Chapter Fifteen

Priscilla noted with satisfaction that Dusty had not met her eyes for five days. After he had shown disapproval of her ride to town, he had given her a wide berth. They sat at dinner every day with the family but they never spoke, and if he ever looked at her, she never caught him. He was running scared, she thought.

“Dusty,” said George at dinner on the fifth day, “I have a job to offer you.”

Dusty sat back, curious. His leg was much improved, and he had been taking short rides but was still not ready for the herding of cattle. “Whatcha got in mind?”

“As you know, the Rogers’ place has been sold to someone from the East.” Dusty stiffened slightly and Priscilla regretted how much that fact hurt him. “The place is rather run down, and the new owner would like the buildings repaired before taking possession. Also,” he paused for effect, “they are going to build a new house on the original site.”

Priscilla watched Dusty’s face as everyone else oh’ed and ah’ed over this announcement. It seemed frozen. “So?” he asked George.

“So, they have asked me to hire someone to oversee the work. We have some carpenters coming from Santone, and they’ve ordered one of those mail order house kits. It will be arriving soon. It should be quite impressive.”

“I ain’t no carpenter,” Dusty declared. “I don’t do nothin’ can’t be done from the back of a horse.” Priscilla recalled how he had come out to fix the fence on a Sunday afternoon and had to cover a smile.

“Oh, I don’t expect you to do any carpentry work, of course,” George assured him. “I just need someone to make sure the workmen don’t loaf and that everything that needs to be done gets done, that sort of thing. You’d only need to go over every few days or so. It would give you something to do. Ben has agreed to it.”

There seemed no objection he could make and if he had reasons for not wanting to do the job, they were not reasons he cared to voice in company. “I reckon I’ll do it,” he said reluctantly.

“Good! The owner has authorized me to pay...”

Dusty looked up sharply. “I won’t take pay. I’ll do it for... old times’ sake,” he said ironically, and he quickly rose and left the table while George tried to answer everyone’s questions about the new house.

George had told everyone that a friend of his from back east had contacted him some time ago about purchasing a suitable ranch. George had agreed to keep his eyes open and had made a quick deal with Hazel for the property when the chance came. The Steele girls had wheedled and cajoled and threatened and cried, but George had kept his word and his secret, so no one yet knew the new owner’s identity. Stella had even tried seduction, but to no avail. George had simply laughed and pointed out that with her fourth pregnancy becoming increasingly obvious, she would be better off trying to bribe him with a berry pie.

Hazel Rogers and her children left town that afternoon. No one had been hypocritical enough to continue to mourn John Rogers and so their leave-taking was a joyous occasion. With her newfound wealth, Hazel had purchased tickets for herself and the children on the stage to San Antonio where they would catch a train heading east. The excitement of anticipation had transformed Hazel until she was, Priscilla thought, almost pretty.

Priscilla and most of the Steeles came to town to see her off, and in the confusion Hazel managed to draw Priscilla aside for a private word. “Thank you, my dear friend, for everything,” she told Priscilla, “and I hope you will be very happy at the Circle R.”

Priscilla’s surprise was genuine. “The Circle R? What do you mean?”

“I know that you’re the one who bought the ranch,” Hazel told her with a smile. “You really are a terrible liar, you know. You should practice if you ever expect to be any good at it,” she teased.

Laughing, Priscilla hugged her friend. “I didn’t do it for you. You have to believe that. I don’t want you to think it was charity or anything. My motives were purely selfish,” Priscilla assured her.

“Oh, I know what your motives were,” Hazel said with a knowing look. “I hope you both find the happiness you deserve there.”

There was no chance to reply to Hazel’s outrageous statement since the rest of the Steeles were crowding around to deliver their own farewells, a fact for which Priscilla was very grateful. Her cheeks burned as she wondered silently just how many people knew about her and Dusty. It was a disconcerting thought.

It was obvious that Dusty took his new responsibilities seriously in the days that followed. He rode out early every day to his old home and came back late every evening looking as if he had done much more than supervise. Priscilla was consumed with curiosity to see how the house was coming, but she had to content herself with secondhand reports relayed through George. Apparently, things were going well, and after two weeks the house was basically finished.

