The Diva Diaries (11 page)

The feel of Sam pressed solidly against her back, her derriere, and the backs of her thighs made her want to scream with her need for him. His breath was hot on the back of her neck, inches away from her skin, sensitized almost to the point of insanity. His touch branded her. Beautiful, callused fingers trailed over her neck and shoulders, moved with aching slowness down the ridge of her spine. His hands finally spread out to loop around the flare of her hips encased in the tight jeans.

A low sound escaped her as he pressed his hard length against her back, where she could feel his arousal with aching clarity.

“In the hay isn't exactly civilized, Jenna,” he
rasped. She twisted against him, the unvoiced cry trapped inside her as he moved his hips slowly. His mouth lowered to sweep the hollow where her neck flowed into her shoulder, his tongue moving in slow, delicious circles over her skin. When his hands left her hips to slide over her belly and capture her breasts, the sound of her pleasure, her passion, came from her throat as a gasping, tearing sound of need.

“But it turns you on,” she said provocatively.

Her breasts ached for his touch and she inhaled sharply as his hands roughly pulled the shirt from the waistband of her jeans, slid up her rib cage and, with a quick, deft motion, unsnapped her bra where it met between her breasts. Her nipples were ready and erect when he finally cupped them in his big, rough, hot hands. His mouth descended to her ear, his voice straining as he sucked her lobe, sending prickles of fire to the tips of her breasts. She arched into him with a moaning cry. “Tell me it turns you on, too,” he demanded, moving beyond control and dragging Jenna with him, with those spoken words.

She cried out again and arched farther into him, the wall of his chest an unmovable, burning hardness against her back. As he took the nipples between his fingers, pinching and tugging on them, Jenna thought it was more than she could take. She struggled and he let her turn so that she was facing him. His eyes blazed with a hard, unyielding fire that reached out and burned her. She gasped at the magnificence of him, his dark, unruly hair. She reached up and ran her fingers through it and he closed his eyes as if in agony.

Without opening them, his mouth descended and captured hers, his lips demanding her to surrender, to submit to him, to give him all that she had to give. But Jenna would surrender later. Right now, she wanted something from him and she was going to get it.

Her hand slid down the taut muscle of his torso to his groin. He moaned hard into her mouth, his hips jerking as her hand curled around his cock.

“Jenna. Oh, God…Jen.” His voice sounded hoarse in the still air of the barn.

She moved her hand up and felt his body bolt in the way he uncontrollably thrust his hips toward her. His knees buckled and he caught himself against one wall, his palms flat for balance. His chest heaved in and out and she stroked his jaw with the lightest of touches. She didn't want to break his pleasure by distracting him. He was putty in her hands and she took full advantage of it. She pressed against him. Looking up into his face, contorted with feeling, only intensified her desire for the smoothness, the heat of him in her mouth.

When her lips encompassed the head of his penis, he whispered a curse, his hips bucking, his legs quaked and he leaned harder into the wall so that his chest muscles stood out in stark relief. Her hum of pleasure against the hot skin her lips caressed brought a tight groan from him. Bowing at the waist, his restless leg rubbed against her arm, the silkiness of his inner thigh encouraging.

She grasped the base of his shaft and swirled her tongue around the head, laving him until he swore
low and vehemently under his breath. Grabbing her by the shoulders, he pulled her up his body. For a split second, he looked into her eyes and she shivered at the dangerous passion there.

He took the ends of her shirt and jerked it up her body, baring her breasts to him, lifting her easily, his biceps bulging from the weight of her. She brought her hands up to clasp his wrists, sliding seductively over the smooth hair on his forearms until she reached the tight, rounded muscles. She tested his taut skin and felt the strength of him pulsate into her fingers until the maleness of him seemed to seep into her blood and burn.

For a moment of heated silence he just stared at her. Then he caught a nipple between his teeth. He licked and sucked until she arched in desperate, aching need, causing little frissons of heat to explode in her stomach. It was a sensation that reached into the core of her, stabbing so intensely she was afraid she was beginning to unravel.

Finally, giving in to her need to touch him, she ran her hands through that endearing head of hair, liking the soft feel of the strands against her fingers. Enjoying it so much she did it again, much more slowly. Her knees went weak. Desire rushed through her body, hot and thick.

