Fourteen

As Jack’s lips claimed hers, as his tongue pushed against hers, dancing with it in a swirling passion that tingled her to her toes, Angel pressed her palms against his muscled chest, felt sure her bones had melted. She’d never been kissed before, except by him that one time. But she liked it, liked the way his lips felt on hers, liked the way his arms held her close, the way his body pressed into hers. His strength and size sheltered her, yet demanded more of her, made her want more. Made her want to give herself to him in all the ways she’d never, ever thought she’d want to. Or could.

A moan escaped her, mingling with his breath, with the guttural sounds he answered her with. Angel knew what this was, this passion. It was a drug, a strong potion that could ensnare hearts, addle minds, cause men and women to behave in ways they shouldn’t. But still, she wanted it … wanted Jack. But what she felt wasn’t what the child within her heart cried out against. It wasn’t, it couldn’t be, her mother’s betrayal, an elixir that killed. But a potion that healed, that held a man and a woman together … in love.

But even as she gave herself over to Jack, even as she molded her body more fully to his when his arms encircled her, when his kiss deepened, when the heat between them built, Angel involuntarily held back a part of herself, a portion of her heart that she felt sure she’d never give up. She couldn’t help it, couldn’t control it. Too long she’d been left on her own, too long she’d been denied simple compassion, a forgiveness for sins she’d never committed. Yes, there were parts of herself she’d give Jack, she knew. But there were also parts of herself, places in her heart, that he’d have to earn.

*   *   *

When Jack broke their kiss, he was left gasping, marveling at the sheer intensity of his desire for her. Never before had any woman ever stirred him as she did now. As she had since he’d first seen her. With nothing more than a look, a word, a touch from her, he’d been left sweating and sleepless.

And now, with her passionate but inexperienced kiss? Sweet Mary, every inch of him wanted her. And beautiful Angel—his heart went out to her—she was so brave. She clutched at his shirt and pressed her cheek to his chest, her breaths coming in gasps. But still, he suspected the battle within, the struggle and the sheer power of her will warring with her fears. She had to have fears, given her untouched state and her awful upbringing. She had to have strong misgivings about what he suspected was about to happen between them.

And yet, here she was facing them … essentially, for him. And that meant a lot to Jack, had his heart swelling with gratitude. What a gift her kiss was, her closeness was. He was humbled that she’d choose him, that she’d allow him next to her. Every man in Red River Station knew not to try. And here she was … in his arms. Perhaps he’d pulled her to him, perhaps he’d not given her much choice. But she wasn’t pulling away, wasn’t protesting. And it was this part of her, this unhappy, hurting part of her, that Jack wanted more than he did her physical love.

With every fiber of his being, he wanted to offer her healing. And yes, he needed her, too. He wanted to take tender care of her heart, if she’d allow it. And this, this loving tonight, if it happened, if it was what she wanted … would be only a first step, he knew that. This side of loving wasn’t the struggle. He accepted that. The hard part followed, the building on the budding trust and respect between them. And he was more than willing to do his part, if she’d have him. He’d had enough of carousing, of drinking and wasting his life. Look what it had cost him—his father, perhaps his home, maybe his very life.

No more. He’d looked into her black eyes … and found everything he’d ever wanted. If she wanted him in return, then his life would be worth living. But it wouldn’t be easy. No, nothing about Angel ever was. Furthermore, no one had to tell him that she might give her body, but not her heart. Not her real self. He’d have to earn that. But that was all right. He had all his life, and hers, to do that. And if that was how long it took, then so be it.

When Angel stirred in his arms, Jack pulled himself out of his thoughts and glanced down, only to realize he was stroking the length of her hair … down her back … to her waist. And still she clung to him, giving him as much of a go-ahead as he needed. Thus encouraged, Jack murmured the words he’d been wanting to say to her since he’d known her, tender words that spoke of desire, of wanting, of needing. He felt her shudder … a ripple of desire, he hoped, and not fear. Softly he soothed her, told her not to fear love, that it could make her whole.

Finally, Angel raised her head, seeking his gaze. Jack almost gasped with what he saw reflected in her eyes—everything he could ever hope for. The heat of desire, with a blaze of soul-deep wanting. An arm still encircling her waist, with his other he cradled her neck and chin, his long fingers curling gently around her jaw. “Oh, Angel, you sweet girl,” he sighed, peppering her face—her eyelids, her nose, her cheeks—with hungry kisses and hungrier words. “I want you. Can you understand that? I need you. I want to hold you, to kiss you—”

“I want that, too,” Angel answered, no more than breathing her words.

