Only His

8

With a curious, tingling shudder, Willow forced herself to think of something other than the man whose uncertain temper and crooked smile kept throwing her off balance. She concentrated on the sunlight beating heavily down all around her, stripping veils of mist from the wet land. Although the ground was cool, the air was rapidly becoming almost hot.

The horses had emerged from the cover of the forest and were grazing. They ate hungrily, looking up from time to time, but otherwise relaxed. Their calm told Willow that no one was nearby. For a few minutes she watched their coats steam in the rapidly heating air, reassured by the familiar presence of her Arabians. Within an hour the horses would be dry, and so would the meadow.

Willow went into the shelter and came out carrying the shotgun, a blanket, lavender soap, Caleb’s cavalry shirt, and her clean camisole andpantelets. Watching Ishmael for any sign that she wasn’t alone in the meadow, she went to the creek and followed it downstream from the camp until she found a patch of willow bushes growing right next to the water. Behind the screen of bushes she undressed until she wore only the scarlet flannellongjohns.

When Willow knelt and put her hand in the water, she barely bit back a shriek. The creek was colder than the streams she was accustomed to in West Virginia, much less one of the sun-warmed farm ponds where she had bathed whenever she could sneak away.

«The sun will warm you up,» she told herself firmly. «Now get to it before Caleb comes back.»

Willow temporized, washing in reverse of her usual order rather than stripping down right away. Still dressed, she wetted her hair and worked it into a lather. The soap fairly seemed to explode into bubbles when it hit the water. Very quickly she had lathered and rinsed her hair twice. Sitting on her heels, she wrung out her hair and shook it over her back to dry. Then she peeled off the cotton flannel and washed herself to the accompaniment of gasps and gritted teeth whenever cold water hit a particularly sensitive part of her body.

After blotting herself dry as best she could with the flannel, Willow stepped into herpantelets and camisole. She shook out Caleb’s big shirt and pulled it on over her head, lifted out her hair, and settled into shivering herself warm. It took only a few minutes. She gathered everything she had brought and walked out of the willows, looking for a warm, sunny place along the brook to wash her clothes.

A hundred yards away, Ishmael’s head came up and his ears pricked together as he saw Willow emerge from cover. He watched her walk along the stream for a minute, then went back to grazing. Certain that no one would be able to sneak up on her — except, perhaps, Caleb — Willow knelt near the water, set the shotgun within reach, and began washing her flannel underwear. When she was finished, she spread the flannel underwear on the meadow grass to dry.

The heat of the sun amazed her. Already the snowline was visibly melting up the mountain peaks, retreating with every passing minute. The air was almost hot. Its silky dryness was like a tonic after the days of overcast and rain. It was difficult for Willow to believe that she would be wanting heavy clothes when the sun went down. At the moment, even with wet hair, she was warm enough to consider peeling off Caleb’s heavy woof shirt and lying down on a blanket in the sun while her hair dried. She compromised by unbuttoning one of the rows of buttons and allowing the cavalry shirt to flop open on the right side.

The horses continued to graze quietly, assuring Willow that she was alone in the meadow. She shook out the blanket, set the shotgun nearby, and began combing snarls out of her hip-length hair. It was a tedious job, but in time most of the water-darkened strands hung freely down her back. With a sigh of relief she stretched out on her stomach to let the sun complete its work of drying her hair. Then she would finish grooming the thick mass with her brush.

The light breeze, the hum of insects working over the meadow, the muted song of birds, and the hot sun combined to unravel Willow. With a long sigh, she slid into sleep.

When Ishmael nickered, she awoke with a start. Even as her hand closed around the shotgun, she recognized Caleb approaching her with long, easy strides. Hastily, she sat up and flipped the blanket across her legs. Her hair slid forward over her shoulders in an untamed fall of gold. Frantically, she groped around the blanket but couldn’t find the brush and comb.

«Good thing nobody is nearby,» Caleb said. «Between that red stallion and your underwear drying on the grass, it would take a blind man to overlook us.»

«You didn’t tell me to keep the horses in the forest,» Willow muttered as she rearranged the blanket to cover her bare feet.

«I didn’t tell you to keep your pants on, either.»

Caleb’s voice was neutral, giving no indication as to his mood. Willow looked cautiously at him through the screen of her dark amber eyelashes. His smile flashed crookedly against the black backdrop of his beard.

