Chapter Eleven
Grayson took Diablo's saddle off and brushed him down, then gathered up wood from the pile in the rack under the roof overhang and carried the heavy load inside.
And all the while he refused to let himself remember how Lori's tongue had felt against his skin.
Or the way her lithe curves had fit against his while her toned legs were wrapped around his waist and her strong arms were locked around his neck.
Nor would he let himself remember that she'd looked like a beautiful witch who couldn't have been more pleased by the storm she'd brewed up.
And while he was at it, he would also force himself to forget how beautiful the sound of her laughter had been...and that even in the middle of the rain, that sound had warmed him better than the sun ever had.
It was the first time he'd seen her laugh like that, with her whole body, her entire heart and soul behind the happy sound. When she'd opened up her arms to the storm and tilted up her face to let the rain wash over her, she not only looked like she belonged on his land, she looked so beautiful that he'd felt as if something inside of him had been struck by lightning.
He yanked open the door to the old log cabin, harder than he should have considering the age of the hinges. Early settlers had come here and laid down stakes and dreams in the West. Harsh weather often tore through this part of the coast, but right in this spot, the mountains and trees gave enough shelter from the worst of the rain and the wind. From the porch, there was nothing but open land and ocean as far as the eye could see.
Grayson had never come here with anyone else, had kept it as his own private space all these years, had never even been tempted to bring anyone else here with him.
Lori Sullivan was the last person he wanted in his sacred space. She was too loud. Moved too fast. Needed too much.
Grayson gave endlessly to his animals. To his land. But never again did he intend to give any part of his soul to a woman.
Inside the cabin, he couldn't find her at first, not until he realized she was kneeling in front of the fireplace, lighting matches that were blowing out immediately. There was a pile of wasted matches on the ground in front of her.
Damn it, he asked himself in a silent but furious voice, why the hell did his senses come alive every single time he looked at her?
The anger that came from having to acknowledge he'd never felt quite so alive in all his life than he did when he was with her, had him biting out, "I'll get the fire going."
He knew better by now than to think she'd listen to his orders, and she didn't disappoint. She didn't look up at him from the floor, either, as she muttered, "I know how to start a fire," then lit another match.
He dropped the wood in a pile beside the fireplace and yanked the box of matches from her. "You're going to waste them all."
Only just as he said it, the fire she'd laid in the stone fireplace finally took. He waited for her look of victory, but she didn't give him one, didn't look at him at all as she stood up and moved away from him.
Guilt twisted in his gut at the way he'd ordered her to get inside earlier. But didn't she see that she simply should have held on so that she didn't fall off the horse, rather than moving in his arms like a woman did when she wanted a man, or, worse still, slicking her tongue over his skin? And making him want her with a fierce fury that stunned him.
She was pushing him all the way to the edge...the very last place he'd sworn ever to go again.
Of course, just because he'd hurt her feelings didn't mean she could keep her mouth shut for more than five seconds. Even while they were out working on the fence, she'd been humming show tunes in an off-key voice the entire time.
"I've read so many books about this exact thing happening in England," she muttered, "when the hero and heroine get caught in a storm and have to take shelter in an old cottage. You'd be a duke and I'd be a virgin who's afraid to be alone with you in case you lose control and can't stop yourself from taking my innocence." She made a noise that was somewhere between a snort and irritated laughter as she shook out her wet hair and leaned in closer to the fire. "Of course, you're no duke, and I'm definitely not a virgin. The books made it all seem so romantic, but clearly they forgot to mention that being wet and freezing cold isn't romantic at all."
He refused to acknowledge the clenching of his chest at the way she'd said she was "definitely not a virgin." Picturing other men touching Lori, making love to Lori, shouldn't matter to him, so he forced himself to ignore his senseless possessiveness where she was concerned.
But he couldn't ignore the way she had her arms wrapped around herself and how hard she was shivering. "Take your clothes off."
She turned to him with a bemused expression. "Excuse me?"
Finally realizing how it had sounded, he said, "You're going to get chilled if you keep your wet clothes on."
"Why, Grayson," she drawled, "I didn't know you cared."
Hell, but she grated on him. And turned him on more and more with every one of her sassy responses.
"You're going to be even more useless on the farm if you get sick."
Before she turned away from him, he saw something move through her eyes, another flash of hurt that had him feeling even more like a guilty ass. Especially when she hadn't done a half bad job on the fence this afternoon.
He walked to the window and looked out at the rain pelting his land. Just as he'd never intended to share this cabin with anyone, he hadn't planned on sharing his land, either. But now he could see Lori everywhere he looked, could sense her footprints, her touch, in so many things that had been all his up until now.
For days the two of them had been acting like kids out on the playground, with him pulling her pigtails while she threw rocks at him. Someone had to be the bigger person. He knew it needed to be him.
"You did a go - "
The words died on his lips as he turned and saw Lori standing in only her underwear, her jeans and socks and boots in a wet heap at her bare feet as she pulled her wet T-shirt up over her head. The muscles of her taut abdomen rippled slightly under her creamy skin, and her br**sts threatened to spill out from over the top of her lacy bra.
