The Drifter (12 page)

And now, the most beloved and best-remembered part of the journey, through the thicket of curls that would glow like burnished copper if he could only have light. Her musky woman-scent rose to meet him, signaling how much she wanted him, and he longed to shout his delight. Instead, he paid homage to that need in ways that made her writhe beneath him. He pinned her thighs with his forearms and settled in, his heart beating in fierce triumph as he brought cries to her lips, cries muffled against a hastily grabbed pillow.

When she began to tremble and clench beneath him, he rose, wanting the end to come when he was deep inside her. Usually adept at putting on condoms, he fumbled this time. The music filtering through the labored sound of his breathing mingled with her soft plea to hurry, hurry. Please hurry. No. He forced himself to rejoin her with exquisite slowness, in time to the music. Always in time to the music.

She lay back among the tousled pillows, her hair in disarray, her legs spread, her breath shallow. “I don't remember wanting you...this much.” Her voice was like the sigh of wind through the leaves in Rogue Canyon.

“You didn't.” He braced himself above her and took the time to comb her hair away from her face. This moment would be over soon enough. He didn't have to rush it. The music. He'd move with the music. “I didn't want you this much, then, either. We've had a long time to think about it.”

She didn't deny that she'd been thinking of him all that time, and he took satisfaction from that. She might not have liked that she was obsessed with him, might have fought it with all the strength of her upper-class background, but she'd lost the fight. If she hadn't, she wouldn't be lying beneath him now, her hands reaching for his hips, wanting this union more than anything in the world.

“Wait,” he whispered. He caught her hand and brought it over her head. Then he pulled her other hand there, too, and circled both wrists in the fingers of his left hand. “Let it build.”

She arched like a bow, her wrists and her hips anchoring her to the bed. “Chase...I need you now.”

“You'll need me more in a little while.”

“No.” She moved her head back and forth on the pillow. “I couldn't want you more than this. I feel like screaming.”

“Don't.” He leaned down and covered her mouth with his, but he didn't push into her, much as his aching loins begged him to. He left room for his right hand, his gearshift hand, he thought wryly, to bring her to another level of awareness. He absorbed her moans into his mouth as he fondled her breasts—cupping their weight, massaging their fullness, caressing the nipples until his fingers were sticky with milk.

He trailed his knuckles between her ribs to her navel, where he pressed gently, knowing she was sensitive there. The music surged around them, through them, as he moved the knuckle of his index finger lower, finding the jewel buried in a thicket of curls. He rubbed gently, then with more force as she lifted her hips. When she was wild with sensation, he stopped, letting her fall gradually back to earth as he kissed her.

“You are insane,” she said against his mouth.

His heart thundered as if he'd just survived a pileup on the freeway. “I think you're right.”

“When, Chase? When will you give me what I want?”

“Now.” He thrust deep, catching her by surprise.

She gasped and her eyes flew open. He gazed down at her, wanting her to remember his face for the rest of her life. “It may never feel like this again, Amanda.” He released her hands.

“Chase...”

His mouth curved. “As they say on the bumper stickers—`get in, sit down, shut up and hang on.'”

He abandoned the rhythm of the sedate music now. It was too tame for what was about to happen between them. He drew back and pushed in tight again, a movement that brought her hands to his shoulders and her nails into his skin. He didn't care. This was worth bleeding for.

His next movement was more forceful, and she bucked when he applied pressure to that tiny spot that controlled so much of her. Yes, Amanda. We might wake the baby this time. Again he came in, and again, always on target, while the momentum built in him just as surely, just as potently. Again. Oh, Amanda. He'd meant to stay in control until she crossed the line. He'd planned this all in his head—until the moment when his control snapped, and he plunged into her with a frenzy that mocked him with its power.

She rose beneath him calling his name as spasms shook her. It was all he needed to explode like a gasoline tank touched by a match. He was flying apart, yet anchored to safety, all at the same time. It was a pedal-to-the-metal ride of passion, and he'd never known anything like it.

* * *

T
HROUGH THE DELIRIOUS
haze of pleasure that settled over Amanda in the aftermath of Chase's loving, came the soft croaking sounds of Bartholomew, waking up. It was her fault, she knew. She'd tried to be quiet, but Chase had robbed her of reason.

Chase lay against her, his chest hair causing delicious friction against her breasts, the pewter medallion making a remembered imprint on her skin.

“I have to get him,” she murmured.

“I know. We woke him up.”

“I did.”

“I did my share of making noise,” Chase said. “Want me to get him and bring him to you?”

It was a novel, beautiful concept that had never occurred to Amanda before. “Yes. Please.”

Chase eased out of her, made a quick trip to the bathroom and then lifted Bartholomew from his cradle. “Hey, Bart,” he crooned. “How's it going, big guy? Is the neighborhood a little rowdy for you?”