«Don’t worry, honey. If I wanted the horses in the forest, I would have picketed them there myself. As for your clothes,» he said, his eyes crinkling at the corners, «they don’t stand out nearly as much as that red stud.»

Relieved, Willow smiled up at Caleb. The day was too warm and too unexpectedly wonderful to spend arguing. His own smile widened as he bent and scooped up the brush and tortoiseshell comb that were peeking out from the meadow grass.

«Looking for these?» Caleb asked.

«Yes, thank you.»

Instead of putting them in Willow’s outstretched hand, he moved behind her, knelt, and calmly began combing her hair. After her first, startled reaction was ignored, she accepted the small intimacy.

For such a big man, Caleb’s hands were light and surprisingly gentle. Patiently he worked the remaining snarls from Willow’s long, sun-warmed hair. With an unconscious sigh of pleasure, she relaxed beneath his hands.

Caleb’s eyes narrowed as he measured her response to his, but he made sure that Willow saw nothing of his response, for he didn’t think he could conceal the hunger in his eyes and body. Delicately he drew the comb through the incandescent gold of her hair, easing out all tangles before he set the comb aside and switched to the brush without interrupting the slow rhythms of his hands moving over her hair.

«You’re very good at this,» Willow said after a time of hushed silence.

«I had a lot of practice when I was a boy. My mother had a hard time carrying a baby. Most of the time she was so ill she couldn’t wash and comb out her own hair.»

«You did it for her?»

Caleb’s answer was a rumble of sound that had no meaning beyond agreement. «Mom had no daughters and no other living children until Rebecca.»

«Your sister?»

«Yes, my baby sister. She was beautiful, as sleek and quick as a mink. All the boys wanted her, but she wouldn’t have any part of them, until…»

Willow heard both sadness and rage in Caleb’s voice and sensed that the girl called Rebecca hadn’t made a happy choice in her man.

«I’m sorry,» Willow whispered, touching Caleb’s hand where it rested on her shoulder. «It must be very hard for you to be away from your family.»

Caleb had no doubt that Willow meant every word she said. He also had no doubt that she made no connection between herself and a girl called Rebecca Black. When Caleb thought about it, he realized Willow’s ignorance was hardly surprising. Reno wouldn’t be likely to discuss one conquest with another.

Anger prowled in Caleb, but it was no competitor at the moment for the desire that permeated every bit of his big body. He lifted a fistful of Willow’s thick hair and let it slide from his grip in a silky, golden waterfall. The scent of lavender drifted up to him. He knew that her clothes would smell of the same lavender soap she had used on her hair. He inhaled deeply, letting the fragrance expand through him. For some reason he liked lavender even better than the rose sachet JessicaCharteris preferred. Lavender refreshed his senses and tantalized them at the same time.

«My father was an Army surveyor,» Caleb said almost absently as he watched the silken drift of Willow’s hair down her back. «He was gone more than he was home. I did what I could to care for Mother. The part I liked best was brushing her hair. It was black and straight, like mine. Light used to makebluewhite rainbows in it. I thought it was the softest, most beautiful thing in the world, until now.»

Willow shivered as Caleb’s palm moved caressingly from her forehead to her nape and burrowed beneath the thickness of her hair. His hand lifted and let the smooth strands slide away.

«Soft as a kitten’s chin,» he said huskily, «and the color of the summer sun. My mother used to read me fairy tales about princesses with hair like yours. I never believed them, until now. Touching your hair is like touching sunlight.»

Caleb resumed brushing Willow’s thick hair with slow sweeps of his hand. Strands of gold shifted and shimmered beneath his touch. As though alive, filaments of hair lifted and clung to his hands, silently asking that the gentle caresses continue. Strands followed his fingers, clung to his shoulders, and fanned across his chest in soft invitation. He fought against the temptation to unbutton his shirt and feel the silky touch on his bare skin. His shirt remained fastened, but he couldn’t prevent himself from rubbing a handful of her fragrant hair against his cheek. He inhaled deeply, then forced his fingers to release the locks of hair.

«I think the t-tangles are out,» Willow said hesitantly. «Should I get dressed now?»

The sensuous shiver in her voice made Caleb smile. «No hurry. We’re not going anywhere today. I thought I’d catch another mess of trout and gather some more greens before the weather goes bad again.»

«More rain?»

«Probably.»

«When?»

«After sunset.»

Willow sighed. «I was told the plains were dry.»