Jack stilled. Did she know what she was saying? Was she even aware that she had uttered those words, and what their impact could be? When Angel pulled back some—perhaps she detected the change in him—Jack slid his hand down to her heart. She tilted her head up, looking again into his eyes. He hoped she could see the wanting, the caring there.

“Do you want me, Angel? Do you know what that means?”

She lowered her gaze, nodding. “I know. I want you. I do.”

His gaze roved over her. With a feather-soft touch, he raised her head, stroked her cheek, a half-smile playing around his mouth. “Are you sure?”

Again, she nodded that she was. Jack’s grin widened with what he saw. Her beautiful face was colored with a flush of embarrassment. Poor, sweet, innocent thing. She instantly lowered her gaze to his chest, stared at a button there. And shrugged as she admitted, “I mean … I think so. I’ve seen it a time or two.”

Jack stiffened, knuckling her chin up until she was forced to meet his gaze. “You mean … your mother, the things she did?” Angel’s gaze slid to his left, to his shoulder. She nodded. “Oh, baby, you poor thing,” Jack sighed, pressing her to him, his hand now cupping her head as he held her to his chest. The way his heart was thumping for her, Jack suspected she could hear it under her ear. He hoped she could. And he hoped, for her, it was a reassuring sound. Perhaps it was … because her arms stole around his back.

Jack almost melted. Dared he hope that she needed his closeness, as much as he now admitted he needed hers? The very notion that she could want him, and the soaring love that burst through him for her, had him tightening his hold, kissing her hair, saying, “Sweetheart, what a gift you are, one I want to open.”

“I’m scared,” Angel finally admitted, her voice muffled by his embrace.

Jack’s answering grin was tender. “I know you are. It’s your first time, isn’t it?”

Angel nodded, and shook with another shiver. He shifted her in his arms, laying his cheek atop her head and crooning more soft, seductive words meant to reassure her and warm her soul. “It’s okay. I know how you feel. I won’t hurt you, honey. I just want you to know that … well, it won’t be like that for us, like it was for your mother. This is different. Because we care.” Then he hitched his shoulder, forcing Angel to pull back. She looked up at him. He grinned, raising his eyebrows. “We do care, don’t we?”

“We care,” she whispered.

Jack watched the play of emotions over her face. “Good.” Then, without another word, he scooped her up in his arms. Angel’s arms instantly encircled his neck. He carried her down the hall that rounded onto the stairs … which led up to the bedrooms.

When he could, when his steps didn’t need direction, Jack slipped his gaze down to her, down to Angel lying there in his embrace, her eyes closed, her forehead against his neck. He reveled in her soft wamth, in every breath that carried to him the delicate musk of her femininity. And still he wondered if she really realized what she was doing. She was giving herself to a man. What did that mean to Angel Devlin? And why him? Why now?

He knew enough about her life, had heard more in town, to know she’d sworn her heart and her body off limits. She’d held herself aloof, no doubt clinging to the hurt and the shock of her mother’s life and its impact on hers. But what had it gotten her, he had to wonder? The bitterness that flavored her words, her deeds? A life alone, a life of loneliness? One lived apart? Had she thought all this time that what she had was strength? But now, in the shelter of his arms, in the warmth of his embrace, did she know better? Did she know that all she’d been was hurt … and scared?

Well, no more, Jack vowed, as he began their ascent up the stairs. If he had anything to say about it, she would never hurt again. This wasn’t a child he held in his arm. She was a woman. And she wanted him, said she wanted everything that it meant. He had to believe her. Because, he now admitted, it was true … he’d been hurt as much by his family as she had been by her mother. Which only seemed, in some crazy way, to make what they felt for each other all the more right, all the more necessary.

At the top of the stairs now, on the second-floor landing, Jack stopped. “Angel?” he called softly to her. She opened her eyes, giving him a wide-eyed, questioning look. Jack’s heart leaped. What if she said no, what if she’d changed her mind? Could he set her down, allow her to walk away from him and into her room? Could he stand to see her close a door in his face? But still, he took that chance, accepted that possibility, and asked, “Are you still sure you want this?”

Her gaze steady, she looked into his eyes. “I’m still sure,” she told him. “I’m very sure.”

Jack’s smile trembled, his expression softened, his heart thumped its relief. “Good,” he said, “because I don’t think I could stand it if I did something to hurt you. If I—”

Angel put her fingers against his lips. “Shhh. You won’t. If I thought otherwise, I wouldn’t be here … in your arms.”

