Carolyn Davidson (10 page)

“Hmm.” It was an answer of sorts, but apparently it satisfied him, for he turned in the bed to face her.

“I’ve been thinking.”

Her smile was teasing and its tone was repeated in her voice. “No! Surely not!”

He grunted, as if her words had scored. “You’re pretty flip for a little girl all alone with a man on the side of a mountain,” he whispered, his words rasping just inches from her ear.

She reveled in the mood he’d set. “Someone showed me how to use a gun, sir. I can defend myself.”

“You missed the can five times in a row,” he reminded her.

“Ah, but at close range, I’d be a real danger.”

“Well,” he drawled, “right now the gun’s hanging on the wall.”

“Then I’ll just have to depend on my wits, won’t I?”

He was silent for a moment. “No, actually you’re
counting on my promise to stay where I belong.” He shifted again beside her and his hand reached for hers, skirnming the quilt until he touched her shoulder, then tracing the length of her arm to clasp her fingers.

She stilled at his touch, her hand warming beneath his, pressed against the quilt. What if she’d been covered to her neck? Would he have searched beneath the covers for her?

“I think you’re an honorable man, Quinn,” she managed to say after a moment. “I’ve found no reason yet to doubt your word.”

“I may not always be so agreeable, Miss Erin.” His voice had become gruff, as if he fought a battle with his male needs.

She turned her hand within his and placed her fingers against the longer, more callused ones that held her. “I can only put myself at your mercy, sir.”

“You’re there already, honey.” The gruff voice had become rasping as he lifted their joined fingers to his mouth and rested his lips against her knuckles for a moment. Then as if he rued his action, he cleared his throat and moved her hand to his chest. “I think we need to talk about something else.”

“All right,” she whispered, already missing the heat of his mouth on her skin. “What did you want to talk about?”

“You did well with the gun, Erin. Not being afraid to pull the trigger is the main thing. Knowing that you can do it is enough to give you the strength if the need should arise.”

“I don’t know if I could ever aim to kill another human being,” she said after a moment.

“If someone threatened the baby?”

Her nostrils flared at the thought, her fingers tensing,
tightening about his. “Yes. Yes, then I could do it.” It was a considered decision, one she was certain of. Should her baby be in peril, she would do whatever was necessary to protect him.

“You know that we’ve never named him, don’t you?”

If he’d changed the subject to calm her, he’d done an admirable job, she decided, relaxing her grip on his fingers. The issue had been foremost in her mind for weeks. And yet to her, the tiny boy was “the baby,” needing no other designation.

“Maybe we should,” she ventured.

“He’s not going to die, Erin. Naming him won’t put a curse on him.”

“I know that!” Her answer was quick, as if she must deny such a possibility.

Quinn was silent for a moment, and then he squeezed her hand. “Naming him should be sort of a ceremony, don’t you think?”

“You mean like.”

“No.” His answer was swift, knowing what she was about to say. “Not like naming John, Erin. We baptized him because it seemed the right thing to do. This little fella will be taken into church for that occasion. And that’s one thing I’ve been thinking about.”

“It’s a long way to town just to take the baby to church,” she said doubtfully.

“Maybe it would be a good idea to move to town during the bad weather. I’ll warrant we could find a place to rent.”

“Are you making plans, Quinn?” Her voice was strained, her body tense beside him, and he renewed his grip on her hand.

“No, just thinking about it. In the meantime, we ought
to consider calling him something besides the baby, don’t you think? And since we’ve waited this long, it deserves some thought. This is going to be just for us, Erin, his family. A happy time, kind of a celebration, not like when you named John. We just need to come up with something suitable.”

Her heart lurched as he spoke the name she’d given to the tiny mite she’d borne. “I always thought I’d name my first son after my father. But there can only be one child to bear that name.”

“Surely your father had a middle name,” Quinn suggested.

She thought for a moment. “That might work. I like the sound of Robert. What do you think?”

“Robert.” He rolled it on his tongue, giving it an inflection, rolling the first letter deliberately. Then he laughed softly. “My mother would have spoken it that way.”

“We don’t know the baby’s last name, do we?”

