“You have a walk like honey,” Whip said huskily, bending down to her. “Kiss me, Shannon. I want to find out if your mouth is half as arousing as your walk.”
Shannon made a soft, startled sound when Whip’s teeth nibbled at her lips and his tongue probed the corners of her mouth. Tingling sensations rippled through her, shortening her breath until she felt dizzy. Her hands went up to his arms, anchoring her in a world that was dissolving beneath her feet one frantic heartbeat at a time.
“Whip?” she whispered raggedly.
“That’s it,” he said against her mouth. “Open those soft lips a little more. I have to taste you.”
“Taste me?”
“Yes. Now.”
Whip’s tongue slid into Shannon’s mouth, caressing her, tasting her with a hushed intensity that made her tremble. An answering tremor went through Whip.
Curious, Shannon looked at him. His forehead was creased and his eyes were closed. His cut, bleeding hands held her face as though she were more fragile than a butterfly’s wings. Despite the potent hunger that tightened every muscle in his body, Whip’s mouth only sipped lightly at hers.
Beneath her hands, Whip’s arms felt like steel bands. His muscles were corded and his breath was ragged. He could have taken whatever he wanted from her much more easily than he had subdued Prettyface. Shannon knew it.
And so did Whip.
Yet still he demanded nothing of her. He simply asked, coaxed, mutely pleaded to be allowed into the lush darkness behind her lips.
Shannon sighed and gave Whip what he desired. His tongue glided over hers, coaxing her to touch him in turn. The caress was tantalizing, irresistible, as warm and gentle as sunrise itself.
A small sound came from the back of Shannon’s throat as she understood Whip’s silent message. He was telling her without words how much he wanted her and how careful he would be if she gave herself to him.
The thought of such a tender sharing took the world from beneath Shannon’s feet. Her fingers dug into Whip’s arms as her knees loosened.
“Whip?”
Shannon’s muffled whisper was barely understandable. Whip was tempted to ignore the question in her tone, but didn’t. Despite her previous assurances, he was afraid that fear rather than passion had caused her fingers to clench around his arms.
Reluctantly Whip lifted his head and looked down into Shannon’s dazed blue eyes. When she still didn’t speak, he nuzzled the corner of her mouth with his mustache.
She smiled slightly and kissed the rough silk mustache that was caressing her. Whip eased the tip of his tongue into the corner of her smile. Then he probed between her lips several times, slowly, easing in and out of her warmth, teasing and tasting her lightly, hotly.
Shannon made another throttled sound and shivered.
“What is it?” Whip asked in a low voice. “Are you afraid of me after all?”
She shook her head. While she did, she watched Whip’s mouth, wondering how anything that looked so hard and sharply controlled could feel so soft and wild against her lips.
“I—” Shannon blinked, touched her tongue to the corner of her mouth, and whispered, “I feel dizzy.”
Whip’s smile was dark, swift, very male. Shannon’s eyes were a smoky sapphire that sent tongues of desire stabbing through him. His own eyes became a smoldering quicksilver as he watched Shannon lick her lips again.
“Dizzy,” Whip repeated huskily.
She nodded and touched the tip of her tongue uncertainly to her lips.
“Put your arms around my neck and hold on,” Whip said. “I’ll make sure you don’t fall.”
As Whip spoke, he drew Shannon’s arms around his neck. The movement brought her up on tiptoe and pulled her against his body. Her breath came in with a soft, ripping sound that acted on Whip like a shot of whiskey.
“Now we can do this properly,” Whip said.
“What?”
“Lick your lips again, honey girl. I’ll show you.”
Shannon hesitated, then did as Whip asked.
No sooner had Shannon’s tongue touched her lips than Whip bent down and caught her mouth beneath his. His tongue pressed into the moist darkness behind her teeth, caressing her even as he filled her. He felt the hesitation of her body, the quick intake of her breath, and then the trembling pressure of her tongue against his in secret caress.