“Good.” He nodded, smiling. “Good.” He couldn’t seem to say it enough, couldn’t seem to move forward, either. Couldn’t seem to take them into his bedroom. Not yet. He needed a signal from her, he suddenly realized, something physical, a reaching out to him. As if she’d read his thoughts, Angel reached up, shyly, wonderingly touching her fingertips to his mouth. Jack squeezed his eyes shut against the powerful rip of emotion that seized him with her simple act. And felt sure he’d crumple to the floor, taking her with him.

Locking his knees, steadying himself, he kissed her fingers. And finally accepted. “All right.” Then, with a quicksilver change in mood, he sobered, felt the intensity of desire take hold of him. “I want you in my bed, Angel. I want to feel you in my arms. I want to show you what love is. It’s so much more than you’ve seen, than you think you know.”

Angel roved her gaze over his face, not giving away her thoughts. Jack wondered what she saw when she looked at him. Wondered if she could feel the thick trickling of desire for her that coursed through him, slowing his blood, pooling itself low in his belly, making him feel languid, almost lazy, as if he needed to stretch … but against her. Perhaps she could, because suddenly she pulled his head down to hers, his ear to her mouth. “I want you to show me,” she whispered.

Jack stiffened, stared down into her face, feeling certain his eyes sparked fire as he muttered, “Damn.” With a glance down the hall, reaffirming that the door there remained closed, that Lou and Boots slept on, he turned them into his room. And still, with the moment here, Angel clung to him, making Jack love her all the more for the trust she showed in him.

He set her on her feet, reaching for the kerosene lamp to his left, turning it down just a bit, softening the room’s contours. Then he watched Angel, saw her looking around, saw her gaze locking on the bed. What now? he wondered. Would she have second thoughts? He waited, giving her that chance. When she didn’t say or do anything, when she just stood there, Jack suddenly realized it was because she didn’t know what to say or to do.

Well, he did. With that, Jack pivoted, closing the door behind them. Angel spun around. Sure enough, she looked scared. Jack stayed where he was, leaning against the door behind him … and waiting for her. Wide-eyed, unblinking, Angel felt for her pants, gripping the denim material in her fists.

Jack had to wonder if the scorching desire that fired his blood had found its way to his face and scared her. “What are you thinking, Angel?”

“Lou and Boots,” she said. “Can they … hear us?”

Wondering if she was mapping strategy or simply stalling, Jack grinned. “Those two couldn’t hear thunder at two paces. But their door’s closed. And I can hear their snores from here,” he assured her. Then he became quiet, his expression sobering. Still wanting to be sure, he again asked, “You still okay with this?”

Looking as if she were a deer about to bolt, Angel swallowed, notched her chin up. “Yeah. But are you going to ask me that every step of the way, cowboy? It could get tiresome.”

Again, Jack grinned. “All right.” He pushed away from the door, walking toward her, surprised his legs would carry him, so stiff with wanting was he. “All right, I won’t ask again. I’ll trust you to know your own mind.” As he neared her, he held his arms out to her. “Come here, Angel Devlin. Let me hold you.”

And then, she was in his arms, holding him again, clutching him to her, her fingers tangling in his hair as he again took her mouth in a hungry kiss that left no room for further talk, for anything but feeling. Spurred by her answering reaction to him, and almost before he even realized he was doing it, Jack had her belt undone, her denims slipped down her legs, and his hands under her shirt, under her camisole, smoothing them up her narrow waist, up her ribs. To her breasts. He wasn’t sure he could wait, that he could be gentle with her. And she seemed to want him to hurry, too.

At just the feel of her silky skin, the way her full and heavy breasts felt in his hands, Jack gave himself over to the hot pricks of fire that shot through him, all but buckling his knees as his fingers slid over her nipples and gently tugged at them. Wrenching in surprised reaction, Angel gasped into his mouth. Jack ended their kiss, stared into her shocked eyes. She clutched at his shoulders, staring.

“That’s supposed to happen. It’s supposed to feel like that.” With that, he smoothed his hands down to grip her waist, to steady her and give her time to get used to the sensations. Without a word, with a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, he allowed her to stand there … as he unbuttoned her shirt. Angel looked down, watching his fingers work. He wondered what she thought of her britches pooled around her ankles, around her stockings and boots.

Looking up at Jack, she bit at her bottom lip. Jack wished he could spare her some of the fear and uncertainty she was sure to experience. But there was really no way to prepare her, except to touch her, to be gentle, and to talk to her … reassure her.

“It’s all right,” he crooned, smoothing the shirt off her shoulders, helping it slide down her arms until it joined the steadily growing pile of his clothes at her feet. All she had on now were her small clothes, a camisole and bloomers. Jack’s blood heated, stirring anew, his breath caught. “My God, you are beautiful, Angel.” He looked into her eyes. “Everything about you is perfect. Everything.”

