Without Words (27 page)

She really wanted more kisses like the Kiss. She touched the tip of her tongue to the bow of her upper lip, remembering.

Instead of worrying about the coming winter, spring, or next year, she should have grabbed hold of what she could have right then.

Her fingers plucked at the edges of the sheet. She ought to get up again, give her hair those hundred strokes, or at least the ninety or so she owed. She ought to put out the lamp. Ought to but couldn’t bring herself to.

She heaved a great sigh, flattened out on her back, the light gone from her as surely as from the sky, her mind and body heavy with disappointment.

Footsteps sounded in the hall again. She turned her head toward the door, waited for them to go on by. They didn’t. She closed her eyes, held her breath. The key scraped in the lock. The door opened, closed.

“I didn’t mean to be so long,” Bret said softly. “I hope you didn’t fall asleep and forget about me.”

She started at the sound of a thump, sucked in a deep breath, and opened her eyes. He had dropped the leather case he used for his spare clothes on the floor near the door and was already halfway to the bed, beside it, looking down at her. “Since your eyes are open, I’ll take that as no, you didn’t fall asleep.”

He put his hat on the table next to the lamp, soft light gleaming along his jaw as he did it. The only barber shop in town had been closed when they rode in, and except when they stayed with Belle and Gabe Chapman, Bret had never shaved himself that she knew of—until tonight. His hair looked damp at the temples.

The scent of bay rum reached her, faint, spicy. The thought he’d done that for her brought a smile. He smiled back, his eyes warm, features softer somehow. Her already quick breath quickened more.

The pile of her clothing plopped to the floor beside the chair. He sat to pull off his boots and stockings, exposing feet that looked long and white in the subdued light. Hassie rubbed one of her own feet with the other, imagined doing the same to his.

He rose and pulled his shirt off, undid his belt, and let his trousers slide down over narrow hips. She licked her lips. He wasn’t going to blow out the lamp. Her racing heart pounded harder, her body reacted more and more strongly as his underclothing came off exposing corded arms, broad chest, flat belly. And already rampant male organ.

She swallowed hard, suddenly so hot she wanted to throw the covers off. Before she could move, Bret solved that problem, pulling the covers aside and leaning over her. “Tell me I can leave the light on. I want to see you.”

Hassie nodded, bracing herself for what was coming. It would be better because she loved him, because she was attracted not repulsed, because he smelled of soap and bay rum and not liquor and stale sweat. Even so, with the way her breasts felt right now, squeezing and kneading would be more painful than ever. Wet as she was, any groping between her legs would be more embarrassing.

Younger, stronger, and more vigorous than Cyrus, surely he would invade her and finish quickly. Maybe he would kiss her at least once before he fell asleep.

The mattress moved under his weight. His lips feathered across hers. Her breath caught. A small moan escaped, and she tried to stifle it.

“Don’t,” he whispered against her lips, “Don’t keep anything inside. If you feel like talking that Greek at me, do it.”

She laughed, felt him inhale her laughter.

“You have the most beautiful laugh. It runs up and down my spine, shivers over my skin, and makes me want to grab hold of you like a mad man. You have no idea....” His mouth closed over hers again, his tongue tracing her upper lip, lower, along the seam.

He didn’t dislike her laugh? Didn’t...? His tongue stroked, caressed, teased, and she lost track of the thought, as the world blurred and spun. She floated on the sensations, grew dizzy on them, moaned a small protest when his tongue withdrew, floated again as his mouth moved across her jaw, behind her ear. Soft, warm kisses, gentle, tugging nips. He moved down her neck, didn’t react to the scar as he kissed his way past it.

“Let’s get this dress off you.”

She didn’t care what he called her nightgown, was more than willing. Unbuttoned, wriggled. Skin against skin all over. Their legs tangled, his longer, more muscled, rougher. His organ pressed against her thigh, hard, hot.

Warm, callused hands cupped her breasts, and any thought of not wanting him to knead or touch fled. She wanted anything he would do, could do. His thumb rubbed a nipple, flicked across it, and she wanted that, wanted more of it.