Whip made a low sound and gathered Shannon even more closely along his body. His tongue began a sultry rhythm of penetration and retreat, return and withdrawal. After a few moments her arms tightened around his neck, lifting her into the kiss.
Without realizing it, Shannon opened her mouth more. She wanted to know every bit of Whip’s mouth, from the satin just behind his lips to the velvet of his tongue. Hungrily she probed the heated darkness that lured her unbearably.
The world spun swiftly around Whip as Shannon give back the deep kiss. His hands went from her shoulders to her thighs in long, slow sweeps. Fingers widespread, he measured the feminine elegance of her back, the lush flare of her hips, the siren call of her breasts pressed more closely against his chest with each stroke of his hands.
When Whip could deny himself no longer, he allowed his hands to slide along Shannon’s ribs until his thumbs met at the bottom of her breastbone. Without warning his hands shifted, cupping soft, taut flesh.
A threadlike groan was dragged from Whip when he discovered that Shannon was even more womanly beneath her men’s clothes than he had guessed. Her softness filled his hands.
Probing, caressing, his thumbs circled Shannon’s sensitive nipples. They blossomed in a rush that sent a fierce answering fire through Whip. Delicately he caught the tips of her breasts between his fingers and squeezed.
Shannon made a high sound of surprise as desire splintered through her, tightening her body, arching it against him in a wild caress. Her nipples had been transformed by Whip’s touch. Now they were hard peaks that stood out proudly against her old flannel shirt, begging for Whip’s hands, his mouth, his passion.
“Honey girl,” he groaned. “You could set fire to stone, and I’m one hell of a long way from stone.”
Before Shannon could answer, Whip took her mouth again. His tongue shot between her teeth as his hands slid down to her hips, lifting her, fitting the soft nest above her thighs to the rigid male flesh she had called from his body. He rocked her sensuously against his arousal while his tongue mated with hers in a fierce, elemental rhythm.
Wild pleasure streaked through Shannon, shaking her. She couldn’t get her breath because she was holding on to Whip too hard. He was holding her even harder in turn, but she still couldn’t get close enough to him. She was dizzy for lack of air, yet she pressed even more violently against Whip’s mouth, needing the deep kiss in a way she didn’t understand.
And then he dragged her hips against his rigid flesh.
A ragged moan was torn from Shannon’s throat. The sound could have been pain or fear or passion, or all three together.
Abruptly Whip realized that he was devouring Shannon’s mouth, crushing her to his body with both arms and grinding his hips against her as though he would have her here, now, standing up like a whore in an alley.
Shuddering, Whip tore his mouth from Shannon’s and loosened his arms. He let her slide down his body until her feet touched the floor.
She made a questioning sound and touched her lips with fingers that jerked slightly with each quick breath she took.
Unhappily Whip looked at Shannon’s face. Against the bloody marks left by his savaged hands, her skin looked pale. Her eyes were dilated and her lips were soft, trembling, parted as she dragged raggedly at air. She swayed until she reached out blindly and steadied herself against the wall.
“Are you all right?” Whip asked.
He wanted to be gentle, but the question came out rough. His voice was harsh with the blood that was still pumping fiercely through his body.
“I feel—” Shannon’s breath broke. “Dizzy. Crazy. I
can’t breathe and I’m shaking like I’m cold but parts of me are on fire and I’m burning and I want—I want—oh, God, I don’t know what I want! What did you do to me, Whip?”
For a long moment Whip looked at Shannon, hardly able to believe what he was hearing.
“How long have you been married?” he asked finally.
“What does that—have to do with—how I feel?”
The breaking of Shannon’s breath acted on Whip like tongues of fire licking over his aroused flesh, making him ache until he had to clench his teeth against a groan.
“It has everything to do with it,” Whip said thickly. “What you’re feeling is passion, honey girl. Pure and wild and hotter than hell.”
“I don’t—understand.”
Whip made a sound that could have been a curse or a prayer or both at once.
“Your husband wasn’t much of a man to cozy up with on a cold night, was he?” Whip said between his teeth.
