Tears of the Renegade Read online

  “I kept thinking: What if I couldn’t hold on to you? What if something hit you? If anything had happened to you—” He bit his words off, his face growing darker.

  Susan was stunned. “But you were in danger, too.”

  He shrugged, utterly indifferent to his own fate. Perhaps that was how he faced all dangers, with complete unconcern, and perhaps that was why death hadn’t found him yet. He didn’t fear it, and therefore it didn’t seek him. But he had been afraid for her… Her mind stopped, almost afraid to take the thought any further. She simply pressed close to him once again, her hands clinging to his neck.

  He rubbed his bristly cheek against her forehead, his hands tightening on her. “Susan.”

  She loved the sound of her name on his lips. With unconscious sensuality, she moved her breasts against him, the hair on his chest feeling like rough silk against her sensitive nipples. “Ummmm?” she murmured bemusedly.

  “I want to make love to you. Will you let me?”

  The thought, the rough thread of need in his voice, made her shiver in delight. She lifted her mouth to him, simply and without reserve, and he took it with a tender fervor. He kissed her for a long time, their tongues meeting in mutual need, while his hard fingers found her breasts and stroked them until they hardened and thrust out for his touch.

  He lifted his head and gave a low, shaky laugh. “Is that a yes?”

  “That’s a yes.” Despite the weeks they’d been apart, the anger between them, she wasn’t shy with him. She was his, in the purest sense, and always in his touch she had perceived his genuine pleasure, the care and concern he gave her. His passion might border on roughness in his urgency, but he never hurt her, and she knew that he never would. Her trust in his physical care of her was so great that despite the rift between them, she knew that she had nothing to fear from him. And for this moment, there was no rift, no pain or disagreement; all of that had retreated, and would arrive with the sunrise, but for now there was only the sweet fever between them.

  She could have fought him, could have insisted that he preserve the distance between them, but in the aftermath of the storm, none of their reasons for argument seemed very important. She loved him; she didn’t want to fight him. After what they’d just been through, she wanted only to hold him and feel his hard, warm flesh against her, reassure herself that he was unharmed. He was so infinitely precious to her that she didn’t want to waste a moment of this time they had together by holding him off. She’d worried herself sick about their situation anyway, and it hadn’t changed anything. Let the sunrise bring its troubles; she had the nighttime, and for now that was enough.

  He was slow, and exquisitely gentle, using his kisses and the boldness of his stroking fingers to bring her to fever pitch before he stretched her out on the seat, his hard hands controlling her even when she reached for him, trying to pull him down to her. Susan writhed in blind delight, small cries escaping from her throat, her eyes tightly closed as her head rolled slowly back and forth. He was suckling leisurely at her breasts, his tongue curling around each of her aching nipples in turn, a caress that sent bolts of ecstasy shooting through her body. She was no longer cold, but burning with a radiant glow, her body arching up to his.

  Deftly he moved her, rearranging her legs, and his mouth left her breasts to trail down her stomach, his beard softly rasping her satin flesh and making her gasp at the rough pleasure. His tongue found her navel and he kissed her, paying homage to her for a long, sweet moment before moving on to a richer treasure.

  A startled cry tore from her when he claimed her with his mouth, kissing her deeply, making lightning forays with his tongue that pushed her toward the edge so swiftly she couldn’t breathe. Then she forgot about breathing as her fingers tangled in his damp hair; he was killing her with pleasure, stabbing her to death with his devilish tongue, and she rushed to meet her small death. He held her securely until she was calm again, lying peacefully in his arms; it was several moments before she realized he was doing nothing but holding her.

  “Cord?” His name was an expression of bewilderment. “What about you?”

  “I’m all right.” Very gently, he tilted her face up and kissed her. “It’s just that I’m unprepared; I don’t have any way to protect you.”

  His unselfish consideration jolted her, but the ecstasy he’d just given her wasn’t enough. She didn’t want just simple release; she wanted him, with all his delicious masculinity, his driving power, the very essence of the man. She reached out for him, her soft hands touching his face. “I want you,” she said in a low voice. “Would you mind, very much, if we took the chance?”

  A shudder rippled through him, and he moved swiftly to lie over her, parting her thighs and taking her, a groan of pleasure breaking from his lips. He held nothing back from her, his urgency communicating itself to her. He was shaking in a way she’d never seen before, and she tried to soothe him with her yielding softness. All too soon he was hoarsely crying out his satisfaction; then he sagged against her to rest.

  After only a moment they were both shifting uncomfortably. During the heat of their lovemaking, neither had noticed their awkward positions or cramped limbs, but now they seemed to be fighting a tangle of gearshift, steering wheel, and door handles, all of which were in uncomfortable places. Cord chuckled as he tried to untangle himself from her and still manage not to maim himself.

  “I think we’ll be more comfortable in back; God only knows why we didn’t get in back anyway.”

  With the backseat folded down they had considerable space, though still not enough for Cord to stretch out his long legs. He’d cut the motor, so they had to depend on the one blanket and each other for warmth, but now that Susan was dry she didn’t feel the chill so much. They lay on half of the blanket, and he pulled the other half around them. Susan nestled in his arms, quietly happy. “I’m so tired,” she murmured, then smothered a yawn. She didn’t want to sleep, didn’t want to waste any of the time they had together, but her body was demanding rest. The stress of the past weeks, the emotional tension and fear she’d experienced today, had all taken their toll. Her limbs felt as heavy as lead, and her eyelids simply would not stay open.

  She yawned again, her eyes slowly closing. She put her hand on his chest, where she could feel the strong, steady beating of his heart. He was so big and tough; she felt infinitely safe and protected when she was with him. “I do love you,” she told him quietly, not needing anything now beyond the telling of it. She’d just wanted to say the words aloud this once, when there was peace between them. It was a gift, a simple gesture from her heart.

  “I know,” he whispered against her temple, and held her while she slept.

  He hadn’t expected to sleep at all; his senses were too raw. He had been sure that he would feel the restlessness that always seized him if there were anyone else about while he slept. But the rain kept drumming on the roof of the Blazer, and the darkness enclosed them like a cave; he was warm and dry, and his body pleasantly satisfied. She was soft in his arms, small and delicate, so completely feminine that from the moment he’d met her he’d found himself tempering his strength lest he accidentally hurt her. This afternoon, when she’d been crying and beating on her steering wheel, he’d felt as if he’d taken a punch in the chest; she simply wasn’t the weepy type, yet he’d hurt her enough to make her cry, and he hadn’t meant to. He’d been infuriated to hear that Preston had run off and left her to shoulder everything, that instead of Preston knuckling under and sacrificing, it had been Susan. He had to end this, as soon as he could, for Susan’s sake. She was at the end of her rope, physically and emotionally.

  She loved him. Once a woman’s offering of love would have made him impatient, restless to be gone. He couldn’t offer anything in return, and he hadn’t wanted the complications of clinging hands, teary scenes, or the incredible plots of revenge some women could concoct when they felt they’d been wronged. Judith’s death had scarred him deeply, left him so wary of being wounde