Wyoming Bride (14 page)

Hannah’s stomach lurched when she saw the moon gleam off naked male flesh. She’d thought Flint would at least wear his long johns to bed. She told herself that stripping down to bare skin was understandable. The changeable Wyoming weather had turned sunny and warm late in the day, taking the chill out of the air. With the fire, the room felt almost toasty warm. She held her breath, waiting, but the bottoms stayed on.

Flint said nothing, so she remained silent.

Hannah felt the bed sink down and resisted rolling into the hollow in the center created by Flint’s greater weight on the other side. She heard him grunt and shift as he rearranged the pillow under his head and watched him settle flat on his back.

Then all was silent.

Not quite silent. Hannah heard the whistle of the wind through a narrow slit in the wooden wall near the window.

“I’ll caulk that hole tomorrow,” Flint said into the darkness. “Crack’s been there since spring. Didn’t mind the whistle through the summer, but come winter it’ll be cold as a witch’s—” He stopped himself and finished, “Consider it fixed.”

Hannah swallowed over the painful lump in her throat, determined to speak despite the awkwardness of the situation, since they were both awake. “I’d like to see your ranch. Could I ride out with you tomorrow?”

“It’s not safe,” he said flatly.

“I’m not afraid.”

Flint turned his head in her direction, so she saw the gleam of two eyes in a shadowy face. “How well can you ride?” he asked. “Maybe I should be asking, ‘Can you ride?’ ”

Hannah had a sudden image of herself and her twin dressed identically, riding in the park on identical hacks.
I have a twin! Hannah and Henrietta. And Hetty—

“The commandant at the fort warned me that a band of renegade Sioux is on the prowl,” Flint continued.

Hannah sat bolt upright. “Oh, my God.”

“Is that what happened to you?” he said, sitting up beside her. “Were you attacked by Indians?”

Hannah stared at Flint, horrified by the terrible images playing out in her mind’s eye. “Hetty,” she gasped. “Hetty!”

“Is that someone you know?”

“My twin. My sister. Oh, no!” Hannah clasped her hands over her eyes to shut out the vision that arose, but it only became more clear. She jerked her hands away and stared at them, seeing them dripping with blood. “Hetty!” she shrieked. Then she saw the rest. “Josie! Josie, no! Help! Someone help us!”

Strong arms surrounded her and pulled her close.

Hannah struggled desperately to be free. “Let me go!”

“Hey, there. Take it easy. I’ve got you. You’re safe,” a low voice crooned.

“I have to go,” Hannah cried. “I have to find them!”

“Go where? Find who?”

“My sisters! Hetty and Josie. Hetty …” Hannah’s mouth opened wide, spilling forth a ululating wail of grief. “And Josie … She …”

Hannah’s body was shaking so hard it felt like she might shatter into a million pieces. “Oh, God. Noooooooo,” she wailed.

The door suddenly opened.

Hannah recoiled from the lantern-lit gargoyle face in the doorway, shrinking back against Flint’s bare chest.

“What the hell’s going on in here?” Ransom demanded.

“Nightmare,” Flint said. “Get out. She’s fine.”

Ransom took another step into the room. “You sure?”

“I said get out!”

A moment later the door shut, and the darkness closed in again.

“No no no no no no,” Hannah groaned, pressing herself closer to Flint, seeking succor. She couldn’t get close enough. She needed to be closer, needed to escape inside him. She grabbed him around the neck and pulled his head down and pressed her mouth against his.

He pulled free and said, “Hannah, stop.”

“Please,” Hannah begged, burrowing closer. “Please hold me. Tighter.” She shoved hard against Flint, catching him off balance, so he slid onto his back.

“Whoa,” he soothed. “Easy, girl. Take it easy.”

She didn’t want to be soothed with words. She needed escape. She need oblivion. She pressed her body against Flint’s, seeking the warmth and strength of him. Her legs slid onto either side of his hips, pressing their flesh close where his was hard and hers was soft. Her mouth reached for his again, surrendering, where no surrender was sought.

