Nevada Nights (21 page)

Sunlight streamed through the open window, bathing the figure in the bed with warmth. The sheer curtains billowed inward on a current of hot, dry air.

For long moments Cameron lay stiffly, listening for some sound of activity. The room was quiet. Even the house seemed strangely silent this day.

Her lashes fluttered, and she glanced uneasily about. She was alone. She sat up slowly, feeling a twinge at the movement. A dull ache throbbed at her temples and the back of her head. Touching a finger to her head, she winced at the tenderness of the swollen mass the size of an egg. Below it, at the base of her skull, she could feel the gash, clean and no longer bleeding, though still painful.

She swung her feet to the floor and paused until the sudden weakness passed. She felt as if she had been through a war.

I have
, she thought ruefully.
Last night I was fighting for my life.

She glanced down at her nakedness. There was no sign of blood or dirt. She had been bathed; her wound carefully disinfected. Her torn, muddied undergarments were gone. Gone, too, was all sign of Michael. Had she only dreamed him?

Her heavy dresser had been shoved in front of the bedroom door to keep out intruders. Cameron knew she had been knocked unconscious last night. Even if she had revived, she would have been too weak to do all this. She hadn’t dreamed Michael. He had been with her. Her gaze swung to the open window. He must have gone out there and crossed over the roof to the balcony at the front of the house.

With great effort she dressed. When at last she managed to move the barrier from her door, she opened it. Outside, in a chair in the hallway, Miriam gave a long broken sign of relief.

"Oh, Cameron. I’m so glad to see you up and about. Colt told me to keep all the servants away from your room today. He said you were not to be disturbed. And he ordered that hot soup be kept ready for you when you awoke." Her eyes were wide with anxiety. "What’s happened? And what does Colt have to do with this?"

Cameron caught Miriam’s hands and smiled. "Dear Miriam. How long have you been sitting here?"

"Since breakfast. It’s past noon now. Are you all right?"

"I’m fine." Cameron touched the tender spot beneath her hair. "Just a little bruised. I—had an accident last night. I hit my head. But I’m feeling much stronger now."

"Are you feeling up to taking your meal in the dining room? Or would you prefer to eat in your room?"

Cameron hesitated, feeling a shiver of apprehension. "Where is everyone?"

"Nina has gone to town. Colt left right after he talked to me. I haven’t seen Alex or Jarret at all today. They never showed up for breakfast." With a smile Miriam added, "And Ti is pacing about downstairs, waiting for me to leave your door."

"Then, as long as the house is nearly empty, I’ll eat downstairs."

Pushing the wooden chair to the head of the stairs, Cameron bent her lips to her half-sister’s cheek. "Thank you, Miriam, for your concern. I’m really touched that you would guard my privacy so diligently."

Miriam’s voice lowered as Ti, glancing up, began to ascend the stairs. "Cameron, quickly now. Colt is so handsome and mysterious. What is he to you?"

Cameron blinked. She didn’t really have an answer. "He’s just someone who helped me."

"Well, he looked very stern when he warned me to stay close to you today until you were feeling strong enough to take care of yourself."

Ti greeted Cameron with a smile, then lifted Miriam from her chair and began to carry her downstairs. When he had settled her in a chair in the dining room, he left to find a servant to bring Cameron her meal.

Alone once more, Miriam said softly, "Colt left you a message."

Cameron’s head came up.

Miriam smiled knowingly. "He said when you were strong enough, he would meet you at the cottage." She studied Cameron’s face. "When are you going to tell me?"

"Tell you what?"

"What’s going on between you and Colt. Oh, Cameron, it’s so romantic and mysterious. You two have been meeting at a cottage. Where? Why?"

Cameron burst into laughter. "Miriam, it isn’t what you think. We’re not lovers."

"Why not?"

"Because"—Cameron was unaware of the pain that was evident on her face as she spoke—"he loves someone else."

"I don’t believe that." Miriam waited until the servant had brought Cameron’s soup and poured tea. When they were once more alone, she continued. "You should have seen Colt this morning as I saw him. He looked so fierce when he said that you weren’t to be disturbed. He looked"—she paused, then brightened—"possessive. As if you were his responsibility."

"He was just concerned because I’d been hurt. You’re making too much of this Miriam."

