Sleepless in Montana (14 page)

She rubbed her bottom and tossed him a
winner’s smile. “Horses are really wide, you know.”

“Someday you’ll get tired of bossing me
around, little girl,” Hogan said, his senses pumping up, because he
knew Jemma would rise to the bait.

Jemma crossed her arms. “I know that we’re
decorating that house with a few of your canvases, to make Carley
and Dinah happy. We could use a statue or two, nothing too big, and
dramatic, like that awful eagle with the claws. Nothing too savage
or scary.”

“Eagles have talons, and I don’t paint
anymore,” Hogan corrected, noting the fine edge of her jaw, the way
the sun painted a sheen on her smooth skin. He saw her with a
headband, a curving rune-embedded, brass affair, playing up to her
Celtic heritage and bone structure.

Still raw from his encounter with Ben, Hogan
fed his need to set off that fine fiery temper. He wanted to see
that heat in her eyes and feel her passion surround him, burn him.
“How’s your love life lately?”

“It’s mine— private— and that’s the point.”
Few people interfered with her, or pushed her, and Hogan was
clearly gearing up to do just that.

“I know you’re used to pushing men around to
get what you want, and then you move on. It’s a wonder you got
married.”

“I had a different picture of married life
than he did. He wanted children and a sweet little helpless wifey.
I didn’t like the picture. End of story.”

She looked down to the wild grass field and
the small herd of longhorns. “Oh, look. Ben isn’t out on his
tractor or fixing fence, he’s down there just sitting on his horse
and staring at that cow herd. He’s thinking about all of you being
home— how nice it is, and he’s wanting things to change.”

“That’s ‘cattle’, not ‘cow herd’. Don’t
change the subject and don’t push me, Jemma,” Hogan murmured,
meaning it.

She placed her palms on his chest and shoved.
Hogan didn’t move back; instead, he backed her closer to the horse,
framing her with his hands on the saddle.

Jemma glared up at him. “I’m making this
happen, Hogan. You’re not stopping it.”

“Ah, the real Jemma-agenda. Protecting Carley
is essential. We agree on that, but you’ve got another plan, don’t
you? Could that be reuniting Dinah and Ben? Making the Kodiaks all
one, big happy family? All of us hugging? That group-hug you love
so much?”

Hogan enjoyed the feminine toss of her head,
fiery hair swirling around her like a sunburst. Jemma, beneath all
that hurry-hurry, human dynamo, was a very feminine woman.

He reached out to smooth the gleaming strands
that had come free from her ponytail and watched Jemma’s emotional
curtains come down. She edged away from him, gray eyes dark and
wary.

Without an escape route, backed against the
horse, Jemma looked down on to the sprawling fields, cut with
irrigation ditches. Baldies dotted the pastures, calves frisking
around cows, an Angus bull lying on the ground, overlooking his
Hereford harem. She edged her jaw away from Hogan’s disturbing,
prowling finger.

He was studying that touch, the contrast of
dark skin and fair and Jemma fought her uncertainty, and her
temper. “You’re playing with me. You and Ben are enough to exhaust
a saint— too stubborn, cut out of the same cloth— and I don’t have
the time or energy.”

“I do,” Hogan said, lowering his lips to
taste hers, just a brush of his mouth, following that silky shape
of hers, her scent curling around him.

Hogan reached around her, capturing her arms
against her body. He flattened his hand low on Jemma’s spine and
with his other, fisted that dark red thick mane, holding her face
up to his. Her pink coat prevented him from locking her curved,
lean body to his, but that was exactly what he wanted— Jemma close
and tight against him.

“I’ll get you,” she said breathlessly, after
a struggle that Hogan enjoyed, the softness of her body exciting
his. Now there was just that stubborn set of her jaw, the steely
flash of her eyes. Heat poured from her— live, twisting around him,
igniting angry little edges and making them hunger.

“Mm. I’m looking forward to that.” Then he
slanted his mouth to hers and took.

She tasted like freedom, sunlight, and life—
she tasted like Woman, erotic, darkly sensual, heat, and storms.
She tasted like dreams that had died in him long ago— She tasted
like life...

