Chapter 50

He’d started to run up after her, in the semi-darkness, to the room above the stable. He’d grabbed her for a quick hug on the staircase, and she’d melted in his arms. Laughed and cried and been such a mess.

He loved it.

His heart, too, had taken the same journey. From shock to desperation to a wild elation that could have filled the British Columbia skies if he could have shouted his triumph, their triumph to it all.

Then he remembered. He did not want them to be interrupted.

“Just a sec, babe.” He turned, jumped the couple of steps back down. Quickly took the precaution of slinging a rope across both wide-open entrances to the stables. Him and his brothers’ signals to each other, when they’d been teens and taken to having trysts in the stables, still worked. It essentially meant…

…Go away, dickhead. I got here with my gal first tonight. Bugger off.

Whichever brother pulled those ropes taut first, across both openings, had the stables. Until the early morning, when chores started.

But she was up ahead of him, waiting, giggling.

“Coming, Tabs.” He grabbed a basin from a rough-hewn shelf, a couple of towels. Then ran up, after her, into the murky wooden staircase, the scent of fresh hay and old wood around them.

“It’s dark up here.” She stopped unexpectedly on the stairs, and he gratefully bumped into her. Never even thought of backing off when she stalled. Let his arm come up around her, felt that gorgeous body as he pulled her to him. Crushed those soft breasts underneath his forearms.

“Cole. Not on the stairs…” But her ass was molding to him, her throaty words belying her actions.

He shook his head as heat built in him. He nuzzled her on the neck, pushing soft wisps of hair out of the way to her groans. “Stairs work just fine. We’ll take care of you right here, then up in the loft after. Later, we might spend some time in the empty stall beside Dagger. Then outside, up against the side of the barn. You got cowgirl boots on? I’d love to do you, all naked, Tabby. Wearing nothing else except boots, the stars and moonlight.”

“Cole.” But he sensed her delight, her agreement.

“Never said I wasn’t a randy dude when it comes to the woman I love. I’ve kept my mouth shut, but don’t think I haven’t thought of you and me thirty ways to Sunday, every damn day. Every which where and every which way possible. Don’t tell me you mind, honey. If you do, I’ll…”

If possible, she was even hotter. “I don’t care, Cole. I’m good with it. All of it. Don’t forget the kind of books I write.”

He squeezed her tighter. “As long as it’s you and me in the starring roles, I’m good.”

Soon, they were up in the loft. The light switch was ornery, wouldn’t work. But he knew there was something better, and found it. Lit the fat, squat, dusty candles, positioned them all around the room. Opened the big window-like door to the outside, letting the cool air rush in unfettered, the moonlight and the clouds. He turned on the little gas heater, trained it on the low cot where he’d laid her the first night, fully clothed. Flicked on the old CD player. Let the gentle croons, tunes of the thirties fill the room.

“Bit old-fashioned, don't you think?” Tabby grabbed a heavy half-open sack of feed that someone had left in the interim on the cot, pulled it off, let it fall beside the bed. Swept the errant grains off onto the dusty wooden floor boards.

“Marlene Dietrich. Marilyn Monroe. Rita Hayward. The big-screen, black and white beauties of the silver screen. I think it’s exactly right.”

He saw her do a double-take. Oh well. She’d just have to get used to it. Then he hurried past the wall to a small back area, dug around to find what he needed.

She called, teasing. “Whatcha doin’ back there? I’m waiting.”

“And I’m coming. Just one second. Hold your horses, there, sugar.”

“I aim to hold one set of horses. Firmly.”

A smile quirked on his face. “I’ll be obliging that intention, Ma’am.”

He came back in with the stuff he’d sourced, laid it on an old, marred chest of dressers. Turned, and let himself take in the sight.

In the pale flickering candlelight, Tabby Grey had just started unbuttoning her white shirt. It glowed in the light, as did her face.

She was undressing. For him. Her beauty punched him in the gut, and he just stared.

Aware of his scrutiny, her hands stopped in mid-work, and she stared back at him. Her gaze dropped to the wash basin, full of warm water, on the dresser. “What the hell is that? And what kind of weird stuff are you into?”

“Just what I need for you to get the message.” He grabbed a towel, a piece of one anyway, with ragged threads on the edges, some hanging long, tangled. They often ripped them into smaller pieces for use around the horses. But it was clean, freshly laundered, as all the rags were. regularly.

