Wyoming Woman (18 page)

R
achel gazed up into Luke's face and saw the vulnerability there. She saw the raw need and the warm, protecting love. He was looking at her the way her father looked at her mother, the way Ryan looked at Molly—the way she had never dared hope that a man would look at
her.

In the face of terrible danger, he had just offered her his soul. Did she have the courage to accept his gift and offer her own in return?

The choice she was about to make lent new meaning to the word
forever.

Choose,
he had said, and she knew Luke's pride would not allow him to ask her again. Until now, she had thought only in terms of choosing between Luke and her family. But suddenly Rachel realized that she could—and must—choose both. Turning her back on Luke, or on the parents and brothers she adored, would throw up a wall that would never come down. Only by choosing them all, with love, would she have any hope of bringing them together.

Luke had not asked her to choose between him and her people. He had simply asked her to choose him or not—a choice that was as easy as it was joyful.

The revolver dropped to the earth as she opened her arms to him. He caught her close in a long, tender kiss that swept away all traces of doubt. The kiss lingered, growing deeper and more passionate as his tongue found hers, thrusting into the damp warmth of her mouth in a sensual pantomime of what they both wanted so desperately.

Pools of liquid desire seethed and shimmered in the depths of Rachel's body. She arched against him, offering her throat, her breasts, her hips, every part of her, to his touch. Through the tight fabric of her denims, she felt the exquisite pressure of his hardness. She opened her legs, wanting more, wanting all of him.

He drew back slightly. “Rachel…sweet heaven, girl, what are you trying to do?” he murmured. “You'll burn both of us alive!”

Rachel drew him back against her, sensing the darkness and the danger around them. Love was no guarantee of safety. She could lose him, she realized, her throat tightening with sudden fear. It could happen anytime—tomorrow, even tonight.

“Love me, Luke,” she cried softly. “I want to be yours tonight, now, so that if anything happens to either of us—”

“Don't.” He kissed her gently. “Don't invite trouble with your words, my love. We'll find a way to stop this craziness. Together we can do anything.”

“Love me,” she whispered insistently, and felt his resolve begin to crumble. His next kiss was swift and hard.

“Go inside,” he said, slipping the key into her hand. “I'll get your horse out of sight.”

She brushed his cheek with her palm. “Hurry!” she urged him.

Luke allowed himself the pleasure of watching her flit up the steps and disappear into the house. Then he picked up her gun where she'd dropped it and led her horse toward the shed, where his own mount was tied. He felt the dark weight of uneasiness as he looped the reins around a post. Rachel had said that her father would not be coming before morning, and had intimated that Lem Carmody was too much of a coward to act alone. But what if she was wrong? Or worse, what if she was acting with them? What if she'd come here to betray him, to throw him off guard while his enemies closed in.

Why trust her? the voice of reason argued. Why trust any woman who professed to love him? He'd been taken in once and ended up behind bars. Only a fool would let himself be taken in again.

He made a careful circuit of the house and yard, his rifle in one hand and Rachel's pistol in the other. With every step, his suspicion deepened.

Should he send her packing here and now? The war inside him raged as he mounted the front porch. The very thought that she might be playing him false was enough to jerk the knot in his innards as tight as a
hangman's noose, especially when he wanted her so much, not only now but forever.

Something stirred in the shadows next to the front door. Luke's pulse lurched before he recognized the big mongrel dog that he'd sent off with his herders. He sighed as the shaggy creature padded toward him, head repentantly lowered, tail wagging.

Luke patted the massive head. “Dan, you old rascal,” he scolded affectionately. “I should have known you wouldn't stay with the others. All right, stay and earn your keep. If anybody comes close, you make enough racket to rouse the devil from hell. Then maybe I'll forgive you.” He gave the battle-scarred ears a final scratch, grateful that the dog had shown up. Having Rachel here would be less of a worry with the protective animal on guard.