“Damn,” he whispered raggedly before his mouth was on hers, urgently pressing her backward, grabbing her around the waist, bowing her over his arm. Soon, his hands were deftly at her jeans and underwear, and she stepped out of them.

At last, she knew what it was like to be really
kissed by him. This was why he kept such a firm control over himself. He had found a well of passion that he hadn't realized existed. It reached out and engulfed him as easily as a tidal wave engulfed an island with an unrelenting force. The same force that crashed over her.

The heat of his mouth seared every other kiss she'd ever had permanently from her memory. As kisses went, this one was off the scale. There was no point in grading, where Sam was concerned.

He deepened the kiss, his sensuous lips flexing over hers in an urgent fierceness that left her breathless. She felt him spread his heavily muscled thighs to give him better balance. He slid his big hands over her buttocks, jerking her hips against him.

The pulsing heat from his groin reached out to her, made her groan into his soft lips.

The groan tightened his body, and even as he cursed himself for his lack of control, something inside cried out with aching clarity—she was so exquisitely right for him, it was criminal. She fit to him like a perfectly fashioned suit, like a glove fit a hand, like a woman was supposed to fit a man.

He had no idea what he wanted from her except to bury himself in her so deeply he would be lost. He didn't know why he was so attracted to her, why only she could ignite these primal urges.

The more he kissed her, the more he wanted. The need careened around inside him until he growled deep in his throat and pushed her down into the pile of hay.

He'd refused to dull the ache with alcohol, resisting
the urge to drink himself into a stupor over a woman. The truth of the matter was he'd been afraid to pick up a bottle, afraid that a penchant for alcohol would consume him. He couldn't hide. He had to deal with his emotions and his needs. Yet, in those agonizing days he'd had some insight into his father's torture, a thread of understanding how seductive it could be to use alcohol to deaden white-hot, all-encompassing desire.

He slid his hips against her slim ones, while he softened the kiss, to woo rather than to conquer.

It was Sam's undoing when her mouth moved over his in such obvious worship, like a woman paying homage to something beyond her comprehension, something so enchanting and captivating that it defied human understanding. He felt the strength of her arousal and moved against her with an abandon that startled him.

When Sam kissed her, he sensed an innocence, as if she hadn't been kissed like this before, had never felt this twisting passion that was eating him up. As if she were untried. It couldn't be possible, as he felt her melt into him and her reaction shattered every other thought apart like glass splintering into tiny crystal shards.

She sighed against his mouth as the wet heat of his tongue came up against her parted lips, which she opened eagerly. She moaned as his tongue explored her mouth possessively, expertly, running it around the silky sweetness, moaning more when her tongue entwined with his, stroking, tasting, begging for more,
much more. Her scent was intoxicating, very feminine, very seductive.

“Now, Sam.” He planted his palms on either side of her, and plunged into her with deep, uncontrollable thrusts. He had no finesse left, no self-control. It was raw, base and wild. She started to come before he bottomed out. He felt her contracting around him, heard her breathy gasps spiraling several octaves higher, and pure satisfaction exploded through him. Holding himself deep even as the need to climax beat at him, he ground against her as he felt her climax go on and on and on. All he knew for certain was the feel of her coming apart beneath him was the biggest turn-on he'd ever felt.

When her orgasm tapered off, he began to pump steadily in smooth, hard strokes. Jenna wrapped her legs around his hips and moved in concert with him, and he sucked in a breath.

He thrust two, three, four times and came in a blinding, clenching, white-hot pulsation after pulsation.

Moments later, shuddering with satisfaction, he eased down on top of her. He held her to him and rolled to his side, filled with a ferocious possessiveness.

It made him uneasy, for possessiveness wasn't an emotion he'd expected to feel. Since Tiffany had left him and he'd sworn that he would never get involved with a woman like her again, he was filled with the need to run. Now he was filled with the need to pull Jenna close and never let her go. But it was never up to him. He'd learned that and accepted it. Tiffany had
eventually stayed away until they didn't have a marriage at all. Here he was again, in that same wagon, knowing he had nothing to offer Jenna that could compete with her rich lifestyle.