He dipped it into the warm water, moistened it. Rubbed a bit onto the bar of soap on the old ceramic dish with old, gilt-edged roses dancing around the edge. Then crossed to her purposefully. Met her gaze. “I intend to know exactly who I’m kissing.”

Tabby’s face fell. “Cole. No.”

But he stood his ground. “There’s only one way this is happening, ever, sweetheart. Could be tonight, or maybe it’ll be in two years from now when you’ve come to terms with your unbelievable beauty. Ten. You decide. But I’m telling you, when it does happen, I will know who I’m kissing. In every, damn detail.”

She sighed, acquiesced way quicker than he thought she would. And very graciously. Her gaze narrowed. “Jerk.”

He chuckled as he moved close, felt her body heat mingle with his. Watched her shutter her eyes.

Fine. If that’s what she needed, fine. She didn’t need to see. Only he did.

Their lower parts pressed together, he lifted the damp cloth to her face, rubbed lightly. Nothing happened. “What kind of fortress paint do you have on here?”

“Do yourself a favor, and shut up while you do what you apparently have to do.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“That’s dear to you.”

“Yes, dear.” He rumbled a laugh deep in his chest, and when she slapped his ass abruptly, it tightened.

Good. The play was beginning, and his cock had gotten even harder at her slap. But first, he had to set the stage.

He rubbed harder, and a bit of the purple came through. Finally. “Does it hurt?”

She sighed again. “Not physically, Cowboy.”

“That’s all I needed to know.” But his voice was gentle.

He continued, working the spot, then as the red showed through and he knew he was down to her skin, he leaned in for a warm kiss on that spot, and thought he was just about going to lose it.

Tabby. Dear Lord, Tabby Logan. He was kissing her. Her face, her skin, her, after all this time. But no, he had to keep at his task. Patience, man. He moved to the next patch of skin. He continued like that, rubbing, then loving each spot. She moaned after the first few, and her body naturally melted into his.

His lips wanted to suck, damn it. Suck each spot. Kiss it first, lick it for taste, for her unique flavor, to learn it well and memorize it. Then suck. Make her molecules part of his body, for crap’s sake.

But he’d never get done otherwise. So he held back, contented himself with a fast, warm press of his lips against each bit of revealed skin.

Against the real Miss Tabitha Grey.

He worked into her hairline, knew he left the soft tendrils a bit damp. Rubbed with another clean, dry rag to dry them quick.

“You ‘bout done, Cowboy?”

“Next phase starting, Ma’am.”

“Next?” A bit of agony burst forth from her.

“Hesh.” He quieted her. “Wait here.”

She obeyed, stood quiet, with her eyes closed still, as he rinsed the cloth well, and was back.

His hands rose to the middle of her shirt, and he unbuttoned it, picking up where she’d left off. Pulled it out of her jeans, unbuttoned the top button there.

“That again,” she chided, but playfully, eyes still closed.

“Man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.” She smiled, and he stared at her face for a second. No fancy makeup, no fake vanilla plaster on that gorgeous face.

She could do what she wanted, he decided. During the day, or whenever he was gone. It was her face, her life.

But whenever he made love to her, from now on, she’d damn well be in the buff. No makeup.

A man had a right.

But back to the task. She pushed his hands away, and thank goodness, shimmied out of her jeans. Kicked them aside, left them in an awkward heap on the dusty floorboards. Stood there in panties.

Her flesh glowed in the candlelight, luminescent. He pushed the shirt off her shoulders, sucked in a harsh breath at her beauty, standing in her bra and wisp of panties in his crude loft.

Slim, the rounded swell of extra weight on her hips, on the top of her thighs. A bump she probably wanted to get rid of, exercise away.

But to him, every inch was ambrosia. And he was memorizing it all, to take out later.

He ached to bend his head, to push aside the bra. Let her breasts fall free, be visible in the moonlight. Puckered tips.

Tried to hold back, but hell. He couldn’t. A man only had so much steel in him. And right now, all his was in his cock.

He pushed the bra off. She gasped, sucked in a breath. Then spoke, demanding. “Damn it all, man. Get to it. Earn your keep.”

