A Man to Call My Own

Chapter 28

THE LESSON WASN'T OVER as Marian had at first thought. It was just beginning. It just no longer had anything to do with horses. But she didn't know that when Chad pulled her back into the much cooler stable.

She couldn't see anything for a moment, the quick transition from such bright sunshine outside to the shadowed interior made the stable seem darker than it was. But by the time her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she found herself lying on a pile of hay in one of the empty stalls, Chad's body half-covering hers, his mouth preventing any protests, not that she thought to make any.

She was too dazed. It had happened too quickly. And she wasn't even sure why. What he'd muttered about invitations and stone didn't make much sense to her. That he was kissing her again didn't either. They had agreed the kiss last night was a mistake, at least, she'd assumed they had. And he hadn't been drinking this time. So she was running out of reasons to explain why he'd want to kiss her.

He was doing more than that. She didn't realize it at first, his kiss was so consuming. But when his hand covered her breast, the abnormal heat from it was the first clue that there was no longer a cloth barrier between them. Her shirt was unbuttoned, her camisole pulled down.

Panic was her immediate reaction, that she was half-naked somewhere other than in the privacy of her bedroom. She managed to break the kiss off for a moment, and gasped out, "What if someone comes in here?"

"Do you care? I don't."

She had to think about that. How could she think when he was still caressing her breast? Actually, if he stopped right now, she'd probably cry. And no one was likely to intrude at this time of the day. No, she didn't care either. If someone did show up, she would worry about it then.

She let him find her mouth again. She wrapped her arms around his neck, her silent answer. His kiss got more ravenous, his tongue exploring deeply. She was losing all thought again, caught up in a tide of turbulent sensations far beyond her meager experience.

His caresses became more bold, slightly rough, his breathing as ragged as hers. She had a feeling he was caught up in his own passion. She hoped he had more control of it than she did.

His mouth moved lower, sucked on her neck. It tickled, it fired her blood, made her want to curl around him. Lower still and his lips surrounded her breast. She knew his mouth wasn't that hot, yet she felt scorched there, was afraid he was trying to fit the entire mound in his mouth. Impossible, her breasts weren't that small, yet it didn't seem as if he was going to give up trying.

The sensations were getting deeper. Vaguely, she felt him fighting with her skirt, realized he wanted it off. He was having no luck, so he tried a different route.

"There should be a law against women wearing breeches," he growled, when his hand couldn't get very far up from the bottom of the loose riding skirt.

She felt like laughing. She surprised herself by giving in to the urge, then teased in a prim tone, "Did you really want to get naked in a stable, on a pile of hay?"

"Use your imagination. I know you've got a good one. Imagine you're lying on silk."

"Was that a yes?"

He laughed now, a great burst of laughter. He rolled over, pulled her with him, positioned her so she was sitting across his waist, her knees bent at his sides, just about all of her within reach of his hands. He made quick work of getting rid of her shirt, spread it out on the hay next to them. Her camisole was pulled over her head. That, too, became part of the blanket he was fashioning on top of the hay. The lifting of the camisole dislodged her spectacles, though, which she fixed automatically from habit. But he reached for those, too. Her reaction to that was also automatic. She leaned back, avoiding his reach.

"Take them off," he said simply.

"No."

He started to frown, but her breasts distracted him. His hands covered them both now, kneading them. Her head dropped back with a moan she couldn't contain. With her legs straddling him, she was feeling a new heat now, deep in her core.

"Stand up, where you are," he said, his voice more husky than usual.

She didn't want to lose the touch of his hands, but she could find no reason to deny him this time. She wasn't sure she could stand up, though, because she was trembling. She managed it, but looking down at him as he began to slowly unbutton his shirt, her knees nearly buckled.

"Let your hair down," he ordered next.

She complied immediately, pulled out a few pins, shook her head, and the whole golden mass came tumbling down her back, over her shoulders, curled about her waist.

"I knew it would be that long—and beautiful. No more buns for you. If I see you wearing another bun, I'll personally steal all your hairpins."

She grinned at the thought of him sneaking into her bedroom to steal hairpins. Actually, if she happened to be in it at the time...

"Unfasten that contraption you're wearing so I can get rid of it."

She sucked in her breath again since he happened to be unfastening his pants as he said it. It took a really long moment for her to think clearly enough to realize the "contraption" he meant was her skirt. She fumbled with it, her fingers trembling even more. And he did yank tlie skirt down the second he saw it loosen.

