Читать книгу Her Montana Man - Laurie Paige - Страница 9

Chelsea knew she should tell him no. She ordered her lips to form the word. But she didn’t utter it. This moment was too much like her dreams the past few nights.

Then his mouth met hers and all the wonder and desire of the past rolled over her. She knew he felt it, too. A shudder went through him as he held her closer, and she was instantly aware of the hardness of his body and of his hunger.

She arched her back and pressed against him, eager for completion that had been missing for eight years. Tears burned the back of her eyes as she realized just how much she’d missed this…missed him….

His hands, warm and supple, roamed her back, her hips, along her thighs, up her sides, then paused for an instant before sliding upward once more. He turned slightly so he could cup her breast in one hand while the other slid to her hip to caress in a kneading motion.

“Too long,” he muttered, releasing her mouth and skipping kisses along her jaw and down her throat. “It’s been too long.”

“Yes.” She touched his face, combed her fingers through the thick strands of his hair, loving the feel, the texture of him against her palms. “I’ve missed—”

She stopped the words, not wanting to admit there’d been few dates and no serious relationship in her life since they’d parted.

“This,” he finished for her. “I know. I told myself I wouldn’t want you again.”

“Then don’t. Let me go.”

Anger joined the flames of passion in his eyes. “I can’t. It’s too strong. You have a hold over me….”

He shook his head. She understood the frustration, the longing that wouldn’t let up, the failure of logic and all the reasons they shouldn’t be doing this.

When he lifted her to the railing and pushed between her thighs, fitting their bodies intimately into place, her bones became as pliant as taffy. When he moved against her, her mind went cloudy.

They kissed endlessly, a wildness running through her blood and echoing in the beat of his heart against her breasts. Fighting the tidal wave of hunger was useless. She clung to him, wanting the hot bliss that only he stirred to life in her.

“Why?” he said at one point, his eyes licking over her in restless flames of need. “Why does it have to be you?”

Hurt, she tried to draw away, but he wouldn’t let her. She turned her face from his rampaging mouth. He caught her head between his hands and held her face so he could gaze into her eyes.

“It’s always been this way for us, hasn’t it?” he demanded huskily. “Wild and necessary. Primitive and unexplained. The call of blood to blood.”

She shook her head, unable to summon words in her defense but feeling that she should.

“Irresistible,” he whispered.

He took her mouth again, fanning the passion that flowed like lava between them, burning all sense and good intentions to a crisp, leaving only the hunger, the terrible, terrible hunger. She moaned as he caressed her breasts, his thumbs brushing over the sensitive tips so that they contracted into hard points of ecstasy.

“I have to see you, all of you,” he told her. “It’s like being starved, then coming upon a feast. I have to have it all.”

“Yes,” she said, knowing exactly what he meant. “Yes.”

With fingers that trembled ever so little, he unfastened her blouse and pulled it from her slacks. Eyes narrowed impatiently, he checked her bra, then slid his hands around her and unfastened the hooks.

Slowly, torturously, he pushed the satin upward, out of the way. Then he simply looked, his lashes lowered sexily over the flaming passion she saw in his gaze.

“Beautiful,” he said, and kissed the yearning tips, then feathered his tongue over each one.

She clutched his shoulders as the world spun out of control. When he lifted her breasts and paid special attention to them with his lips and his hands, she couldn’t keep from crying out as the wonder of his touch filled her.

He lifted her from the railing and set her on her feet. Taking her hand, he said, “Let’s go.”

In the cabin, its air cool compared to the heat of the deck, she tried to think, but her mind refused to cooperate. She realized she didn’t want caution and reason and all the things she’d practiced all her life.

Going into the bedroom with him, she stopped when he did and faced him, her heart rushing its beat at the intensity in his gaze.

“I have protection at my place,” he said softly, his eyes locked with hers. “Would you feel better if we used it?”

She blinked in uncertainty. “I can’t conceive,” she finally said. “I had polyps removed, but there’s scar tissue.”

He laid a finger over her lips, then lingered to caress her gently. “Kelly told me. I’m safe, but I wanted to make sure you were comfortable.”

Chelsea looked away from his probing gaze, touched by his consideration in ways she didn’t want to admit. He’d always had the ability to reach inside and touch the lonely places she tried to hide.

He tipped her chin up. “Chelsea?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “I’m comfortable.”

He heaved a breath as if he’d been unsure of her answer. “I’m not. I’m burning up.”

With a grin that caused her heart to flip, he pushed the shirt and bra off her shoulders until they fell to the floor. His eyes darkened as he stared at her.