Jemma worked her hands free and slid them
into his hair, fisting it as he held her, meeting him, an even
match. Usually controlled with women, Hogan took the kiss deeper,
tasting her mouth with his tongue. Then Jemma’s quickening breath
set off a sensual need to have her— there beneath the clear Montana
sky.

His hand slid down to grip her bottom, to tug
her close to his hardening body....

Suddenly, she shivered, her head jerking
back, her body taut, and Hogan caught her fear of him, of what he
wanted, of what he demanded....

Hogan gentled the kiss, seeking out the
tender edges of the woman who called forth the raging darkness and
the live flames within him.

Unable to release her just yet, he frowned
down at Jemma, taking in her high color, all that heat, the
wariness in those stormy eyes.

Her lips were swollen slightly, bright and
gleaming and soft as petals. He fought the thought of Jemma’s lips
on his body, those sharp teeth nipping slightly, that
tongue....

Well, shit.... If he wanted to destroy
himself, this was the woman who could do it for him.

He tightened his hand in her hair, fought the
affect of the silky waves and color on his senses and gritted,
“Stay away from me, little girl. Now get up on that horse—”

Hell, he couldn’t watch her walk away again,
those hips swaying.... Hogan grabbed her waist and lifted her onto
Sandy and pushed the reins into her hands. “Now, git.”

Jemma stared down at him, her eyes like hot
steel cutting at him. She wiped her hand across her lips as if to
remove his taste. “Sometimes I want to kill you. Just tear off
pieces of that dark skin....”

“Keep talking dirty and we could....”

He watched Jemma’s disturbing efforts to turn
the horse toward the ranch. All that bouncing softness of her
breasts wasn’t doing him any favors. Then frustrated, he gripped
the reins to turn the horse and slapped its haunches with his
hat.

“Well, shit,” he muttered when Sandy almost
stumbled in a slight ditch. If Jemma broke anything, he’d be to
blame. Then she’d have him dancing to her tune....

Dammit.
He’d wanted to pound into her,
to lose himself in all that fiery softness. His body ached now....
Dammit.

*** ***

When the first of May lay green upon the
land, the recent rains feeding the creeks and fields, Hogan leaned
back against his extended-cab truck.

At one o’clock in the afternoon, Kodiak was
like any other quiet Western town, and he’d missed the friendly
warmth of families he’d known. He’d grown to enjoy the shopping
trips with Dinah, Carley, and Jemma and it was time for more
potting and planting.

He was just discovering how much he liked the
feminine spring ritual. When Jemma bent over the pots, digging with
her spade, her hair all propped up into a cute little topknot, her
hips were nice and round and just about two handfuls— if he’d
dared.

Hogan sighed. All in all, he was enjoying
himself— if only Carley wasn’t in danger....

He’d missed rural Montana, the timeless
spring planting and the town he’d known all his life.

Kodiak was a single main street lined with
two-story adobe stores that had been redone with contemporary
signs. Jedidiah Kodiak, the drover who never returned to Texas
after that cattle drive, had married a mountain man’s daughter.
Jedidiah’s statue stood in the center of the small city park. Small
dark taverns that had operated since the town’s rip-roaring gold
days now had neon beer signs. The two small friendly cafes were
always busy, the grocery stores still locally owned, untouched by
large chains.

A small bakery, a real-estate office, the
sheriff’s department and a combination drugstore and dry goods
store completed the picturesque street. Just off Main Street, new
and used tractors were sold and repaired. The nearby gas station
still catered to teen boys and their vehicles. The lumberyard stood
on the other side of the street, racks of new plants standing in
green rows in front of it. A sign read, Chicks Inside.

Cars and trucks lined Kodiak’s streets, talk
of cattle prices, horse breeding, and crops drifted pleasantly on
the air. The two-story house with the big painted sign in the front
yard was the local museum, tended by Kodiak’ s Historical
Society.

Hogan turned his face up to the sun and
thought of Jemma. He’d enjoyed that quick flash of awareness when
she came too close.

Wrapped in the novelty of letting a woman
know that he was coming after her, that he wanted her for his own
was a game he’d learned to enjoy.

Wary of him now, Jemma did not come near him.
Teasing her with a brush of his finger across her cheek had become
addictive. Hogan had made a point not to miss meals at his father’s
now. Sitting beside her, nudging her with his knee, putting his arm
across the back of her chair at meals was sheer pleasure. Jemma was
as aware of him as a mare of a stallion— and he intended to claim
her.