Perhaps maidenly shyness attacked her because she again lowered her gaze. “No,” Jack protested, knuckling her chin up, wanting her to look at him. “Don’t be ashamed. This is how God made you. You’re beautiful. And remember, I’ve already seen you without your clothes. You don’t have to worry. I like what I see.”

Angel blinked, her mouth worked. Jack’s heart melted. “Come here, baby,” he said, again lifting her, intent on carrying her to his bed. With her feet off the ground, the chambray shirt fell away, and she kicked herself free of the clinging denims. In his arms, her weight was little more than that little rag-cloth doll he’d seen when she showed him his knife. Once at his bed, he set her on its firm softness, her legs and booted feet dangling over the side. Jack knelt in front of her, unlacing and then tugging off her boots. He then slowly unrolled her stockings from her legs. Long and shapely. His gaze followed his hands, his breath caught.

And then he felt a shudder ripple through her, heard her gasping sigh, saw her clutch at the quilt she sat on. She liked his touch. Jack smiled, as relieved as he was uplifted. Her honest reaction meant more to him than anything she could have said, could have done. He excited her, too. He stirred her blood. Jack walked his gaze up the sensual length of her, until he looked into her desire-drugged eyes. She’d been watching him undress her.

Jack stood up, held his hand out to her. Angel took it without hesitation. He pulled her to her feet, held her close to him, feeling the rapid tattoo of her heartbeat. No doubt she was aroused, but she was also scared to death. “It’s your first time, honey. It’s okay to be scared,” Jack soothed. “Everyone is. You’ll be fine. Do you believe me?”

After only a moment’s hesitation, Angel whispered, “I believe you.”

Yes. Jack flung his head back, exhaling the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Angel’s fingers suddenly stroked his neck, smoothing up and down his skin, sending chills running over his body.

Jack tugged her forward and again claimed her mouth, heating the moment. She buckled against him. Jack tightened his grip, holding her up as his tongue sought and gained entrance into her mouth. Hungrily, eagerly … perhaps desperately she returned his kiss, allowed his onslaught. Afraid to overwhelm her, and despite what every male instinct he possessed shouted for him to do, Jack broke their kiss, pulling away, gasping.

But Angel surprised him, delighted him. She moaned, didn’t want the kiss to end. Because she pulled his head back down to hers, eliciting a moan from him. Desire exploded through Jack. He had to get his clothes off. Now. With her directing the kiss, holding his face, Jack began tearing at his clothes. Within only seconds, Angel was helping him, all while still kissing him. His shirt came away. She had it in her hands, was tossing it aside. Jack couldn’t breathe. Again he broke the kiss, barely gritting out, “Wait … a minute. Slow down. I have to—”

She undid his belt, ripping open the button fly on his denims. Jack froze. What the—? What was her hurry? She tugged on his britches—then Jack remembered his boots. “Shit.” He jerked around to the bed—all under Angel’s silent, watchful gaze—sat down and pulled them off, then his thick socks. Finally, he stood again, tugging his denims down over his hips, his body still covered by the white neck-to-ankles combination suit he wore underneath. He kicked free of his pants, began unbuttoning his long underwear, looking over at Angel when she gasped. “We can’t do this with our clothes on.”

“I know,” she said quickly. “It’s just that … I never … I—”

“I know.” Jack stood there, all too aware of his … hardness under the cotton weave of his drawers, all too aware of its insistent throbbing and jutting. Now what? Knowing better than to let her think about it, he took her again in his arms, carrying them both to the bed and stretching out with her.

Instantly, as their half-naked bodies touched, full length, the passion doubled. Their hands became restless, roving, their mouths questing, seeking, their hips thrusting, rolling. In only seconds, modesty was forgotten … and the remaining small clothes were discarded, thrown free of the bed.

Exquisite. She was like a pretty song with a melody you could whistle all day. Every part of her, every inch. Beautiful. Silky. Jack wanted to take his time with her, wanted to explore her, get to know her, gentle her to his touch. And allow her to become familiar with the contours of his body, too. But Angel would have none of it. As if fevered, as if time were running out for her, she urged him on top of her. Jack resisted, wanting to understand this new Angel, so full of urgent fire and wanting.

Lying half on top of her, he smoothed his hands up her arms, urging her to put them above her head. She did and he held her hands there, locking his fingers with hers, and kissing her mouth. Then he moved more fully over her, settling himself into the saddle of her hips and gently pushing against her. Her moan sounded inside his mouth, increasing Jack’s sense of urgency. He released her hands, her mouth, and slid down her until he could capture a nipple, could suckle and lave it, could flick his tongue over its sensitive tip and … make her arch her back and cry out.