Her breasts were flushed, the tips a dusky pink. Passion’s bloom, he had once called the telltale rosy hue her body took on when he caressed her intimately. She’d been embarrassed at the obvious signs of passion when they’d first become lovers.

The smart of tears surprised her as she remembered how sweetly reassuring he’d been, how he’d encouraged her to show the need, to tell him what she wanted. It had been a thrilling time of mutual exploration and discovery of the passionate side of nature.

He quickly stripped his shirt off and moved closer until he could brush her nipples, teasing her with slow dry strokes of wiry hairs across her as he had earlier with the wet caresses of his tongue.

She closed her eyes and tilted her head until she could feel the brush of her hair along her back. Holding on to his powerful shoulders, she let inhibitions go and gloried in the tactile sensations of touch.

When her knees went weak, she swayed against him, her body curving into his as naturally as a willow bending before the wind.

“Wait,” Pierce said huskily. He shucked his clothing, then helped her get out the rest of her things. They fell onto the bed as one.

Then there was skin against skin as their arms and legs entwined naturally, in ways never forgotten.

He knew there was danger in her embrace, but it didn’t matter—not now. If there was a price to pay for this moment, he’d worry about it tomorrow.

“So sweet,” he murmured, taking her lips in a thousand kisses that fed a part of him he didn’t know was starving. “And so dangerous.”

“Yes,” she agreed, “but so good. I’ve never forgotten how good it was.”

Stroking intimately, he found she was ready. So was he. He rolled over her lithe form, settling between her thighs as she opened to him, her eyes on his face, shining with trust as well as need.

It gave him pause, then he whispered, “Take me in you.”

As if it had been hours rather than years, he merged his body with hers. As she shifted to accommodate him, he realized she was experiencing some discomfort.

Puzzled, he stopped. “Am I hurting you?”

She shook her head. “It’s okay.”

Which didn’t tell him a thing. “It’s been a long time for you, hasn’t it?” he asked, feeling his way through the moment.

She closed her eyes. “Yes. Don’t talk.”

When she wrapped herself around him and urged him deeper, he couldn’t hold back. He sank into the smooth hot depths, a shudder rippling over him as he held back the too-ready climax. He wanted hours with her…hours…

Chelsea gasped when he carefully started moving, bringing her back to passionate intensity with his lips and his hands. Flames danced through her as she touched him in all the places he liked. She savored hearing his breath catch and his heart pound when she grew bold with her caresses.

He laid his head on the pillow beside hers. “Wait,” he whispered. “We’re going too fast.”

“I want you…now.”

Catching her hands, he kissed the tip of her nose, a funny smile on his mouth. It was almost sad.

“You were always impatient,” he scolded good-naturedly. He tousled her hair. “A little redheaded, green-eyed ginger cat who wanted it all right away.”

“You wanted it to last,” she said, remembering their ardent love play, rich with the nuances that flowed between lovers.

His low laughter filtered through her like dappled sunlight on water, warm and sparkling. “We can have both,” he murmured, then proceeded to show her.

With sure touches that spoke of their experiences long ago, he brought her to pleasure so intense she cried out in shocked delight. He smothered her cries with kisses and his own panting efforts at control. When at last she lay still beneath him, he turned them to the side and smoothed the damp clinging tendrils from her face.

With her nose snuggled against his chest, she floated in some peaceful sphere where nothing touched her—not doubts or worries or anything of a mundane nature.

She murmured contentedly when he began moving again. It had always amazed her how quickly she could respond again when she was in his arms.

“I want you again,” she told him in wonder. “How can I want you again so soon?”

“Because,” Pierce said, and rolled over her, finding the sweet nest between her thighs. “I won’t be able to stop this time,” he warned as the banked passion flared with astounding speed.

She opened her eyes, dark green now with passion. “I don’t want you to stop.”

He breathed deeply when she moved against him, away, then arched up to meet his downward thrust. His mind glazed over as the hunger took hold.

At her whimpering gasp of need, he thrust deeper.

He guided her hand between them, encouraging her to ride the tide between them while he plunged into the hot center of her, nearly going over the edge but managing to hold it together until she cried out as the pleasure overcame all other senses. He thrust once more and went into the mindless abyss with her.

It was a long time before either of them moved.

The tick of the clock finally penetrated the haven where he drifted in perfect peace. The ringing of the telephone jarred the tranquility of the afternoon. He reached past her shoulder, picked up the receiver and held it to her ear.

“Uh, Chelsea, this is Kelly.”