That Saturday, Priscilla had gone down to the schoolhouse to bathe and wash her hair in privacy. After heating the water and filling the tub, she quickly stripped off her clothes, but just as she was stepping into the tub, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Putting aside her ingrained Victorian modesty, she walked slowly toward her own reflection, and for the first time since puberty, she gave her naked body a critical study. Her breasts, she decided as she watched the spring breeze caress her nipples to hardness, were adequate, neither too large nor too small. Just the right size to be fashionable but was that good or bad? It irritated her to realize that she suddenly did not care how fashionable her figure was but whether or not it was appealing to a certain pair of blue eyes. Even more irritating was the fact that she had no idea what men found appealing. Did they like large breasts or small? Certainly, they must like large ones or why would women who had not been “blessed” sew ruffles inside their bodices? But how large? And did different men have different preferences? Sighing with bewilderment, she put her hands on her waist, testing its slimness. It was tiny even without a corset, and she knew a certain cowboy whose calloused hands could almost span it. Tilting the mirror, she examined the lower half of her body. Her hips were nicely rounded, her legs long and shapely—not that it mattered, since no one ever saw more than her ankle—and her bottom, when she twisted around to examine it, was pleasingly plump and dimpled. Did men like plump behinds? Was that why bustles were so popular? Or did they not, and had bustles been designed to disguise a woman’s true form? It was so confusing. Was there one particular thing about a woman’s body that made a man look at it with that lustful gleam in his eye or was it everything all together or was it just that her body was so different from his? Not that Dusty ever looked at her that way anymore, or at least not that she knew of. Of course, he had said that he loved her, and that probably meant that he still wanted her, but how could she be sure, especially when he took such pains to avoid her all the time. Did he secretly long to tear off her clothes and ravish her? A shiver coursed down her spine as her nipples once again tautened to stiff, pink peaks.

Feeling deliciously wicked, Priscilla fairly danced over to her bath and spent an inordinate amount of time lathering skin that seemed both softer and more sensitive than she had ever noticed before. When she had finished with her hair and the water had cooled to lukewarm, she finally emerged, wrapping her dripping hair in a towel and using another to briskly dry herself. She rubbed harder than she had ever felt necessary and soon her whole body glowed from the rough stimulation. A shimmer of a breeze teased the curtains and stole into the room to caress her most private parts with unseen hands. She fought down a desire to run outside stark naked and let the air and sunlight have their way with her. Dusty Rhoades had certainly awakened some very interesting emotions in her, she realized with a smile. Giggling at her own wantonness, Priscilla stepped into a pair of silk pantalettes and slipped on a matching silk camisole. The softness felt even more erotic against her strangely sensitized skin than the breeze had. Well, it wasn’t like being naked, exactly, she reasoned, and besides, no one ever came down here on Saturday, and even if someone did, she would be able to hear him long before he could see her, and also, her hair would dry much more quickly in the sun. That decided, she snatched up a blanket and her brush and fairly ran outside to a secluded spot underneath the huge cottonwood trees.

She had been right. Her hair did dry very quickly, and as she sat, brushing it with long, slow strokes, she thought of Dusty. He had worked so hard on her house. What would he say if he knew it were hers? She winced at the thought. No, she could not tell him, not yet at least. Not until... until when? The time had to be right but what would have to happen to make it right? He had made love to her and he had confessed his love for her, but grudgingly, and that was not nearly enough. He still wanted to get as far away from her as fast as he could, and only fate—and a mean horse—had prevented him. Sooner or later he would get another opportunity or make one, and then he would be gone for good. What would keep him here? What would bind him to her with bonds he could not break? She had once thought that she could bind him with her body and then she had thought that if she could get him to confess his love, he would stay. Both theories had proven false, but she knew instinctively that there must be something that would keep him. If only she knew more about men, she sighed, as she lay back on the blanket to watch the sun filter through the leaves. Weary with her puzzling, she closed her eyes.

Dusty came riding into the ranch yard late that afternoon. Stella was standing on the porch, shading her eyes in the direction of the school.

“Somethin’ wrong, Stella?” he asked.

She turned a worried face toward him. “Priscilla said she’d be up to the house a long time ago. I’m gettin’ worried about her. Ain’t like her not to come when she says.

“I’ll ride down an’ see what’s keepin’ her,” Dusty offered, getting a little concerned himself.