He sat up then, tore out of his shirt, barely sparing a moment to add it to the improvised blanket. He pressed his cheek against her lower belly and put his arms around her. His hands slid up her back, then slowly down, over her hips, then lower, taking her bloomers with them.

Though the air wasn't stirring in the confines of the closed stall, she felt a slight chill, standing there like that, but only for a moment. His breadi was hot on her belly, his chest warm against her diighs. He was gently lifting one of her legs to unlock them from her remaining clothes. Her hands went to his head, her fingers sliding through his hair. Baby-fine soft it was, the touch giving her such pleasure, she realized she'd wanted to do that ever since she'd met him.

When he lifted her other leg, she lost her balance and slid down him until her knees touched the ground on either side of him again. The hand he'd placed behind her head pulled her lips back to his. And while kissing her, he somehow managed to get her boots off as well.

The next thing she knew, she was being laid down on the improvised blanket, and he was grinning down at her as he asked, "It's silk, right?"

She would have said absolutely, would have agreed with anything at the moment, for that matter, but she couldn't find her voice. He looked so boyish with that grin, so handsome, she felt a swirling sensation in her belly that made her feel faint. And he must have sensed what she was feeling because his expression turned so sensual she caught her breath.

His mouth was back on her, and his hands, infinitely gentle as they caressed her bare skin, exploring what couldn't be reached before. She questioned nothing he did, just accepted the pleasure of his touch and tried to concentrate on each moment, each new sensation so that she would always remember it. But it was happening so quickly, and she was so caught up in the passions he stirred in her, if she remembered anything at all it would be the heat, the craving, and her amazement that it was even happening.

He stopped kissing her so that he could watch her as his hand trailed down her body. His look was filled with awe, or was it her imagination? But he did seem overly taken with the sight of her bared limbs, or maybe just surprised, since the clothes she tended to wear gave no clue that she was as shapely as she was. Either way, she was amazed she wasn't embarrassed, to have him looking at her like that. Well—maybe just a little.

His hand continued to move down her thigh, then slid up the inner side of it, and stopped at the junction. She gasped, which brought his mouth back to hers. But it wasn't that gasp he tried to catch, it was the ones he knew would follow when his fingers delved into her. Her nerves leapt in pleasant shock, arching her body toward him, spasms she had no control of. His body moved closer to absorb them, was suddenly settled completely over her, and before she guessed why, he was entering her.

The pain was sharp, but gone so quickly, she'd have no clear memory of it. Feeling him fill her, though, and so deeply, made up for it, bringing her a pleasure she never could have imagined. He did no more than that for the longest moment, was giving her time to adjust, time she didn't really need. When he began to move in her finally, she was more than ready. He was still trying to soothe her though. While he rested one arm behind her neck, he slid his other hand up her cheek, over her ear, into her hair-catching on her spectacles and taking them off her.

She was sure he'd done it deliberately, though maybe not. His look of surprise could have been due to his having the spectacles in his fingers. But he was staring at her face, both of them completely still. He knew she was Amanda's twin, he'd admitted that, and yet she felt more naked without the spectacles than she did without her clothes.

"Can you see me at all without these?" he asked her.

"Yes."

"Good, because I want you to see how much I'm enjoying this."

The tone was husky, but the words affected her amazingly, removing all her shyness and reminding her that he was still deep inside her. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and said just as huskily, "Then what are you waiting for?"

He caught his breath, but then frowned for a moment in confusion, "Amanda?"

Marian didn't answer, was too distracted at that point to think. He was thrusting deeply into her, again and again, and within moments, it carried her right over the edge into the most sublime ecstasy of her experience, a pleasure that continued to flow through her until he received his own several moments later.

They were both still again, breathing slowly returning to normal. Marian held off her thoughts as long as she could, trying to savor what would undoubtedly be a unique experience, never to happen again—with him. Marian felt anger welling up in her and sensed Chad might be feeling the same way. He seemed in no hurry to address it either. Yet simmering there between them was the notion that he thought she was Amanda. And he'd made love to her anyway.

He leaned back. He stared down at her for the longest moment. Now, without realizing it, she was glaring up at him. But before either of them could say anything, they heard a voice near the front of the stable.

"You here yet, Chad? Horses need feeding—well, hell, looks like I'll have to ..."

The mumbling stopped. It was the sick cowhand, worried about the animals. Chad swore beneath his breath when the cowhand added, "Oh, didn't see you there, Lonny."

Chad whispered as he grabbed his clothes and donned them quicker than he'd removed them, "Get dressed while I get rid of them. We'll talk about this later."

Later? If she saw him later, she just might shoot him—well, after she got some lessons on shooting.