Never the Twain (14 page)

"I talked to Frank yesterday," she said, startling him. "He and Elaine can give us a
month."

"Pardon me?"

"Frank and Elaine Ainsworth, remember? The graduate students I told you might be able
to help us out in Skeleton Gulch. They'll be here sometime next week."

He remembered her saying something about some kids coming in to do some digging, but
he hadn't paid a lot of attention, since she said it might not help get his application approved any
quicker. "Think it'll do any good?"

"I hope so, Rock, but I can't promise. It all depends on what they find."

The hell of it was, he almost believed her. She really did sound like she cared about his
waterhole.

Genny helped him take care of Tequila and feed the few mares he had in the barn. She
thought he looked a little surprised when she offered, but didn't let that stop her. She missed her
horses. Riding Dixie, those two days into and out of Shinbone, had reminded her how just how
much she missed her horses. Maybe next year she could find a small acreage to rent and bring them
out from home.

Home? No, Vale was home, now. She felt like she belonged in Owyhee Country, as Rock
called it, much more than she had ever belonged in New Hampshire. She had fallen in love with the
land and its people. One of its people, in particular, perhaps?

No, not yet, but she was getting there, in spite of his moody, on-again-off-again
charm.

"Didn't you say Pancho kept the freezer full, Rock?" she said, while he was putting the rest
of the sodas into the refrigerator.

"Yeah. It's through there, in the pantry." He pointed.

Genny rooted around in the huge upright freezer. Casseroles, soups, and bread filled the
upper shelves, while wrapped beef and lamb and pork nearly overflowed the bottom ones. She
chose a small casserole labeled "beef stew with beer" and a package of "B-milk biscuits."

Good. The microwave had a defrost setting. They wouldn't have to wait hours for dinner.
She touched start and turned, to find herself in Rock's arms.

"Hello, darlin'." He rubbed her nose with his.

Genny forgot about her doubts, about discovering the source of his frequent angry
withdrawals. She was where she belonged. Now if he would only realize that this was where he
belonged, as well.

"Oh, my!" Long, sweet moments later she pulled back to look at him. Yes, this was the
same man who'd taken her so roughly, so urgently less than a week ago. Today he seemed to think
he had all the time in the world, and was going to spend it making love to her.

"Sounds good to me," she whispered, reaching for another kiss.

"Hmmmm?" He dipped deep, tasting the crevices and the hollows of her mouth. She
tangled her tongue with his, wanting to savor him as deeply as he was her. For a long time, they let
their tongues explore, and she felt waves of pleasure building somewhere deep within her. His hands
were firm on her waist, and her arms were wrapped around his neck. Chest to chest and belly to
belly they stood, straining toward each other, lost in mutual discovery.

Finally, when Genny's legs were reminding her just how weak his kisses made them, he
swung her into his arms. Laughter tumbled from him and his smile was enough to warm the coldest
cockles.

"Dinner can wait," he said, striding down the wide hall. "I can't."

"Neither can I," she whispered, burying her face in the angle of his jaw. No longer even
thinking of resisting temptation, she let her fingers toy with the bandanna around his neck, seeking
the knot. Only now, held so close against his chest, could she smell the tangy odor of his sweat,
residue of his exertions this morning.

Sweat, a faint effluvium of horse, and musk. A male odor, uniquely his. She had smelled it
before, lurking under his subtle masculine cologne. Now it was overpowering, filling her nostrils and
speaking to a primitive part of her.

She drew a deep breath and her last veneer of civilization dissolved. No longer toying, she
opened his shirt and slipped her hand inside. She scratched lightly, remembering the effect her nails
had on him before. She bit at the warm skin of his throat, wanting to suck strongly, wanting to mark
him as he had her.

But before she could do more than touch her lips to him, she found herself on her feet.
On her feet and unsupported. Rock had stepped back from her and was waiting, a smile of uncertain
longing on his face. It was almost as if he wanted reassurance that her need was as great as his.
Could Rock have the same uncertainties as the rest of humanity?

Oh, no! Not Rock McConnell, supercowboy.