Dusty dismounted beside the back door of the schoolhouse. Things were much too quiet for his liking, and he was just about to call out when he caught sight of the figure lying under the trees. He froze, forgetting for the moment even to breathe. Not that he had never seen her undressed before. He had seen her wearing even less, but it was not such a common sight that it failed to affect him. Desire shot through him like a flash fire that made the sweat break out all over his body, and his breath, when he remembered to breathe, came in an agonized gasp that was almost a moan. He knew that at any moment she would hear him or sense his presence and wake up, wake up and catch him staring at her like some drooling Peeping Tom, and yet he could not turn away.

Even worse, the throbbing in his loins seemed to draw him toward her with an almost magnetic pull that he was powerless to resist. Stepping carefully so his spurs would not disturb her, he closed the distance between them, his eyes devouring her nearly naked body with a hunger all the more intense because he knew that at any second her eyes would open, and he would have to turn away.

She looked so sweet, so vulnerable lying there. He had forgotten how long and thick her hair was, spilling out around her now as he had imagined it would be when... And her skin, so white and delicate he could see the blue veins in her neck and the tiny pulse beating steadily at the base of her graceful throat; the even whiter silk that clung so lovingly to all the intimate curves of her body; the long, slender legs that emerged so enticingly from beneath the pantalettes and ended in such daintily perfect feet. Dusty watched, mesmerized, as her breasts came to life under his very gaze and hardened into little crests beneath their flimsy covering. Well he remembered how gently rounded her breasts were, how soft and warm her skin was under his hands and in his mouth. It had been a long time but not long enough that he had forgotten. Would there ever be enough time for that?

Sitting on his heels beside her now, his breath coming in such ragged gasps he was certain she must hear it, his blood pounding a primitive longing in his veins, he watched the slight rise and fall of her breasts, unaware that his hand had moved of its own accord to close over the lush mound.

Priscilla was having such a delicious dream. Dusty wanted her, wanted her so much that nothing else mattered, and he had told her so, in words that left no doubt as to his blatant need. Now he was staring down at her, his eyes like blue fire, so full of naked longing that her whole body yearned upward toward him. Her arms had already begun to move, to twine themselves around his neck, to pull his hard male lips down to her own pulsingly eager ones. He was beside her now, his arms around her, his mouth devouring hers, his rugged strength pressed against her yielding curves, his hands caressing, searing her sensitized flesh wherever they touched, burning her even through the silk that covered her. Her hands were busy, too, kneading and stroking the solid wall of his back and shoulders, while her legs tangled with his, sleek silk against abrasive denim, bare toes against cool leather. Their bodies melted together, two parts of one whole, naturally, gracefully blending into the choreography of pleasure that they had practiced in times past, hips straining against hips, hands searching, lips tasting, all in the fevered frenzy of mutual need. In the twilight world of slumber, Priscilla knew with the certainty of dreaming that she had discovered the solution to her dilemma. She would tell him. She must tell him. It was so simple. She moved her lips but no sound came out. She tried again and again, experiencing the frustration of one who sleeps and struggles to make that sleeping body perform, only to find it sluggish and unresponsive, while at the same time it responds to events inside the dream. Dusty’s hungry mouth fastened onto the throbbing tip of her breast, his hands working magic down below, coaxing her to life, to passion, to all the many pleasures they had known together. With one j mighty surge of will, she forced herself up and up, free of the somnolent bonds that held her until the words came tumbling from her throat, those secret words that were the answer to everything.

At the sound of her startled cry, Dusty’s head came up, and blue eyes met brown in a morass of disoriented confusion. Her pliant body went rigid in his arms and the chocolate eyes that had been closed in what he had thought was passion now had opened in what he recognized with dismay as shock. And alarm, he realized with an agonized groan. Well, what had he expected? He had practically attacked her, knowing she was asleep. In the course of a few short minutes he had sunk from Peeping Tom to rapist. Mortified, he released her instantly and in the next second he was on his feet, his back turned.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” he said, his voice unnaturally husky, his words stumbling over each other in nervous embarrassment. “Stella was worried about you. Sent me down to see if you was all right.”