Since that kiss, he’d fought the need to go
to her, to finish it, to make love to her, crazy or not.

But every hunting instinct in Hogan, his male
senses, told him that he would make love to her and soon. She
wouldn’t be thinking about that television producer or anything
else in her whirling, fast-paced life, but him.

Maybe those instincts went back to his
frontier blood, to his dark heritage, but Hogan knew he would claim
Jemma.

Claim her.
Hogan smiled at his
thoughts as a familiar boy tossed a softball to him. Hogan tossed
it back and settled firmly into his thoughts about Jemma. He’d
known experienced women who wanted no more from a relationship than
he. Hogan had never actively pursued a woman, or wanted to make her
his own, exploring his fascination.

But corralling Jemma lifted every predatory
male instinct in him. There was more than the taut sensual hunger
tormenting him during sleepless nights. Jemma delighted him, filled
him in some way he hadn’t known, and tangled his shadows with
sunlight.

He’d had a taste now and he was
addicted.
He was eager as a boy, just looking at her walk set
him off, drooling.

He smiled at the boy who had merged into a
pack of others. It was a fine time in life for an experienced man
to discover that a special woman excited him, made him feel alive
and eager. But then he’d never been a boy flirting with girls; he’d
taken and given, but not that dark, deep essence of himself.

Whatever prowled inside Jemma, that hungry
ache she filled with plans and money, wasn’t sweet.

Hogan watched a mud-splattered truck pass,
the back loaded with feed sacks.

She was hunting, too. And in this case, it
was another man. Hogan didn’t like the thought of Les Parkins, her
would-be producer, and Jemma in close proximity in her van.

So she’d gotten to him, so what?
he
thought angrily. Did she think she could just ignore that kiss, the
way she went hot against him?

Les Parkins....Jemma was playing him, moving
in to get what she wanted....

Hogan disliked her blatant flirting, the
softening of her voice when she talked to Parkins on the telephone.
He’d heard her talk like that other times, but this time, it
nettled, set him on edge.

Hogan glanced at Jackson Reeves, who glowered
at him from across the street. Jackson was a potential candidate as
Carley’s attacker. The gas-station mechanic hadn’t been cooperative
when questioned about his activities and whereabouts after Carley’s
attack.

Jackson hadn’t liked Hogan since grade
school. With a long criminal record of abuse toward women, Jackson
had begun a brawl with Hogan. That was a mistake. Hogan’s contempt
for a man who hurt women, children, and animals who could not fight
back was put into a few neat jabs. He left Jackson sprawled on the
station’s greasy cement floor with a promise to keep checking on
him.

“I’ll get you,” Jackson had snarled.

“I’ll be waiting,” Hogan had returned,
meaning it.

He glanced down the street and locked on to
Jemma. With her hair aflame in the sunlight and her jeans hugging
her hips and long legs, he turned to more enjoyable contemplations,
like how she would look in nothing at all....

*** ***

“He’s still got it. Doesn’t have to do a
thing, just stand there and women hover like flies.” Jemma watched
Hogan, a worldly man at ease in the small Western town named after
the Kodiaks. He seemed to be enjoying the day. In a black
sweatshirt and black jeans, his hair tied at his nape with a
leather thong, he’d captured the attention of several women, who
had stopped to talk with him.

Carley shifted the catalog of upholstery
swatches to her hip. “I can’t believe he’s in such a good mood.
He’s so easygoing. He actually volunteered to take us shopping— not
a drop of fear. Aaron and Mitch ran like the hunted. Ben actually
paled, and they all headed for a tractor that needed repair.”

Jemma shivered just looking at Hogan’s long,
dark, sensual stare at her. His hunger stretched across the
distance, wrapped around her and punched every feminine nerve. Damn
him, he knew how to make a woman want him, just by looking at her
with those black eyes.

She hadn’t suspected that Hogan would want
her, and as a prospective lover, he terrified her. He’d demand,
every dark inch of his body would be hard packed and hot,
and....

Jemma swallowed, remembering that hard ridge
in his jeans, the way he pressed against her.... The way she’d
dampened her jeans....