The first second she'd gotten out of her car after crashing into his fence post, he'd thought she was gorgeous. But Jesus, looking at her in her underwear, he was on the verge of having a heart attack. Especially when the fabric barely covering her was so wet and see-through it was almost sexier than if she'd been wearing nothing at all.
When Lori had pulled her shirt all the way off and dropped it to the floor, she lifted her chin as she stared back at him. "Is this how you wanted me?" She gestured to her bra and panties. "Or maybe you meant that I should take everything off?"
She was a foot smaller than he, but as she stared him down inside the cabin that had only ever been his, he forgot how small she was, forgot that she was deliberately trying to rile him up, forgot everything but how damned much he wanted her.
Grayson didn't want to want her.
Hell, he didn't want to want anyone or anything the way he wanted her.
His lack of control made him angry at her.
But it made him even angrier at himself.
Wanting her like this felt like weakness. A terrible weakness that had been eating away at him one second, one minute, one hour at a time over the past few days since she'd invaded his space, his farm. His life.
Somehow he'd let himself get caught in a vicious circle of wanting, and then denying. Wanting, then denying.
And yet, even as he was telling himself there was right and wrong, black and white; as the echo of her taunt rang out in the log cabin; as the rain poured down outside the windows and the fire leapt to life in the stone fireplace, everything that had ever made sense to Grayson could go straight to hell for all he cared.
He was within reaching distance a moment later, had his hands on her and her nearly na**d body pulled tightly against his in the span of another.
And in the end, all that was left was his primal need to have Lori...the need to make her his.
His mouth came down on hers just as hers lifted to his and that first taste of her was sweet, so much sweeter than anything he'd ever known, that he had to plunge deeper, had to take more from her than a first kiss should have allowed.
Grayson was in the prime of his life, strong from the intensely physical work he did every day on his land. But being this close to Lori, having her wet hair in his hands, her lips, her tongue against his, was making his heart pound so hard that he wondered if he was anywhere near strong enough to live through it.
He couldn't get enough of her mouth, couldn't seem to learn the contours, the flavors, of her fast enough. With his tongue, his lips, he traced hers again and again, loving the way she gasped with pleasure when he teased the corners where her lips met, when he sucked her tongue into his mouth, and especially when he scored her full lower lip with the edges of his teeth. And then, she was doing the same to him, kissing him in a way no woman had ever kissed him before, with such passion and desire and focus that he didn't have a prayer of continuing to lead their wild dance.
No, all he could do was partner her in movements that should have been familiar, but felt fresh and new and oh-so-sweet.
She'd tasted his neck on the horse with the tip of her tongue, but now he was the one bending her back so that she arched into his arms and he could run kisses from her gorgeous mouth down to her chin and over the edge to the underside of her jaw. She shivered in his arms and her ni**les pressed hard through the white silk of her bra against his chest as he ran his tongue all the way down the line of her neck, until it dipped into the hollow of her collarbone.
His name fell from her lips as he let his mouth roam over the swell of her br**sts above the silk and lace.
This was so much more than he'd ever thought to have of her, and it should have been enough. But, damn it, it wasn't. Not even close. Not even when he sucked one taut peak between his lips and laved her nipple through the silk. And when he reached back to undo her bra and finally bared her br**sts to his hands and mouth and gaze, that wasn't enough, either.
Still holding her arched back against him with one hand, with the other he cupped her and brought her to his mouth again and again, first one breast and then the other. Sweet Lord, he couldn't remember ever touching such softness or witnessing such beauty. Lori was so responsive, a woman made for loving.
The shaky grasp he had on his sanity stretched thin, then broke entirely as he reached down for her panties and pulled the last of the silk from her body.
* * *
Being in his arms, being touched by Grayson was nothing like any lovemaking she'd ever experienced before. Yes, Lori knew how to make sure she came while in bed with a man, whether he was focused on her pleasure or not, but with Grayson she knew she wouldn't need to do one damn thing to make sure she was satisfied.
He was still wearing his wet flannel shirt and thick jeans, and the contrast of the rough fabric against her bare skin as she writhed against him only inflamed her more. But then he was putting his hands on her waist and holding her back from his body. She didn't know why, couldn't get her brain to process a single reason he might not want to keep touching her, until she felt the heat of his gaze all across the surface of her skin and suddenly understood.
No one had ever looked at her like this, as though she was a gift he'd never expected to find waiting for him...and he couldn't think of one thing he'd done to deserve it.
Needing to touch him, she tried to move back into his arms, but he held her where she was.
"I'm not done looking yet," he growled.
Even in lovemaking he was bossy, and that realization should have made her pull away, should have reminded her that they were no good together. Instead, it made her want him with a fierceness that stunned her.
For Lori, life had always been a journey of jumping from one high peak to another, with the occasional dip into a shallow valley. At least, until everything had come to a head after Victor had chipped away at her piece by piece over the past year and a half. She'd gotten lost in a hole so dark and deep she hadn't been able to see a way out.