Priscilla gaped at his rigid back, trying with great difficulty to become completely awake. She had been asleep, that much her befuddled mind remembered, and dreaming, too, about Dusty, but some of that dream, at least, had been real. He had been kissing her in the dream, making love to her, and apparently he had been making love to her in real life, too, she surmised as she noticed how her breasts had spilled free of her chemise when she sat up, and how her nipples tingled as she drew the silk back over them, and how her loins ached with that familiar emptiness. If she had doubted before, she was now certain that he still wanted her. But there was something else, some other part of the dream, something very important she remembered, something she was going to say. She had been saying it or trying to when the sound of her own voice had awakened her, but for the life of her she could not remember what it was. “I... I must have fallen asleep,” she stammered. “I was drying my hair.” Scrambling to her feet, she snatched up the blanket, and feeling suddenly very exposed, began to cover herself with it until one look at Dusty’s rigid stance convinced her that he would die before turning around. Now what was he all upset about? He had been upset, she remembered now, recalling the nervous way he had spoken to her. Was he still running scared as she had thought before? If so, that meant he was scared of her, that she had some power over him, and if she did... Oh, dear, she thought, suddenly realizing that she was standing there in her underwear. This was hardly the time or the place to be considering such things, and not knowing what else to do, she hurried into the schoolhouse. Hadn’t he said that Stella was worried about her?

For the second time that day, Priscilla studied her reflection in the mirror, trying to see what he had seen when he looked at her. She did look different, somehow. Her eyes were brighter or something. Dusty Rhoades had a definite effect on her, and judging from the way he had been fumbling with the front of his pants, she had a pretty definite effect on him, too. She knew how to get to him now, too, or at least she would as soon as she remembered what it had been, and when she did... She smiled at the newly seductive Priscilla in the mirror, feeling a very pleasant warmth invade her scantily clad body. “Dusty Rhoades,” she whispered to herself, “you don’t stand a chance.”

The familiar creak of leather invaded her reverie, and she realized that he was mounting his horse, leaving— no, escaping from her. She ran to the window. Modestly, she stayed behind the curtain as she called out to him, “Wait, please! I’ll only be a minute.”

Reluctantly, Dusty dismounted. He was still too stirred up to even glance in her direction, so he stood, staring out into the distance for a while and then mechanically reached for his Bull Durham pouch and made a cigarette with fingers that trembled annoyingly. Good God, he must be crazy! What had possessed him to touch her like that, to kiss her, to... He hadn’t known a peaceful night’s sleep since he’d met her, and from the way he felt right now, tonight would be one of those nights where he lay awake all night in torment. The only alternative was to go ahead and finish what he’d started. Then he wouldn’t have the physical pain any more, only the mental anguish to keep him awake. And if he made love to her one more time, and if it really did get better every time, like he was pretty sure it did, then how in the world would he ever get away from her? Groaning inwardly, he threw down his half-smoked cigarette and ground it viciously into the dirt. If he didn’t get away from here soon...

“Here I am!” Priscilla sang out with a cheerfulness born of her new confidence. Her swift toilette had rendered her bewitchingly casual and faintly flushed, a combination Dusty found he could not observe for more than two consecutive seconds, but his hasty glance had told him everything he needed to know—that she was just as enticing dressed as she was undressed and that she did not seem at all upset about what had almost happened. Again. What on earth was wrong with her? Not that it mattered. He was upset enough for both of them. “Here, you ride. I’ll walk,” he offered gruffly.

Priscilla considered his offer for a moment and then, shaking her finger at him teasingly, she replied, “Oh, no, I know how you cowboys hate to walk. We can ride double.” Stepping up to the stirrup, she waited expectantly for his assistance while she watched him try to think of an excuse to refuse to ride with her. Finally, with a sigh of defeat, he made a stirrup with his hands and bent over to give her a boost up. Smiling delightedly, Priscilla placed her hands on his shoulders with a caressing thoroughness that caused a sharp intake of breath on Dusty’s part, and he propelled her into the saddle with unnecessary force. With obvious unwillingness, he swung himself up behind her, and holding the reins with exaggerated care to keep from touching her, he kicked the horse into motion.

Priscilla found it difficult to keep her seat, or at least pretended to, enjoying Dusty’s annoyed grunts every time she brushed against him. The heat from his body and his nearness were affecting her, too, and she could not help but wish that he would lose control of himself and carry her off to some secluded spot and have his way with her. Unfortunately, he showed remarkable restraint and delivered her safe and sound to the ranch. He had never been so pleased to see a place in his life.

