Reclaiming the Cowboy. Kathleen O'Brien

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СКАЧАТЬ somehow, to the bedroom. He fell with her onto the bed. She was fumbling with his belt and with her own, and he was tearing buttons, hers and his, and shedding clothes and boots as fast as he could.

      And there she was, open to him. The same—oh, heaven help him—exactly the same as his dreams. Her breasts were like snow in the moonlight, and he claimed them because they were his. They had always been his, whether she was in his bed or lost in some invisible nowhere.

      He went lower, then lower still, as she wriggled under him, wrestling free of scraps of denim and lace. And then he couldn’t take it anymore. He rose swiftly up on the heels of his hands, ready.

      She fumbled with him, and he realized she was covering him with a condom. He groaned. Even that light touch was torture. And did they need this? She was on the pill...or had been...

      Somehow she got it on, though her fingers trembled. When she finished, she lay back with a soft gasp and lifted her legs again, clasping them around his hips.

      He had to have her. He didn’t care why she felt they needed protection. Maybe she had been...or maybe she thought he had been...

      He couldn’t think. He couldn’t slow himself down. He’d hungered for her so long. He’d been so unbearably alone.

      He murmured her name once more. Then, though he knew it might be too soon, he drove into her, at once animal and poet. Master and slave.

      Every inch of his body pulsed and burned. His rhythm was hard, fast, relentless, and he heard the tiny hitch in her breathing that meant she was ready. Her head tilted back, exposing her creamy throat. Her legs tightened. Her heels dug into him, asking for more.

      He knew her. He knew what she wanted. A few deeper, more powerful thrusts, the wet nip of his lips against her hardening breasts—

      Oh, yes, he knew her. She cried out, her back arching, her legs going limp. Seconds, minutes...no longer than that...and, with an agonized groan, he exploded, too. Liquid gold fire poured through his veins, dizzying him, weakening him, dislocating him from time and place.

      It lasted forever, for both of them. Of course it did. The river of their passion had flooded behind the dam of separation. Six months of longing, pent up, roiling in powerful currents. Six months of heat and tension and pain.

      Finally, he was empty, but amazingly she still shimmered around him, like a crystal bell that no longer rang but filled the air with an exquisite humming. She hadn’t opened her eyes, and her breath was still shallow.

      His Bonnie. He knew her. Tenderly, he touched two fingers between her legs, closing over the wet heat and coaxing the last invisible tremors free.

      She shuddered helplessly, every sensation written on her beautiful face. He held on, poised above her, until finally, finally, her fierce internal pulses stilled. And then, unable to hold himself up an instant longer, he collapsed onto the bed beside her.

      They lay together, with braided legs and tangled arms, palm against belly, cheek against breast, until the air grew cool around their sweaty bodies. She moved only once, stretching up to lift the glass he kept by his bed and taking a deep drink from it, as if she was parched.

      Then, with a hum of satisfaction, as though the tepid liquid had been sweeter than simple water, she dropped back to his side and laid her head against his chest.

      As he breathed in the daffodil, yellow-sky perfume of her hair, something inside him began to relax for the first time in six months. It wasn’t just sex. Amazing as that had been, this was deeper than sex.

      This was as deep as his soul. He smiled at himself, aware the poet lingered, even now that the animal was sated.

      His soul had come back to him.

      They dozed. Slept, even. Much later, he woke to a dark, frigid room. He closed his hand over her hip, just to be sure she was there. His fingers must have been icy, because she shivered. She must be freezing. They hadn’t even pulled a blanket over them.

      He cursed himself for a selfish fool.

      “I’m sorry. I’ll start a fire.” He raised himself on one elbow, extending his other arm, hoping he could reach the bedside light.

      “Don’t.” She stopped his arm with gentle fingers. “No fire. No lights.” She rolled over, until her slim body was half on top of his. “We can make our own fire.”

      “But...I want to see you,” he said. His voice sounded odd in the dark room. Why didn’t she want him to turn on the lights? The cold had stabbed his chest, and he suddenly felt very afraid.

      Or very angry.

      “I don’t think we should.” She spoke softly, and he felt the motion of her head as she glanced toward the window, as if to check to see if any of the neighbors were awake yet.

      That was all it took. Suddenly, he knew.

      “You’re not home to stay, are you?” Both the anger and the fear dripped from the question like icicles. “You’re going away again.”

      She rolled even closer, until her torso was completely on top of him. Her hands tucked beneath his armpits, as she used her arms to lift her face several inches above his. Her eyes were cool, shining with blue moonlight. Her hair, which he now saw was still dyed that ridiculous shade of auburn-black, dangled like dark silk over her breasts and curled around her nipples.

      In spite of his anger, he felt himself growing rigid all over again.

      “Tell me,” he insisted.

      Slowly, she nodded. “I am going away again. I have to leave at first light.” She paused. “I should go sooner, but...”

      She shifted her weight, and, with the sweep of one pale, graceful leg, she straddled his hips. His erection hardened, readying itself without his permission.

      “But there’s a little more time.” She leaned down and kissed his jaw. “There’s enough time, if you want it.”

      She moved, tilting her pelvis so that she came so close... If she scooted two inches higher, it would be enough. In the old days, he would have cupped her velvet ass with his hot palms and made it happen.

      “Enough for what?” He sounded so cold. He sounded like someone else, someone who didn’t love her. “For one more goodbye tumble?”

      “Time to make love,” she whispered, and the sweet sensuality in that voice was meant for the real Mitch, the old Mitch—not for this scarred and angry man beneath her now.

      “What about protection?” He stared up at her, his face immobile. “Did you bring extra condoms, just in case? I mean, obviously you can’t be sure where I’ve been these six months...who I might have slept with.”

      “Mitch, don’t.” She put her fingers against his lips. “There’s so little time. Don’t spoil it by being angry.”

      “But I am angry.”

      He made a harsh motion under her, and she understood. Tilting to one side, she slid off him and sat on the edge of the bed. For the first time, she tugged at the hem of the sheet and pulled it up to cover her nakedness.

      He СКАЧАТЬ