This Loving Land - Dorothy Garlock [49]
All thought left her. She closed her eyes and gave herself up to the joy of being held by him. The smooth side of his face was pressed to hers, and she lifted her hand to caress the scarred cheek. It was warm and rough and his whiskers scraped gently against her palm. This was the part of him she loved the most, this part that had given him so much pain.
He moved his head and his lips searched for hers. There was no haste in his kiss. Slow~ sensuous, languid, he took his time quite deliberately, and every move of his lips increased the deep buried heat in her body. She kissed him back, hungrily, her hand moving back to pull at the crisp hair at the back of his neck. She relaxed in his arms and offered herself to his possessive lips.
His brown fingers moved to her chin and his thumb gently stroked her lower lip. Their breath mingled for an instant before he covered her mouth once again with his. She was filled with a driving physical need, which drummed through her veins like thunder, turning her body into helpless fluidity. She was conscious only of a need to please him, to satisfy him.
His hand curved around the back of her head in a sudden movement of possession, pushing her face to the curve of his neck. Against her hot face, the coolness of his skin was thrilling. Breathing fiercely, she kissed him, her mouth tasting the rough saltiness of his skin for the first time. She felt as well as heard the hoarse sound he made in his throat. Reluctantly, he held her away from him, looking at her with eyes that moved over her hungrily, lovingly.
“We’ll marry soon,” he said thickly. “I’ve been waiting for you . . . forever.”
The horse moved restlessly, but it was of no concern to either of them. Summer tilted her head and pulled away so she could see his face.
“I’m all growed up and . . . I’ve come home to you.”
“Sweetheart. . . .” His voice broke off, shaking. “Sweetheart. . . .” His hand caressed her arm, shoulder, and moved to her breast with trembling gentleness. He looked at her with a consuming tenderness in his dark eyes.
She gazed back at him, the ache of love in her tremulous mouth.
“Oh, God, I’ve wanted to hold you, kiss you, for days,” he said thickly. His mouth parted her lips, desperate in search of fulfillment, and she clung to him, bonelessly melting into his hard body. The kiss lasted endlessly, as if they each found it impossible to end it. “Summer,” he groaned against her neck. “Summer.”
“Slater. . . ” she said, half-laughing. “Someone might come by.”
He kissed her quick and hard. “Very well, what’s a few more hours? But when night comes . . . my girl. . . . ” he threatened teasingly.
She ran a finger over his hard mouth. “Are you threatening me, Mr. McLean?” Her eyes sparkled at him through the thick lashes.
“Warning you, Miss Kuykendall.” His hat was pushed to the back of his head, and his dark eyes were alive with the smile-lines that fanned out from the corners. This relaxed, smiling man in no way resembled the stern-faced man she had met in the kitchen a few short weeks ago.
Her own shyness gone; she giggled softly and tried to tuck the stray tendrils back into her braid.
“Put your bonnet on, summertime girl. I don’t want you to get a blister on your nose.”
The horse, grateful to be leaving the water, scrambled up the bank. Slater, holding Summer between his two arms, grabbed the saddlehorn to keep from sliding off the horse’s rump. Their laughter mingled. They were like excited children; everything was new and wonderful.
At the ranch house, Summer looked around with interest. The ride and the pause in the creek had brought color to her cheeks. Slater watched her with appreciation. There was a depth to her and a quickness of mind that he liked, and yet she was a woman, with all a woman’s instincts. He felt an indefinable surge of pride.
“You belong here.” He