Was her father aware of that? He’d tan her hide if he found out she was going around giving out something as precious as her lips puckered. “Why?”
“Curiosity. And on my sixteenth birthday I wanted to do something memorable. Guess I’ve been looking for that memorable ever since.”
Had she found it? Probably not if she’d just been kissing boys and young men who’d never had the opportunity to ride a trail and pass through a cattle town where dance hall girls and soiled doves waited for their arrival. “Berringer give you that something memorable?”
He wanted to bite off his tongue for asking. He did not want to hear the man lauded for being an excellent kisser.
She studied him for a full minute. With his heart pounding, he waited for her to deliver a lashing to his heart with her confession that the oilman had given her exactly what she’d yearned for.
“Not quite,” she finally said. “But maybe that’s because he’s not the one I had decided I wanted to kiss tonight.” She pressed up against him, draped her arms over his shoulders, met his gaze straight on. “You are.”
Perhaps it was because a little spark of jealousy had hit when she’d learned someone else had a claim to his heart. Or maybe it was because for the past couple of years, she’d compared every man who had crossed her path to him and found them all lacking in one regard or another.
They didn’t share his love of the land that had been bred into her the moment she was born. They didn’t respect the legacy that had been handed to them by those who had fought to free the territory so it could become part of the United States, or they didn’t appreciate the sacrifices that had been made by those who had settled the land and worked to make it grander than it might have been otherwise. They boasted—instead of doing things in quiet ways that spoke volumes for them. Their smiles didn’t slowly hitch up on one side before lifting up on the other. They didn’t give her half a sarsaparilla stick. And they didn’t stand so still that they might as well have been a statue.
“How much champagnedidyou have?”
“Are you afraid?” she taunted.
He scoffed. “Hardly.”
“Maybe it’s that you don’t know how, that you’ve never kissed a gal before.”
“I’ve done plenty of kissing.”
“Then why not kiss me?”
“Because you deserve better.”
“I’m not asking you to marry me, cowboy. Just kiss me.” She gave her head a little shake, angled her chin up a tad, looked at the sky, the stars tossed over the black velvet. “On the other hand, could be I misjudged Cole’s kiss, didn’t give it enough credence. It did cause my toes to curl.”
The only light came from the moon and stars shining down, yet she still managed to detect a tightening in his jaw.
“Those fellas you kissed before were just boys, and Berringer is a tenderfoot. I doubt they know the first thing about proper kissing.”
“Then show me.”
He emitted a low growl at the back of his throat as he cupped her cheek with one hand. “This is a bad idea, Faith. A damn bad idea.”
Then he drew her in, lowered his mouth to hers, and urged her to part her lips. When she did, he claimed her mouth with the same intensity that a storm swept over the land, dark and billowing, giving no quarter, threatening to conquer all in its wake. The palm cradling her cheek moved until his fingers were threaded through her hair and his thumb was caressing the corner of her mouth, enhancing the sensuality of his efforts, causing molten warmth to slowly sluice through her, carrying her away on a tide of sensual indulgence. With his free arm snaking around her back, he pressed her flush against him, and she suspected that through his shirt he could feel the puckering of her nipples, their sensitivity increasing with each stroke of his tongue over hers.
His was not a timid kiss like those of the boys who’d come before. Nor was it civilized like Cole’s. It was wild and untamed, a force to be reckoned with. It demanded a response equal in intensity. She wound her arms tightly around his neck because she needed purchase. Not only did her toes curl, but her legs had become as unsteady as those of a newborn foal, and she was afraid she was going to embarrass herself by sliding down the long, wondrous length of his hardened body until she was a heap of heated pleasure she’d never experienced, hadn’t even known existed. With each passing moment, she was aware of a metamorphosis happening, as though he were weaving a cocoon around her, encasing her in ecstasy, and when the kiss came to an end, she’d emerge to discover she’d been transformed into something more beautiful than she’d ever thought possible.
He was doing things to her mouth that caused the womanly aspects of her that she thought had blossomed to really and truly unfurl into a glorious bloom that stole her breath. Within his arms, for the first time in her life, she felt power beneath her femininity, knew the full extent of the strength residing within her.
As she returned the kiss with identical fervor, she felt equal to the task of meeting him on the terms he was setting and daring enough to set a few of her own. She scraped her fingers along his scalp through his thick black hair. From far away, another world, she heard sighs and groans circling around them. Her body tightened with needs and yearnings that were frightening in their intensity, but at the same time beckoned with the promise of more. And she wanted to take all that was offered.
With a desperate moan, she pressed her hips against his, searching for something she thought only he could deliver.
Suddenly he broke off the kiss, cupped her shoulders, and set her away from him. “Happy birthday,” he grumbled.
Then he walked off as though he hadn’t just rearranged her heart and soul while upending everything she’d believed she understood about Rawley Cooper. She didn’t know him at all.
Chapter Eight
Kissing her had been a damn stupid thing to do, almost as stupid as allowing her to goad him into doing it. He should have just brushed his lips over hers and laughed about it, but no. His competitive nature had taken hold, and he’d be damned if he was going to let Berringer give her a kiss more memorable than his.
So he’d poured need, longing, and yearning into the kiss that had nearly knocked his boots off. Sweet Lord, he felt like he’d been struck by lightning. And now he was pacing his porch, finishing off his whiskey, striving to wash away the taste of her. Champagne had darkened her flavor, and he thought he’d detected a hint of all the sarsaparilla sticks he’d shared with her over the years. Or maybe he was striving to find some evidence she was still a child, some aspect of her that would have him thinking of her once again as the little girl he’d always wanted to protect. But she sure as hell wasn’t a kid any longer.