Amanda propped her head on her fist and watched them in the pale light that drifted in the window. Chase looked like a statue by Rodin as he stood silvered by moonlight. Bartholomew stopped his hiccuping little cries and seemed to study the new situation—being rescued from his bed at night by this person with a deep voice and gentle hands.

Perhaps not so gentle, Amanda thought as she remembered how he'd exacted his toll, wringing the last bit of response from her as if he wanted nothing to remain inside. Ah, but he'd miscalculated. No sooner had he left her bed than she'd begun to yearn again, and that yearning had started the cycle all over. He'd said it might never be like that again, and perhaps he was right, but she'd like to find out.

However, first there was Bartholomew to deal with. “Bring him here,” she murmured.

“Want to go see Mom? I guess so. You won't find what you're looking for here.”

Chase's soft laugh tickled down Amanda's spine. She was lost and she knew it. The cowboy had won her heart.

He walked over to the bed and laid Bartholomew in her arms. “He's no dummy. He knows where the good stuff is.”

Right in this room,
Amanda thought with a rush of emotion.
All I need to be happy is right in this room.
She nestled Bartholomew against her and gave him her breast.

Chase stood silhouetted against the window, his back to her. “That is the sweetest sound.”

“What?”

“Him nursing. I love to hear it.”

And babies nurse for such a short time, Amanda thought. Perhaps by the time she returned to Arizona, Bartholomew would be weaned. But she didn't say that. The moment was too perfect to spoil. She stroked her baby's head and admired the sturdy outline of his father standing at the window.

Chase turned and walked back to the bed. “I want to stay the night, Amanda.”

“I expected you to.”

“I wasn't sure.” He eased back into bed. “You're used to your space.”

“It's nice having you here.” She sighed. “God, we sound so polite.”

He chuckled. “Kind of silly, isn't it? One minute we're as close as two people can be, and the next we're talking like strangers who happen to be sharing a table at a crowded restaurant.”

“That's because this is so backward. We made love for one night and became parents. How are two people supposed to handle that?”

“It's been confusing, all right.” He trailed a finger down the side of her breast, stopping just short of her nipple, where Bartholomew was fastened, his pudgy hands pressing against the fullness. “But I wouldn't want to change any of it.”

She met his gaze over the top of Bartholomew's fuzzy head, and time seemed to stop. At the moment, that was all she wanted.

A
MANDA HAD WONDERED
if Chase would be jealous of the baby's needs. Yet he lay with his chin propped on his hand and watched with an indulgent smile as she nursed Bartholomew. Then, true to his word, he helped change him, all the while holding the palm of his hand ready to deflect accidents.

“Pretty impressive equipment, Bart,” he said with obvious pride as he gazed down at the naked little boy squirming on the bed between them.

“As if that's the measure of a man.” Amanda fastened the adhesive tabs on the diaper and reached for the soft cotton shirt she'd laid on the bedside table.

“Hey, it's a start.” Chase leaned toward the baby and whispered, “Don't let her kid you, Bart, old buddy. They all say they don't care about size and pretend it's our hang-up. But I've seen
Playgirl
magazine. They care.”

Bartholomew gurgled and grabbed Chase's nose. Chase cried out in mock pain as Bartholomew crowed and tugged harder. Amanda laughed and wished she had a camera. Then she realized that she'd just had the urge to record Chase and Bartholomew together on film. If anyone saw that, one picture would be worth a thousand words.

“So you think you can lead people around by the nose?” Chase eased the baby's fingers loose. “I'll bet your mother taught you that trick.” He glanced up at Amanda and gave her a wink.

“I beg your pardon.” She tried to adopt his bantering tone as she popped the shirt over Bartholomew's head. But her heart was too full from watching them together.

“Then again, maybe it hasn't been my nose you've been leading me around by,” he said softly, his teeth flashing white in the pale light as he smiled at her. “It might be something a bit lower. I wasn't very good at anatomy in school.”

She scooped Bartholomew up and slid out of bed. “But I imagine you were very good at anatomy after school was out.” She turned toward the cradle.

“No comment. But what about you, Amanda? Did you kiss the boys and make them cry?”

She adjusted the blanket in the cradle, not feeling very comfortable talking about her romantic past, or lack of it. “My story is pretty dull. You'd get bored in a heartbeat.” She settled Bartholomew down on the blanket and rocked him gently with one hand.

“Try me.”

“I was quiet, a bookworm. Always writing, drawing, reading. When I wasn't doing that, I was riding my horse. And I was—still am—a feminist. I saw dating and marriage as a trap for women, so I didn't aim in that direction.”

“Never even engaged?”

