Eight
Felicity wiggled into her bra. It was no use trying to seduce Derrick when he was in one of his moods. He didn’t seem to notice her anymore. Oh, sure, he’d drive her all the way to Portland on the pretext of taking her to a movie, then he’d pay for a room in this dump of a motel and he’d make love to her, but he wasn’t really with her; not like he used to be. And he didn’t even know the truth.
Black hair mussed, he was lying on the bed, and smoking a cigarette. A reporter was going on about the heat wave, how long it was going to last, how bad it was for the crops, how people shouldn’t water their lawns.
Who cared?
Rolling off the bed, she walked to the window and peered through the blinds. Across the street a restaurant claiming to serve authentic Northern Chinese cuisine was bustling with activity. Under the streetlights, men and women flocked to the front doors, laughing and talking. Holding hands. Falling in love.
How long had it been since Derrick held her hand? Or took her out? She swallowed the lump forming in her throat. It didn’t work to cry with him; it only served to make him angry, and Derrick’s temper was worse than her own. Fingering the blinds, she tried to imagine what life would be without Derrick Buchanan. The thought was terrifying, and yet she felt a gnawing deep inside her, a fear that she was losing him.
Felicity’s heart tore a little. Once upon a time she and Derrick had been in love. He would have walked through heaven and hell to be with her, but now…she glanced at the bed where he lay, his eyes at half-mast, a neglected cigarette growing ash between his fingers. Tall and lean, well-muscled and tanned, he was the firstborn son of Rex and Lucretia Buchanan, as strapping as his father, as good-looking as his mother.
He was arrogant and knew that as the son of the richest man in Prosperity, any number of girls would climb willingly into his bed. As she had. The daughter of a judge, no less. But she hadn’t slept with him because he was rich; she’d made love to him that first time in the backseat of his Jaguar because she loved him with a passion that wouldn’t die.
He hadn’t even had to take her out.
She felt more than a little shame, because, before Derrick, she hadn’t let a boy touch her. Several had tried to get their sweaty paws into her bra, but she’d been selective because of Derrick. She’d known she was in love with him when she was only eleven years old and had confided in Angie that someday she was going to marry him.
Angie had laughed. Who would want her brother, who, at sixteen, was gawky, all arms and legs with a bad complexion?
But Felicity had known. Even then. And she’d saved her virginity for him. She planned to marry him and the subject had come up more than once, usually at her suggestion, but lately, Derrick didn’t have much time to give her.
Tonight, while the air-conditioning wheezed and the television was muted, they’d made love. Once. And it had been a lot of work. Almost a duty.
At first Derrick hadn’t been all that interested—his mind was on other things—but eventually she’d teased him into putting aside his problems back home in Prosperity and he’d responded to her new black bra and garters. Now, though, as he stared at the television and it reflected in blue shadows across his face, she could have been bare-ass naked and he wouldn’t have cared. Something was bothering him, and not for the first time, he was shutting her out.
She tried again. Moving sensuously and catlike to the bed, she crawled up the mussed covers, between his legs, letting her breasts, which he used to love, hang down into the tight little cups of her push-up bra. She licked her lips. “Maybe we should go out,” she cooed, her voice low and sexy, her breath whispering across his abdomen.
He flicked a glance at her. “Later.”
“Why not now?” She kissed his navel, but beneath his shorts she saw no erection springing to life.
“I just want to watch the news. Okay?” He didn’t bother hiding his irritation as he jabbed out his cigarette.
“You can watch it tomorrow. Right now, we could have some fun…” She trailed her tongue up his sternum and teased at a nipple nestled in curling dark chest hair.
“Are you really that horny?”
“With you?” She lifted an eyebrow and tossed her elegant mane of thick red hair. “Always.”
Derrick’s lips moved slightly. “Then prove it.”
“What?”
His eyes narrowed into wicked slits. “Prove it, Felicity,” he said, lifting her up so that she had to straddle his chest. “Put on your best show.”
“I—I don’t understand.”
“Sure you do. Make me want you. So that I never think of another woman. Show me what you’ve got that makes you so special.” He snapped a garter against her thigh and she jumped. Then his finger hooked under the front clasp of her bra and he dragged her closer to him, so that his breath fanned her nipples beneath the black lace. “Show me how I make you feel; get down and dirty.”
“I—I love you,” she said, her voice quivering a little. He scared her when he got like this, when he seemed so desperate for something…something more than she could give him. And beneath the fear, she felt anger. Just a tiny spark, but anger nonetheless.
Oblivious to her warring emotions, he leaned back against the pillows, stacking his arms behind his head, staring up at her. “Good. Then prove it,” he said with a cruel glance. “C’mon, baby. Do me.”