«They are. You’re in the mountains now. But compared to where you came from, it’s plenty dry. That’s why you keep licking your lips.»

«I do?»

«You sure do, honey. If you’re carrying any oil in that big old carpetbag of yours, you might put some on. Bacon grease works, but you get tired of the taste real fast.»

For a few moments there was only the whisper of soft bristles moving through Willow’s long hair. She closed her eyes and savored the unexpected luxury of having her hair brushed by someone other than herself. Then a thought struck her.

«How will you catch the trout?»

«Same way I did last night.»

«How was that?»

«With my hands.»

Willow turned and looked over her shoulder with wide hazel eyes. «You’re teasing me.»

«Maybe a little.» Caleb’s nostrils flared as he inhaled the scent of her oncemore. Butnot as much as I’m teasing myself. «Close your eyes, you’re distracting me.»

«If I close my eyes, will you tell me how you really catch trout?»

«Sure.»

Long amber eyelashes lowered until they rested against Willow’s smooth skin. Sunshine caught and tangled in the thick lashes, making tiny, iridescent flashes of light. Caleb watched, fascinated, wanting to run the tip of his tongue over the soft fringe.

«My eyes are closed,» Willow pointed out when Caleb didn’t speak.

«I noticed. How did you get such long eyelashes, honey?»

«I stole them from a calf.»

He laughed softly, shaking his head at her quickness.

«Caleb,» she said coaxingly, «how do you catch trout with your bare hands? I’ve never heard of anyone doing that.»

«Not even Matthew Moran?»

She shook her head. «Not even Matt.»

With a rumbling sound of satisfaction, Caleb resumed brushing Willow’s hair, admiring its shine and softness. When he began to talk again, there was a subtle difference in his touch, a lingering over the nape of her neck, a tracing of the long tendrils that curled down her arm, a sensuous stroking down the length of her spine that encouraged her to arch against his palm like a cat.

«First of all,» Caleb said deeply, «you have to find trout that haven’t been scared out of their pretty little scales by a southern lady taking a bath in their parlor.»

Willow laughed behind her hand.

«It’s true,» he said, tugging teasingly at a lock of hair. «Trout are like beautiful girls, flighty creatures that take a lot of soothing before they can be caught.»

The brush moved from Willow’s crown to her nape, followed by Caleb’s hand. Long fingers eased beneath the heavy strands and skimmed over the curve of her neck. She shivered, wondering if the touch had been accidental. His fingers skimmed over he neck once more, tracing the hairline with a caress as light as a breath.

«So a man with trout on his mind walks softly and sort of eases up to the edge of the brook,» Caleb continued, his voice as lazy andmurmurous as the breeze. «Then he kneels down real slow and easy like, and slides his hand into the water behind a trout.»

As Caleb spoke, his big hand gathered up the golden mass of Willow’s hair and lifted so that he could brush from beneath. Some of the strands slipped away from his fingers, for the hair caught on the big buttons of the cavalry shirt she wore. Setting the brush aside, he began to gently untangle her shining hair from the buttons. No sooner did one strand come free than another slithered from his grasp and fell forward, becoming trapped and tangled on a button.

«Damn,» Caleb said softly, using both hands to corral Willow’s silky hair. «This isn’t working. Lift your arms up, honey. Higher. That’s it.»

Caleb peeled the shirt from Willow’s body so matter-of-factly that she didn’t think to object until it was too late.

«Caleb, I don’t —»

«Once your hand is in the water,» Caleb continued, talking over Willow’s words, «then you just stay real still for a time, as though you had nothing on your mind but sitting and dreaming by a meadow stream.»

The brush glided through Willow’s hair once more, sending shivers of pleasure over her scalp, shivers that were only increased by the soothing hand that followed each stroke of the brush. The strands that fell forward no longer tangled around buttons, but instead fanned in a golden veil over her camisole. The full curves of her breasts pressed up against the fine lace.

While Willow watched, tendrils of hair slid away from her breasts, leaving the peaks barely covered. She bit her lip, wondering if her hair concealed the outlines of her body enough for decency.

«It’s all right,» Caleb said softly, sensing the tension in Willow. He stroked the shining hair that fanned over her shoulders and back. «Your hair covers as much of you as my shirt did. Unless you’re cold?»

She shook her head, making light ripple and twist sinuously through her hair. «The sun is almost hot.»

«Yes, it is.»