Dan settled back onto the porch as Luke opened the door and walked lightly into the house. The kitchen was dark except for a moonlit square on the wall opposite the window. There was no sign of Rachel. It crossed his mind that she might have gotten cold feet and decided to sneak out the back. And that was just as well, Luke reminded himself as he moved cautiously into the back hallway. It would save him the trouble of sending her away.

The bedroom door was closed. He took a deep breath, then turned the knob and slowly swung the door open.

Rachel was in his bed. She was sitting up, the moonlight falling like gold dust on her tousled hair and naked shoulders. The bedsheet, draped loosely
beneath her arms, covered her breasts, but it was very evident that she had nothing on beneath it.

She gave a shy little laugh as Luke walked into the room. When she spoke, her voice quivered nervously. “Well, don't just stand there staring, Luke. I meant every word I said to you out there. Now come here and…kiss me.”

The words, spoken with a little stammer, would have been a brazen tease coming from some women Luke had known. In Rachel's tremulous voice, they went straight to his heart. Lord, how could he not trust this woman? How could he not cherish and love her?

He walked toward the bed, but even as he reached out to touch her hair, the old doubts gnawed at him. She was a rich man's pampered daughter; he was an ex-convict, a misfit, fighting to keep what little he had in the world. The weight of who he was would drag her down for the rest of her life.

“Dearest Rachel,” he murmured, smoothing back her tangled curls. “I love you more than I've ever loved anything in my life, but sometimes love isn't enough. I'm no good for you, girl. I'm in no position to keep you safe or give you the good things you deserve—”

“Hush,” she said, rubbing her head against his hand. “I love you, too, Luke. That's the only thing that really matters. If we love each other, we can work out the rest as we go along.”

Her hand reached out, caught his belt buckle and gently but firmly drew him toward her. Luke's breath caught in his throat as she worked at the buckle with
unsteady fingers until its parts separated. By the time she started on his trouser buttons he was all but bursting. The color rose in her cheeks as her fingers brushed his hardness through the taut fabric, but she did not stop.

Luke groaned. “Rachel, if you don't—”

“Hush,” she whispered, her sea-colored eyes brimming with love. “I want to do this. I want to see you, to touch you—oh!”

As the last button fell away, he caught her and pulled her up against him. Still gripping the sheet around her, he kissed her face, her lips, her soft, pale throat. Her hand fumbled with his shirt buttons and found the bare chest beneath, with its crisp mat of hair. She smoothed it with her fingers, touching his nipples, finding the dark path that led down the mid-line of his torso to the shallow indentation of his navel, then lower still to—

She hesitated, suddenly trembling. Aching for her touch, he caught her hand and raised it to his lips. “Don't be afraid, Rachel,” he murmured, “there's no part of me that will hurt you.”

Gently he guided her hand downward, and this time there was no hesitation. A shudder passed through Luke's body as her fingers closed around him.

“Oh,” she whispered, her voice husky with wonder.

“What is it?” he teased.

“You're…so big and hard and fierce, and yet so soft, like steel wrapped in velvet…beautiful…” She began to stroke him, her fingers exploring his shape
and texture until Luke feared he would explode in her hand.

“Lie down, love,” he whispered, lowering her to the pillows. “If we're going to do this, we're going to do it properly.”

Rachel watched as he stripped off his shirt, dropped his boots and trousers and stood leaning over her in moonlight that threw every nick and scar on his muscular body into stark relief. Those marks spoke more eloquently than words of the life he had lived. Luke Vincente was a man who fought, worked and loved with his whole heart and soul. Now she was his, and this loving would be the start of their life together.

He began with her lips, his kisses gentle and teasing. His sensual, nibbling mouth ignited hot rivulets that flowed downward to form shimmering coils of need in the depths of her body. Her hands caught his hair, pulling his head down to her breasts. His mouth found her nipples, his tongue licking, caressing each one until she wanted to scream with pleasure. When he began to suck her, she felt the sudden tightening, the sweet, ancient rhythm of her body responding to his. She cradled his head against her breasts, her hips rocking against him, her thighs slick with her own wetness. Wanting more, she moaned and arched upward against his hard belly. “Take me…” she whispered. “Please…”

“Wait,” he murmured, his hand moving down to the source of the wetness, fingers parting her flesh, stroking her, arousing the most exquisite sensations Rachel had ever known. She began to move against
his hand, desperately, urgently, feeling herself explode against his fingers.

