Ride the Thunder (23 page)

He scooped her into his arms and carried her to
the bed, pausing to pull back the quilted blanket before laying her on the sheets. He stepped back to strip of his clothes. As before, she watched him with unblushing interest. While Brig undressed, his gaze roamed Jordanna. Her lips were swollen from his plundering kisses. The rise and fall of her pink-tipped breasts pulled his gaze down past her slender waist to the triangular patch of curling hair and over the long length of her shapely legs.

She was in his bed. She was his, and his alone. He was going to have her, this red-haired she-demon that had possessed him, that had interfered with his sanity and affected his potency. No longer would the ghost of this fascinating creature torment him She was here in the flesh to satisfy him. Brig moved toward the bed.

“Aren’t you going to turn off the light?” she whispered.

“No.” The hoarseness of his answer betrayed the hot flames of passion that seared him. “I’m not going to let darkness hide your body from my eyes. I’ve waited too long to see it.”

The mattress dipped under his weight, rolling her against his length and into his arms. The preliminaries of lovemaking were abandoned as the need to possess her body became greater than the desire to enjoy it.

Brig struggled to control the raging fires that flamed through him. They burned hotter and hotter until he could barely withstand them. The blaze was fueled by her writhing and twisting hips grinding against his and the stifled animal sounds of wild pleasure coming from her throat. There was no holding back the explosion of desire when it came. The violence of it left him shaken and ready to enjoy the pleasures he had ignored in the heat of urgency.

When Brig had rolled from her, Jordanna found herself drained weak by the lusting demands he had made on her. She had been pulled into the white-hot center of his fiery embrace. It had sparked a combustion that had shaken her to the core.

Jordanna was still trembling when his arm snaked under her waist to draw her torso onto his chest. His mouth sought her lips, as he revitalized himself with their sweetness. She drew strength from the contact with his solidly muscled physique, lazily sensual and stimulating. Abandoning herself to the heavy oblivion of his kiss, she was filled with a gratifying ecstacy that satisfaction hadn’t burned out his need for her.

His hands made a languid search for her shoulders and back, following the curve of her spine and arousing tingling gooseflesh over her skin. The soft brush of his mustache led the way as his mouth explored her face, gradually making its way to her ear. His warm breath stirred her senses and Jordanna shuddered at the erotic lick of his hard tongue.

A fire was rekindled inside her, a golden warmth spreading through her veins to heat her pulse. His mouth momentarily became entangled in the silken curls of her hair before he pushed it aside to moistly investigate her neck. Perspiration gave a slick finish to his hard flesh beneath her fingers. They clung to the sinewy cords rippling in his arms. Jordanna arched her head back to permit him more access to provocative explorations.

Spanning her waist with his hands, he tightened his grip and lifted her above him. A rivulet of perspiration trickled between her breasts. His mouth formed a dam to stop it before it climbed to the peak of her breast. Jordanna quivered at the teasing flicker of his tongue and curled her fingers into his deep brown hair to force him to end the torment. A moaning sigh slipped from her throat as his mouth encircled the whole peak. When he’d taken his pleasure to the maximum, he repeated the procedure on its twin.

A golden ache consumed her. She tried to ease it by rhythmically moving her hips against his muscled thigh. It gave only partial satisfaction. His hand curved her rounded cheek to press her hips to his hard flesh. Shifting, Brig reversed their positions, forcing her
shoulders to the mattress and sliding between her legs. She whimpered breathlessly in anticipation.

Her hands and body showed him what she wanted while her lips clung to his. Brig murmured love words of praise and demand, exhorting her to please him as much as he was pleasing her. The perspiration of their bodies melted them together, fusing them as one. The rapture of this selfless giving had not been an illusion never to be repeated, Jordanna realized, as she was lifted once more to breathless heights.

It was a drifting, weightless descent into his arms. She snuggled against him, kissing the bullet-scarred shoulder that pillowed her head. His hand gripped the curve of her waist to keep her close. It was the most natural place in the world to sleep, exhausted by his lovemaking and warmed by his flesh. Jordanna wasn’t conscious of the moment when he covered them both with the quilt.