With moonlight for her guide, Cassidy hunched low over Remmington’s shoulders and dug her heels into his ribs. She hadn’t bothered with a saddle and rode him bareback, clamping her legs firmly around his sleek sides. The game colt took the bit in his teeth and raced across the dry grass, his hooves thundering as he kicked up dust. Wind screamed against Cassidy’s face, tangling her hair and bringing fresh tears to her eyes.
She knew running the horse flat out through the fields was dangerous, but she didn’t care. All she wanted to do was erase the image of Angie and Brig kissing and making love, an image that seemed burned into her brain.
She rode through the connecting fields until she could feel the horse breathing hard, then pulled up and let him walk in the shadow of a copse of oak and maple trees. Away from the lights of the ranch, she gazed into the dark heavens to the millions of stars that winked against a sea of black.
Remmington yanked on the bit, shaking his head and rattling his bridle, trying to communicate to her that he was still the boss, but Cassidy was having none of it. The colt had become more docile since Brig had been working with him but he was still headstrong and Cassidy didn’t let him get too close to the overhanging branches of the trees for fear that he would try and scrape her off. Her shoulder was still a little tender, and she didn’t want to risk another injury.
“Come on,” she said, clicking her tongue and riding along an overgrown trail where the scents of honeysuckle and skunkweed mingled with dust in the dry air. Cassidy spit to clear her throat and guided the horse up a small rise where remnants of an abandoned sawmill camp still stood. The buildings were weathered and rotting, windows broken long ago, roofs collapsing on the old sheds where men had once cut timber into peeled logs and two by fours. That was a long time ago, before loggers had chased the stands of old growth farther into the hills and before the old man-made pond had dried up. The empty pond, flat as a fritter and stretching for half a mile, was her destination. A horse could gallop across the smooth surface without fear of stumbling in a mole hole or tripping over a log hidden in the tall grass.
“Let’s go,” Cassidy said, once again digging her heels into Remmington’s sides. The colt responded, lunging forward with enough speed to steal Cassidy’s breath. Wind whistled past her ears as his long legs stretched and bunched, reaching farther, hooves thudding in sharp counterpoint to the rapid beating of her heart. “That’s it,” she said as the horse streaked across the old pond. At the far side a grass-covered dike kept the swift water of the river from leaking into the dry pond bed. She pulled on the reins and caught her breath as Remmington turned. Yelling at the top of her lungs, she urged him forward. The colt bolted, hurtling over the flat surface again.
Exhilaration swept through her blood as she squinted against the moonlight-drenched fields. Tears blurred her vision, and she forgot about everything except the powerful animal beneath her, feeling his muscles strain as he raced against the wind, faster and faster. “Run! Run, you devil!” she cried as the ground swept beneath them. Heart pounding, she felt his sweat lather against her legs and heard him breathing hard. Finally, she pulled up at the edge of the pond and, gasping, let him walk over the weed-covered dune to stop near the dilapidated old sheds of the sawmill.
“Good boy,” she said, patting his wet hide. “You’re the best.” She slid to the ground. The stubble of thistle and grass tickled her legs, but she barely noticed. As soon as she was off his back, Remmington snorted and half-reared. The colt tossed his head, stripping the reins from her fingers, sending fire through her injured shoulder. “Hey, wait! Whoa—” she commanded, ignoring the pain screaming down her arm as she lunged to catch hold of the leather straps.
Remmington let out a triumphant neigh and twisted as she reached for the damned reins. “Hey—Remmington—” He bolted forward, his hooves pounding out a sharp tattoo against the hard ground as he disappeared over the grassy dike.
“Damn it all to hell!” Cassidy yelled in frustration, kicking at the ground with the toe of her worn Adidas running shoe. Now she was in for it. But good. She couldn’t possibly track down the mule-headed horse in the middle of the night. The ranch stretched for thousands of acres, and though each portion was fenced off from the others, Remmington could roam through the connecting fields or the foothills, some of which were thick with scrub oak and brush. She’d have enough trouble finding him in the full light of day.
At dawn, when Mac made his rounds, he would discover Remmington missing and there would be hell to pay. Cassidy cringed at the thought. As things stood now, if she made it back to the house undetected and kept her mouth shut, Brig would probably be blamed for the missing horse. Brig attracted trouble as easily as a magnet drew iron filings. And it would serve him right for letting Angie lead him around by his…well, his nose.