Priscilla found the Steele family in high spirits. A letter had come from their sister Sarah who lived over west of San Antonio. As usual, Stella would not permit it to be read until after supper. When Stella opened the letter, she found another envelope inside, addressed to Dusty, which she turned over to him. Then she read the one from Sarah. Their sister had nothing of great importance to say, but her letter was nevertheless a great diversion for the whole family. When Stella had finished and the others were asking her to repeat certain parts and discussing things she had said, Priscilla noticed Dusty unobtrusively open his missive. As he read, she saw his face turn grave and thoughtful. Carefully, he replaced it in his envelope and sat staring at nothing until Ruth remembered him.

“What did your letter say, Dusty?” she asked.

Starting, he tried to match everyone else’s jovial mood. “Oh, Tim Kelly wants to offer me a job,” he said with forced lightness.

Everyone demanded an explanation at one time, all except Priscilla, who felt suddenly cold.

“Seems Tim bought a herd from some fella down to Victoria. This fella’s gonna drive it up to Santone and meet Tim there when Tim drives his own herd in. He’s gonna hire some men there and send ‘em up the trail.” He paused, almost reluctant to tell the rest. “Wants me to boss the job for him.” He looked around at all the staring faces. “Guess he figured I’d be in shape by now.” He I forced a smile but no one smiled back.

“When would you have to leave?” George asked.

“Accordin’ to the letter, they should be in Santone in about two weeks.”

For a long moment no one spoke or moved. Ruth broke the silence. “Are you going to do it?” she asked quietly.

“I’m gonna give it some thought,” he answered. Then, unable to look at their sad faces any longer, he rose and left the house.

Stella tried to recapture their earlier good humor, but Dusty’s news weighed too heavily on everyone. Gradually, they all went about their own business, leaving Priscilla alone in the parlor, rocking a drowsy Matthew to sleep.

Priscilla’s mind was in a turmoil. Two weeks! Less, because he would have to decide before then. If she wanted Dusty Rhoades, and she certainly did, then she would have to do something drastic, and soon. Cradling Stella’s toddler more closely, she began to imagine a houseful of such children, all with red-gold hair and sky blue eyes. Crooning a half-forgotten lullaby, she began to make her plans and, as she rocked, she began to remember her dream and slowly, ever so slowly, the solution came back to her. It was faint at first, like a phantom trying to elude capture, but then it became more and more clear until at last she had it, and it was as simple as she had remembered, so simple that she had thought of everything else first. A secret smile curved her lips as she decided what she must do and vowed that, win or lose, she would never regret her choice.

Priscilla waited until it was completely dark, and then she suddenly remembered that she had to sleep down at the school since she had neglected to bring anything with her in the confusion of the afternoon. Leaving Matthew with his mother, she went out to ask Dusty to take her back down. She found him sitting on the corral fence, smoking.

“I forgot to bring my things with me this afternoon, so I’ll have to go back to the school. Will you take me down?” she asked as guilelessly as possible.

Dusty sat for a long moment, watching her warily, absently fingering his cigarette. Then he cleared his throat. “Shore, I’ll catch up some horses. Won’t take a minute,” he said a little less than enthusiastically.

“That’s so much bother,” she said. “Just saddle Lady. We can ride double again.” She had almost added, Like we did this afternoon, but managed to restrain herself. She could see that he wanted to object, but more than that, he wanted to know what she had in mind. He was sure she had something in mind. He looked at her for another long moment then shrugged and reluctantly did as she had suggested.

Hoping against hope that he could deliver her safely to the schoolhouse without molesting her, Dusty swung up behind her on the mare and started them off into the night. She was wiggling again, just like this afternoon, brushing against him, shifting that round little bottom against his thighs. If she only knew what she was doing to him, she’d stop quick enough. Maybe he should tell her in no uncertain terms just what he wanted to do to her right now, he thought, before taking a long, steadying breath. The breath didn’t help, though, because it filled his whole body with the scent of her, the smell of flowers and soap and that whatever-it-was that was uniquely Priscilla Bedford. Only barely managing to suppress a groan, Dusty was able to hold himself stiffly away from her tempting curves until they reached their destination, although he was certain she could hear the way his heart was trying to pound its way out of his chest and she could not miss the harsh irregularity of his breathing.

Gratefully, he dismounted outside her door, unable to suppress his sigh of relief. In the darkness, he missed her smile of triumph. Reaching up a hand to steady her, he was not quite prepared when she seemed to tumble from the saddle, but he somehow got his hands around her waist, that tiny, waist, while she managed to clutch at his shoulders. She fell against him, smothering him with the sensation of her silky hair brushing his face and her full, round breasts pressing against his chest.