He was simply a rancher and an uncomplicated guy. Yet he felt entangled and a surprising sense of completeness.

Even though it was tinged with dread.

T
HE CRASH OF THUNDER
woke her and she jumped against Sam's side. She sat upright, realizing that while they had slept in the sunny meadow after their lunch break, a nasty storm had rolled over them.

A day had passed since the twin calves had been born, and Sam had worked diligently with Tooter so that Sam had the time to show her around his ranch.

Sam sat up next to her, looking at the sky. “I listened to the weather report earlier and it was supposed to be clear all day. But that's what happens near the gulf. Storms can come in suddenly and catch you off guard. Let's put the stuff together. I'll get the horses.”

Sam left her and Jenna quickly collected the leftover meal and returned it to the saddlebag. Fighting against the hard wind, she picked up the blanket. It flapped and wound around her like something alive. A crack of lightning pierced the leaden sky and Jenna heard the frightened whinny of a horse. She wrestled the blanket away from her body in time to see Shadow rear. With horror, she realized that Sam was too close to the horse.

But he didn't hesitate, nor did he run from the animal. Jenna's heart was in her throat as Sam tried to calm the skitterish stallion. A peal of thunder and an
other crack of lightning hit close to the tree the horses were tied to. It was too much for the already frightened animal. He reared again, pulling at the tied reins and they snapped free. The front hooves, dangerously close to Sam's head, flicked out and caught him across the temple. He grabbed his head and reeled back as the stallion shot out of the meadow and into the deepening gloom.

Jenna dropped the blanket and it went swirling away into the storm. When she reached Sam, he was swearing a blue streak.

“That stallion never did like storms.”

“Sam, your head! Are you okay?” She touched the bloody spot but could barely see where the steel-shod hoof had made contact with his head.

“I'm fine. Just clipped me. Get the saddlebags,” he hollered over the rushing wind. Jenna ran back to the leather bags and over to Sam. The Appaloosa danced at the ends of the reins, his eyes rolling. With a quick flick of his wrist, Sam pulled the reins free and, with one lithe movement, mounted the horse. He took the bags from her and settled them on Spot's hindquarters.

He reached down his hand and Jenna looked up at him. The blood slid slowly down his face, his blue eyes stood out like a beacon in the raging storm. Her heart shifted in her chest and slowly beat, once, twice, three times. She reached up and grasped his hand.

“Bend your knees and jump,” he yelled over the storm. Jenna did as he said and, with brute strength, Sam pulled her up behind him. She clutched at the horse, even though there wasn't any way she could
have slid off, cushioned as she was by Sam's body. Raindrops stung her cheeks. The cold wind beat against her. But she had to close her eyes against the surprising warmth in her belly, the tight pleasure in her chest at the feeling of Sam against her.

“We should have taken the damn truck.”

“What fun would that have been? Touring your ranch in a four-wheel-drive. How boring.”

He laughed. “You surprise me every minute, Jenna. We'll have to find shelter. It's too far to get to the ranch.”

“Where?”

“There's a line shack not far from here.” At his words, the world went gray and a deluge hit them with the force of a battering ram. Jenna was immediately soaked through to the skin and could barely catch her breath at the cold rain.

For about a minute, she fought the urge to sink against him, and then she gave up the fight. He held her arm around him with a quiet competence, not too tight, not too loose. Jenna felt safe, the rocking motion of the horse soothing. The world around them was swirling, but Sam protected her like precious cargo.

Jenna lifted her head a little and tried to see through the rain. All she saw was a misty landscape with no distinguishable landmarks, at least not to her. There was just the pelting rain and the heavy, cold wind. Spot moved along at a good pace, his hooves muffled by the wet grass and mud.

Sam pulled her tighter against him, afraid of what would happen if he lost his grip and she fell from the
horse. He blamed himself for his stupidity in letting them get caught like this.

He gave Spot his head, knowing the animal could instinctively find shelter, just as Sam knew he was moving in the right direction. It must be his cowboy instinct or his horse sense.

