If You Believe

Page 25

 

  Pain welled through her at the thought of Mad Dog leaving her. Tears threatened, burned her eyes, but of course, didnt fall.

  Her shoulders caved downward, her spine rounded. She squeezed her eyes shut, imagining all the moments with Mad Dog that mattered. The ones shed remember long from now, during the endless winter nights when she was alone and lonely.

  Shed remember everything about him—his gestures, his smile, his touch. The way it had felt when he curled his arm around her and held her close. The feel of him, the smell of him, the taste of him . . .

  Oh, God, the taste of him . . .

  Could she really let all that go? Could she stand by, afraid and lonely, and let him simply walk out of her life?

  Hed never stay. . . .

  Once, the words had had the power to hurt her. Now they simply stated a bald, unemotional fact. He wouldnt stay. She couldnt go. In those simple words lay everything that stood between them.

  It was so much . . . and it was nothing at all.

  The truth, when it came to her, was blindingly obvious. She couldnt let him go, not now, not yet, without ever tasting the passion he offered. Shed been alone for so long, her passion pent up beneath starched layers of linen and too many hairpins.

  She didnt want to be alone anymore. She wanted, needed, just this once to be touched by something more human than the wind. . . .

  She took a deep, steadying breath and stood. Her legs felt rubbery and unstable—whether from kneeling or from the decisions shed made Marian wasnt sure, and it didnt matter. Straightening her spine, she headed back to the bunkhouse.

  With each crunching step, her fear increased. So did her resolve.

  She stopped at the door. The thick, white-planked portal filled her vision. It was the only thing that stood between her and passion. Her and pain. If she knocked now, her life would never be the same.

  Do it.

  Dont do it.

  She let her breath out slowly, forcing her hands apart. There was really no decision to be made. She didnt want her life to be the same anymore. She was tired of being alone and isolated, tired of being lonely. Her soul ached for the warmth of a touch.

  For years shed thought of nothing but the past; shed worried about it, agonized over it, tried to atone for it. Now, for once, she wanted to think about the present.

  Before she could change her mind, she knocked.

  "Come on in," came Mad Dogs deep, masculine voice.

  Marians knees almost buckled. She jerked her chin up and opened the door.

  On the bed, in a pool of golden light amidst a mass of wrinkled white sheets, lay Mad Dog. He was sprawled casually across the mattress, one leg stretched out, one leg bent, with the Turkish towel across his midsection.

  Surprise flashed through his eyes. "Mariah. " He said her name in disbelief. Then came the smile, a slow, steady curving of lips that made Marians heartbeat quicken.

  She swallowed hard and tried to smile back. She almost succeeded. "Am I going to regret this?" she asked in a voice so quiet and shaking, she wondered if he could hear it.

  He sat up straighten Across the wide expanse of wrinkled sheets and naked skin, their eyes met. There was no laughter in his gaze this time, only a searing honesty.

  "Probably. "

  "Will you?"

  He grinned. "Probably not. "

  In that instant, with that answer, Mariah felt her last crumbling remnant of resistance disappear. She laughed, and it was a musical, velvety sound that surprised her. "Mr.

  Stone, I do so admire your honesty. "

  It was true, she realized. Thats what had drawn her to Mad Dog, what drew her now. It wasnt his handsome face or ready smile or teasing words. It was his honesty.

  He was recklessly, fearlessly honest. His integrity touched something in her, made her yearn for the days when she, too, used to be forthright. Unafraid.

  She wanted that again, wanted it with a desperation that left her winded. And maybe, with Mad Dog beside her—even for a fleeting night of passion—she could find that kind of honesty within herself again.

  And she was going to start right now.

  She looked at Mad Dog, an honest, wide-eyed stare that held nothing back. "I want you, too. "

  Chapter Sixteen

  Holy shit, she was serious.

  Mad Dog sat up, yanking the towel tighter against his hips.

  She was standing in the open doorway, as stiff as a blade, her hands balled at her waist. Fear had pulled the color from her skin and tightened her full lips into a thin, quivering line. With the moonlight drizzling through the doorway and bathing her in elysian light, she looked young and frightened and impossibly vulnerable.

  Vulnerable.

  He bit off a curse. Christ, she was such an innocent, standing there, quietly asking for something she couldnt possibly understand. He could give it to her— longed to give it to her—but she wouldnt be able to live with the consequences. And, surprisingly, he wasnt sure that he could, either. He liked Mariah, genuinely, honestly liked her. He didnt want to hurt her. She wasnt the kind of woman for him. She didnt deserve to be dallied with and then deserted. She deserved better than he could give her.

  That shocked the shit out of him. He ran a hand through his hair and shook his head. For the first time in his life, he was going to be a goddamn hero. He couldnt believe it.

  He tightened the towel around his waist and eased carefully from the bed, walking slowly toward her.

  She didnt back away, just stood there, as still as stone, haloed by ivory moonlight, her huge eyes focused on his face. A tiny pulse beat frantically at the base of her throat.