Brig had never felt this fierce possessiveness, this refusal to relinquish the woman in his arms. Its newness was unsettling. He wasn’t sure he liked this subtle domination. He had guessed one night wouldn’t satisfy him, but he hadn’t realized how powerful the desire to keep Jordanna within his reach would be. No woman had ever aroused more than surface emotions, but this one had moved him deeply. He felt raw and exposed. She had made him vulnerable. That made her dangerous, because he wasn’t certain he could trust her. Why, he didn’t know.

Jordanna stirred and tried to shift from her side into a more comfortable position, but an iron band around her waist held her fast. A furnace-like heat bathed her shoulders, back, hips, and the crook of her legs. Fumbling, she reached to free her waist of the confining band. Her fingers encountered the hair-roughened skin of a man’s arm.

Her eyes opened, startled for a minute before the memory came rushing back. Brig was lying on his side, his enveloping length molded to her position. She
had never slept with a man before. It was a new and rather pleasant experience to wake up in his arms. Outside the bedroom window, the pale gray of early dawn was lighting the sky.

Jordanna turned toward the warmth, stretching to see the dark head on the pillow beside hers. “Brig. Wake up,” she said softly and reluctantly. “It’s morning.”

“Mmmm.” His sun-bronzed features were expressionless in sleep. His rumpled hair invited fingers to smooth it and Jordanna did, feeling the scrape of his night’s beard growth on her palm.

“Come on,” she coaxed again. “You’d better get up before the others do.”

His hand slid from her stomach to enclose her breast in its hold. Dark lashes lifted slowly to reveal eyes that were amazingly alert for a man just waking. They skimmed her face thoroughly. He bent his head to nibble at her ivory shoulder.

“There’s no rush.”

“It’s nearly dawn.” Jordanna hunched a shoulder to protect her neck and keep his sensual nibblings from going any farther.

“So?” He finished turning her so that she was flat on her back.

Her hands came up to strain against his chest when he started to lean over her. “You have to get up, Brig, before someone finds you in here.”

That familiar hardness stole into his eyes. “What if they do?”

He tried to kiss her, but Jordanna eluded his descending mouth. “Not now,” she protested.

“Not now?” His gaze narrowed. He had intended to do no more than indulge in a good morning kiss. Granted, it would have been a long and lingering one. Her attempt to dictate to him when they would make love angered him. She had driven him out of his mind already. He was not about to let her drive him out of his bed.

“If not now, when would you suggest?” Brig challenged
coldly. “Perhaps you could check your calendar of events and let me know when next you’ll be free.”

“Brig, please.” A wary anger flashed in her eyes.

“Please what? Be a good little boy and run along,” he taunted with soft savagery.

“I didn’t say that.” She sounded indignant and hurt, and more than a little angry.

“But you don’t want me to make love to you now.”

“No, I don’t.”

When she tried to slip from the bed, Brig pinned her to the mattress. “We’ll see about that.” His mouth curved into a mocking smile.

At first she resisted him, but his weight easily kept her crushed beneath him. He let her expend her strength in useless struggles to avoid his mouth while he explored those areas her twistings exposed. He continued to tease her with his kisses and caresses even after she began to respond. She arched against him, seeking the thrust of his hips, but he held back. She writhed beneath him, animal sounds of frustrated desire coming from her throat. But Brig wouldn’t ease her aching, even though his was just as great.

“I thought you didn’t want to make love,” he taunted.

“Damn you,” Jordanna gasped in angry unfulfillment.

She attacked him, nipping and clawing and biting, demanding the satisfaction his caresses had promised. This wild aggression provoked Brig as tears and pleadings never could have. Their coupling—born in violent frenzy—continued in fiery passion, and ended in a mutual fury of satiated desire.

When it was over, Brig lay in the bed for long minutes to catch his breath and wait for his heart to stop hammering against his ribs. He didn’t want to move, but a golden hue lit the gray dawn. Swinging his feet to the floor, Brig rose and began to dress. He was aware of Jordanna watching him. He wondered when he’d be able to be with her again. Damn that green-eyed vixen, he thought. His loins weren’t cooled
from this last time and he was already worrying about when the next would be.