She uttered a startled, “Oh,” as he steadied her, his large hands moving to cover her hips in the process. Still clinging to his shoulders, she regained her balance and looked up to meet his azure stare with eyes that glittered like a thousand stars. They stood that way for a long time, unable or unwilling to break the spell. Dusty looked down into her chocolate eyes as if trying to find the very bottom, knowing all the while that there was none. She felt so warm, so real under his hands, and she was looking at him like... like she looked when she wanted him to kiss her. She would raise her lips to him, just as she was raising her lips to him now, so sweet, so inviting, so... He lowered his head slowly, so slowly, until he could taste her breath, until their lips were only a whisper apart, and then she ducked her head and twisted neatly out of his grasp. Shocked as he was, he did not miss the wicked grin she flashed him.

“Good night, Mr. Rhoades,” she sang out as she waltzed toward the door. “Oh, please wait until I light the lamp. I just hate to go into a dark house. It’s so frightening.”

He stood there gaping until she slammed the door, and then he felt the cold fury flooding over him. The little tease! She knew his weakness and now she had found the perfect way to wreak revenge. Oh, he deserved it, he had to admit, but that didn’t mean he would like it. He knew just how it would be. She would taunt him and tempt him and torment him but never give in again. He would never have a minute’s peace. She would drive him crazy!

Mechanically, he pulled out the makings and tried to roll a smoke. He could roll one on the back of a moving horse, but he could not make one now. His unsteady fingers botched the job and in frustration, he dashed the mangled mess to the ground, cursing in a violent whisper.

There’s nothing lower than a tease who’d lead a man on for nothing. Well, he’d show her. He’d take that job for Tim Kelly. In fact, he’d leave tomorrow. Go right to their ranch, and have a nice visit. Hadn’t seen them in quite a spell. They’d be tickled to see him. That’s what he’d do. Put a quick end to her little game. He’d show her.

Why in the hell was he still standing here? Oh, yes, she I had asked him to wait until she lit the lamp. What was taking so long? He could hear her rustling around in there. Maybe she couldn’t find a match. He waited, shifting his feet, restless. Wonder if something happened. What if somebody was inside? What if...? He was just about to call out to her when she struck the match, and what he saw froze the words in his throat.

Priscilla stood naked, the lamplight making flickering shadows on the alabaster perfection of her body. He watched, mesmerized, as she lifted her arms and removed the pins from her hair, her full, ripe breasts rising and falling as she moved. With an eager reluctance he allowed his gaze to move downward, past her slim waist, her flat belly, her gently rounded hips and thighs, and then back up to the one dark spot in all that whiteness, the place where he could bury himself and be lost for all time. His eyes closed as the shock of desire went through him like a physical pain. When he looked again, she was gone.

Drawing a ragged breath, he stared at the now-empty window and considered his options. He could always ride away, pretend he had not seen her. Most men would call him a fool for that, but he knew it would be wise, oh, so wise, because he also knew that if he went in to her now, he would be bound to her as he had never been bound to another human being. It would be different this time, not just a quick tumble in answer to an overwhelming impulse. She was calling him to her bed and if he came, willingly, he would be making a commitment. She would own him, body and soul, and since she had had his heart for a long time now, he would have nothing left of himself at all. He would lose everything, just for the pleasure of touching her and tasting her and driving deep inside her and sharing with her that one sweet moment of ecstasy. All these thoughts flashed through his mind in an instant, but even as his reason was still urging escape, the aching, burning thing that was his body was moving toward the door.

His boots sounded unnaturally loud as he mounted the stairs. The door opened easily under his hand. Priscilla was sitting up in her bed, clutching the covers to her breast. Her eyes looked black in the lamplight, and they glittered like diamonds. Her chestnut hair spread over her shoulders like a glistening cape. He tried to read her expression, and, failing that, tried to speak some word to her, but no words came. With a self-consciousness he had not felt in years, he closed the door and made his way to her table where he laid his hat, and then he cautiously perched on one of her straight-backed chairs and pulled off his boots. Standing, he removed his vest and shirt, and when his hands moved to his belt buckle, he looked up once more. Would she watch him in the lamplight as he had watched her? Their eyes met and held for a moment, and then he removed the rest of his clothes under her admiring gaze.