“Once. It didn't work out.” She gazed down at Bartholomew. She'd never seen him so relaxed, as if the doting attention of both parents was exactly what he needed. Gradually, his eyes drifted closed. She rocked a while longer before standing and walking back to the bed. “From the way I acted in the truck that night, you probably thought I was a real swinging chick, but I'm not. I'd never behaved that way before.”

He reached out and caught her hand, drawing her back down to the bed. “That's what made you different,” he murmured, curving his arm around her waist and urging her against him until they were pressed together in sweet tension. “You were scared and excited at the same time.” He massaged the length of her spine as he talked. “I figured the only times you'd ever been to bed with a man were after you'd known him a long time.”

“That's true.” Barely tamped desire flared at his touch, sending heated signals that tightened her nipples and moistened the pulsing channel he had so recently explored. “You were an adventure,” she said. “My one chance to be a naughty girl.”

Chase cupped her bottom with both hands, kneading her flesh. “And was I wild enough for you?”

Her body grew languorous and willing as his erection pressed against her belly. “You were...very nice.”

“The hell with nice.” He adjusted his body to hers, positioning her so that his shaft separated the folds of her femininity. “Nice is what those other guys were, the ones you had dinner with a million times before you let them touch you like this.” His movements were subtle but powerful as he eased up and down, connecting with her most sensitive spot without entering her.

She grew breathless with the mounting tension. His ability to bring her to flashpoint so quickly was unnerving. “You were incredible,” she managed to say.

“So were you,” he said in a gruff voice. “Inexperience isn't necessarily a bad thing.”

“Chase.” She gripped him urgently. “Kiss me, Chase, before I wake...the baby.”

He muffled her cries with his mouth as a climax shattered the last of her reserve. As the quivering subsided, he moved from her lips to the curve of her ear. “Are you getting warmed up?” he whispered.

She sighed. “I think so.”

“I was hoping you were. There are a few things I'd like you to do for me.” Then he murmured his requests, requests that turned the blood that was already singing through her veins into molten lava. His loving had removed all shame. Rising over him, she satisfied the first of his wishes by trailing her fiery hair over him, tickling and tantalizing his chest, his inner thighs, his quivering erection. She wrapped her hair around that throbbing shaft and drew it away slowly, judging the effect by the rasp of his breathing and the clenching of his hands.

Then she used her tongue on his muscular body, laving his tanned skin until he was quivering in anticipation. His control was incredible. When she touched his shaft with the tip of her tongue, all she heard was an intake of breath—between clenched teeth. She took her time. After all, he'd asked her to. But at last she heard a muted plea of “enough.”

She slid up to kiss his mouth and he rolled her to her back in a fierce embrace.

“Any more experience and you'll be dangerous,” he gasped, looming over her, his eyes glittering.

She laughed softly, triumphantly, and arched her breasts upward in invitation.

With a moan he accepted the invitation, sending reverberations spiraling downward to her heated center as he sucked.

“Come to me,” she begged, abandoning all modesty. “I want you inside me.”

He lifted his head and gazed down at her, his breathing harsh. “I've never wanted anyone this much.”

His words set off skyrockets in her head. “Neither have I. Oh, Chase, what are we going to do?”

The corner of his mouth tilted up. “I know what we're going to do right this minute.” He reached for one of the condoms on the table.

Bartholomew stirred and started to cry.

Chase paused in midmotion. “Maybe not just this minute.”

“I'll try rocking him.” Battling her frustration, Amanda rolled to her stomach and reached for the edge of the cradle. She rocked it slowly, easing Bartholomew back into sleep. Behind her, cellophane crinkled, and she trembled just thinking of Chase sheathing himself, Chase waiting for her.

He trailed a finger down her backbone. “How's he doing?” he murmured.

“Going back to sleep.” She stopped rocking as Bartholomew's breathing grew steady. At last she removed her hand from the edge of the cradle with a sigh.

“Time to go off duty for a while,” Chase said. Caressing her bottom, he slipped his hand between her thighs and probed gently until he gained the entrance he sought. With deft fingers he stroked, and she unconsciously lifted herself into the caress.

His breath caught. His knee brushed hers as he moved behind her and guided her farther upward, caressing, encouraging her with soft endearments. Heart racing, body pounding with urges outside her experience, she complied, rising to her knees and offering herself in a way that reached back beyond the rules of civilization, to a time of caves, flickering fires and base needs satisfied.

When he eased into her, she gasped at the primitive carnality of the gesture. The lust of animals flowed through her, and she took her lip between her teeth to keep from crying out her fevered response. His hips tight against her buttocks, he slid his hand over her thigh and into the moist valley where her pleasure point lay. And she dimly recognized that this was the difference that separated such a basic act from the mating of animals—he would give while he took. She became sensation itself as he moved rhythmically inside her and coaxed her to greater heights with firm pressure from his fingers.