She swore under her breath, already knowing that she wouldn’t let him take the fall. He’d lose his job for sure, and it wouldn’t be fair. Although it warmed a cold, vengeful part of her heart to think that he and Angie would be thwarted and wouldn’t be able to see each other as easily as they could while he worked for Rex Buchanan, she couldn’t blame him for her own idiotic mistake.
“Son of a—” She heard it then, the unlikely huff of air—almost a snort. The warning hairs on the back of her neck lifted one by one, and she squinted into the darkness, wondering what she could use for a weapon. Sometimes bums wandered through the hills and spent a night or two in whatever shelter they could find at the old sawmill. Her throat turned to sand.
“Lose something?”
Brig’s voice was a dark whisper that sent her already-pounding heart into a sharp double-time. Whipping around, she found him leaning against a beam holding up the sagging porch of the old cook shed.
“What’re you doing out here?”
“I think that’s what I should ask you.”
Shoving her hair from her face, she tried to hold on to some shred of her dignity. “I thought I’d go for a ride.”
“Is that what you were doing?”
“Yes! Since no one will let me ride my horse—”
“Because you can’t handle him.”
“I can!”
“Didn’t look like it to me,” he drawled, his grin flashing white and infuriating her.
“You probably spooked him,” she argued, though she knew in her heart that he was right. She’d lost control of the mean-spirited colt.
“Yeah, right.” He barked out a laugh and she heard the jangle of a bridle. For a foolish second she thought Remmington had returned until she noticed the dun-colored gelding tethered to a post near the old pump house.
“How’d you know where I was?”
“Followed you.”
“You what—?” she asked, her heart knocking painfully as he pushed himself away from the post and strode slowly over to her.
“Serves you right. You were spying, Cass,” he said, his voice familiar as he said her name. He stopped just in front of her and she felt suddenly young and small.
Shaking her head, she said, “I don’t spy—”
“Sure you do. And you saw me with Angie at the pool, and you jumped to all sorts of conclusions.”
Good Lord, couldn’t he hear her heart drumming wildly? She wanted to deny it, to tell him that he was mistaken, but the words seemed frozen on her tongue.
“I…don’t—”
“Don’t lie, Cass. It’s not your style.”
A breeze, blowing hot over the hills, stirred the grass and somewhere off in the thicket of trees an owl hooted softly, only to be answered by a horse’s nicker. Remmington! She should go and try to catch him, but right now she was mesmerized by the moonlit fields, the dark shadows of the night and Brig McKenzie.
She let out a tremulous sigh. “Okay, so I saw you.”
“And you got mad—”
“I did not—”
“Shh.” He pressed a callused finger to her lips and shook his head. “You’re doing it again,” he warned in a voice so low she could barely hear his words.
“But how did you—?”
He stared at her long and hard. “That’s the strange thing. I felt that someone was watching, which isn’t something new. I’ve felt it before. I thought it might be Willie—you know how he sneaks around—or maybe your old man checking out his daughter, but there was something different in the air. Oh, hell, what do I know? But I heard you run off, trip and swear under your breath.”
“I didn’t say a word.”
“Didn’t you?” he asked and his finger moved slowly, tracing the edge of her lips in a slow motion that caused a swirling sensation in the pit of her stomach.
Involuntarily she licked her lips and touched the pad of his finger, tasting salt and tobacco. For a moment he didn’t move, just stared down at her, his eyes narrowing to slits in the moonlight. “What do you care if I’m with your sister?”
The words balled up in her throat. “I don’t—” He tilted back his head and she knew she was falling into the trap of lying again—to protect her dignity as well as her pride. “I—I guess I, um, don’t like her manipulating you.”
“You don’t have to worry about that.”
“You don’t know her.”
“Maybe not yet. But I will.”
Cassidy’s heart seemed to shatter. “She’ll hurt you and use you and—”
“I don’t think so.” He dropped his hand, and his gaze seemed to soften a little. “I’m askin’ again. What do you care?”
“I just don’t like it when she tries to twist men around her fingers.”
“She hasn’t twisted me.”
“Yet.”
“She asked me to go to that big deal of a party thrown by Judge Caldwell.”
“I heard. You said you’d go.”
His smile turned brittle. “Me and The Judge. We go way back.”
Cassidy had heard stories, of course, rumors about Brig’s wild youth. How he’d nearly killed his brother once with a gun that neither boy thought was loaded. Chase still bore the scar of a bullet hole in his shoulder. The weapon, a small pistol that one of Sunny’s men-friends had inadvertently left at her trailer, had been returned to the man. There had been other stories as well, but for some reason, no charges had ever been filed against Brig. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to go with Angie,” she blurted suddenly.
“No?” Brig’s fingers curled into a fist, which he used to lift her chin so that she would have to meet his eyes. “Why not? Won’t I fit in?”