He really was magnificent, she thought as she watched him moving in the lamplight. She had never seen a man’s body before, never seen more of Dusty than a hurried glimpse. They had always been in a rush before, but not this time, and never again. This time she took care to study the way his broad shoulders gave way to a narrow waist and slim hips, how the red-gold fluff that furred his chest tapered to a point and then broadened again to crown his manhood and went on in a lighter fuzz down the well-muscled columns of his legs. Priscilla felt desire uncoil inside her and spiral up and out as she watched him lean over and blow out the light and then come toward her in the shadowy darkness.

She lay back against the pillow as she felt the bed sag under his weight, and fighting off one last small twinge of reluctance, she turned into his arms. Instead of the fiery burst of passion she had expected, he gathered her gently, almost reverently against him. Priscilla found her cheek pressed against his shoulder, and she breathed deeply of the essence of Dusty Rhoades. Sweat and tobacco and horse and leather and a faint muskiness that was his alone. She smiled slightly at the thought that she could probably find him in the dark, and curiosity got the better of her and she reached a tentative finger to touch the springy mat of red-gold hair on his chest that was tickling her nose. It was course and thick and exciting. Emboldened, she moved her hand to touch the skin beyond. It was soft, much softer than she had expected, much softer than the calloused hands that were now moving on her back, stroking her, arousing her. He was soft, but hard, too, like satin stretched over steel, and he went still again as she allowed her fingers to explore his shoulder, both shoulders, any reluctance now forgotten in the wonder of discovery. He breathed her name as he found her lips in a kiss so sweet, so full of longing, that Priscilla felt she could hardly bear it. She answered that kiss with a longing of her own, and feeling her response, he pulled her to him with gentle strength, crushing her rounded breasts against the wall of his chest, molding her curves to his leanness, his hands now roving freely, discovering the uncharted expanse of skin that quivered under his touch.

Priscilla buried her fingers in the thickness of his hair, holding his face to hers in the kiss she never wanted to end. Her lips parted under his insistent tongue, and he gently explored the recesses of her mouth, greedily drinking in her sweetness, while his hands found the silken mounds of her breasts. Obediently, Priscilla arched herself to him as his thumbs moved insistently over her nipples, teasing them to hardness. When Dusty’s mouth left hers, she uttered a cry of protest and sought to draw him back, but he chuckled as he pulled her clutching hands away. “I’ll be back,” he promised hoarsely as his lips trailed a path of fire down her throat, paused briefly at the throbbing pulse he encountered at its base, and then moved on to pay homage to the pebble-hard peaks his hands had produced. Priscilla moaned as his lips closed around one pink crest, teasing, tasting, suckling until she was writhing with pleasure and then moving on to the other.

Ruthlessly ignoring the clamoring of his own desire that demanded he take her swiftly, Dusty continued to arouse Priscilla in every way he knew, and he knew many. Having learned as a very young man, he had practiced over the years with more than one willing young miss. Not bad girls really, just girls more curious than cautious. Women seemed to sense that he knew how to pleasure them. Perhaps that was what drew them. He had never cared to analyze it. Only now was he genuinely glad that he knew how to love a woman as he felt Priscilla’s body come alive under his touch. He would use this knowledge to bind her to him as he was bound to her, and never once did he think of the woman who had taught him how, so long-ago.

Priscilla gasped as Dusty’s hand moved lower, probing, caressing, seeking out her most secret places and producing those familiar ripples of pleasure in the process. If he had aroused her in times past, this time he inflamed her, maddened her, as his ravenous mouth slid lower, investigating the smooth plane of her belly, drawing a cry from her as his tongue dipped teasingly into her navel as if for one sweet drop of nectar and then moved on. Down one slender leg he went, caressing the inside of one trembling thigh, tasting the exquisitely tender flesh in the bend of her knee, discovering a sensitive spot on the curve of her ankle, pausing when her moaning told him to and then moving on, back up the other leg until he reached that precious apex and her restless hands demanded that he take her. Now.

She opened to him, welcoming him, cradling him with I her arms, with her body as he slowly filled her, filled that aching void that her love for him created. “Oh, God, Pris…” he groaned as they lay motionless, their bodies joined, their souls mated in this final act of surrender.

Tears sprang to Priscilla’s eyes at the beauty of it, and had she not known what came next, she would have been tempted to lie there like that forever. “You love me, don’t you?” she prodded, her hands holding him fast against her.

