Chapter Nine #3
Was it stubbornness, she wondered, that caused her to pull back from a helping hand so often? She didn’t think so. But it was something nearly as mulish. She wanted the people she loved and who loved her to be proud of her. And she equated that, foolishly, she admitted, with the need to be perfect.
But she preferred thinking of it as taking responsibility.
Just as she was doing now with Brian, she mused. If she was in love with him, she was responsible for her own feelings. And it was up to her to try to generate those same feelings in him.
If she failed... No, she wouldn’t consider that. Once you considered failure you were one step farther away from success.
Moving into the gelding’s box, she hung his hay bag and measured out his feed. “It’s better tonight, isn’t it?” Gently she checked the swelling on his knee. When she heard the footsteps heading down on concrete, she smiled to herself.
“You’re feeding him?” Brian stepped into the box. “I couldn’t get up here any sooner.”
“That’s all right. He took the drenching without a quibble. And you can take my word for it, it worked.” She straightened up, smiled. “You can see by the way he’s eating, he’s feeling better.”
“Knows he’s fallen into roses, he does.” Brian examined the injury himself, nodded. “We have a stallion with the strangles, which is what held me up.”
“Delicate creatures, aren’t they?” She ran her hand over the gelding’s withers.
“Deceptive. The size of them, the speed and strength. It all shouts power. But under it all, there’s the delicacy.
You can be fooled by looking at something—at the face, at the form—and judging it without knowing what’s inside. ”
“True enough.”
“I’m not delicate, Brian. I have iron bred in me.”
He looked at her. “I know you’re strong, Keeley. And still, you’ve skin like a rosebud.” Gently he ran his thumb over her cheek. “I have big hands, and they’re hard, so I need to take care. It doesn’t mean I think you’re weak.”
“All right.”
He turned back to the horse. “Have you named him?”
“As a matter of fact, I have. We had a dog when I was a girl. My mother found him, a very homely stray who started sneaking up to the house. She fed him, gained his confidence. And before my father knew it, he had a big, sloppy mutt on his hands. His name was Finnegan.” She laid her cheek on the gelding’s, rubbed. “And so now, is his.”
“You’ve a sentimental streak along with that iron, Keeley.”
“Yes, I do. And a latent romantic one.”
“Is that so?” he murmured, a little surprised when she turned and ran her hands up his chest.
“Apparently. I didn’t thank you for riding to my rescue last night.”
“I don’t recall riding anywhere.” His lips twitched as she backed him out of the box.
“In a manner of speaking. You cut a bully down to size for me. I was upset and worried about the gelding, so I didn’t really think about it at the time. But I did later, and I wanted to thank you.”
“Well, you’re welcome.”
“I haven’t finished thanking you.” She bit lightly on his bottom lip, heard his quick indrawn breath.
“If that’s what you have in mind, you could finish thanking me up in my bedroom.”
“Why don’t I just show you what I have in mind? Right here.”
She had his shirt unbuttoned before he realized they were standing in an empty stall, freshly bedded with hay. “Here?” He laughed, taking both her hands to tug her out again. “I don’t think so.”
“Here.” She countered his move by ramming his back against the side wall. “I know so.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” His lungs were clogged, and his mind insisted on following suit. “Anyone could come along.”
“Live dangerously.” She pulled the stall door shut behind them.
“I have been, since I first set eyes on you.”
The thrum of her heart in her throat turned her voice husky. “Why stop now? Seduce me, Brian. I dare you.”
“I’ve always found it hard to turn aside a dare.” He reached out, tugged the band from her hair. “You cloud my senses, Keeley, like perfume. Before I know it, there’s nothing there but you.” He slid his hand around to cup the back of her neck, to draw her toward him. “And nothing that needs to be.”
His mouth covered hers, soft, smooth in a kiss silky enough to have her gliding down on that alone. She’d asked for seduction knowing seduction wasn’t needed.
“I want you, Brian. I wake up wanting you. Kiss me again.”
And the way her body simply melted into his, the way her lips warmed and parted, inviting him in had every pulse in his body throbbing like a wound.
“I don’t want to be gentle this time.” He reversed their position until her back was against the wall, and his eyes, so suddenly dark, burned into hers. “I don’t want to be so careful, just this once.”
The thrill of it was a bolt through the heart. “Then don’t. I’m not fragile like your horses, Brian. Don’t be fooled.”
“I’ll frighten you.” He couldn’t have said if it was a threat or warning, but her answer was just another dare.
“Try it.”
He tore her shirt open, sending buttons flying.
He watched her eyes widen in shock even as he crushed his mouth to hers to swallow her gasp.
Then his hands were on her, a rough scrape of callus over sensitive skin.
Part of him expected her to object, to struggle away, but she only moaned against his savaging mouth, and held on.
When her knees gave like heated butter, he dragged her down to the mound of hay.
He used his mouth on her, his teeth, his tongue. A kind of wild fury. His hands raced over her, rough and possessive in their impatience to have more. To take all.
Her choked cries had the horses moving restlessly in their boxes. As he propelled her over that first breathless edge, she fisted her hands in his hair as if to anchor herself. Or to drag him with her.
He’d given her tenderness, shown her the beauty of lovemaking with patience and care. Now he showed her the dark glory of it with reckless demands and bruising hands.
Still she gave. Even with the whirlwind rushing inside him, he felt her give. Flesh dampened until it was slick, hearts pounded until the beat of them seemed to slap the air, but she rolled with him, accepting. Offering.
Even when her eyes were blind, the blue of them blurred as dark as midnight, she stayed with him. The sound of his name rushing through her lips seemed to sing in his blood.
She cried out, arching against his busy mouth when her world shattered into shards bright as glass. There was nothing to cling to, no thread to tie her to sanity, and still he drove her harder until the breath tearing from her lungs turned to harsh, primitive pants.
“It’s me who has you.” Wild to mate, he gripped her hips, jerked them high. “It’s me who’s in you.” And plunged into her as if his life depended on it.
She heard a scream, high, thin, helpless. But it wasn’t helplessness she felt. She felt power, outrageous power that pumped through her blood like a drug. Drunk on it, she reared up, her eyes locked on his as she fisted her hands in his hair once more.
She fixed her mouth on his, savaging it as he rode her, hard and fast. And she held on, held on, matching him beat for beat though she thought her body would burst, until she felt him fall.
“It’s me,” she said on a sob, “who has you.” And still holding fast, let herself leap after him.