He kissed her again, long, slow. Electricity sizzled under her skin, deep into her belly, down to her core. Through the haze of sensation and emotion, her only clear thoughts were,
Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.

His mouth moved down her neck again, his breath hot and moist on her skin. Across her collarbones, to her breast, to a nipple.

She lost control of quiet. “Bret!”

He laughed, a deep rumble in his throat. “I understood that. You said ‘more’.”

He knew. Without words, he knew. Her fingers tangled in his hair. She gave a tug, trying to move him into position between her legs. She wanted that too, wanted him deep inside. He ignored her, held a nipple with his teeth, teased with his tongue.

Tugging harder on his hair only moved him to the other breast, down the hollow between her ribs, across her belly. One hand curved between her legs. His long fingers explored. Her hands ran down to his back, and she tried again to pull him into place. Into where she wanted him.

“Not yet,” he whispered.

His fingers invaded, stroked. Lightening flashed, not outside but in her head, behind her eyes, the shuddering explosion in her body so intense she cried out as red and white sparks scattered through the soft yellow glow of the lamp.

When it was over, she lay quiet, concentrated on breathing, unsure if what had just happened was real. Bret touched his lips to hers lightly.

“Good?”

She nodded, searching for some word that would describe something so far beyond good and not finding it. “Good.”

“I understood that too. You said ‘more’.” This time her laugh sounded shaky in her own ears. More was impossible. Recovering from something so overwhelming would take days. It would take...

He kissed her again, those maddeningly arousing kisses. Her body stirred. He explored her skin, muscle, and bone with his hands and his mouth. He kissed places she was sure no one should want to touch, much less kiss.

The fever rose again, and soft sounds of desire escaped with each breath. She pulled at his shoulders again to bring him over her, and this time he gave what she wanted, settled between her thighs, slid into her hot, wet core, stretching her past what she had known. Her muscles spasmed, and he groaned.

She did it again, deliberately this time.

“Hassie.” Her plain name sounded like it belonged to someone else, someone beautiful and desirable and loved.

She locked her legs around his. Her fingers dug into his back. The rhythm of his thrusts resonated through her, drew an involuntary response from her hips and inner muscles. Pleasure radiated into every fiber of her being, increased until it could no longer be contained and burst through her again, like the first time but different because he was
there
, part of her, and because seconds later she knew from the sound he made and way he thrust one last time hard and deep that he shared what she felt.

When he moved again, she resisted, even though his weight was beginning to crush her.

“Like this,” he said, rolling to his back and pulling her half on top of him.

They were both sweaty and more in some places, and she didn’t care. She kissed his jaw and snuggled in against him.

His fingers fumbled at the nape of her neck with the clasp to the chain of Mama’s gold locket. He let the ring slide free and redid the clasp. “Are you sure you don’t want a new ring of your own?”

She shook her head and held out her hand. “This one.”

He slid the ring in place. She curled her hand tight around it and nestled back down.

“You climbed on top of me like this the time I got in bed with you when you were asleep, you know.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“I understood that too. Yes, you did. I had all my clothes on, and you were mostly under covers but even so I envied Cyrus Petty.”

Hassie yawned. Neither signing or writing would work without moving, and moving was beyond her. Tomorrow she would tell him he had wasted his envy. Tonight was perfect just like this.

H
ASSIE HAD KNOWN
marriage to Bret would be different, but nothing prepared her for how different. He called their coupling making love, which seemed strange in a way when it could be done without love, but at least in their case love ran in one direction and some kind of affection in the other. She liked the term. She loved loving him.

In the town where she had said yes, Bret finally picked up a new trail. A man convicted of selling whiskey and guns to the Utes had escaped on the trip to prison and killed a guard doing it. The State of Colorado wanted the escapee back enough to pay a thousand dollars for him. Bret tracked the convict north through Colorado and into Wyoming.

Hassie’s newfound marital delight faded in direct proportion to how far north they went. She didn’t want to meet Indians, and the chances of that grew higher with every mile they traveled toward the last hunting grounds of the Sioux and Cheyenne. Bret didn’t laugh at her fears either. He made her practice leaving Brownie and getting behind him on Jasper without ever touching the ground.

