Sleepless in Montana (20 page)

Hogan wasn’t about to be dismissed on Jemma’s
terms. As she stood to replace the buttons in the cupboard, he
studied the graceful line of Jemma’s backside, the long legs
running into her slender hips. The van’s soft lighting was designed
to best suit her, of course, twisting through her hair, igniting it
as it swayed across her back. A natural athlete, she moved
gracefully and he admired the symmetry of her body, the textures
and vivid coloring.

Jemma shot through life like a rocket, but
this time she’d gone too far. “You started this, now let’s finish
it.”

She looked over her shoulder to him and
lifted a gleaming winged eyebrow. “I really wouldn’t crowd me
tonight, if I were you.”

“But your rules say you can crowd me, is that
it?” Hogan smoothed the scar on his cheek. Energy surged through
him as though he were about to begin a fascinating art project.

Passion
, he decided, Jemma made him
feel— did he like it? He wasn’t certain, but he wasn’t running away
now.

She fastened the latch to the cupboard, then
turned to face him. “You’re fencing with me and you’re good at it.
I’m not— I’m straight out. This is for Carley, Hogan, and you know
it. We’re all doing our best.”

“Has it ever occurred to you that you might
be in danger? You, not Carley?”

She considered the thought as she dropped
onto a long, lushly padded couch, kicked off her shoes, and placed
her legs on the cushions. “Let’s leave me out of this. I’ve been in
rough spots before. I survived. Carley has been too vulnerable
since that night. Either sit down or get out. You’re taking up too
much room and you’re not sweet... Hogan, you don’t have to sit here
by me.”

He sat on the couch, lifted her legs onto his
lap, and gave way to the need to touch her. “You’re not closing me
out, Jemma. Let’s set the ground rules now, tonight.”

Her eyes drifted closed and she scooted down
to relax on the couch, as he began to massage her feet. “That’s
cheating.”

“Uh-huh, that from you. It’s only a massage,
Jemma.” He stared at the pale narrow foot within his hands, the
contrast of male and female stirring a ready passion in him that he
did not want to examine. The warmth of her skin prevented him from
being the observer, at least when he touched her.

“You’re not putting me in a better mood ...
Oh! Oh! Do that again.” Jemma groaned and stretched luxuriously,
arching her foot within Hogan’s hands. The undulating curves of her
body, the light smoothing her breasts and belly, the length of her
thighs caused Hogan to want to touch more than her feet. He wanted
to pull her beneath him and—

In the next instant, she sat up, tearing her
feet away from his grasp. “I saw that look, all dark and closed-in,
the observer look, seeing how I react to what. You’re
experimenting, Hogan— with me, and I don’t like it. Is that what
you do for Simone?” she demanded, her eyes flashing at him like
raised steel swords. “Play with her feet?”

Her temper raised his and he resented the
easy overthrow of his control. Simone had taught him many things,
but not how to deal with a hot-tempered woman he wanted to hold
close and tight and protect. “She’s been my friend for years. There
is no need to explain anything to you.”

“Friends. What a nice civilized term. In the
newspapers, at the art showings, you look like lovers. She’s twined
around you tighter than a boa constrictor.”

Her condemning tone chafed; he wouldn’t
explain his comfortable ongoing relationship with Simone through
the years. They’d been a match, suited to working a room and
promoting his designs.

But he wanted to taste the fire burning in
Jemma, taste that passion.

He bent his head and brushed his open mouth
across hers, tasting her breath, that fire within her. While she
was dealing with that, eyes opened and stunned, Hogan’s fingers
traced and absorbed the outline of her lips, the sweep of her
cheek.

“I don’t like how you see inside people,
Hogan,” she whispered shakily, leaning away from him. “It’s like
you’re seeing into my bones.”

“Is it?” he heard himself ask as he traced
the sleek eyebrows that soared at the arch. His thumbs cruised
lightly across the sharp line of her cheekbones.

“You’re so damned sensual. You even move like
a cat— gracefully,” she muttered, blinking as he came close for
another taste of her. He could feel her body align with his, curves
and softness against his angular form— the tempting textures and
scents. He could sense the heat within her, his body gearing up,
hardening—

He eased his hands to her throat, keeping her
still as his mouth traced the sleek warmth of her skin. She
trembled with an excitement more powerful than an open seduction.
“And we’re both tired, riding on edge...”