  "Go home, Mariah. "

  She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, then opened them slowly. "Dont make this any harder on me. Please. "

  The soft plea coiled around his heart and squeezed until it hurt to breathe. "You dont know what youre asking. . . . "

  She looked up at him suddenly, met his gaze. "Im no . . . virgin. "

  He was so surprised, both by her words and her attitude, that it took him a second to answer. "Youre not?"

  "No," she said with a hint of something in her voice—perhaps pride, maybe pain.

  "So you wont be ruining me. That jobs been adequately handled by someone else.

  And—" she hesitated a heartbeat, then went on steadily "—I cant have children, so youve no problem on that account. "

  He heard the pain in her voice, and knew what that confession had cost her. It moved him immeasurably, her gutsy attempt at courage. He knew how easy, how safe, it was to be casual about the important things. It was a defense hed used a hundred times in his life. Hit em before they hit you.

  Obviously Mariah was a woman whod wanted children, desperately. He remembered the baby blanket, and suddenly it all made sense. Shed embroidered it long ago, waiting, hoping.

  Sadness tightened his chest. Once again he felt that strange, inexplicable need to comfort her. He brushed a strand of hair from her lip. "Im sorry . . . about the children. But doctors cap be wrong. . . . Theyre wrong all the time. . . . "

  "I dont want your pity. " She smiled, but it was a strained, hurting expression. "I want your body. "

  He laughed in spite of himself. "Jesus, Mariah—"

  Her smile faded. She gazed up at him with heartbreaking seriousness. "Ive been stuck on this farm for years, running away from everything and everyone. I dont want to run anymore. Please . . . make love to me, Mad Dog___"

  The softly spoken words hit him like a punch to the gut. Christ, hed never had a woman say that to him before. Make love to me in that quivering, desperate voice. It tore through his resolve and started a red-hot fire in his groin.

  He looked away, balled his hands into painful fists.

  She shouldnt be standing there, looking so damn beautiful and vulnerable, asking him to make love to her. Not a lady like her; not to a man like him.

  He should get the hell out of
here, right now, just grab his shit and hit the road and never look back. Walk. Run. Ride. Anything to keep her from looking at him again, from touching him, from uttering those shattering words: Make love to me.

  "Have . . . " Her voice fell to a throaty whisper. "Have you changed your mind about wanting me?"

  He laughed sharply and looked away. "Hardly. "

  His answer seemed to give her courage. Slowly she moved toward him, until she was standing close enough to be kissed. The heat from her body was a tangible, erotic presence that filled his senses. She smelled of soap and water and wildflowers.

  She looked up; he looked down.

  "Is something . . . wrong with me?"

  He flinched. "Youre not easy, goddamn it. Dont you see?"

  She tried to smile. "I believe Im being extremely easy right now. "

  "Im no good for you," he whispered in a harsh, throaty voice.

  "I dont care___"

  "Ill leave you. "

  "Dont you think I know that?" Her voice was reed-thin, almost frightened. "All I want is a night—one night—to keep me warm on all the long winter nights when Ill have no one. Is that so much to ask?"

  He stared down into the warm bourbon of her eyes and felt like he was falling.

  Jesus, suddenly it hurt not to touch her. He wanted her so badly.

  "Youre worth more than that, Mariah. "

  She made a tiny, gulping sound. "Dont . . . dont make me beg. . . . "

  "Christ, Mariah, Im not trying to humiliate you. I just dont want you to hate me in the morning. I like you too much for that. "

  "Ill hate you more if you say no. "

  He wanted to back away from her, but he couldnt move.

  Slowly, as if she were scared to death, she tilted her face up to his. "Kiss me . . . "

  Her voice broke slightly, her lips trembled.

  "Aw, Christ. " The curse burst from his lips in a gust of breath. He couldnt stop himself. Without thinking, he grabbed her shoulders and pulled her toward him. His lips came down on hers in a hot, hard kiss that drove the breath from his lungs.

  And at that first intoxicating taste of her, Mad Dog was lost. His one and only attempt at being a hero shattered into a million desire-tipped shards.

  A tiny, contented sigh escaped her, slipped from her mouth to his. He pulled back slowly, staring down into her eyes. A slow smile moved across his face.

  "God, youre beautiful, Mariah. "

  A prickly heat crawled up her throat. Without warning, she was reminded of Stephen and his lies. Pained by the memories, she looked away. "You dont have to say that. "

  "I know. "

  She felt his gaze on her face, pointed and searching, and reluctantly she looked at him. There was something in his eyes she hadnt seen before, a sadness. "What?"

  "You think Im lying, dont you?"

  "You . . . lie?" She gave a laugh that sounded fragile even to her own ears.

  "Come here. " He pulled her to the old oval mirror that hung above the lopsided dresser. Maneuvering her to stand in front of it, he slipped behind her. "What do you see?" he whispered against her ear.

  She rolled her eyes. "Oh, for Gods sake. What does this have to do with—"

  "What do you see?"

  Reluctantly she let her gaze move back to the mirror. "I see my face. And half of yours. "

  He placed his hands on her shoulders and began to knead her taut muscles. The rough-skinned pads of his fingertips moved gently up and down, massaging. "What color are your eyes?"