She felt his hands on either side of her head, trying to push her back. She struggled against his hold, bringing her lips back to his. When he tried to speak, she put her tongue inside his mouth to quiet his protest.

He went still.

She could taste the cinnamon from the canned-peach pie he’d eaten for dessert. She could taste the black coffee he’d drunk to wash it down. She could taste … him.

His hands slid to her shoulders.

Hannah fought to stay close, afraid he was going to push her away.

Instead, he slid one arm around her, while the other gripped her buttocks and held her tight along the hard ridge she could feel against her belly. His tongue came searching in her mouth. His large, callused hand thrust up under the wool shirt and stroked her bare back before moving to cup her right breast. His thumb brushed the tip, and she hissed in a breath at the pleasure that coursed through her.

Her body coiled in readiness for … something.

Hannah thrust her hands into Flint’s hair and hung on for dear life, as her body writhed beneath his caresses. She thrust her hips against his, wanting to be closer. And closer still. Wanting to become a part of him until there was no more Hannah, no more Flint, just a single person, Hannah-and-Flint.

“Please,” she begged in a guttural voice.

“Hannah.”

Hannah heard her name, spoken as she’d always dreamed it would be.
Almost
as she’d dreamed it. There was something else beneath the desire. Something she didn’t want to acknowledge. She shut out the doubt she heard with a grating cry of need.

The hesitation she’d felt in Flint’s body disappeared as she slid her hand down to touch the iron-hard petal-soft part of him between his legs. She couldn’t allow him to abandon her. She couldn’t allow him to stop. She didn’t want to think. She wanted to feel. She wanted to forget.

“Hannah.”

Her name spoken as she’d never imagined it. Harsh. Urgent. Reckless.

Flint covered her mouth with his, his tongue intruding, seeking, demanding. His hands touching, caressing, commanding. His body throbbing and insistent.

Hannah grabbed at the escape Flint offered, as anxious as he was to rid herself of the wool shirt that kept their bare flesh apart. Buttons popped and pinged across the wooden floor. The shirt ripped and slid off her arms, leaving her bare. She gasped as Flint’s rough palms claimed her breasts.

“Ahhh.” Hannah had never felt anything so exquisite. She shoved at his long johns, wanting them off, wanting him inside her. Wanting to disappear inside him.

“Please. Please.” She was all need. Urgent need. Unrelenting need.

His breathing was harsh and uneven as he raced to do her bidding. The rough hair on his chest brushed against her breasts, teasing her with each rise and fall of breath. He kicked once and the cloth that imprisoned his legs was gone.

He grabbed her hips and turned her onto her back, coming over her, spreading her legs roughly with his knees and impaling her in a single stroke.

Hannah gasped and surged upward to meet him.
At last. At last
. He started to withdraw, and she grasped him around the hips with her crossed legs and held on tight.

“Easy, girl,” he said again. But his voice grated like a rusty hinge.

Hannah relaxed enough to let him withdraw and thrust again.

“Oh. Yes,” she said.

Hannah saw fierce eyes glittering above her in a savage face. But she felt no fear. She rose to greet Flint’s body with the thrust of her own, holding on to his broad shoulders, as she pursued pleasure—and forgetfulness—in frenzied abandon.

She bit Flint’s shoulder to avoid crying out as her body began to spasm and convulse. He muffled his own cry against her throat as he found his own violent release, spilling his seed within her.

Then he was gone, forsaking her, lying flat on his back on the other side of the bed. Their labored breathing was loud in the silence, punctuated at odd times by the whistle from the window.

Hannah felt bereft.

She’d sought escape from the guilt she felt for abandoning her sisters and had found it in a few moments of intense, unbelievable pleasure. But her moment of madness had changed nothing. Hetty and Josie were still gone.

Her sisters had depended on her, but she hadn’t redeemed her promise to return and rescue them. Their lives might be in the balance, and here she was wondering if—or when or how soon—Flint would want to repeat what they’d just done.