“Is that what this is?” Still close, tasting
her soft breath upon his lips, Hogan let one hand rest lightly upon
her closed fist, smoothing her nape with his other hand. He watched
her respond, her eyes darkening, her body softening.

She arched her throat as his thumb skimmed
the sensitive cord there, and higher to the underside of her chin
and the fragile line of her jaw. She relaxed beneath his touch, her
body responding to his hands, her eyes sensually drowsy.

Because he was hungry and a hunter releasing
his needs, Hogan bent to take, to fuse his mouth to her slightly
parted one.

His primitive need to claim Jemma for his own
shocked him, even as he was taking, devouring her. Hogan absorbed
and noted her slight resistance, the stiffening of her body, the
warring debate of a woman deciding if she liked the taste, the
excitement of him.

Jemma’s eyes opened close to his. “Are you in
this, Hogan? Or are you just observing?”

He almost laughed; he’d been wondering what
her breasts would taste like and how hot and tight she would be
inside— “What does it feel like?”

“You’re watching me—”

“I’m enjoying the sight.”

She tried to push him away, her hands spread
upon his chest, and Hogan took advantage of the shift of her body,
lying over her.

“Get off me!” Suddenly she’d paled, shaking
beneath him, her face taut with fury. She looked up at him, her
expression shifting between anger and curiosity.

Hogan smoothed back her hair from her face,
splaying his fingers between the heavy, waving strands. She tried
once to buck him off, a quick thrust of her hips against his, and
Hogan held her wrists beside her head, enjoying the sight.

He had never held a woman against her will,
but Jemma was not just any woman. Maybe it was the hunter in him,
or the man admiring a fiery woman, or maybe it was because his
desire had hitched up a notch when she moved beneath him, but Hogan
found himself enjoying the play.

“You look just absolutely wicked and full of
yourself, Hogan Kodiak,” she muttered, glaring up at him.

“I have the upper hand for the moment anyway.
Are you afraid of me?”

She frowned. “Of you? No. I know you’re just
trying to drive me off course.”

“Drive you off course? Is that what I’m
doing?”

Because he couldn’t resist, he placed his
lips just where her pulse pounded in her throat like a trapped
bird. The erotic scent of her skin swirled around him, and Hogan
tasted her with the tip of his tongue.

There was just that quiver in her body, that
stiffening, and her breath sucking past his cheek that drove him
further. He felt his senses shift, homing in on her, aroused, skin
heating against her throat as his fingers pushed hers, laced with
them beside her head. He nuzzled the soft area behind her ear,
traced her lobe with his lips and bit gently.

“Hogan... this won’t work,” she whispered
unevenly, huskily. “Let me up. I’ve got things to do—”

“Mmm. Running away? You’ve been doing a lot
of that, and you’re skittish.” He wanted more, he wanted to feel
her body smooth against his, twining, warming, those long thighs
opening for him—

Her cheeks were warm, and that heat made
Hogan think of a deeper one as he brushed his lips across her jaw,
her forehead, her eyes and cheeks. He trembled, shocked by his
need, one hand leaving hers to slide downward, enclosing her breast
gently, adoring the sleek shape, the softness that was—

The artist left the man, and Hogan tore away
his chambray shirt. Her eyes widened, taking in his chest and still
lower. “You’d better just stop it, Hogan Kodiak.”

He breathed raggedly, his body aroused, needs
pounding at his control. Yet he found humor in the situation: Jemma
beneath him, threatening him. That would be Jemma, unafraid of the
consequences and not knowing when to pull back. “Or? You like
setting the rules, don’t you? Take a note, Jemma. I’ve never liked
rules.”

She glared at him. “You’re so perverse. I’ve
waited to see you smile like that for years, not that cold tight
smile that didn’t reach your eyes, but a real, open warm smile. Now
you’re doing just that, and I am not in the mood for playing. I
thought you had more control than to try to... to get me into
bed.”

“This is a bed, right? This couch folds out?
So I guess I’ve succeeded, huh?” he asked, unable to stop
grinning.