“That’s not the reason,” she said, barely able to breathe. The night seemed to close around them.
“Then what is?” He lowered his head, closer to hers, staring at her with such an intensity that she felt as if she was burning inside. “Maybe you’re jealous.”
“No,” she whispered and he smiled.
“There you go lying again, Cass. Didn’t I tell you it doesn’t suit you?”
Cassidy knew he was going to kiss her, yet when his lips brushed gently over hers, she wasn’t prepared for the quake that slid down her entire body or the feel of him so close—the smell of him so earthy and male.
With a groan, he grabbed her roughly, drawing her fast against the hard angles of his body. Lips that had been so gentle turned rough. Cassidy’s blood began to pound in her temples. The tip of his tongue slid like a supple knife against the seam of her lips, and she opened her mouth to him. Groaning, he gathered her closer still, dragging her willing body against his, crushing her breasts to the unyielding wall of his chest.
Her heart was thundering, her blood pumping wildly. It seemed the most natural act in the world when his knees buckled and he pulled her onto the ground. His kisses turned anxious, his tongue flicking across the roof of her mouth, sending ripples of pleasure through her limbs.
“Cass,” he murmured into her open mouth.
His hands moved easily over her sweatshirt and dipped beneath the hem. He touched one small nipple with his thumb and she gasped, her abdomen pressing against her spine.
“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” he said as his fingers joined his thumb and he gently kneaded one small mound. She couldn’t answer, didn’t dare breathe, and when he lifted her sweatshirt, dragging it over her head, exposing her breasts to the light of the pale moon, she closed her eyes.
Feeling the chain holding her St. Christopher’s medal, he paused. “Still wearing this?”
“Always.”
He picked up the silver disk; it winked in the moonlight.
He held the disk between her breasts, pushing the engraved metal against her skin. Closing his eyes, he shook his head, as if to regain his composure, as if he was going to stop, and she, heart beating, drew his head down and kissed him again, her inexperienced tongue pushing eagerly into his mouth. He groaned a protest. “Cassidy—”
Her fingers splayed over the soft fabric of his shirt, instinctively searching for his flat nipples.
“Don’t—” he whispered.
“Please—”
“You don’t know what you’re asking.”
“I know I’m with you.” She kissed him hard and he responded, giving in to the demands of his body. Rough hands moved expertly over her skin, sending shivers down her spine, and stoking fires deep within her, dark sweet fires he stoked so well.
“Tell me no, Cass—” he said, still touching her and causing sweet sensations to spark through her blood. “For God’s sake.” His arms surrounded her and he drew her upward, forcing her spine to curve away from the ground as he touched a nipple with the tip of his tongue. A tremor ripped through her and he groaned, his breath hot against her wet skin. She arched upward and his lips surrounded her breast, drawing, tasting, sucking hungrily.
Her body ground against his, her fingers curling in the thick strands of his hair. A deep, moist need began to awaken and yawn between her legs.
The world seemed to blur as the hand at the base of her spine pulled her closer still and she felt a stiff bulge beneath his fly. Soft, worn denim couldn’t hide his erection, and he rubbed it against her cutoffs.
One hand slid up the inseam of her shorts, touching the elastic of the leg of her panties. He shifted, so that he could slip his finger past the flimsy barrier of cloth.
Cassidy’s mouth went dry, and she cried out as his fingers parted her, exploring and touching. She gripped his head, and his teeth pulled on her nipple as he touched a part of her she hadn’t known existed. The world began to spin as he stroked her, and she moved with his rhythm, breathing hard and fast, holding him tight as a pressure, sweet and dark, built inside her, a pressure so blinding that she thought of nothing other than moving with him. She thought she might explode and still he worked, his finger dipping in and out, his tongue licking her skin.
“That’s a girl,” he whispered across her nipple as she began to gasp in sharp little breaths. “Let go.”
“Brig—”
“Come on, darlin’. It’s all right. I’m here.”
Her body convulsed. The ground shifted beneath her, and her bones seemed to melt as the stars behind her eyes collided.
“Oh, God,” she whispered, feeling his hand withdraw, leaving that which was once white hot instantly cold. “Oh, God. Oh, God.” And all at once it was over. She let out a shaky breath. He rolled away from her with a curse and left her breathless and covered with a sheen of her own perspiration.
“Brig?” she whispered, once her heartbeat had slowed. She heard him strike a match and watched as the flame illuminated his face.
“You’re a virgin.” He drew hard on his cigarette; it glowed bright in the dark.
Why did it sound like an insult? “I’m only sixteen.”
“Hell.” He wiped a hand over his brow and shot out a stream of smoke.