His hesitance gave Genny courage, where his usual arrogant confidence would have
daunted her. If he had played the dominant male, leader-of-the-herd role as he usually did, she
probably would have become passive, out of pure habit.

"Don't move," she told him. "Let me...."

His eyes flared at her, but he didn't move or speak. He just waited.

An inch at a time, Genny removed his shirt, sliding it down over both of his powerful arms
at the same time, kissing her way from left shoulder to wrist as she revealed the tanned skin.

She dropped the shirt and ran her hands lightly up his chest, skimming the pectorals, barely
touching the hard pebbles of his nipples. Her own ached in response.

Behind him was a wide bed, covered in dark red corduroy. She pushed lightly on his chest.
"I want you to sit down, Rock. There. At the foot of the bed."

He backed. When the backs of his knees touched the bed, he sat, eyeing her suspiciously.
She held back an un-Gennylike giggle. What did he expect she was going to do, tie him down and
tickle him all over with peacock feathers?

Come to think of it, that might be fun. Some other time. When the edge of her hunger for
him was blunted. And when she had a ready supply of peacock feathers.

"What are you grinnin' about?" Yes, that was definitely suspicion in his eyes. But he
remained docile under her stroking hands.

"Just a private joke. I'll tell you later, if you're a good boy." Kneeling, she tugged at one
boot. It was firmly attached to his foot.

"Darlin', I'll be the goodest boy you ever did see." His voice was hoarse with
promise.

Genny turned and straddled his leg, pulling his foot up so she could get a good grip on the
recalcitrant boot. He lifted it still higher, until she was almost held astride his shin. Oh, God, the
pressure on tender, sensitive tissues! Her panties grew moist as he lifted her off the floor, then let
her down again, slowly. His grin told her he knew what he'd done to her.

Despite the distraction, she was able to remove his boots. And his socks. Her nose
twitched, so she did not reciprocate for his toe kisses, but she did run a fingernail along the arch of
one foot before she dropped it. That brought his leg up again, but she was ready and hopped aside
before he could high-center her.

"Lie back," she directed, when she had wrung all the titillation she could out of boot
removal.

He sat stubbornly upright, a try-and-make-me grin on his face.

She pushed. He hardly moved.

"Please, Rock. I want to take off your jeans."

"Why didn't you say so?" He flopped backwards, his arms spread wide on the bed.

Genny straddled his thighs, bending low to kiss his belly just above the ornate buckle
closing his pants. She felt, rather than saw, the muscles spasm across his abdomen. She saw the
bulge at his crotch. Gently she touched it. "That looks uncomfortable."

"Damn straight," he growled. "Don't you think you oughta do something about it?"

"And what did you have in mind, sir?" Again she touched, rubbed. "Would a cold shower
work? Or perhaps a bucket of ice water in the face?" She gestured.

"Woman, just you wait!" He reached for her.

"Ah! Ah! Don't touch." She leapt backwards before he could grab her. "I'll take pity on
you, if you'll promise not to grab me."

He nodded, flinging his arms out again.

She stifled a grin of triumph at the sight of his twitching biceps.

Back astride his thighs, she touched him again, still gently. "I really hate to make you suffer,
but it's so warm in here." She reached for the tails of her pullover cotton top. Slowly, imagining she
was one of the strippers she'd once seen in Boston, she pulled upward, rotating her upper body
slightly as she did so. With seductive movements, she twirled her top in one hand before tossing it
aside.

By now, more than Rock's biceps were twitching. His hands were opening and closing
against the bedspread.

She arched her back to better reach the clasp of her bra. Had she known where today
would end, she would have worn the lacy one with the front closure. It and those outrageously
indecent panties. But from the hungry expression on Rock's sweating face, perhaps this bra was
adequately effective.

The bra followed the sweater. Leaning forward, Genny let her breasts barely brush his
belly, above his jeans. The contact nearly made her lose what little control she had.

It didn't matter, for she found herself flipped over and pinned to the bed, a hard thigh
between hers and icy, sizzling blue eyes staring into hers.

"My turn, now," he said. His hands framed her face and Genny surrendered to his greedy
mouth.