And yet, despite her experience with such extremes, she'd never felt such a powerful craving for anyone, or anything, in her life. Doubts, concerns, worries - none of them had a chance against this craving, against the hunger that was eating her up from moment to moment.
Oh yes, she loved the way Grayson looked at her, but she needed to have his hands, his mouth, on her, too. And thank God, a few moments later, he was moving his hands up from her waist to cup her br**sts with such reverence that the gentle heat of his touch stole what was left of her breath away.
"I can't believe you're here. That you're real. That you're really this beautiful."
His murmured words had her heart beating even faster against his thumbs. Lori knew she was pretty, and wasn't at all ashamed to have used her looks to her advantage for most of her life - not when it was natural that a dancer should emphasize her best features, along with her most fluid lines, for the audience. But with Grayson touching her, she wasn't capable of doing anything at all but looking down at his deeply tanned skin against hers.
He was right - the way the two of them fit together was so beautiful, one large, the other smaller, both full of a desire that was stronger even than the thunder and lightning raging outside the log cabin.
He ran his hands down past her ribs, over her flat belly, his fingers playing over her hipbones, until he was cupping her h*ps in his hands and dragging her back against him to take her mouth again. She sank into his kiss, into the hands cupping her so firmly, so warmly, so sweetly as they massaged her gently from her bottom to the muscles of her back and shoulders, sore from both the ride on the horse and the hard work she'd put in fixing the fence.
One of his hands moved back to brush against her cheek before plunging into her hair, already drying from the heat of the fire behind them. With his other hand, he stroked down the hourglass of her curves, from the swell of her breast to the indentation of her waist, back out to the flare of her hips.
"Grayson."
She'd sworn never to beg him for anything, that she'd earn with hard work every day on his farm and every night in the bedroom he'd given her. And yet, begging him to touch her, to take her all the way over the edge he'd already brought her to, was as natural as breathing. As natural as the path of his hand from her h*ps to her stomach.
She was trembling now with need for him, but when he slowly slid his hand down lower, and then lower still between her thighs, she wasn't the only one who couldn't find steady ground.
"So hot." He groaned the words into her neck, where he'd buried his face. "And so goddamned wet. God, I can't believe how ready you are for me."
He slipped one finger, then two, into her, and she couldn't think, could barely remember to breathe.
All she could do was feel.
The heat of him. The shockingly sweet slide of his fingers in and out of her. The press of his thumb over her clitoris.
The storm came to a head outside with thunder and lightning practically crashing down on the cabin just as the storm inside of her broke. She rocked into his hand and he crushed his mouth to hers again to drink from her cries of pleasure.
* * *
He couldn't stop kissing her, couldn't stop reveling in the slick softness between her legs. God, he wanted to taste her, wanted to drop to his knees and kiss every inch of her beautiful body. And then, after he made her come again against his tongue, he wanted to pull her down to the floor with him, her gorgeous legs wrapped around his h*ps as he took her fast and furiously.
The storm that was raging outside had raged just as powerfully inside him - until the moment he realized he didn't have protection on him, damn it.
Why would he? He didn't need condoms to head out into the field to work with his horses and cows, to fix fence, to rotate his crops.
But even as practicalities stopped him cold, he knew they weren't the real reason why he wasn't going to pull Lori down to the crude wood floor and take her. And it wasn't because he didn't want her, either. Lord, he couldn't ever remember wanting to make love to a woman more, had never needed to know this badly what it would feel like to sink into her.
All these years in California he'd made sure to keep to himself, to feed a community without ever connecting with anyone beyond the food he grew for them. He couldn't allow himself to fall in love again, refused to let anyone touch his heart, his soul, when he knew he needed to keep them both locked up and punished for the way his wife had died.
But even as Grayson reminded himself of all the reasons he couldn't permit himself to feel anything for Lori, he couldn't stop thinking about the moment she had finally stilled in his arms after her cl**ax.
He'd felt every inch of her softness in his arms...and every bit of her vulnerability.
She acted so tough, put on that sassy act at every turn. But he'd seen the flashes of pain in her when she didn't think he was looking, simply because he couldn't look away. It was why he'd let her stay when he thought she'd be next to useless as a farmhand.
Because he'd recognized in her the need to heal that had been in himself three years ago when he'd found the farm.
And yet, even though he'd lived with her for nearly a week, and even though she'd just come apart in his arms and it had been one of the most beautiful things he'd ever experienced in thirty-five years, he still didn't know a damn thing about why she was on the farm.
Or what she was hiding from.
Grayson knew what he needed to do. He needed to push her away; needed to lash out hard enough that she couldn't possibly stay; needed to find a way to live with himself for adding more pain to her eyes, more tears on her pillow. He needed a way to forget that he had begun to respect her for turning out to be much stronger than he'd initially given her credit for, filled with a determination that couldn't help but impress him.
And, most of all, he needed to remember that the last time he'd let himself fall for a woman, he'd ended up losing her.
Grayson couldn't repeat that. Ever.
Lori's fingers were moving to his belt buckle when he removed his hands from her and forced himself to take a step back as he said, "This never should have happened."