“Silent John wasn’t—that is, he isn’t—a warm man.”
“Are you telling me that you haven’t ever felt sexual desire like this before?”
“This?” Shannon drew a ragged breath and looked at Whip with burning blue eyes. “This is desire?”
“Son of a bitch,” Whip whispered, shocked. “You mean it, don’t you?”
She nodded.
“As naive as an egg,” Whip muttered. “God. Silent John must have been about as much fun in bed as a rattlesnake. No wonder you don’t mind being his widow—he’s been as good as dead to you for years!”
Shannon’s breath caught at the contempt in Whip’s voice. She shivered and wrapped her arms protectively around herself.
As naive as an egg.
Abruptly, Shannon’s desire was transformed into anger.
Whip has no right to act so superior just because I’m not as knowing about men as Clementine or Betsy.
But Shannon wasn’t going to open the subject again by pointing that out.
“Don’t call me a widow,” Shannon said through her teeth.
“Why? It’s likely the truth and you know it.”
“But if the truth goes beyond this cabin, who will protect me from the Culpeppers after you leave? And you will leave, won’t you? Yondering man.”
“Yes,” Whip said harshly, stung by the anger and distance in Shannon’s voice. “I’ll leave one day. But not until I find a safe place for you to stay.”
“As long as I’m Silent John’s wife, I’m safe enough here.”
“That’s crap, Shannon. You’re his widow, not his wife, and this place isn’t safe for a girl alone. Especially one as naive as you!”
“It has been for seven years.”
“Only because Silent John was here with you,” Whip retorted. “Without him you wouldn’t last two months.”
Shannon barely bit back the hot retort that was crowding her tongue. Telling Whip the truth would do no good, and could do a great deal of harm.
“I’ll live where I please,” she said tightly.
“Alone?”
“Yes.”
“You can’t.”
“I can!” she said savagely. “And what business is it of yours how I live, yondering man? You have no right to order me about like I was bound by law to you.”
Whip was appalled by the idea of Shannon’s living alone through the winter in Echo Basin’s high, icy wilderness, having no one to depend upon but herself. He shook his head, said something profane beneath his breath, and raked his hand through his hair in frustration.
His fingers were bright with his own blood, blood drawn by Prettyface in defense of his naive, stubborn mistress.
When Shannon saw Whip’s fingers, she felt her hot, inexplicable rage at him drain away, leaving only an edgy kind of concern for his wounds.
“Come on,” Shannon said, turning away. “One secret spilled between us won’t matter.”
“What?”
Without a word Shannon walked to the dry goods cupboard. She opened the door, pushed on the center of a shelf, and stepped forward into the darkness.
An instant later she vanished.
The warm, humid smell of a hot spring floated back out to Whip, along with Shannon’s voice.
“Silent John told me never to tell anyone about the hot spring, but…”
Shannon’s voice died. Light flared as she struck a match and set it to a lantern’s wick. Glass clinked quietly as she replaced the chimney. A warm yellow glow spread out to Whip.
“Well, come on,” Shannon said impatiently. “Silent John swore by—swears by—the healing power of the spring, and your hands are pretty well chewed.”
“I’ll be damned,” Whip said, stepping toward the cupboard. “So this is why he built the cabin right into the mountainside.”
Shannon shrugged. “All I know is the hot spring boils meat and washes clothes and dishes real clean at the far end, and is just right for bathing at this end. Everywhere else, the hot spring keeps the worst of the cold at bay when I can’t get out to gather wood in the winter.”
Shannon set the lantern on a wooden crate that had once held ammunition. Light transformed twists of steam into ghostly golden wraiths.
Whip ducked low as he went through the cupboard. Once inside the cave, he saw that the ceiling was high enough for him to stand upright. Lantern light glanced off the rocky walls and uneven floor, and made the many deep cracks in the rock look like ragged slices of midnight. But for the tiny hissing of the lamp and the seething, whispering swirls of water, the cave was utterly still.