“Yes, oh, yes,” he rasped, unable to remember why it had been a secret before.

“I love you, too,” she whispered against his ear and gloried as she felt the shock ripple through him.

He levered himself up on his elbows and squinted to make out her face in the darkness. Had he heard right? Could it be true? “Pris? What...”

“I said, I love you,” she interrupted softly, and before he could reply, she pulled his face back down to hers. When their lips met, all else was forgotten, words no longer necessary. Their bodies moved in unison toward a common goal, arms and hands and legs and lips creating a harmony of pleasure as they strove toward the ultimate satisfaction. Priscilla drifted into a world of sensation where only her body and his existed, and his only to please hers. Intoxicated with the novelty of flesh against flesh wherever they touched, she could not get enough of him, running her hands over hair-roughened flanks and buttocks, wrapping her silken legs around his sinewy ones, luxuriating in his virility, marveling at the wonderful differences between them that caused such awesome things to happen when they came together. And awesome things were happening as he drove into her, again and again, and she eagerly met each lunge that brought them closer and closer. Priscilla felt the glow that had been smoldering within her grow and spread like molten lava, scorching all her limbs while at the same time the source grew hotter still as each stroke stoked her flickering core, igniting there a blaze that soon became a holocaust, sweeping over her until its heat consumed her and she was no more.

When the flames at last flickered out, Dusty drew the sheet up over their rapidly cooling bodies and gently enfolded her in his arms. For a while they lay nestled together, Priscilla’s head resting comfortably on his shoulder, her fingers tangling in and out of the springy hairs that matted his chest.

“I love you,” she said softly, almost loathe to break the companionable silence.

Dusty sighed. Well, what had he thought, anyway? One time might have been an accident, but a woman like Priscilla Bedford would never keep coming back just for sex, would never keep subjecting herself to a man who treated her so cruelly if she didn’t love him. He must have known it all along. He had just been too stubborn to admit it. Or too stupid. And she’d gone to a lot of trouble to prove it, too, he realized, remembering her elaborate seduction scene. “Couldn’t you have just told me?” he chided playfully.

“I tried to tell you,” she replied with exasperation, rising on one elbow so that she could see his face. “That day by the river. You got so mad, I thought you’d strangle me.

Dusty winced at the memory. “So that’s what that was all about,” he mused, wondering how he could have been so dense, and then he flashed her a sheepish grin. “Well, I know now,” he informed her, and then they both laughed, the laughter of love and sharing and caring, and Priscilla snuggled back down into his arms, content.

“I guess you won’t be leaving now,” she guessed playfully, tracing a pattern around one flat, dark nipple.

Dusty flinched slightly from this first pinch of his new bondage. It was true, of course. He’d given up his freedom when he’d entered this room, but it still hurt a little to be reminded of it. “Well, one thing for shore, I’d better be leavin’ here, right now,” he said with forced lightness.

“Oh, no,” Priscilla protested, but he silenced her with a finger on her lips.

“I can’t stay here all night,” he pointed out with ruthless logic. “I don’t want folks talkin’ about you,” he argued, but the hurt in her eyes melted his resolve. “Here, lie down. I’ll stay ‘til you’re sleepin’,” he conceded. “And don’t look at me like that. Shut your eyes!” he ordered with a feigned sternness that made her smile as she curled up beside him and fell asleep.

Priscilla awoke to someone pounding at her door. In a rush, the memory of last night came back to her, but before she could analyze her feelings, she heard Ruth’s voice calling her. Of course, it was Sunday morning and they had come to fetch her to church. Quickly slipping on her nightdress, she hurried to the door.

“You sick or something?” Ruth asked, seeing Priscilla not dressed.

“I had a... a restless night and woke up with a sick headache. I think I’ll stay in bed a while. I’m sure I’ll be fine by the time you get back.” Priscilla brushed off Ruth’s offers to stay with her or get something for her head and convinced her to go on to church without her.

“I’ll be down soon’s we get back to check on you,” Ruth promised. “Oh, here,” she added as an afterthought, handing her a bouquet of wildflowers.

“What’s this?” Priscilla asked bewildered.

“I don’t know. Found ‘em on your doorstep.” Ruth smiled mysteriously. “Must be from some secret admirer.”

When Ruth had gone, Priscilla sat holding the flowers for a long time, for the first time realizing that nothing had really been settled between them. What would happen now? she wondered.