Caleb’s voice was so low it was like a purr from a big cat, as much felt as heard. Without breaking rhythm, he continued brushing Willow’s hair with slow, gentle movements until she sighed and relaxed once more, giving herself to a pleasure that was so acute it made sweet chills course over her skin.

«That feels so good,» Willow whispered finally.

«To me, too,» Caleb said, running his hand lightly down her hair. He laughed softly. «I think your hair likes me as much as I like it.»

Willow made a questioning sound.

«Watch,» he said.

The brush followed thick ribbons of hair that had fallen over Willow’s right shoulder and fanned out over her breast.

«See?» He lifted the brush slowly. Shining strands of hair rose languidly, clinging to the brush and to the edge of his hand. «It’s chasing me.»

For an instant, Willow was too shocked to speak. The soft bristles of the brush moving lightly over her breast had stroked it into vivid life, cashing a rush of sensation that left her weak. She closed her eyes as a curious heat radiated suddenly from the pit of her stomach. The sensation was both piercing and sweet, unlike anything she had ever known before.

«Let’s see if the other side likes me as well,» Caleb said in a low voice.

The brush stroked softly over Willow’s left breast, which also was veiled by a fall of golden hair. When the brush lifted, filaments of bright hair followed, clinging to the brush and the made hand that held it.

«Yes,» he said huskily, looking at the breast whose tight peak parted the golden veil of hair, «I believe it does.»

Willow could say nothing at all. Her breath was lodged in her throat as another trembling rush of sensation claimed her. When Caleb heard the break in her breathing, his own body responded with a violent surge, his heartbeat deepening and quickening until he could count each pulse in the rigid flesh between his legs. He had expected Willow to leap up an push away his hands or to turn angrily on him for daring to touch her even with the brush.

He hadn’t expected her breasts to blossom at a single touch until her nipples pouted in shades of pink beneath the nearly transparent camisole. The intense sensuality of her response was as startling as the depth of his own passion for her, a passion that shook him until he had to clench his fingers around the brush’s slender handle or lose it to the wildness ripping through his body.

Unable to speak, barely able to breathe, Caleb forced himself to continue the slow, seductive rhythms of the brush moving over Willow’s hair, caressing her scalp, her nape, the slender length of her back. He very much wanted to stroke the golden veil over her breasts again, but he didn’t trust himself not to drop the pretense of the brush and slide his hands beneath her camisole until he could feel her hard nipples nuzzling against the exact center of his palms. He wanted that so much his hands shook.

But the knew it was too soon. Even the most trusting trout couldn’t be taken by storm. Willow wasn’t completely trusting. Caleb sensed the ambivalence in her quite clearly. If he brushed over her breasts right now she would flee. The certainty of her wariness was all that was keeping his hands where they were, stroking her back with slow sweeps that belied the passionate blaze of his narrowed eyes.

«Once your hand is in the water and things have settled down,» Caleb said, «you begin easing closer to the trout. You do it so slowly the fish accepts your presence as natural. While you ease closer, you have to read the trout. Is it getting restless? Is it worried.?»

«How can you tell what the trout is feeling?» Willow asked huskily.

«As my daddy used to say, you have to watch the wee beastie very, very carefully.»

Willow smiled at the faint Scots burr in Caleb’s voice. Soundlessly, she let out her pent-up breath and relaxed a bit more with each slow stroke of the brush.

«You see,» he continued in a deep, lazy voice, «the trout has to think your hand is just a part of the stream, nothing more than a current flowing over her. If you move too quickly, the trout will flee. Then you have to start all over again. Patience is the key. That and the fact that trout just naturally love the feeling of the current stroking over their sleek bodies.»

«Do they really?» Willow asked, her voice unusually husky.

«Why else would trout seek out the fastest currents and just hang there, transfixed, with water caressing them from all sides?»

The weight of Willow’s hair lifted as Caleb began to brush from beneath once more. He caught up all the silky strands and twisted his wrist slowly, wrapping her hair around it. Frissons of pleasure moved over her when she felt the warmth of the sun on her bare nape.

«Think of it,» Caleb whispered against Willow’s neck. As he spoke he brushed his cheek very gently over her nape. «Suspended in rushing currents…»

At first, Willow thought it was her own soft brush whispering so delicately over her skin. Then she felt the warm rush of Caleb’s breath and knew it was his beard caressing her.

«…all that sensitive skin being stroked all at once…all over.»

Willow’s heart began beating so violently she was certain Caleb could hear it. He repeated the exquisite caress again, drawing a low sound from her.