A metal pan scraped over rock as Shannon dipped up hot water for Whip. She put the steaming pan on the crate next to the lantern, fished a lump of soap from a smaller wooden box and stepped aside to make room for Whip.
When Whip looked from the water to Shannon, but didn’t move farther into the cave, she made an exasperated sound.
“Surely you aren’t afraid of caves?” Shannon asked curtly.
“No. But you ought to be.”
“Why? I’ve been here a thousand times.”
“Not with me. Not when lantern light outlines your breasts and shows me that your nipples are still hard, still hungry. Do they ache, honey girl?”
Shannon flushed to the roots of her hair. She did ache, and not only in her breasts. But she wasn’t about to mention that to Whip. He had had enough fun at her expense already.
“Go to hell, yondering man. What I feel is none of your business.”
Frustration fairly vibrated through Shannon’s body and voice. Whip knew what its source was, knew its cure, and worst of all he knew the naive little widow would be the hottest woman he had ever shared a bed with.
Abruptly Whip closed his eyes, unable to look at Shannon any longer without touching her.
And if he touched her, he would take her.
He didn’t want that to happen. Not yet. Not after he had just discovered how naive she was. Seducing her now would be like shooting fish in a barrel.
Whip wanted Shannon to give herself to him knowing full well what she was doing, not because her judgment had been clouded by her first taste of real pleasure.
“I’m counting to three,” Whip said, his voice rough. “When I open my eyes, you better be—”
“But—”
“—in the cabin or I’ll strip those ragged clothes off you and teach you everything your damned husband should have about men, women, and sex.”
Shannon drew a swift, audible breath at Whip’s bluntness. If it hadn’t been for his bleeding hands, she would have grabbed the lantern and left him standing alone in the dark.
“Your hands need tending,” she said through her teeth.
“They don’t ache nearly so much as my crotch does. Do you want to tend to that, too?”
“You are a crude, miserable, surely—”
“Get your sweet little rump out of here,” Whip interrupted savagely, “or I’ll do something we’ll both regret. One.”
The temptation to throw the pan of wat
er at Whip was so great that Shannon had her hands wrapped around the warm metal rim before she realized what she was doing.
For an instant her fingers tightened, getting ready to lift the pan.
Then common sense returned in a cold rush. No matter how angry and unsettled she was, it would be plain foolish to bait a man as dangerous as Whip, especially after she had received the clearest kind of warning about the state of his temper.
With a stifled curse Shannon let go of the pan and stepped back.
“Two,” Whip said.
He hesitated for a time before he spoke the next number. Motionless, he listened. He heard no sounds of Shannon’s retreat. He heard nothing at all but the muted noises of lantern and hot spring.
“Three.”
Whip opened his eyes and discovered that Shannon had gone as silently as steam rising from the hot spring’s gently seething surface.
Damn.
I was hoping she’d lose her temper and sling that pan of water at me. It would have been fun using every stitch of her clothing to dry myself off.
It would have been even more fun getting her wet in return.
Whip took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to release the aggressive, coiled hunger of his body.
It’s better this way. She’s too naive.
Whip kept repeating that bit of wisdom all the way to the pan of water, but it didn’t convince him worth a damn. He still wanted Shannon like hell burning.
He plunged his hands into the hot water, hoping pain would take his mind off the hunger that was knotting his guts.
It didn’t.
Swearing, Whip began to work soap into the ragged cuts on his hands. As he did, he remembered what Jessi, Wolfe’s wife, had told him about keeping wounds clean so that they would heal quickly.
Silently he wondered if soap would wash away desire as well as blood and dirt.
Somehow, I doubt it, Whip thought sourly.
He was right.
8
FOR the rest of the day, Whip and Shannon were as polite to one another as well-bred strangers. She cooked for him; he split wood and replaced a rotten log in the cabin wall. She washed his clothes; he picketed the old mule in a fresh section of meadow and caught a half dozen trout for dinner. She mended his clothes; he began tanning buckskin for moccasins for her.