Chelsea stiffened as reality forcefully returned. “Hi, Kelly,” she said, using her friend’s name to warn Pierce to be silent.

“Fran is looking for Pierce,” Kelly said. “She’s his secretary. She says he had a meeting at two. She called me when he didn’t show up or answer his phone or beeper.”

Chelsea was intensely aware that his head was pressed to hers so he could hear the conversation. She looked a question at him. He shook his head.

“Should I go over to his house and see if he’s there?” Chelsea asked.

Kelly didn’t reply for a heartbeat. “Uh, no. I was hoping he was at your place.” She laughed. “Actually, I thought you two might be…uh, how should I put this—in the sack? The sparks were flying from more than the fireworks last night.”

The blood rushed to Chelsea’s head so fast she went dizzy. “Don’t get any ideas,” she advised her friend, and carefully kept her gaze from Pierce. “I’ll tell him you’re looking for him. If I see him.”

“Okay, thanks. By the way, I’m having a birthday dinner for Mom Saturday night. That’s tomorrow. You’re to come.”

They said goodbye and hung up. When she glanced at Pierce, he seemed deep in thought. She squirmed to remind him he was nearly lying on her.

Muttering a curse, he sat up. “I’m supposed to be at a meeting.” He flung on clothing as fast he could.

She pushed upright. With a pillow behind her back and the sheet covering her, she watched him silently, no expression in her eyes. She didn’t know if she felt regret, anger or what. She wondered about him, but not for long.

“Stupid,” he said aloud. He thrust his feet into his shoes. “That was stupid. I thought I was immune to you. What a laugh.”

She blinked back the raw hurt, but said nothing. His disgust was directed at himself and his weakness—stupidity, to use his term—in succumbing to passion. Darkness gathered inside her, a void that carried the weight of the world in it. Ah, well, she hadn’t expected a rose garden….

“I thought it wouldn’t matter, who you were or that we’d once been lovers. It doesn’t matter. I’ll be the one to walk away this time.”

Her eyes widened at the implied accusation. “You did last time.”

“Like hell.”

She reviewed her memories. “You did. You said you didn’t want a long-term relationship.”

He strode toward the door. “I still don’t.” Then he walked out.

She stayed in bed until she heard his car start, then leave, the purr of the engine rapidly dwindling on the still afternoon air. Only then did she shower and dress in fresh clothing and go out on the deck to read.

Instead of opening her book, she sat there, staring at the mountain peaks to the west. Once she’d thought Pierce was her knight in shining armor and they would live in a beautiful castle in an enchanted kingdom.

She smiled in sympathy for her younger, more idealistic self. In truth, she’d never expected a fairy-tale ending, but she’d thought they would marry and have children and grow old together.

Now, eight years later, she was wiser and more skeptical about life and love and happily ever after. But it had been a lovely illusion.

Chelsea woke from a light doze when a car door slammed. “Around back,” she called out. She expected Kelly to appear, but two men came around the corner. One was Holt Tanner. The other was a man she hadn’t met, but she recognized him as the sheriff.

“Dr. Kearns, Sheriff Reingard,” Holt introduced them.

She stood and held out her hand. “Please, call me Chelsea, both of you.”

The sheriff took her hand and held it. “I’m Dave. It’s good to have you onboard, Chelsea. I was against bringing in outsiders, but Pierce convinced me we needed the best in this case. From the details in your report, I think he was right. Welcome to our community.”

Chelsea sized him up. Early fifties. Dark eyes. Surprising, given that his hair was blond. He was graying at the temples, she noted, and his face was somewhat florid. A couple of inches under six feet. His grip was firm, his hand smooth. Not overweight but at the top of his range. Nothing a good exercise program wouldn’t fix.

She eased her hand from his and thanked him. “Can I get you something to drink? Tea? Coffee? Soda?”

“A soda,” the sheriff requested.

“Tea, if you have it,” Holt said.

She prepared iced tea for her and the deputy, a soft drink for the sheriff. After she returned to the deck, they went over her report. The sheriff questioned her extensively on the results of the autopsy.

“Four months,” the lawman murmured, gazing out over the lake. “Harriet Martel.” He shook his head in disbelief.

“Pierce said he’d never seen her with anyone,” Chelsea mentioned. “Did you?”

The sheriff laughed, a deep, pleasant sound. “I’m not out on the town very much myself. My wife and I have five children. I spend my spare time at the soccer and baseball fields in summer. In the winter we rescue hunters from blizzards.” He shook his head in exasperation, then laughed again.