The sound was like a knife slicing through Caleb’s self-control. The tiny feminine cry could have been passion. It also could have been fear. He couldn’t tell without touching her more intimately, and he was too good a hunter to do that just yet. If it was passion making her tremble, further seduction would only make her more eager. If it was fear, further seduction was in order.

No man ever made a meal of the trout that got away.

When Caleb released Willow’s hair and began using the brush again, she was trembling too much to conceal it.

«Aren’t the t-tangles gone?» she asked, shivering.

«Not quite, honey. We’ve got a few to work out yet. Then I’ll braid it for you. One of the Army wives taught me a fancy French way to do it.»

Willow made no more objections, because she didn’t know quite what she should do. Caleb had done nothing that displeased her. Nor had he pressed her for any greater intimacy than that of simply combing her hair. There was another problem, too. If she stood up to leave, she would lose the cover of the blanket over her legs.

And, she admitted silently to herself, she would also lose the sheer pleasure of feeling Caleb’s big, gentle hands smoothing over her hair, enjoying the caresses as much as she did.

Sighing, Willow again gave herself to the golden sensation of having his fingers trailing through her hair and tugging very gently, almost lovingly, on the strands. She no longer felt tense, for she was certain if she asked Caleb to stop, he would.

And knowing that, she felt no need to ask.

The uneasiness that had claimed Willow slid away, leaving behind a shimmering kind of peace that expanded with each slow movement of Caleb’s hand over her hair. Closing her eyes, smiling, Willow wondered if the trout felt half so good while suspended in a stream’s caressing currents.

«So after the trout accepts your hand as part of the water,» she murmured, «then what?»

Caleb released his breath in a soundless rush of air. The relaxation of Willow’s body told him that her previous trembling had been as much wariness as passion. The knowledge simultaneously chastened him and increased the intensity of his own desire. She was worried, uncertain, almost frightened, yet she could no more refuse his sensual lures than the trout could refuse the intimacy of the caressing currents.

«Then you slowly and carefully stroke the trout,» Caleb said in a deep voice, setting aside the brush, «until it’s bemused by pleasure.»

«Is that possible?» Willow whispered. «Can you feel so much pleasure you forget to be afraid?»

«It’s possible.» Caleb gathered her hair again and slowly kissed the nape of her neck. «It just takes gentleness and patience.»

He released her hair so that it fell over his own shoulder. Softly, slowly, as though he could absorb her through his palms, he ran his hands from her shoulders to her fingertips and back up again, this time stroking the sensitive inner skin of her arms.

«Caleb?» Willow whispered, trembling.

«It’s all right, little trout.» He lifted her, turning her until she faced him. His thumb skimmed over her lower lip, then pressed sensuously in a touch very like a kiss. «I’ll be gentle as sunlight with you.»

Luminous hazel eyes watched Caleb. Their beauty fascinated him, color shifting between splinters of blue and green and gold, never the same twice, more beautiful every time he looked.

«Are you afraid of me?» he asked huskily.

Willow’s head moved in a slow negative that sent light twisting through her hair and desire twisting through the man who knelt so close to her.

«Some men are rough,» Caleb said, lowering his mouth to Willow’s, stopping a bare fraction from completing the caress. «I’m not one of them. I’ve never pushed a woman who didn’t want me. I never will. Share a few kisses with me, southern lady. If you decide you don’t want me, I’ll let you go.» He lowered his head a fraction more and whispered against her lips, «Do you believe me?»

The delicate caress of Caleb’s breath sent shivers over Willow. «Yes,» she sighed.

The sudden blaze of his eyes was unbearable to her. She lowered her lashes, shielding herself from the golden fire. When his lips brushed softly and repeatedly over hers, she trembled. The few times she had been kissed in the past had been nothing like this. The boys had been as eager as puppies, and as clumsy.

There was no clumsiness in Caleb’s kiss, nor in the lean hands that held her face so gently she was barely aware of them. The brushing contact of his mouth over hers continued slowly, rhythmically, teaching her to anticipate the next warm pressure of his lips, the next shiver of delight when his mustache would stroke the increasingly sensitive peak of her upper lip.

When the anticipated pleasure didn’t come, Willow opened her eyes and whispered Caleb’s name.

«Yes?» he asked, forcing himself not to kiss the mouth that trembled so enticingly beneath his lips.

«Would you…kiss me again?»