“It will be Yarborough, honey. As soon as we get a chance to make it legal, we’ll file with the court for adoption. In the meantime, I doubt anyone will be banging on the door to take him away from us.”

“I’ll cook a special meal tomorrow and we can do it after supper. There are a few potatoes left and a good piece of venison. I’ll make you some rice pudding.” Her voice was eager as she planned her celebration, her fingers squeezing his as their hands rested against the breadth of his chest.

He leaned forward the few inches it took to touch her brow with his own. “You’re sure easy enough to please, Miss Erin. Give you a pea-pickin’ reason and you’re all set for a party.”

“It’s a baby-naming party, not some pea-pickin’ reason,”
she retorted smartly, tilting her head back from his. He followed her movement, his mouth brushing hers as he leaned against her.

It hadn’t been a good idea, tasting the fresh sweetness of her lips, he thought, with the warmth of her breasts only an inch from his hand. He caught his breath, inadvertently inhaling the scent of her body. The milky flavor he’d tasted on the baby’s skin had an aroma of its own, and he found it here, rising from her breasts. It blended with the woman scent of her, bringing him to sudden arousal, a state he’d struggled to keep under control.

Quinn inhaled again, deeply, yearning to touch the source of that mingled aroma she bore, his fingers tightening on hers as if he would beg her to hold him from his goal. His mouth brushed against her face, recognizing the line of her cheek, the straight, small blade of her nose and then rising to the smooth sweep of her forehead.

Erin stirred, moving her head slowly, and his mouth pressed kisses on her brow. A whimper escaped her lips, and then she whispered his name.

“Quinn?” She murmured again, and her voice quavered, her fingers trembling as they drew from his clasp.

His hand left hers, moving across her shoulder and down, his fingers spreading wide across her back. Only the flannel of her gown kept him from the warmth of her body. She shivered beneath his palm and he drew her closer, lowering his head so that his mouth touched the delicate pulse that beat at her temple.

His nose was buried in her hair, that silken length of magic that made his fingers itch to tangle themselves in its depths. She’d drawn it back and braided it before bedtime, and his eyes had followed each movement of
her agile fingers. Such beauty should not be confined, he’d thought, and now that notion filled his mind once more.

His hand moved to the nape of her neck to find the heavy plait, tracing it to its end, where a piece of yarn secured it. At a twitch of his fingers, the yarn was gone. With little urging, the braid was released, his hand working its way through the strands, unraveling the three sections.

“What are you doing?” Her whisper was uncertain as she turned her head, straining to peer over her shoulder.

“I want to touch your hair.” It wasn’t all he wanted to hold within his grasp, but it would do for a start.

“Why?” She sounded truly puzzled as she turned toward him again. In the darkness her face was a pale oval, barely visible, but Quinn Yarborough had never found visibility to be a barrier before.

He lowered his mouth to hers, covering her lips in a gentle taking. She was pliant beneath his touch, inhaling swiftly as if he had caught her unaware. And indeed he probably had. But after weeks in this bed, coaxing her and taming her skittish responses to his will, he found he could no longer ignore the needs of his body.

That a kiss was all he might be given was a possibility. That his errant hands might be forbidden the possession of her soft curves was, probably a given. But at this point, he’d take what he could get-and like it.

The reward for his patience was within reach, and the sweet taste of Erin’s mouth was worth every minute of misery he’d endured, holding his desire in check as he spent his nights at her side.

His lips softened as he enclosed the supple flesh of her mouth, holding her captive for only a moment before
he released her. Then he touched her mouth with his tongue. She inhaled audibly, jerking away in an automatic response.

“Shh…I only want to taste you, sweetheart.”

She stilled, then whispered one word, her mouth brushing against his as she spoke. “Why?”

Her breath was flavored with the syrup she’d eaten on her bread at supper, and he had a terrible urge to find its flavor within her mouth. “Open your mouth for me, Erin.”

She shook her head, a small but definite movement.

“Haven’t you ever…” He hesitated. Surely Damian had done more than press surface kisses upon his wife.

“Yes.”

She sounded frightened. In that one softly whispered word he heard a warning, a sadness he could not understand.

“You didn’t like it?” He pressed her for an answer, waiting as she lay motionless beside him.