Miriam studied her across the table. "Maybe. Are you going to meet him?"

Cameron shrugged. "I haven’t decided."

As Ti entered the room, Miriam shot Cameron a look. "Yes you have. You’ll go. If it were Ti, I would."

"You would what?" Ti asked as he touched her shoulder.

"Marry you if you asked me," Miriam said boldly.

He threw back his head and laughed. "I don’t know what’s come over you, love, but I like it."

Once again Cameron was struck by the lovely musical lilt to his cultured English voice.

With a ripple of muscle, he smoothly scooped Miriam up into his arms and turned to Cameron. "Miriam hasn’t left your door since early this morning. If you don’t object, I’m going to whisk her away now to myself."

Cameron laughed. "I understand. And Miriam, thank you."

*  *  *

Cameron studied her reflection in the dressing mirror. The gown was pale green watered silk with a prim high collar and long sleeves. A row of mother-of- pearl buttons ran from collar to waist. A darker green sash circled her slender waist. Despite the heat of the day, she left her long hair down, to cover the gash at the back of her head. Into her pocket she shoved the little Remington.

In the barn she saddled her horse, then set out for the cottage. As she rode, she fretted over her decision to see Colt alone.

Part of her was afraid of him. He brought out primitive, almost savage feelings in her that frightened her. But she owed him her life. Besides, although she was loathe to admit it, he excited her. She liked the way he looked at her, and she couldn’t define why. If Jarret looked at her that way, it would make her skin crawl. But despite all she knew about Colt—his partnership with her stepbrothers, his betrayal of her uncle, the fact that he was a gunfighter and gambler—she was drawn to him.

The sun had already made its arc across the sky. Light, feathery clouds softened the horizon. A gentle breeze blew clean, fresh scents from pine forests across the hills.

Her horse circled the stand of evergreens that hid the cottage from view. Beside the crumbling wall stood the black stallion. Cameron tied her horse, then pushed the door open.

He was standing by the window. He turned to watch her as she entered. She paused, bathed in a pool of light from the open door.

"Hello, Colt."

He inclined his head. "Cammy."

He was a stunning, virile animal. Her pulse quickened at the sight of him.

"It was nice to wake up in my own bed this morning." She was amazed that her voice sounded so normal. "I could have awakened in Jarret’s bed this morning, too humiliated, too beaten down, to go on fighting him and Alex and their ugly scheme."

He didn’t move. His arm still rested along the chipped windowsill. His voice was deep, rich, warm. "You would have been stronger than that, Cammy. Jarret just didn’t know who he was dealing with."

"I’m not sure. I know that what he had in mind for me was worse than death." She shuddered. In a stronger voice, she taunted, "Why didn’t you take advantage of—my weakness last night?"

"I wasn’t sure myself until I was confronted with it, and I found there was no decision to make. The idea of taking advantage of an unconscious woman, even one as desirable as you, doesn’t appeal to me. I think you know why, Cammy. I want you strong and willing in my bed. I want the fearless little wildcat who attacked me on her island. I want the warm and beautiful woman you’ve become. And understand—I do want you in my bed."

"Even though you love Nina?"

He blinked at this sudden shift in the conversation.

"Nina. I don’t understand."

She felt her old anger returning. All those smooth words of his meant nothing. This was what she needed. A dash of cold water, to remind herself what he really was.

"Don’t try to deny it, Colt. She told me herself."

His hand dropped to his side. He took a step nearer, then halted. "Nina told you that she loves me?"

"Well, she didn’t say it in so many words. She—said she loves someone other than her husband. But you can’t deny it, Colt. I saw her riding away after meeting you in the woods."

"When was this, Cammy?"

His eyes, she noted, seemed even darker in sunlight. His mouth wasn’t hard. It was soft—almost laughing.

"The last time I sat for Quenton’s portrait. I saw Nina drive the rig from the woods and then head toward town. Then I saw you ride in the opposite direction."

"And being the clever little thing you are, you decided that Nina and I are lovers."

"Yes."

She was jealous. He could see it in the darkening of her eyes. He savored the feeling. After all, how many nights had he lain awake dreaming of her satin skin warming to his touch, her lips softening under the pressure of his mouth? The insatiable desire for her drove sleep from him. The anxiety that she would give her love to another ate at his soul, driving him to a fierce restlessness. And now it was her turn to squirm.