«Those weren’t kisses.»

«They weren’t?»

«No more than a handful of sunlight makes a whole day. Do you want me to kiss you?»

She nodded, sending fragrant, silky hair spilling over his hands.

Smiling, Caleb bent down to Willow once more. His lips brushed over hers again in the caress that had rapidly become addictive to her. Then the tip of his tongue slid between her trembling lips. Her breath came in with a tiny, shocked sound and she stiffened.

«Honey? I thought you wanted me to kiss you.»

«I d-do.»

Caleb searched Willow’s eyes, wondering what was wrong. «Then why did you pull back?»

«I…I’m not used to kissing. It’s been…years.»

Black eyelashes swept down, shuttering the leap of passion in Caleb’s eyes. The realization that Willow had been so long without a man’s touch sent a deep shaft of satisfaction through him. Fancy woman she might be, but she wasn’t indiscriminate with her favors.

«That’s all right, honey. We’ll take it slow and easy, as though it were the first time.»

Caleb’s long fingers slid more deeply into Willow’s hair, seeking the warmth of her scalp, rubbing gently. She sighed with pleasure. He caught the soft rush of her breath as he bent and began brushing his mouth slowly over hers, increasing the pressure by tiny increments until her lips were gently parted. This time when his tongue touched the peak of her mouth, she didn’t withdraw. As he slowly and thoroughly traced the sensitive edge of her lips, she shivered with pleasure at the surprising caress. He repeated the exciting touch again before he dipped inside and skimmed the inner softness of her lips.

«Mint,» he whispered against her mouth, smiling. «Share more of it with me.»

She hesitated, then whispered, «How?»

«Lick your lips.»

Automatically, Willow obeyed. She didn’t understand the sudden narrowing of Caleb’s golden eyes as he watched.

«Again.»

As he spoke, he lowered his head until he could follow the hesitant progress of her tongue with his own. She trembled and her hands gripped the hard strength of his forearms, but she didn’t withdraw.

«Mint,» Caleb said in a low voice. Talons of passion sank into him, raking him with need. «God, I’ll never taste mint again without remembering this. Lick my lips, sweet woman. I love the taste of you.»

«Caleb,» Willow whispered.

It was all she could say.

«Don’t remember how?» he murmured. «It’s all right. I don’t mind showing you.»

Lightly, he ran his tongue over Willow’s trembling lips before he eased gently inside, stroking the soft inner surfaces of her smile in a lingering caress that taught Willow just how sensitive her lips could be. Motionless but for the wild beating of her heart, she wished the moment would never end.

And, for a time, it didn’t.

«Your turn,» Caleb said finally against Willow’s mouth.

She made a low sound of disappointment that told Caleb just how much she had enjoyed being caressed by his tongue.

«Something wrong?» he teased.

«I didn’t want the kiss to end,» Willow admitted softly.

«That still wasn’t what I’d call a kiss.»

«It wasn’t?»

«No.» Caleb’s mouth eased over Willow’s for an instant. His tongue flicked out, tasting her. «But we’re getting there, honey. We’re getting there. Now lick my lips.»

Hesitantly, Willow obeyed. At first she barely touched Caleb. The darting caresses could have been born from shyness or could have been the result of an experienced woman’s knowledge of how to tease a hungry man. Motionless, Caleb waited with a hunter’s patience, knowing that sensual teasing worked both ways with a girl as passionate as Willow.

And he had no doubt of her passion. The flashes of it she had revealed were a lure greater than her sun-bright hair and sweetly curving body. The passion in her called to him relentlessly, a siren song of ecstasy and release.

After a few quick touches, Willow grew bolder. Her tongue lingered, tracing Caleb’s slow, lazy smile. She discovered that his lips were as smooth and warm as satin left in the sun. The rim of his mouth was as sensitive as her own, for she distinctly felt the shudder of response that went through him when she circled his lips with the tip of her tongue. The knowledge that she could affect his powerful body to that extent made something deep within her uncurl and stretch like a cat awakening. Sensations pierced her as passion rose and prowled through her on unsheathed claws.

Without knowing it, Willow leaned closer to the seductive strength and heat of the man who held her face so gently between his hands. Her tongue caressed him again slowly, thoroughly, eased daringly between his lips, learning the sleek resilience of his inner surfaces, returning to trace again the intriguing difference in textures, tasting him and herself at the same time, the piquant flavor of mint intermingled with a man’s heat.