Hannah turned her face away, gurgling as she swallowed back the sob that threatened.

“Damn it all to hell,” Flint muttered.

Hannah felt the tears overflowing her eyes and sliding down her face in warm streaks. The sob finally broke free.

When Flint reached out to her, she snapped, “Don’t touch me!”

“Don’t worry,” he said in a ruthless voice. “What just happened was a mistake I don’t intend to repeat.”

Hannah turned her back on him, put her face in the pillow, and wept.

Emaline was standing at Ransom’s open bedroom door wearing a full-length white cotton nightgown embroidered at the neck and hem with tiny pink roses when he returned from his trip across the long upstairs hallway. He hadn’t wanted to go, but she’d insisted he find out what was causing Hannah to cry out so pitifully and painfully.

“Is she all right?” Emaline asked.

“Nightmare,” Ransom replied curtly as he set the lantern on a chest of drawers and closed the bedroom door.

“Could she have fallen asleep that deeply so soon?” Emaline asked. “Are you sure she’s all right? Flint isn’t—”

Ransom rounded on her and said, “Against my better judgment I did what you asked. What happens between Flint and Hannah is their business. We have problems of our own that need to be solved.”

Emaline held Ransom’s sullen gaze for as long as she could before she dropped her eyes. “I wasn’t trying to avoid your kiss when I sent you to see what was going on,” she said in a small voice. She lifted her chin and looked him in the eye. “I really was worried about Hannah.”

“Then you won’t mind kissing me now,” he said brusquely.

Emaline thought kissing Ransom in his current mood was a bad idea. Before she could say so, he slid a muscular arm around her waist and pulled her close, so their bodies were pressed together from chest to hip bone, the distance between their mouths growing smaller every second.

That was about how far Ransom’s seduction had progressed before they’d heard Hannah’s cries. Except, they’d been lying in bed.

This was infinitely safer, Emaline decided, even though her breathing seemed no less erratic. She told herself she could step away if she felt it necessary to end the embrace. She searched for the kindness she always saw in Ransom’s eyes and found something far more feral and frightening.

Emaline resisted the urge to fight. Resisted the urge to flee. Ransom would never hurt her. He would never force her if she wasn’t willing.

She could feel his breath against her cheek as she whispered, “I love you, Ransom.”

He didn’t reply in kind. He didn’t say anything, simply touched his lips to the very edge of her mouth on the left side. Her mouth was slightly open because she couldn’t seem to get enough air in her lungs. She heard the hitch in her breath as he slowly moved to kiss the opposite side of her mouth. Then his lips were full against her own, and she felt the supple dampness as their mouths met and melded.

Ransom had kissed her in the past, had even kissed her quite thoroughly. But there was something different about this kiss. Something deep. Something deliberate. Something delicious.

Emaline found herself swaying toward him, letting the weight of her body lean into his, feeling her soft breasts press against his unyielding chest.

He’d pulled on his jeans to cross the house, but in his haste, the top few buttons had been left undone. Emaline reached down to nudge aside the lumpy denim, and her hand brushed his naked belly.

He hissed in a breath and speared her mouth with his tongue as his large hand caught her buttocks and relocated the hardness between his legs into the V between hers.

Emaline gasped at the curling ache she felt deep inside. The sensation traveled from her womb up through her body, creating a sting in her nose and a terrible ache in her throat.

She pulled free of the kiss and stared at Ransom. His eyes were heavy-lidded, his face taut. “What did you just do?”

He rubbed himself against her again, sending a frisson of exquisite pleasure skittering up her spine. “Are you asking me to stop?” he said in a rough voice that sounded not at all like the amiable man she knew.

Emaline bit her lip to keep herself from saying,
“Yes, I want you to stop.”
Before Hannah had interrupted them with her unexplained cries, they’d been laughing and teasing one another in bed. She hadn’t been the least bit frightened, because facing Ransom with their heads on separate pillows, the blankets between them, had been a sort of child’s game, like spending the night with a friend.