“No. It was disgusting. I felt like I’d suffocate before he let me loose. It made me gag, and then—” She shuddered, an involuntary movement, and Quinn closed his eyes in remorse.

“I’m sorry, honey. Sometimes men get carried away, I suspect”

Erin’s eyes closed as she recalled the big bed in New York City, the man who’d held her beneath him and pushed his tongue against the back of her throat, her mouth wide beneath the pressure of his. It was beyond bearing, the humiliation and pain of being used with such cruelty.

“I’d never hurt you, Erin.” He waited for her response, but it was long in coming. “Don’t you trust me?”

“I’ve lived with a man before, Quinn. I know what men do when they get carried away, and I vowed I’d never let a man do that to me again.”

“You trusted me enough to let me in your bed, honey,” he reminded her.

“I didn’t have much choice, as I recall.”

His silence acknowledged her words.

“I’m sorry, Quinn. That’s not true. I allowed it, and I could have been the one to sleep on the floor.”

Not likely,
he thought. Some way, he’d have kept her within reach. “You slept in Damian’s bed.”

“Again, I had no choice.”

“What did he do to you, honey? Did he hurt you?” For the first time, he was touching the surface of her memories, and he held his breath as he waited.

“He hurt me. Oh, yes! He hurt me. And called it lovemaking.” The words were whispered, but bitter with remembrance, and he closed his eyes against the barrier she set in place.

“It doesn’t have to hurt. It shouldn’t hurt.”

Her strained laughter called him a liar, even as she smothered the sound against his shoulder. “I’ll never believe that.”

“I won’t try to persuade you tonight.”

Her body shivered, then relaxed as she considered his words. “Isn’t that what you’ve been doing?”

“Maybe. Let’s make a deal here. Just let me kiss you, Erin. Let me show you how a man kisses the woman he cares for.”

She was quiet, and he could only hope that in some way she was tempted to allow him what he asked. She’d enjoyed his touch. He’d known enough women to recognize her acceptance of his hands against her.

“Erin?” He found her chin and tilted her face upward,
lowering his mouth to touch gently against her face. It was damp, and he tasted the salty flavor of her tears. A groan escaped him, a frustrated moan of thwarted desire, and he acknowledged defeat. He would push no further.

“Are you afraid of me?” If she should nod or whisper a response filled with fear, he would leave her beneath the quilts and seek the dubious comfort of the floor before the stove.

Her hesitation had him rising from the bed, and only the quick touch of her hand against his back as he rose halted his progress. “Please…don’t leave, Quinn. Please!”

He sank back on the side of the bed, his feet already cold from the wooden floor. “I don’t want to frighten you, Erin.”

“I like your kisses,” she whispered. “I’m just fearful of what comes after.”

He turned his head, seeking her face in the darkness. Her hand fell away from his back and he missed the small presence, the warmth it had engendered against him. “Nothing will come afterward, Erin. Nothing that causes you fear or pain.”

Her laughter was strained. “I’m trying so hard to trust you, Quinn. I want to.”

He moved cautiously, edging beneath the covers once more and then drawing her into his embrace. She was stiff, unbending in his arms, and her breath came in rasping sobs. Quinn enclosed her in his arms, careful to hold her without undue pressure, allowing her a distance between their bodies.

“If he were still alive, I’d hunt Damian Wentworth down and thrash him within an inch of his life,” he muttered against her hair.

Erin shivered in his arms. “It was as much my fault
as his, Quinn. I’m just not the kind of woman he needed.”

“And what kind was that?”

Her shoulders moved in a shrug. “Someone who enjoyed lovemaking, I suppose. He liked women with…full figures.”

Quinn closed his eyes, his memory finding no fault with the slender form of the woman in his arms. “You’re more than enough woman for me, Erin. You’re shapely in all the right places.”

“I am?” As if she sought reassurance, her words were mournful, and he smothered a chuckle.

“One of these days you’re going to let me show you how much of a woman you are, honey.” At that pronouncement, he shifted away from her, his arousal becoming more apparent.

She rolled to her back. “If you want to, Quinn…I won’t turn you away. I know you have needs and you have the right to.”