She knew the marriage act was cold duty. And it was nothing like Hennessey’s touch. Nothing like the kiss he’d given her. Nothing like the liquid pleasure pooling within her.
He knelt beside her. His eyes had gone black. She could see his chest rise and fall in quick, sharp breaths. The intensity of him, the desire for her naked on his face. His hand splayed along her throat, drawing her into his kiss. It was more than a kiss.
Soft touching, the way the first snowfall of winter finds the earth. Tentative, following its destiny. Snow could no more fall upward than she could break away from Dillon’s kiss. Soft, tender, and then harder. Hungrier. A storm that came from him and swept through her. Carrying her away, making her forget all that had come before. The pain. The unhappiness. The loneliness of being with another man.
This man healed her. With his kiss, with the sweep of his tongue, with the brand of his mouth to hers, there was no pain. No unhappiness. No loneliness. Just the singular pleasure of being wanted. Cherished.
He broke away, breathless, looking into her eyes as if he could see the frozen ice around her heart. He leaned his forehead to hers, and she swore she could feel him. His feelings. A warm bright glow that she’d never felt anywhere.
She wanted him to hold her. To kiss her again. To shelter her in his strong arms and let her feel that light in him. That soft comforting brightness of his affection.
But he moved away.
“Enjoy your bath, beautiful. I’ll be close by if you need me. Just holler.”
He closed the door behind him, leaving her alone.
Leaving her wanting. Sharp-edged barbs of need that did not ease as she tried to read. She couldn’t. The words were merely letters and she couldn’t concentrate on the story. All she thought of was the horseman. His touch. His tender kiss. The warmth that he’d set to glowing, like ashes breathed back to life, and it hurt.
It hurt.
What was this feeling? And why did this man have so much power over her?
Not a bad power, she conceded. Closing her eyes, she could bring him back. The memory of his callused fingertips at the base of her neck. Of his leather and winter scent. Of the vibrating rumble of his voice as he spoke, and it moved through her. His touch, his kiss, his soft comfort.
She thought of nothing else until the water grew cool. She washed quickly, dressed and hurried to bed. She pretended to be asleep when Hennessey returned to check on her. Water sloshed as he worked quietly so as not to wake her. He carried away the water bucket by bucket and then the tub.
Before he left her alone, he approached the bed. He bent over her and brushed away damp curls from her face. His kiss to her cheek was feather soft.
He whispered into her hair, “Sleep well, angel. I love you. I do.”
She kept perfectly still. Like a bud drawn tight during a freezing night. She waited until the door creaked shut and the knob clicked. Until his retreating step faded into silence before she crawled out of bed.
He loved her? That couldn’t be true. He didn’t know her. And of the men who had known her well enough, they had found her wanting.
Except for one man. He’d been a horseman, too.
Katelyn’s chest tightened, and not from exhaustion or pain. It was her conscience. Her heart. Aching the way a long cold night ached for the dawn.
She pulled back the curtains to watch the street below. There he was, a dark form on the endless prairie, a lone rider growing smaller and smaller until the shadows stole him from her sight.
Chapter Eleven
Dillon had to stop thinking about Katelyn. It sounded pretty damn easy. He figured he could just start concentrating on other things. Things like seeing his brother again. Checking on his land. Seeing if any wild varmints had decided to hole up in his cabin. And what about the stallion? That had to be a priority.
The trouble was, when he thought about the stallion, it took his mind right back to her. How she’d looked asleep, framed by pillows and lace, an angel too fine for the likes of him.
Was there a chance? She’d surrendered to his touch. She’d wanted more of it. It was a start on a long, uncertain road. Liking having him rub her neck was a far cry from loving him, heart and soul.
His mustang stumbled as a section of hard-packed snow gave way, snapping Dillon’s attention back to the task ahead of him. He had to get the cabin cleaned up and ready if he was going to bring Katelyn home.
Would she come? He could make her. She was a woman alone, without family or friends who would help her. She had no place to go. A home with him was better than being destitute and homeless, and in her weakened condition, too.
It was one way to rope her. To put a ring on her finger and make her his. But it wasn’t the right way. It wasn’t the way he wanted to do it.
Should he give her a choice? That would mean he’d risk losing her, and the thought of that ripped a hole in the middle of him.
But not at any cost.
As the miles passed, the clouds overhead broke, giving way to a reluctant glimpse of an ambivalent sun. White curtains of light rained from heaven to earth and, in celebration, the snow winked like fine-cut diamonds.
Like the kind of diamond Katelyn would deserve on her wedding ring.
Would he see his ring on her hand? He tried to imagine it. A slim gold band on her slender fourth finger. His brand marking her as his wife. Wife. Wouldn’t that be something? He’d be able to love her.
The image of her in her bath, smooth lean thighs made to wrap around a man. He’d love her. He’d show her what a man could do for her. He’d make her moan low in her throat, groan in pleasure and then sigh, contented.
Damn, she kept filling his thoughts. It was certain to drive him mad. He’d never been like this over a woman. Never wanted to be like this again. If Katelyn didn’t want him, if she didn’t come to love him, then there would be no other woman.
She’d wanted him, a little. He remembered the way she’d moaned. The way she’d leaned into his touch.
The cabin looked lonely and forgotten with the windows closed tight and the snow drifted over one corner of the small porch. His brother must not have had a chance to come over and check on things. A season’s first snow always meant unforeseen work. Dillon dismounted, led the mustang into the stable and forked some fresh hay into the trough.
A faint whistle carried on the wind. The late-afternoon train.
Along the northern horizon, a bank of clouds was coming in from the northwest. It looked like more snow. Not a blizzard, but an inch or more on its way. This year winter had come hard and early to the plains.
If Katelyn didn’t stay, maybe he’d head south. Escape the long winter. He’d had a couple job offers come in from Arizona.
He sensed the rider before he saw him. Small brown sparrows stopped in the middle of their song, scattering low along the frozen sheen of ice and snow. A gopher dove into his burrow with protest, his snow-clearing task interrupted.
Dillon had the fire hot and the coffee boiling by the time his brother stabled his cayuse and stomped the snow off his boots on the back porch.
“I didn’t expect to see you here.” Dakota hung his hat on the peg by the door. “Did that job finish early?”
“Something like that. Come in. Get warm.” Dillon poured two cups. “Hell, it’s good to see you, brother.”
“I could say the same. You look like hell.”
“Yeah? I guess a woman will do that to a man.”
“What woman?” Dakota held his hands up to the stove. “Don’t tell me you have got yourself a woman? I don’t see any signs of one.”
“She’s at the hotel in town. It’s a long story. When you’ve warmed up, runt, I’ll tell you all about her over a cup of coffee.”
“Who are you calling ‘runt’?” Dakota was every bit as big, but wider. Brawnier.