Brig jammed his shirt inside his pants. Without glancing to the bed where she lay, he walked to the door and jerked it open.

“Brig.”

Ready to close the door, he stopped and glanced over his shoulder, but he made no move to return to the bed. When she realized this, she slid out of bed, dragging along the patchwork quilt to cover the front of her. She hurried to the door and stopped to search his face.

“Don’t be angry,” she asked.

It was a simple request, spoken neither as an apology or a demand. His gaze focused on her mouth. Was she aware of the irresistible power she held over him? What did it matter? His hand cupped the back of her neck to pull her head forward and meet the hard pressure of his kiss.

There were footsteps on the stairs behind him. He abruptly broke off the kiss, recognizing that tread before he turned. As he met Fletcher Smith’s narrowed look, Brig cursed himself for not exercising more caution—for Jordanna’s sake if not his own. But he was equally relieved that his desire for her was out in the open. Directly behind Fletcher on the stairs stood his son. Brig noted his presence, but kept his attention directed on Jordanna’s father.

“Was there something you wanted to say to me, Fletcher?” he asked in quiet challenge.

There was an instant of grim hesitation as the older man’s gaze sliced to his daughter. When it returned to Brig, it was veiled. “No.”

With the risk of confrontation gone, Brig glanced at Jordanna. She looked composed, if a trifle self-conscious. Brig could find no reason to linger. Inclining his head in a faint nod to Jordanna, he walked to the kitchen.

Jocko was pouring a cup of coffee when he entered. He handed it to Brig. Tandy and Frank were already
seated at the table. From their knowing looks, Brig knew it was no secret where he had slept last night.

“I think you still enjoy danger, Brig,” Jocko commented.

A muscle tightened in his jaw. “You do.” It was a non-committal response.

“I think, too, that this Mr. Fletcher Smith is a powerful man,” he continued. “I would not like to have him dislike me.”

“I doubt that you would ever do anything to earn his dislike, Jocko,” Brig retorted.

“But how about you, senor?”

“That becomes my problem, doesn’t it, Jocko?” he challenged.

“Si, and I worry for you.”

“Brig can take care of himself,” Tandy inserted.

“You’d better get breakfast started, Jocko. As for you two,” Brig glanced at the cowboys seated at the table, “finish your coffee and get the horses saddled and the packstring ready to be loaded.”

He didn’t need a discussion over the wisdom of becoming involved with Fletcher Smith’s daughter. The deed was already done. Brig doubted he would change it if he could. Damn, but he was tired. He caught Jocko’s grinning look. The wily Spaniard had seen his weary expression and knew the cause. The momentary flash of anger gave way to a wry smile.

“She was worth it, no?”

“I think so, yes,” Brig acknowledged.

After Brig had disappeared into the kitchen, her father descended the steps. Jordanna remained in the bedroom doorway, the quilt clutched a little more tightly in front of her. She didn’t know what he was thinking about her, whether he was comparing her to his wife. Jordanna hadn’t been able to tell him about the stranger at the party—Brig. However close their relationship was, it didn’t include intimate confidences or discussion of personal, sexual satisfaction. The parent-child barrier always got in the way.

Christopher followed him down the stairs. When he stopped in front of Jordanna, her brother touched his arm. “Come on, Dad. It isn’t any of our business.”

Her father shrugged away his hand. His brown eyes were disconcertingly direct as they met Jordanna’s unflinching gaze. “Do you know what you are doing?” he asked simply.

“I am a grown woman,” she reminded him.

“McCord . . .” He started the sentence, then changed his mind. “Don’t care about him too much, Jordanna,” her father advised instead. “I don’t think it would be wise.”

“I’m not sure that wisdom has anything to do with emotion,” she replied.

“I don’t want you to be hurt.” There was a look of pain and indecision in his face. “But there are some things I can’t change.”

“I know.” Jordanna felt strangely very calm and secure. “Don’t worry about me, Dad.”

He hesitated and rubbed his forehead. “You’d better get some clothes on and get your things ready.” He turned away from her door. “I’ll see you at the breakfast table.”