As the tempo increased, she fought to be silent, knowing from muffled groans that he waged the same war. When the moment came, she pressed her lips together and whimpered. She heard his gasp, his final, shuddering thrust, and she absorbed the pulsing impact of his climax. They trembled together for a moment before he withdrew and she sank to the cool sheets, her body sapped of the will to move.

He left the bed for only a moment, and soon he was back, lying beside her and smoothing her hair from her face.

She gave him a sated smile. “I think that qualifies as wild enough.”

He smiled back, a lazy, contented smile. “Did I shock you?”

“A little.”

He brushed a finger across her lower lip. “Good.”

“Are you setting out to shock me?”

“I'm setting out to show you what you've been missing.”

* * *

A
S LONG AS
the room remained dark, Amanda could allow feelings to override thoughts, touch to supplant words. But toward dawn, as objects in the room took on a sharper edge, so did the meandering of her mind. Chase dozed beside her, an arm flung over her waist. She liked the weight of it there far too much. She still had no idea if this drifter lying beside her had decided to change his wandering ways, and what it meant to her future if he had.

The passion they'd generated through the night could all be the work of an accomplished lover seducing a woman who'd lived like a nun for almost a year. Yet she suspected something far more complex had happened in the large four-poster bed. Originally, Chase had been no more than a fantasy figure, a sexy blue-collar worker willing to provide earthy, inhibition-shattering sex. But in the past two days he'd become so much more to her—a man who'd struggled against the odds to establish an identity, a father capable of incredible gentleness toward his child and a tender partner in lovemaking, a partner willing to put aside past hurts for present pleasure.

By some miracle, Chase Lavette had emerged from his unhappy background with a generous spirit. Far more generous than hers, Amanda admitted with chagrin. Yet in the warmth of Chase's arms, her reservations melted away and she began to dream of ways they could be together, all three of them. And as well, she wasn't ready to abandon the search for his family. The information was still important for Bartholomew's sake, but she thought it was important for Chase, too. Everyone had some good news in their background. She wanted to help Chase find his.

The telephone rang, startling her out of her reverie. She picked up the antique handset and answered in a muted voice.

Ry was on the other end, sounding frazzled. “Amanda? I hate like the devil to bother you this early, but is Chase there?”

The realization that everyone on the True Love would know Chase had spent the night gave her a mild shock. She wasn't used to people knowing her intimate business. “Yes, he is.” She covered the mouthpiece and glanced at Chase, who lay with his head on his outstretched arm, looking at her with an unreadable expression. “It's Ry.” She handed him the receiver.

Chase took it and rolled to his back, tugging the cloth-covered cord across Amanda. “This better be important, bridegroom.” He turned his head to look at Amanda and noticed the spiral cord stretched across her bare breasts. With a little smile he eased the cord back and forth across her nipples, which snapped to attention at the casual contact.

How easily he demonstrated his power over her. She would have resented that power if she hadn't glanced down and noticed his penis stir and gradually stiffen as he gazed at her breasts.

“Sure, I'll do that,” Chase said. “No problem. How is everyone this morning?” He drew the cord across her breast more slowly this time. “Glad to hear it. Yeah, I'll pick them up by seven and be back before eight. Don't worry, nobody wants to miss watching you get branded, buddy. See you soon.” He took the receiver from his ear.

She reached for it, disappointed that he'd referred to Ry's marriage vows as “getting branded.” Maybe she'd better rein in her thoughts of a close relationship with this drifter. They'd had good sex. Perhaps that was all they were to have together. “Want me to hang that up for you?”

“Not when things are becoming interesting.” He propped himself on his elbow and dragged the cord over her nipple one more time. “Maybe not at all. We don't need any calls right now.”

Her breathing quickened. “Don't you have to leave?”

“Not yet.” He curled the cord around the fullness of her breast. “Ry needs me to pick up Belinda and Dexter at the hospital, but it's only a little after five now.” He pulled the cord a little tighter and looked into her eyes. “How come the phone didn't wake up the little guy?”

“He's used to that noise, I guess.” Her eyes widened as he drew the cord down between her legs. “At the apartment I get a lot of calls...” She gasped as he slid the cord into the cleft of her femininity. “...from work.”

“Sounds like you needed this vacation.” He laid the receiver between her legs and drew the cord gently upward, making sure each ascending spiral teased her to a higher level of arousal. Then he picked up the receiver and drew the cord down again.

She was aflame for him. “Chase, you'll get the telephone cord—”

“Wet? Looks like it.”

“But the management...” She moaned as he eased the cord back down.

“I am the management, sweetheart.” He pulled the cord in a little tighter. “There, that should mark my place for a minute. Don't move.” He kept his gaze on her as he put on the condom. She didn't move, but her body hummed like an engine that had been started and needed only the slightest touch on the throttle to leap forward.