Angel writhed under him, only increasing Jack’s desire, only fueling his lust. With nipping kisses, he worked his way over to her other breast—like its mate, a pinkish globe with a peaked and rosy nipple—and captured it, lavishing the same attention on it. As he did, and ever so slowly, he slid off her, lay at her side … and moved his hand down her belly, smoothing and kneading her velvet-soft, taut skin as he went. God, she tasted great. Like warm honey. His fingers sought the vee of her thighs … found it.

With feather-soft gentleness he stroked her there, up and down, in and out, each time entering her a little bit more … and withdrawing, entering and withdrawing. Until she was wet and moaning. And crying out his name. Only then did Jack pull himself up and over her. Instantly she wrapped her arms around his neck, clutching him to her warm body, instinctively bending her knees. Jack helped her, telling her, “Wrap your legs around my back, Angel. It’ll make it easier, honey.”

She complied, not asking what exactly this would make easier. Feeling she was ready, feeling her hips arch and buck against him, Jack positioned himself … and entered her. Slowly … paying attention to the suble changes in her body, to the tightening, the stilling, the stiffening. When he felt any of those things, he stopped, kissed her mouth, her eyelids, her cheeks, swirled his tongue in her ear, nipped at her neck … rubbed himself against her, ever edging inside.

And then, with one good thrust, he broke through, felt the tearing, refused to allow himself to revel in her slick tightness just yet, despite his muscles all but locking with intense pleasure. Because she’d stiffened, too, and gasped. Then Jack gasped himself when her fingernails dug into his shoulders. “It’s okay,” he soothed. “This is the only time it will hurt. I swear. Let me help you, Angel … let me help you.”

She relaxed, still trembled, but she did exhale and nod vigorously. Jack took that as his sign and began the timeless dance that found its own rhythm. He rocked and thrust against her, inside her … finally allowing himself, once he knew she joined him, to feel the joy, the incredible pleasure of their mating. She was magnificent, even in her innocence. Ensheathed in her as he was, on fire for her, his every sense honed in on the feel of her body surrounding his, Jack maintained his pace, pushing into her, stroke after stroke that only built in intensity.

But still, and fighting it with every thrust, he held back, waiting for her, waiting for the subtle tensing signs he knew her body would give to tell him she was reaching her moment. And finally … it happened. She gasped, stilled, clutched at him, raked her fingernails over his back. A guttural sound, from the back of her throat—the sound he’d been waiting for—tore out of Angel. Her cry lifted in the still air of the room. Jack captured her sounds in his kiss—swallowing her desire, breathing her gasps, as he picked up the pace, only adding to their pleasure.

And then the explosion came, seemed to rip them in two while melting them together. Angel broke her mouth free, cried out again, buried her face in his shoulder as her hips worked rhythmically yet spasmodically against his. Her body now pulsed around him, grasping greedily at him, pulling him in deeper and deeper. The liquid fire of her satiation rent a hoarse and rasping cry from Jack. He could be dying, so intense was the pleasure. He jerked up, held himself rigid over her as he felt his life’s force flow out of him and pulsate into her.

And then, it was over. Slick with a loving sweat, Jack slumped over her, lying atop her but supporting the brunt of his weight with his elbows. He smoothed her dampened hair out of her face, kissed her forehead, the tip of her nose, listened to her breathing, watched her closed eyes, watched her tongue slip out of her mouth to wet her lips.

Then, she cried … silently. But not so unexpectedly. Jack had seen this before. Reaction was setting in. Her face reddened, her features contorted, and the tears streamed from the outer corners of her eyes, ran across her temples and into her hair. Her shoulders heaved, she turned her face away.

Jack hurt for her as he roved his gaze over her wonderfully strong yet delicate profile, still smoothing away her hair, still kissing her. Her crying only intensified. Now Jack frowned, suddenly sensing that something else, something other than this irrevocable act between them, was making her cry.

And then, given what he knew of her, what he’d observed for himself—her sudden, almost frantic urgency—he came up with it, thought he knew what was wrong. A half-grin of sympathy and understanding, of hurting for her, curved his mouth, had him sliding out of the tight envelope of her sheath.

Rolling off her, lying at her side, and pulling her to him, Jack held her, wrapping his arms around her, draping a leg over both of hers. Angel eased a hand between his arm and his ribs, wrapping her arm around him. Her other one she nestled against his chest, the top of her head all but burrowed under his chin. Jack stroked her side, smoothing his hand from her waist to her hip and back.

“Angel,” he finally said, hearing the whispery hoarseness of his own voice. “You tried to get through this without feeling anything, didn’t you?”