“Oh!” she gasped like a drowning swimmer, lost in a whirlpool of sensation. “Oh, Luke…”

He shifted upward between her legs. She heard the rasp of his breath, felt a slight, tearing pain that swiftly passed as he filled her. This, then, was the mystery, the wonderful secret. It was so simple, and yet so much more than she had ever imagined. He was part of her; she was part of him, and she felt nothing but a sweet, overpowering love.

Instinctively, she raised her hips and felt him glide deeper. Her whole body began to sing as she moved with him, meeting his strokes with her own thrust. He moaned, and suddenly it was as if they were soaring together, spiraling up and up to a bursting release that left her weeping with the pure joy of it.

He buried his face in her hair, clasping her tenderly as they drifted back to earth.

 

They lay together on the bed, fully clothed now as they waited in the late-night darkness. Rachel could feel the tension in Luke's body as she nestled against him. He was wide awake, alert to every changing shadow, to every small night sound that reached his ears—the scurry of a wood rat, the breathy shifting of the horses beneath the shed, the drone of cricket songs in the woodpile outside the bedroom window.

He had tried to talk her into leaving, but Rachel had argued that, whatever the danger, her place was with him. When her father found her note and came
looking for her, as he surely would, it was urgent that she be here. She needed to convince Morgan that Luke was innocent of shooting Josh before tempers flared and another tragedy occurred.

As for the rest… Rachel sighed and slid a loving arm across Luke's chest. She could only hope that Ryan would come along as well, and that his support would help Morgan accept Luke into their family.

Luke brushed a trail of kisses along Rachel's hairline. “It'll be getting light in a couple of hours,” he murmured. “I'll breathe easier once this business with your father is over.”

Her arms tightened around him. “Promise me you'll stay inside the house until I get him settled down,” she said. “He's been through a bad time. Seeing you right away will only make things worse.”

Luke exhaled slowly. “All right. But I wish we could have done this the right way, love, with me coming to court you and going to him to ask for your hand.”

“I know,” Rachel whispered in the darkness. “But he's a fair man. He'll come around. If only—”

“Ssh!” Luke had gone rigid against her. “Listen!”

Rachel held her breath, straining her ears in the darkness until she heard what Luke was hearing—the sound of horses, mingled with the low, breathy growl of the dog.

“Someone's coming.” Luke was on his feet at once, reaching for his rifle.

“No!” Rachel caught his sleeve. “We can't have you stepping out on that porch with a gun. Stay inside
while I talk with my father—that's what you promised me.”

He strode into the dark kitchen and peered cautiously out the front window.

“Do you see them yet?” she asked anxiously.

Luke shook his head. “I don't like this, Rachel. Three o'clock in the morning is no time for your family to come calling.”

“Someone went looking for me and found my note, that's all,” Rachel said. “Get me a lantern. I'll be fine.”

Luke took a lantern from above the stove, struck a match and touched it to the wick. Soft golden light flooded the kitchen. “Be careful,” he said. “I'll be watching. Wave the lantern if there's trouble—”

“There won't be any trouble.” She kissed him lightly. “But you'd better keep Dan inside. I don't want him raising too much of a fuss.”

She took the lantern and waited until Luke had called the dog into the house before she stepped outside. As she closed the door and turned to face the darkness the worries she'd held back for Luke's sake swept over her.

She hadn't expected anyone to find the note on her bed until morning. Why would her father be looking for her at this hour? Could Josh have taken a turn for the worse?

Holding the lantern high, she plunged down the steps and raced toward the gate. Merciful heaven, what if her brother had died? What if it had happened
while she was here, thinking of nothing but her own pleasure?