Just then Spot came to a shuddering halt. Sam pulled his eyes from her and focused his attention ahead of them. “Hey, boy,” he crooned, his voice hesitant, his attention on the storm in front of them, his hand stroking the horse. Was it danger Spot had sensed?

Spot quivered. His head was up, his ears flicking forward. Suddenly, the big horse let out a long, shrill whinny and broke into a trot. If Sam hadn't been holding on, Jenna would have met the ground.

And Sam suddenly knew it wasn't danger. Through the rushing downpour, the horse had gotten a whiff of hay and oats. “Atta boy,” Sam praised the animal, leaning into the gait. That was all the encouragement Spot needed to leap almost to a full-out gallop.

“Are we here?” Jenna yelled.

“We're close,” Sam said, directly into her ear. Then it was all he could do to concentrate on his riding as the line shack started to take shape in the pouring rain.

When they hit the barn, the hail pelted them as Sam quickly dismounted and pulled at the small barn doors. His slick fingers slipped on the metal lock as he pulled keys out of his back pocket. Finally, the lock sprung and he pulled open the doors. He grabbed the reins and led the horse inside. Jenna ducked as
they cleared the doorway. Sam went to her and grabbed her by the waist, he helped her to dismount.

He handed her his key ring. “Go up to the shack and unlock the door. I'll bed Spot down and get the generator going. There are dry clothes in the bedroom closet. Get changed.”

Jenna took the keys and put them into her pocket. She pulled the saddlebags off the horse and threw them over her shoulder.

She brushed past him and went to Spot. She gently rubbed at his forehead, and if the big gelding had been a cat he would have begun to purr. She whispered, “Thanks for getting us here.”

Then she moved toward Sam and stopped in front of him. “Thank you, too.” She tried to smile, but her mouth only turned up at the corners.

“Come here,” he said gruffly.

He opened his arms and she walked to him. He drew her up in a firm embrace, burying her face against the curve of his neck. Sam felt her inhale raggedly as she burrowed deeper into the hollow between his neck and shoulder. With a shaky sigh, she slid her arms around his waist. Pressing a gentle kiss to her temple, he slid his fingers along her wet scalp, dislodging her hat. Cradling her head in his firm grip, the heavy, wet silk of her hair tangled around his fingers. Sam closed his eyes and hugged her hard, a wave of reaction making his chest constrict. Shoot, but she filled up something that was empty and aching inside him.

He felt her take another deep, relaxing breath, and he smoothed one hand up her back, holding her
tightly against him. Easing in a tight breath of his own, he brushed a kiss against her temple, then spoke, his voice husky and rough. “You're welcome.”

A shiver flowed through her and Jenna slipped her arms around his neck, the alteration in her stance bringing her flush against him. Sam drew an unsteady breath and angled her head back, making a low, indistinct sound as he covered her mouth in a kiss that was raw, dictated by the need to soothe and encourage. Jenna went still. Then, with a muffled gasp, she clasped him and gave in to his profound, reassuring kiss. She moved against him, and Sam shuddered and tightened his hold, a rage of delight moving through him like the strong beat of his heart. Making him wish, ah shoot, wishing he could draw her right inside him and keep her there forever.

Pulling his mouth away, he looked down into her eyes. “Now, get yourself into that shack and put some dry clothes on, greenhorn.”

She smiled this time and reached out and caressed his face. Ducking down to grab her hat, she left the barn, running out into the storm.

For a moment he couldn't move. The caress along his jaw wasn't sexual in any way, but it had shaken him like a tremor. Shook him more than a blatant sexual move would ever have. It was an emotional connection and, for some reason, Sam felt as if he'd just been let out of a dark, tight space, as if he could finally take his first breath.

He had received something from her that he hadn't expected. An extraordinary gift and it unsettled him.

 

I
T TOOK
S
AM
twenty minutes to strip the saddle and bridle from the horse, give him water, feed and hay from the supplies kept at all the line shacks on his property. Then he went into the storm to where he kept the generator and started its motor. By then, hail the size of golf balls was hitting the tin roof constantly.

Although he referred to these havens in the wilds of the back forty as shacks, they were more like old-fashioned log cabins made quite comfortable to pass the time in if there happened to be a sudden blizzard, or, in this case, a tropical storm.