When Willow finally lifted her head, Caleb’s eyes were closed but for glittering slits of gold.

«Was that a kiss?» she whispered.

«Not quite,» he said in a husky voice.

«Did I miss something?»

«Open your mouth and I’ll show you.»

«What?»

«That’s it,» he breathed. «Just like that.»

With a smooth movement of his head, Caleb bent and captured Willow’s mouth. The tip of his tongue skimmed the inner surfaces of her lips in a caress that became more exciting each time she felt it. When his tongue slid between her teeth and tasted her with a new intimacy, she stiffened, then let out her breath raggedly.

«Almost there,» Caleb said, his mouth against Willow’s. «Open more for me, honey. Let me taste that sweet, teasing tongue of yours.»

For an instant Willow hesitated, but the temptation of Caleb’s mouth overcame her shyness.

«A little more,» he coaxed, looking down at her deep rose lips with a hunger he couldn’t conceal. «Just a little more…yes, let me see you, taste you…»

Caleb’s words ended in a groan as his mouth fitted seamlessly over Willow’s parted lips. The velvet penetration of his tongue was both a shock and a revelation to her. The slow withdrawal followed by an even deeper penetration wrung a tiny cry from the back of her throat.

The sound made every muscle in Caleb’s big body tighten. Slowly, thoroughly, he continued seducing Willow’s mouth, teasing and caressing her tongue, luring her into his own mouth, showing her how exciting a kiss could be. The languid dance of seduction and retreat continued until Willow knew nothing but the frantic beating of her heart and the taste of Caleb spreading through her like fire after a lifetime of cold. She slid her hands from his forearms to his shoulders and from there around his neck, pulling him closer. His arms came around her in return, gathering her against his chest until her nipples nestled against hard muscle.

Pleasure rippled through Willow as her breasts tightened in a rush, making her tremble. The pressure of Caleb’s hands increased, arching her more and more deeply into the embrace, shifting her against his body with sinuous motions. She made another sound of pleasure and instinctively opened her mouth farther, wanting more of his taste, his heat, the sweet friction of his tongue caressing her. The strength of him was an incredible lure, for he fitted perfectly against the untried hungers of her own body.

The kiss changed, deepening with each broken breath Willow took, each helpless movement of her body. Her sensuality seared through Caleb, shaking him. He had never known a woman to respond so completely to a kiss, a fire spiraling hotly upward, burning out of control. Nor had he known what intense passion he himself was capable of, fierce heat and hunger claiming him, shutting out the world.

Caleb forgot the game of seduction and retreat he had been playing, forgot caution, forgot everything but the girl twisting like fire in his arms, burning him alive. His hands kneaded from her back to her hips, ravishing and cherishing her in long strokes. His tongue mated with hers in wild, seething silence and his fingers sought the smoldering center of her.

The clothes Willow wore were no barrier to Caleb’s passionate seeking, for herpantelets had no seam between her legs. With a thick sound of satisfaction, Caleb slid his fingers between layers of thin cotton. He caressed the soft, hot nest of hair at the apex of her thighs and then he touched the even softer, hotter flesh beneath.

Willow stiffened in shock. Reflexively she struggled against Caleb, clamping her legs together and grabbing his hand, trying to push him away. It was like trying to push away a mountain.

«No, Caleb, please don’t!»

«It’s all right,» he said thickly. «I won’t hurt you. Your’re so soft, so hot, perfect for me.»

His hand flexed and his fingertips slid over her with shocking intimacy.

«No, you said just kisses. Oh God, Caleb, please, please, no!»

For an instant Caleb stared down into Willow’s frantic face as they both measured the futility of her struggles against his much greater strength. Where he was touching her she was sultry, yielding, weeping passionately for him. The temptation to take her despite her words was so great that he could feel himself yielding, sinking into the silky fire of her body.

Willow sensed the overwhelming power of Caleb’s body, looked at his savage gold eyes, and prayed that he was a man of his word.

«Caleb,» she whispered. «You promised. Please. Stop.»

Abruptly, Caleb pushed away and surged to his feet, furious with Willow for refusing what her body so plainly wanted and equally furious with himself for wanting her so much he had lost his head. For a long, crackling moment he looked at her.

«Fancy, lady,» he finally said through his teeth, «some day you’ll be on your knees in front of meagaint — but you won’t be begging me to stop.»

Caleb turned on his heel and walked away, leaving his flat, cold promise to echo in the silence.