arden could explain it. That first initial thrust pushed her past anything she’d ever had with the men she’d chosen to make love to or the pleasure she’d given herself on those long, lonely nights. Every sexual feeling she’d ever had paled in comparison to the grinding, elemental need pulsing between them.

There was nothing long and sensual and tortuous about this lovemaking, it was just as Bill has prophesized, hard and fast and utterly sexual. Both moved with a wildness, a need for each other that was as untamed as their mindless, almost violent coupling.

Arden crested first, everything in her world flashing to a hot, searing white. Her nails dug into the fine, taut muscles of Bill’s back and buttocks as she spasmed against his chest and body in an unchecked, quivering orgasm. Just as she reached her peak she felt him begin to tense, reach for his own slice of heaven, and it redoubled her climax, leaving her shuddering and weak against him, floating free and unencumbered.

For Bill, it was the mind-blowing orgasm he’d always read about or watched, but never experienced. Wave after wave of sensation rolled over him, giving him the shudders and quakes long after the actual act of lovemaking was over.

Lying replete in her arms, he shifted slightly, taking his full weight off of her body, but still covering her, unconsciously, righteously claiming her as his own.

Chapter Twenty-Three

She thought, almost helplessly, that her heart might have belonged to Sheriff Bill Ashton from the first moment she’d met him. When she saw the ranch he called home, she realized how far gone she really was.

The long, rutted dirt road leading to the Homestead bounced and battered against the springs of the ‘Cuda, making her glad she hadn’t tried the trip in her tiny sports car.

The drive curving up the hill to the main house captured her imagination. The fields on either side were silvery in the waning moonlight, catching only the best, the brightest strands. As they topped the ridge, the main house and outbuildings loomed before them in star-splashed mystery.

Bill pulled the classic car to a stop in front of the ranch house, sacrificing the car to a night in the open, acutely aware of the riotously stimulating woman sitting next to him on the bench seat. He turned to face her for the second time that night, but this time there was nothing teasing about his gaze or demeanor. Taking Arden to his bed was a serious matter, and just as solemnly approached as it had been earlier in the evening.

“
Are you ready?” he asked.

Arden knew he was asking far more than his question implied. Was she really ready? Shit no. But when a man as compelling and sexy and downright delectable as Bill Ashton came along, who was she to refuse that impulse, that absolute need, no matter how foolish it may be?

“
You know I am.” She stated with a surety that gladdened them both.

He stepped out of the car and walked around to her side, then opened the door while holding out his hand to her, the quintessential Southern gentlemen in California cowboy clothes. She wondered where he’d inherited the combination.

Strolling up the slate-paved walkway, her hand in his, she asked just that.

“
Well, the Ashton family came from North Carolina almost a hundred and fifty years ago. My great-something granddaddy, Zachariah Ashton, came west during the gold rush and settled in this area. He raised cattle and had a pretty decent stake when the last of the 49ers rolled through, and their pure lust for gold made him a rich man.”

“
How so?” she murmured, caught up in the surroundings and his tale and the pure magic of the night.

“
Well,” he drawled, “the 49ers loved gold more than anything else, but everyone needs to eat. Grandpa Zachariah had beef on the hoof within easy driving distance of a large portion of the gold claims. Of course,” he said with a smile, “the fact that he married into one of the best gold mines in the west didn’t hurt matters any.”

“
And how did he manage to do that?” Arden asked, interested in his family history, anything about the man.

“
You’ll appreciate this, as a woman,” he said, with a grin. “He married for love. No, wait,” he said, turning to her in front of the steps to the house. “It really was love. He found and argued with and courted and finally married Katarina long before he ever discovered she was sitting on one of the richest claims in California.” His gaze turned inward. “It was a match made in heaven and hell, or so the story goes. Since it includes the “hell” part of marriage, I’m inclined to believe the rest of it. But that’s neither here nor there.

“
Arden, welcome to the Homestead.” With that, he grasped both of her hands in his and took her mouth in a long, searching kiss that soared exponentially past their earlier embraces.

When their kiss finally ended, they were halfway up the stairs to the front door, greeted by a bevy of pissed-off cats and one very soulful looking dog.

“
Shit. I forgot to feed them in the barn before I left. “ Bill looked up at Arden sheepishly. “Give me just a minute?”

At her nod he opened the door, shooing the cats and lone canine into the house. He held the door open for her in, what was by now, characteristic chivalry.

The Homestead was one of those houses that just looked…right. It was clean and lived in and gloriously unfussy. As Bill went to the side porch to feed his menagerie, Arden wandered through the living room, taking in its architectural details and decorations with a woman’s eye.

Rough-hewn barn timbers supported a white stucco ceiling throughout the living area. Family photographs graced the walls, interspersed between display boxes of antique spurs and bridle bits. The furniture was comfortable, overstuffed, and looked like it had been crafted with this particular house in mind.

Café doors swung next to a two-seater breakfast bar that looked into a surprisingly modern kitchen. As she ran her fingers over the silky finish of the enormous slab of wood forming the base of the bar, Arden thought how much this house resembled the one she’d grown up in. Oh, not the actual building itself, but the feeling that this was a home that had been truly loved for generations, and would be well into the future.

She sensed him seconds before he hooked his arms around her from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder.

“
Penny for your thoughts.” He said, inhaling the sweet clean smell of her hair, admiring the delicate curve of her ear.

She leaned back against him, smiling wickedly as he brushed a light kiss across the sensitive skin under her ear. “I was just thinking how this house really seems to be a home. It reminds me of Oklahoma.”

“
Do you ever miss it? I’d think that L.A. would be a lot more exciting, a lot more fun.”

“
Oh, it’s fun all right, at least it can be. But it’s not home. I’ve never understood how people could move into a suburb so deep in the city that it takes a two-hour drive to see anything but more houses. In Oklahoma you may live in the city, but in just a few minutes, you’re in the middle of the prairie, with cows and horses and possums and skunks. Who could give that up? Who could raise their kids in the middle of an asphalt jungle?”

Bill knew she was serious, and closed his eyes against a little grimace of pain. Why couldn’t Caitlin have shared the same love of the land? And wasn’t it just his dumb luck that the woman he’d found it in was smart and sexy and lived 400 miles away?

He slowly turned her around to face him. “Some people like the city. We just aren’t them. I guess I can’t call you L.A. woman anymore, can I?”

She carefully shook her head, marveling at the emotion swirling in the depths of those amazing eyes. “Your wife left you for the city, didn’t she?”

Her simple question went straight to his heart, and he wondered how someone who’d only known him a short while could read him so easily. Then he realized it was the same for her. They were set on the same frequency, and tuned into each other with an ease that was almost eerie. He looked down into her expressive, changeable eyes, and nodded, wondering where this path would take them.

At his nod Arden leaned forward, putting her arms around him, her head resting on his shoulder. “Tom left me for a lifestyle he couldn’t give up. I thank myself for that each and every day. When I was with him, I wasn’t as much as I was by myself. Does that make any sense?”