He opened the cabin door and was greeted with a blazing fire. A pan of beans was already heating and Jenna was wringing out her hair in the sink in the kitchen. He stood for a moment in the doorway, another one of his stereotypes going down the tubes. It didn't look as if she'd had any problem starting the fire and figuring out what their priorities were. He could see how she shivered, and another realization hit him with the force of a horse's kick right in the gut. She'd forgone her own comfort to set the blaze and get something hot for them to eat. Tiffany would have already been in dry clothes, complaining about the cold, waiting for him to set the fire and cook the food.

The thought made him gruff. “I told you to get out of those clothes.”

Jenna stiffened at his tone. “I assumed it was more important to start a fire and get some food going.” She wanted friction between them and leaped at the chance to spar with him. The embrace, the kiss, the
sheer tenderness of that moment in the barn had rocked her, terrified her, made her crave for distance between them.

She was here to get that damn diary that was now like a weight around her neck. She found it harder and harder to remember the real reason she was visiting Texas. Every time Sam got within a few feet of her, she couldn't seem to remember her own name. He was multifaceted, gorgeous, interesting as hell and she wanted, craved, to know more about him. And that shamed her because she'd promised her gran that she would get that diary. Instead, she'd slept with Sam and enjoyed his company for days. She could assuage her guilt a little since she'd made two tries to get to the desk and Sam had thwarted both attempts.

She turned to the sink and reached for the tap, but Sam was there. “Don't touch that. Stay away from the all water faucets, and sinks. Metal pipes can transmit electricity and there's still plenty of activity out there.”

“I need water for coffee.”

“You need to get out of those clothes.”

Jenna put her hands on her hips. “Okay, I will, but I'll need some hot, strong coffee after I've changed.”

He sighed and she had to fight the urge to touch him. He went to a cupboard and opened it. Inside were numerous full-to-the-gallon plastic containers of water.

“You really believe in being prepared. I found batteries, a radio, candles, a flashlight with batteries, canned goods and firewood, all easy to access.”

“And you had no problem setting the fire.”

“No, I have a fireplace in New York.” She grabbed up one of the water jugs and proceeded to make coffee in his old electric percolator. “I also found a first-aid kit. We should take care of your forehead.”

After opening a drawer and pulling out that first-aid kit and a soft cloth, she placed the kit on the countertop. “Grab one of those jugs.” He hefted a jug and walked back to the counter.

“Clothes first, doctoring second.”

He turned and, before she could protest, grabbed her arm and pulled her into the tiny bedroom. He left her standing in the center of the room as he rummaged through drawers. “Get your clothes off, Jenna.”

Jenna tried. She began to fumble with the buttons on her shirt. Her fingers felt thick and achy, and she couldn't seem to get a purchase on the buttons. Sam turned with his arms full of clothes.

“Here,” he commanded, already out of his coat, his jeans just as wet as hers. For some reason, though, he wasn't shivering. Jenna couldn't understand it. Slinging his cache over his shoulder, Sam reached for her shirt and freed a few buttons. “I'll do it.”

Jenna stiffened abruptly, the thought of Sam doing something so intimate wormed right through her.

“No,” she protested, forcing her fingers to try to latch on to a button. “No, I'll do it.”

But her fingers slid purposelessly across the button.

Sam pushed her hands away and impaled her with his best glare. “Darlin', you are stubborn. Let me do
something for you. I got you in this predicament in the first place.”

Jenna closed her eyes, too shaken by Sam's proximity to face him. He stripped off her shirt and then unsnapped and unzipped her jeans. Jenna could feel the quick brush of those fingers against her breasts. She wished he would touch her in a more sexual way, because this concern for her was almost too much to bear, especially since she was here under false pretenses. She didn't want Sam to care for her. She wanted him to be one of those males that gave her sex and sent her on her merry way. Why did he have to be so sweet?

“I don't know if these pants will fit around your hips.”

That opened her eyes. “Are you calling me fat?”

He grinned a real grin. The kind two people trade who've shared something special or perilous. “Well, shoot no. I was just thinking that most of these things are for guys and, well—” his gaze went down her body “—you ain't, well, a guy.”