He straightened before her, magnificently naked.
She looked at him hungrily, unable to turn her gaze away. So powerful, so beautiful, muscles rippling beneath bronzed skin. His manhood was thick, erect, eager. He came to her.
She enveloped him in her arms while he kissed her like a starving man, hard and frantically, his hands roaming desperately down her body, over her lush, swollen breasts. She loved him, needed him, badly. She locked her arms around him and probed his mouth wildly with her tongue. She bit his mouth, his jaw, his throat. She tasted blood. She held his head still with both hands and devoured his mouth.
He removed her dress and chemise and she heard a seam ripping but didn’t care. His mouth came down hard and unceremoniously on one nipple, and she moaned. He started to suckle wildly. His teeth almost hurt. He was frantic, as frantic as she. Through the haze of hot, pulsing desire, she knew he had missed her the way she had missed him. And she felt a thrill of elation in knowing that he needed her—still wanted her with a desire and passion that matched hers.
“Candice, you’re even more beautiful pregnant,” he said huskily, nuzzling her swollen breasts. He had removed her pants and undergarments, and now stroked his hand up and down her hips and thighs, again and again. He moaned, a choked sound, and rose up over her, parting her thighs with his knees. He paused to look down into her eyes.
His face was rigid with desire, his eyes glazed with lust. She captured his head with her hands, trembling uncontrollably, pulling him down so she could tear at his mouth with her own. He thrust into her.
His thrusts were hard and fast, and she arched to meet him, clamping her legs around his waist, nails digging into his shoulders. It was only a moment later that it came, their simultaneous release, bodies arched, convulsed, exploding, the one into the other. And then he dropped to lie drained and wet on top of her, still entwined, still as one.
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
She held him. She wrapped her arms around his back as he lay on top of her, their bodies wet, their heartbeats subsiding as one, and held him to her. Tears came beneath her closed lids. She fought them. She loved him so much it hurt.
He stirred, rolling off her, but she snuggled against him. She kept her eyes closed, wanting to keep out the ugliness of reality. In her arms his body was warm, damp, and hard against hers. She pressed her face against his broad, muscled chest.
“Candice.” His voice was like spun sugar.
She opened her eyes, and too, late, moisture seeped out. Her gaze met his silvery, shining depths. He touched a forefinger to the tear on her cheek. “Why are you crying?”
“I’m not,” she lied.
He propped himself up on one elbow, his gaze sweeping over her, lingering on her breasts, her thighs. She watched his expression, soft, slightly hungry. He reached out to cup one of her swollen breasts, playing languidly. “You’ve put on weight,” he said.
“Most pregnant women do,” she returned evenly.
He stroked her, the length of her body, from her breasts to her knees. His callused touch was possessive, lingering. She sighed. He caressed her hip. Then he met her gaze again. She saw the growing lights of desire.
“How did you meet the soldier?”
She was enjoying what he was doing yet she tensed. “He’sa gentleman, Jack.”
“How did you meet him?” he asked again, his hand roaming over the curve of her buttock, roaming too low for comfort.
She didn’t want to lie. But she didn’t want to start another fight. Not now. This was too precious. If only she hadn’t told him the truth earlier. “Doc Harris and Henry are friends,” she lied.
“And he kissed you.” It was a flat statement.
Jack rolled her beneath him. He was already hard against her thigh, hard and hot. She met his gaze bravely. “Tell me,” Jack commanded, and she heard the low note of restrained anger.
“It was for all of two seconds,” Candice said. “Oh, Jack, please. He surprised me. If you were here none of this would have happened. But now we don’t have to worry about Henry any more, do we?” Her tone rose hopefully and she held her breath. “Now that you’re back.”
His answer was a hot, demanding kiss.
Candice tried to resist. She tried to ignore the warming of her body, and the new evidence of his passion for her. She failed.
“I need you,” he said hoarsely, before taking her, claiming her, loving her. He made love to her all afternoon, knowing full well that he might not be able to see her again for a long while, and determined to fill himself up with her and her with him. His love and need drove him to frenzied desperation at times, at other times to languorous, tender sensuality. Hours later, they both fell asleep in each other’s arms.
He woke first. The sun was rising outside in a hushed display. He gazed upon his wife, enjoying her beauty and the serenity of her features in sleep. He smiled tenderly, but inside he was hurting. He wished for a moment that she wasn’t pregnant, then he would take her with him. He instantly new he didn’t wish that at all. In five months Candice was going to have his child. He smiled again and touched her belly gently, not wanting to waken her. A slight, slight swelling. Their child. It warmed him. Thrilled him.
Silently he rose and dressed. When he had done so he paused to gaze at her again, drinking her in, not wanting to leave. He could not stay any longer. He had his responsibility, not just to Cochise, but to Luz and Datiye. Worse, if he stayed a few days he might forget his duty, not just to his people, but to Shozkay as well. He might not leave. Even now he didn’t want to. He stared out the window.
There was snow on the highest peaks of the Organ Mountains to the east, peach-colored in the first rays of sunlight. He thought of his burdens—Luz, Datiye, Candice. He heard her stir and turned to find her on her side looking at him.
“You’re leaving,” she said, alarmed.