"And what is that to you?" His tone was cold, impersonal.

He saw the pain, sharp, swift, before she composed herself. She straightened, her jaw jutting defiantly.

"What you do, whom you choose to love, is none of my concern, Colt. I’m certain gunfighters manage to find pleasant diversions in every town."

His tone softened. "And sometimes they find more than they bargain for, especially on quaint, sleepy little islands." Weary of the game, he sharpened his tone. "If you had ridden up a few minutes sooner, you would have seen Quenton ride away first."

"Quenton. I don’t understand."

"I rode to the woods to remind Quenton that you would soon be at his house for a sitting." Colt chuckled. "Artists have a way of forgetting time. Then I waited while he rode away first. Then Nina left. When I thought they were both a safe distance, I rode away."

Cameron was thunderstruck. "Nina and ..."

"Your uncle. Poor fools. They’re miserably in love."

Her hand flew to her mouth. That explained so much. The day of her sitting, Quenton had seemed so disorganized. And the other day he nearly flew across the hills to keep an appointment. He loved Nina. And Nina loved him. And Colt . . .

Her heart soared. Colt didn’t love Nina. There was a chance, just a chance, that he could love . . .

How long had she battled these conflicting feelings for this man? Thinking that he had loved Nina, she had experienced her first stab of jealousy. Knowing now that he didn’t, she felt a sigh of relief shudder through her.

"Well." She felt the flush begin to creep from her neck to her cheeks. "I’ll go now. I just wanted you to know that I’m fine."

"One of these times, you may not be so lucky. I always seem to be picking up the pieces after you’ve made a mess of things. That’s how we met, in case you’ve forgotten."

She hadn’t forgotten a single thing about their meeting. She would never forget that earth-shattering experience.

"Thank you, Colt," she said primly. "For saving my honor, and probably my life."

"You’re welcome." A hint of a smile touched his lips. "Of course, if you really wanted to thank me properly . . ."

Her head came up.

"I just thought an innocent kiss . . ."

She licked her dry lips. He watched the movement of her tongue.

"How do I know it won’t lead to something more?"

"You don’t."

As her mouth opened to protest, his smile grew. "I won’t even hold you, if you’d like. I’ll just stand here and let you kiss me."

"Why Colt, I believe you’re flirting with me."

His smile deepened. "Me flirt! Why, Miss McCormick. What a fine idea. How am I doing?"

"I think you’ve had some experience in this," she said dryly. She stepped back, torn between being sensible and the growing temptation to feel his lips on hers. "I suppose one quick kiss." She studied him from beneath lowered lashes, then took a tentative step forward. "All right."

He stood, his hands at his sides, his eyes staring straight ahead. On tiptoe she could barely reach his mouth. She moved closer. He wasn’t going to make this easy for her.

"Now?"

His gaze flicked over her, then stared over her head. "Whenever you’re ready."

She moistened her lips and took a deep breath. Touching her hands to his shoulders, she reached up and touched her lips to his. She kept her eyes wide open, and stared into his. The kiss was as soft as a whisper.

He didn’t move, didn’t even seem to breathe.

With her lips against his, she murmured, "Thank you, Colt. From the bottom of my heart, thank you for saving me last night."

"You’re welcome."

She pressed her lips over his again, then hesitated, with her lips just a fraction away. The kiss was very unsatisfactory. She needed his participation. She needed his response. Still, he stood rigid, unmoving.

Couldn’t he see that she wanted something more? Didn’t he understand that for the first time in her life, she wanted a man? She wanted him.

"Oh, Colt," she sighed. Her breath was warm against his cheek. "It’s so cold like this. Hold me, please, and kiss me back."

"I can’t."

She blinked.

His voice deepened, sending a tiny thrill of alarm through her. "I’m not some farm lad, hungering for his first taste of a maiden’s lips. I’m a man, with a hunger far greater than that. I can’t go on just holding you, and kissing you, without being allowed to love you the way I want. You ask too much of me, Cammy."