So he started. Continued rubbing, exposing her flesh. The creamy facade fell away and the skin appeared. All colors. Dark in spots. Reddish black in others, almost more pronounced in the flickering wash of shadow that moved over them from the fat candles, their pale glow shuddering in the light movements of night air.

“Lay down. Keep your eyes shut. I’ll get you there, promise. But underpants off first.”

She acquiesced again, slipping out of them, a rumpled, tiny guardian of fabric into a heap no longer needed.

Not while I’m around, he growled deep within. He quickly divested himself of his clothes. They ended up on top of her discarded panties. The cool night air slapped at his skin, flicked at his erection, which was mighty.

He placed his big hands on her ass, moved her toward the cot.

“Is it really necessary to guide me to the bed? I think I know the way.”

“It’s the way I’ll be doing it, Missy. Quiet.”

He helped her up onto the cot. “Get comfortable.” Then stood back and watched as she nestled into the bed, inhibitions gone, a half smile on her face. So relaxed, so fast, he marveled. Even with all that damn makeup off.

Watched as she flung her one hand over her head. Wiggled.

And he could bear it no more. Crossing quickly, he was beside her, knees hard on the wooden floors.

All of her scars, her disfigurements were laid out before him. And sure, he saw them. They’d add a bit of fun, in times to come, so that was a bonus. But right now, he needed to get a quick acquaintance with each one.

“One here.” He bent, nipped at the ending of one mass. She jumped. He laid his broad fingers out onto her flesh and pressed, watched her shiver with delight.

And sexual lust. The smell of her desire was in the air, and it suited him just fine.

And like a kid, something inside him proclaimed. I did that. It’s cause of me, y’all.

He licked the scars, suckled them gently. She moaned. “Doesn’t hurt, right?”

In answer, she pulled her stomach in tight, raised her legs, and tried to scissor them, naked, around him. Her soft core was Accessible. All for him.

How a man wanted to bury himself in that honey-pot. Lick, eat until the cows came home, hoping they never would.

“Nice try, vixen,” he chided. “But a bit more discovery to be done first.” Rising above her, his swollen cock against her thigh, he made a personal acquaintance with each of those scars. Followed each one to its origin, kissing, sucking. Making quick side trips to her shaking breasts, the puckered nipples, wet them, left them shiny in the candlelight.

And when he was done…

“So now,” He pronounced over her, staring at her face, thinking she’d have opened her eyes, feeling his stare, but she didn’t. “Open your eyes, Tabby.” He was gratified when those caramel eyes opened and she focused on him.

“So now,” he repeated, staring into those spell-binding eyes. “I’ve made personal acquaintance with almost all of your hidden parts.” He took a moment to stroke her face, gently.

But what he had in mind next, was not gentle. At all. If she agreed.

“With most women—in the past,” he hastily explained, “It’s the bits under the clothes that are hidden, that a man aches to get to. Has to get to. With you, Miss Tabitha Grey, it’s different parts that have been hidden. And…” he said, with a self-satisfied feeling swirling through him. “I now know you, Beauty. All of you. You’re what I crave and want. The real you. Got that?”

Her eyes misted over, and she nodded. No words.

“And…” He wanted to drive this last point home. Until she never forgot it. He dipped his voice low, the meaning of what he was saying way too important. She had to get this bit. “I hope to never see you with make up on again, at least, not when it’s just you and me. I mean, if you have to, for your sake, fine. I’ll adjust. But it’s not what I want. I don’t need that fake stuff. Just you. Just as you are, at whatever moment in time it happens to be. Got that?”

She paused a second, and he saw the disbelief in her eyes. “You’re serious.”

“I am. And I’ll spend the rest of my life showing you. Got that, Beautiful?”

A pale flush spread over her face, then an uncharacteristic look of peace. And then, a surprise excitement, that surged. “I got it, Cowboy.”

“Now,” he said, with a brusque ache rappelling through him, like a volcano that’d been forced back for too long. “It’s time for you to get acquainted with my hidden parts, woman. They really want to get to know you.” He quickly unrolled the condom he’d kept in his wallet, expressively with her in mind.

Only her.

She prepared to meet him, and something voracious swept through him. He held himself above her on the little cot in the old loft, and positioned his heavy member in exactly the right spot above to make his complete acquaintance with her.