“You knew how old I was.”
He smoked in silence, and she was suddenly embarrassed, as if somehow she’d disappointed him. “Cover up, would you?”
She looked down at her breasts, small and white with nipples that were larger than usual, and she felt ashamed. Compared to Angie, her breasts were so small and…Angrily she threw her sweatshirt over her head. “What is it you want from me?”
“Nothin’!”
“Nothing? After what just happened?”
“Nothin’ happened.”
“How can you say that after…” Her voice cracked.
“So you came. Big deal.”
She was shocked. Was that what had happened? She’d come—had an orgasm? “But you…you didn’t.” She knew enough about bulls and stallions, and what men did, to realize that he’d somehow denied himself. Or that he didn’t want to go all the way with her.
“Look, Cass, if you’re horny, you can do yourself. You don’t need me.”
“You mean—?” She drew away, disgusted.
“Happens all the time.” Standing, he dusted off his hands on his jeans.
“I don’t want to—”
“Then don’t. It’s none of my business.” He stared at her, and disgust curved the corners of his mouth. “Are you ready to leave?” he said, dropping his cigarette onto a boulder and squashing it with the toe of his boot. “Maybe we should try to find your horse.”
“And just forget that we nearly—?”
He reached down and hauled her to her feet. “As I said, nothin’ happened. It was no big deal. I got a little carried away and thought you should at least experience what it’s like to get your rocks off, that’s all!”
“Bull! You felt it, too!” she said, stung.
“I feel it with a lot of girls.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Including your sister!” he said, and Cassidy felt as if the flick of a whip had cut through her heart.
She shrank away from him. “You couldn’t!” she cried. “Not now. Now when you just—!”
“You saw us by the pool.”
“But—”
“You should’ve stuck around for the real show.” His mouth twisted into a grim, bitter line. “Maybe then you could’ve learned something. Your sister, she’s a real hot pants!”
With a gasp, Cassidy hauled back and slapped him so hard that the sound ricocheted off the surrounding hills.
He grabbed her arms and held them high over her head. “Don’t hit me,” he warned, his face turning savage in the darkness. “And take tonight as a lesson. Don’t be giving it away for free to just any boy.”
“I wouldn’t.”
“You nearly did.”
Angling her face up to him, she said, “I thought nothing happened.”
He snorted. “Only because I’m so goddamned noble.”
“I love you!”
He froze and silence prevailed over the night-washed land. She stared him straight in the eye.
“Cassidy,” he said and his voice gentled. “You don’t have to try and mix up lust and love. You…you wanted to experiment and see what it was like to get laid and that’s not really all that bad, except when it becomes an obsession like with your sister, but shit, you don’t have to tell a guy you love him just because he got into your pants.”
“I wouldn’t let anyone in I didn’t love.”
“Oh, hell—”
“I love you, Brig McKenzie, and I wish I didn’t.” She inched her chin up a notch, and he shook his head. Some of the hard edges left his features, but a trace of sadness touched his eyes.
“You don’t love me and I don’t love you. And we’re never, never going to have this conversation again.” Slowly he lowered her arms and released her. “What happened between us a few minutes ago is over. I made a mistake. I thought I was doing you a favor—”
“Like hell, you wanted me!”
“Just because a guy gets a hard-on—”
She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him with renewed passion borne of desperation. He was trying to break it off with her before it ever got started. “I love you, Brig,” she said and his body tensed, but he didn’t shove her away and his lips held hers. His arms surrounded her, pulling her close against him, muscle straining against muscle, heart pounding next to heart. His groan was one of tortured surrender, and she felt him dragging her down to the ground again only to stiffen his sagging knees.
“No!” he growled, throwing her away from him so that she stumbled backward and nearly fell. “Don’t you get it, Cassidy? This isn’t right. You’re jailbait and I’m on probation with your father as it is!” He strode over to his horse, grabbed the reins and tossed a look over his shoulder. “Coming?”
Her cheeks were hot with embarrassment and tears threatened her throat and eyes, but she found some bit of dignity and nodded.
“Good.” He slapped the reins in her hands. “Go home and go to bed. I’ll take care of Remmington.”
“No, I’ll—”
“Don’t be silly, Cass. This is the only way it’ll work.”
Her fingers curved over the soft leather straps, and humiliated beyond belief, she climbed into the saddle. Yanking on the reins, she eyed him from astride the gelding. “You know, Brig, you can say anything you want and believe whatever makes you feel better, but I love you and I probably always will.”
He glared up at her but didn’t move.
The horse twisted and reared as she added, “In the future, please, don’t do me any more favors!”