Stepping back a pace, she studied him. His hair gleamed blue-black in the sunlight. There was a light in his eyes. Humor, amusement, she wasn’t certain. And beneath the humor, passion, carefully banked. But there was a gleam, of mischief perhaps. He was enjoying teasing her. And he was not going to cooperate until she coaxed him.

Now she understood what he had been going through. All those times that he had held her, and kissed her, and wanted more than she had been willing to give, came rushing back to her.

Ever so slowly she pressed herself close to him and ran her hands up his arms, letting her fingers play along the taut muscles of his upper arms. She ran her fingertips lightly over his shoulders, then twined her hands around his neck, brushing the dark hair that curled at his collar. With a little sigh, she brought her lips to his.

She heard his sudden intake of breath. Without warning, his arms came around her in a fierce embrace, crushing her to him. At once the kiss was hot, hungry. His mouth moved over hers, needing to taste the sweetness of her, needing to draw on the goodness that surrounded her.

She clung to him, feeling the flood of emotions that washed over them both. This was how a kiss should be, she realized. Both of them wanting, needing, sharing, willing to give.

His lips traced the curve of her eyebrow, her soft lid, then grazed her cheek on the way to her ear. He took her lobe gently between his teeth and nipped. She gasped, and his lips eagerly returned to hers.

Her mouth was eager, avid. Her lips parted, inviting his tongue into the intimate recesses of her mouth. He kissed her deeply, their breath mingling, their sighs escaping as he turned his head to change the angle of their kiss.

With a finger, he traced the curve of her lips. She moved against his touch, unwilling to break contact.

His hands moved to the buttons at her throat. He heard her quick intake of breath and glanced at her eyes, searching for a signal.

"Tell me you want this too, Cammy. I want you warm and willing."

In acknowledgment, her eyes softened. "Yes. Oh yes, Colt." Her words were a whispered sigh. "I want you to teach me how to love you."

He felt his heart nearly burst with the pain of wanting. "There’s nothing to teach. You’ll know."

He unbuttoned first the top button, then the next, all the while watching her eyes. With a whisper, the silk dress slid from her shoulders as he bent his lips to her throat. His hands slid down her hips, easing the dress from her, leaving it to drift to the floor.

She arched in his arms, loving the feel of his lips on her skin. He nibbled at the sensitive little hollow of her shoulder and chuckled when she sighed in delight.

"How many nights have I tortured myself thinking of the softness of your skin," he murmured against her throat.

His lips covered hers.

"And how many times have I tasted you on my lips. Oh, Cammy. How long I’ve waited to love you."

He kissed her deeply, feeling her fingers clutch at his shoulders.

A strange feeling of languor invaded her body. Her limbs felt heavy. Soon, she knew, her legs would no longer be able to support her. She would have to cling to his strength.

He lifted her in his arms and carried her to the straw mat covered with the quilt. As he settled his long length beside her, she boldly reached for the buttons of his shirt, longing to feel his skin against hers.

He laughed at her sudden boldness and helped her as she fumbled with the first button. He unbuckled his gunbelt and tossed it aside, then shrugged out of his boots and pants.

Cameron tentatively touched the dark hair that curled on his chest and tapered to below his waist. Recognizing her hesitation, he fought his growing need and forced himself to be slow and gentle.

They were bathed in a pool of dappled sunlight. He lifted her hair, watching the fiery strands sift through his fingers. She saw his eyes narrow slightly before he bent to her lips. With his tongue, he traced the outline of her lips. Her lips parted in invitation, but still he only traced their fullness with his tongue. She trembled, aching for his kiss. When she could wait no longer, she caught his shoulders, drawing him to her.

His arms came around her, crushing her to him. The dark mat of hair on his chest tickled her breasts.

"Hold me, Cammy. Put your arms around me."

She allowed her fingertips to roam his naked back, loving the feel of hard, corded muscles.

He pressed his lips to her throat, feeling the little pulse that throbbed. With soft, feathery kisses, he roamed her shoulder, her collarbone, then dipped lower, to the soft swell of her breast. He heard her little gasp as his tongue circled her nipple, feeling it grow taut at his touch. Slowly his tongue moved, ever so slowly, until she thought she would die from the waiting, the wanting. He closed his lips over her breast. Deep inside her something contracted. He moved his lips to her other breast and she moaned, soft and low in her throat.