He wasn’t certain about the lighthearted
boyish feeling within him, the sudden shift from arousal to
playfulness, but for the moment, he was enjoying Jemma’s changing
expressions. Clearly, she didn’t know how to approach him next and
was circling ideas. Jemma, without a plan and acting like a fully
charged summer lightning bolt looking for a place to strike, was
bewitching.

She licked her lips, and he bent to lick them
again. “Hogan!”

He stood up, aware that he wanted much more
than playing, his body still singing with sensual tension.

Jemma quickly slid from the couch to fling
herself into the driver’s captain’s chair. She stared out into the
night, folded her arms across her chest, and propped her feet up on
the dashboard. “You’re playing with me, and I don’t like it.”

Hogan eased upon the couch, placed his hands
behind his head, his feet upon the opposing booth and studied her
as she spoke. “You’re too much in control of yourself and you’re
just pushing me because you feel threatened. You’re defending some
weird idea that I’m taking over your life. Oh, don’t snort like
that. That’s just what Ben and Aaron do when they’re making light
of a suggestion, as if men know best—”

Jemma stared at him. “I know what you’re
thinking, of course. That my marriage went down the tubes because
I’m frigid. Because I didn’t tear off my clothes, Hogan Kodiak,
does not mean I am frigid.”

He smoothed her bottom lip with his thumb,
removing it before she could slash it away. “You’re definitely not
that, and you do respond to me.”

She brooded on that and in a typical
lightning change of her emotions, asked, “What now?”

He allowed his body to stretch, easing the
sensual tension he didn’t want and hadn’t expected to arise so
quickly with Jemma.

“We wait. You can drive home now,” he added,
aware that the dismissal would set her off, and that was something
he’d begun to enjoy very much.

“Get out!” When Jemma would have shoved him
out the door, Hogan caught her hand, turned it, and elegantly
kissed the back. Taken aback, Jemma blinked up at him, and he
forced himself to kiss her forehead when he wanted to sink deep
within her body and take—

“If you want to learn how to fly-fish, meet
me down by the stream tomorrow afternoon. The native cutthroat are
biting. The hatches are good.”

She shot out a fist to grip his shirt.
“You’ll really teach me how to fish? This isn’t like the time you
told me to meet you at that cemetery to hunt snipes, is it? What’s
a cutthroat? A fish? What’s a hatch?”

“A trout and big fat juicy bugs.”

“I knew it!” Jemma clutched his shirt in her
other fist. “You’re having some kind of sick joke and I’m in a fix.
I need to know how to fly fish, Hogan, not catch bugs.”

“Trout like to feed on the hatch. Sometimes
they even take a lure disguised as a bug, Jemma,” he explained and
watched with fascination as her expression followed her thoughts
and her face lit up.

“I’ll be there. Look—” she said, hurrying to
open a closet of new fishing equipment. “I’m stocked up. I spent a
fortune on what they said were the top brands. What do you want me
to bring? Waders?”

“Yourself.”

“Okay, okay, okay. Go home now. Get some
sleep. Eat a good breakfast and I’ll see you tomorrow for my first
lesson. Well? Hurry. Go home.”

Hogan folded his arms over his chest. Jemma
was back to being pushy, and he enjoyed the excitement lighting her
expression. “Now why do I get the feeling that I’m being rushed?
That I’m being used?”

“Hogan, you are so exasperating. You’re just
stalling because you know how anxious I am to learn and get this
right. I could make a mint on this deal.”

“You’ve hurt my feelings,” he lied, enjoying
the sight of Jemma harried and frustrated for a change, reversing
their roles.

She stared at him blankly. “You?”

“Uh-huh. You’ll have to make me feel much
better,” he answered, and dipped his head for a kiss.

*** ***

Ben finished washing the salve from his hands
and dried them. He stared out into the night, toward the “needle
and thread” natural grass field where the longhorns were grazing.
The image of Dinah in her satin robe, the tightly belted sash
drawing the material over her breasts, outlining them, had shaken
him.

He rubbed his hands over his face. He was
almost sixty years old and had set his trail in life; but how he
ached for Dinah, wanted to touch her, to feel her close and soft
and sweet against him. He leaned his arms over the corral boards,
thinking about how sweet she’d been, how she made his mind stop,
just looking at her. Then the babies had come along, Aaron and
Carley, and everything had been perfect.