She had not expected Rock to be a gentle lover. His arrogance, his impatience, and the
frequent glimpses she'd had of simmering anger had led Genny to expect excitement, but never
sensitivity. Certainly he'd spent little time on tenderness in the Daniels' gazebo.

He surprised her. He pleasured her. He intoxicated her, tantalized, and brought her to the
edge of enchantment. His hands were gently demanding, touching every square inch of her body,
stroking, tickling, rubbing. Again and again he returned to her mouth, to sip and to gulp. To her
breasts, to suckle and nip. To her belly, to lave and to delve into her navel with a prehensile
tongue.

Genny knew she was moaning and didn't care. All she cared about was ending this
exquisite torture. She tried to pull him to her, but he was strong and unyielding. She tried to hold his
hands, to stop the ache they created wherever they touched. "Please." she heard herself say, "Please.
Please. Please!" but she didn't know whether she was asking for release or respite.

"Let it go, darlin'." Rock's voice penetrated her delirium. "Don't hold back." He kissed a
line of fire between her breasts and across her midriff, stopping to titillate her navel once more.
Lower, until she felt him probing at the waiting core of her, felt a tugging and a drawing, as if he
were pulling her outside of herself.

The heat started in her toes, a fiery, tingling heat that burned its way past ankles and knees,
swept up her thighs, gathered within her belly, before it broke free and overwhelmed her, carrying
her along on a swell of sensation into an oblivion of satiation. She drifted, conscious only of being
held in warm arms, of drifting in a haven somewhere beyond hurt and tears and
disappointment.

Slowly she returned to the world, gradually becoming conscious of hands again stroking
her body. She opened her eyes.

He was there, his face only inches from hers. His eyes still glittered, but now with a quiet
urgency that she knew only she could alleviate. She pulled his head down, kissing him lightly, tasting
herself on his mouth. Her hands found his buttocks and she pulled him against her, feeling the
unrelieved hardness of him.

She caught his penis between her thighs and squeezed, With small jerks of her hips, she
massaged him.

His breath caught, then burst from his mouth is a harsh gasp. "Careful, there."

"Careful? Were you careful with me?" She ground her hips against him. "I was doing just
fine when you decided that you had to take things over." She grinned, what she hoped was a
fiendish grin.

"You complainin'?" Again he turned her, until she lay sprawled across the top of him.
"Okay, then do it your way." But she noticed that he didn't relinquish his hold on her waist, nor did
he push her away from him.

Genny lifted herself on arms still trembling slightly from the force of her recent passion.
"Just how dangerous are you, cowboy?" She straddled him, just above his knees. "If I were to scoot
a little closer, would you explode?" She suited action to words, moving until she rode his thighs, just
below his jutting penis.

His teeth were clenched as he said, "I won't explode until I'm inside you, babe, but much
more of that and you'll find yourself ridin' a hungry bronc." His hands were like steel pincers at her
waist.

"Poor baby," she cooed, drawing circles on his rigid abdomen with her fingernails. "I hate
to see you suffer like this." She scooted a little higher, pressing him down, feeling the size and
strength of him against her. Despite her recent satiation, Genny felt another climax building within
her, just waiting until she contained him.

"Genny," he gritted, "don't push your luck."

"Not any more," she agreed. Rising on her knees, she fitted herself to him, taking him
inside her a scant half-inch at a time. Still wet from before, she felt him slide easily, despite his size.
Gradually she lowered herself, glorying in the sense of fullness he gave her.

His hands at her waist forced her to go slowly, when she wanted to take him all at once.
But he held her up, lifted her slightly twice. She watched his face. His eyes were vacant, seeing
beyond her, into his own rapture.

Finally she was seated upon him. She tightened around him, relaxed, tightened again.

He groaned, lifted her slightly. "Careful," he gasped.

A wild recklessness took Genny. Again she squeezed him, quickly relaxed. Once. Twice.
But before she could do it a third time, he took over. She could have been weightless, for all the
difference it made to him as he lifted her and pulled her down, burying himself in her. Again and
again he pulled her hips tight against his, filling her, giving her all of himself.