Chelsea smiled, too, amused as the sheriff reached into a pocket and removed a pistachio. He ate it absently and tossed the shell over the railing into the lake, obviously lost in thought. She wondered if she should make a citizen’s arrest for littering or maybe polluting the lake.

“Well,” he said at last, “here’s what I think we should do. Holt, take Chelsea over to the library this afternoon and question the staff. Maybe she can pickup on something we missed, sort of a woman-to-woman thing, especially with Molly Brewster. Molly found Harriet,” he explained to Chelsea.

“She went to Harriet’s house, thinking she must be sick or hurt when she didn’t show up for work,” Holt added. He glanced at his watch. “It’s nearly four. We’d better go. The library closes soon.”

“Uh, I guess I don’t need to remind you not to give out any information,” the sheriff told her.

Chelsea observed the sheriff, knowing he wasn’t going to like her next words. “People will figure out something is going on if the investigation continues.”

A frown appeared on the still-attractive features of the lawman as he thought the situation through. He ate another pistachio. “I understand Colby Holmes is spreading the word that his aunt was murdered,” he finally said. “I suppose we can admit that much, but don’t mention the pregnancy. As Holt said, that’s our ace in the hole.”

“Right.” Chelsea insisted on driving herself into town when Holt offered her a ride. She had to stop by the grocery on the way back and pick up something for dinner, she explained. Although nothing appealed to her, she mused as she followed the lawmen along Main Street.

She parked at the library and waited while Holt dropped the sheriff off at the office, then parked his patrol car, an SUV with a rack of lights on top, beside hers. They went inside as a young woman came to the door, key in hand.

“I’m sorry,” the woman said. “We’re just closing.”

Holt nodded. “Go ahead. We’re here to talk to you.”

Molly Brewster was twenty-seven, of average height with wavy blond hair and blue eyes. Chelsea recalled that she was from Wyoming and worked as an assistant librarian. She’d been hired by Harriet Martel eighteen months ago.

Rage could make a person much stronger than usual, but Chelsea, studying the slender librarian, didn’t think Molly could have sustained fury long enough to accomplish all that needed doing at the crime scene, assuming she had a motive to kill her boss in the first place.

Holt introduced the women, then stepped back, leaving the questioning up to Chelsea.

She started out with general information, recapping what she already knew. The other library workers were adult volunteers or teenagers from the high school who got credit for their help. She asked about each of them and their hours of work.

She also noted Molly was nervous and apprehensive. The woman kept looking toward the front door, then a side entrance as they talked.

Chelsea decided to go straight to the point. “Who might have had a reason to dislike Miss Martel?”

Molly gasped and clutched her chest. She was slow in answering. “No one. I mean, Miss Martel was strict and all, but she wasn’t mean or anything like that. She did a lot for this town.”

Hmm, admiration, not envy, in the tone, Chelsea decided, but why the gasp and the clutching of the chest?

“Was Miss Martel murdered?” Molly asked, her eyes big and frightened, as if she thought a serial killer was loose in the area and she was the next victim.

Chelsea shrugged. “We have to cover all the angles,” she said as if this explained everything.

Holt cleared his throat behind her. She cast him a glance to let him know she wasn’t going to give anything away, then turned back to Molly. “Who were her friends?”

“Well, she didn’t have any.” Molly seemed to realize the stark quality of the statement. “I mean…well, I was her friend, and the volunteers, of course.”

“Of course,” Chelsea murmured.

“But I never saw her with anyone. I mean, she didn’t go out to dinner with friends or anything like that. She did have someone, though.”

Chelsea waited, her heart upping its beat.

“I heard her talking to someone on the phone sometimes. Once I heard her mention a time…as if they planned to meet later that evening.”

“Any idea who it was? Male? Female? Relative?”

Molly shook her head. “She never said, and I would never ask. Miss Martel didn’t approve of people prying into other people’s business.”

Chelsea had already deduced the head librarian was a reclusive woman with a very secret life.

After several more questions about the victim’s life and habits, Chelsea indicated she was finished.

Holt stepped forward. “Please keep the details of this discussion to yourself, Miss Brewster. This is an ongoing police investigation.”

“Because she was murdered?” Molly asked again. “Her nephew says it was murder. He’s told everyone in town.”

Holt’s jaw tightened. Chelsea thought he might have cracked a few teeth as he held in angry words until they were outside before muttering, “I’ll strangle Colby with my bare hands.”

“People were already speculating about the case,” she said to soothe him and because she was sympathetic to the nephew, who, unfortunately, was correct. “They would always wonder, even if we did conclude it was suicide.”