He also let her stay behind him on Jasper for the rest of the afternoon after she learned to make the switch. Plastered against his back, arms around him, she almost forgave him for forcing her do such a scary thing.

Bret caught the convict in Cheyenne, sitting in a restaurant feeding his face as if he hadn’t a care in the world. Some men seemed to think leaving a state and entering a mere territory gave them as much protection as crossing into Mexico or Canada. In a way it did; Colorado lawmen wouldn’t pursue a lawbreaker into Wyoming Territory. Men like Bret would.

After stashing the prisoner with the town marshal, Hassie basked in the now familiar luxury of a hot bath and happily ruined some of her pristine cleanliness making love with Bret at their hotel afterward. When her stomach growled, they laughed and walked to a different restaurant for supper.

“That other place is probably feeling less than friendly after I hauled one of their customers away at gunpoint,” Bret said. “Especially when he hadn’t paid yet.”

Hassie had waited outside, but she had no doubt Bret had thrown at least two bits on the table before prodding his prisoner outside. She didn’t care. This restaurant looked much the same, bare wood walls and tables, menu chalked on a board on the wall.

She was considering the menu hungrily when a familiar voice stole her appetite.

“Well, I’ll be goldarned, if it ain’t Hassie Ahearne. Mrs. Petty now, I guess.”

Without the voice, she never would have recognized Eddy Grimes, the oldest of Ned Grimes’ sons. Thin and stooped, long black hair blending into long black beard, he bore no resemblance to the boy and young man she had known. Of course, if she hadn’t changed into a dress, he might never have recognized her either, which made her regret the change.

“She’s Mrs. Sterling now,” Bret said, voice cold.

“Is that right.” Never the most sensitive soul, Eddy ignored the warning in Bret’s voice and pulled up a chair without being invited. “I almost had to marry her myself once. Pa caught us kissing out in the barn and went half-crazy. He probably would have made me marry her if she wasn’t a....”

For the first time Eddy seemed to notice the frosty atmosphere at the table. “Well, you know. He already decided he wanted to sell out and move on to Texas, only no one was buying after the war. So he told old Cyrus Vance he could have our corn crop in the field for whiskey-making if he took her, and darned if Cyrus didn’t marry her.”

“Your father sold her?” Bret managed to sound both incredulous and murderous at the same time.

Finally showing signs of recognizing Bret’s attitude, Eddy shifted nervously. “No, it wasn’t like that. Pa was the one paying, not selling. She didn’t have to go along with it, did she?”

Bret looked at Hassie. “Do you have anything to say to Mr. Grimes?”

Go away. That was what she wanted to say, but she signed, “Why isn’t he in Texas?”

Eddy whistled, causing heads to turn around them. “You understand those signs she does? None of us could ever get the hang of it for trying.”

“Texas?”

“Oh, yeah. Well, Texas didn’t work out so good for us. Pa got killed by Comanches less than a year after we got there. After that we all headed north again. I been prospecting, found a little silver in Colorado but a man’s never going to get rich off silver. I’m on my way to Montana now. Gold up there.” His eyes shone with the fever.

“There are a lot of hostile Sioux between you and Montana.”

Eddy shrugged. “There’s ways.” He pushed back his chair, got to his feet, and grinned at Hassie. “So old Cyrus kicked it, and you did better this time. Good for you. Nice meeting you, Mr. Sterling.”

He waved a hand and left, a man Hassie knew to be no more than Bret’s age who looked twice that.

“It’s hard to believe Comanches killed his father and he’s stupid enough to try going through a few thousand Sioux,” Bret said, his voice neutral.

“I did not kiss him. He trapped me in the barn and kissed me, and I did not want to marry him.”

“I figured that. Did he hurt you?”

“No.” She sighed, picked up the slate.
“Before the war, when they were young, he and his brothers were just pests. They tried to kiss and touch all the time, but it was teasing. When they came back from the war, they had changed. I didn’t want to believe any of them would hurt me, but they scared me. I tried to avoid them, but sometimes I couldn’t.”

“The war changed a lot of us.”

She nodded at the truth of that.