Montana Mavericks Weddings (10 page)

She wanted him. She needed him. Everything else was just an illusion. Second best. It was as if the ten years apart had never existed.

He broke the kiss and rested his forehead against her shoulder. Through her shirt and bra, she felt the warm puff of his breath. “If you knew how many times I'd imagined this,” he said.

“Me, too,” she breathed, and tensed in anticipation.

Her horse nickered in the distance. Sierra tried to ignore the sound, but somehow it couldn't be pushed away. Slowly, not wanting to, she became conscious of the fact that they were standing in the middle of a field. There was no one else around; she wasn't worried about being seen. But the familiar trees and solid ground reminded her that ten years
had
passed.
This was a different time, and she was a different person.

His mouth closed on her nipple. Perfect pleasure shot through her. She squeezed his shoulders, then roughly pushed him away.

“No!” she commanded. “No more.”

He stared at her, his chest rising and falling in time with his rapid breathing. She wanted to slap him. She wanted to kick him and beat him until he felt what she'd endured with him gone. She wanted to tear off her clothes and make love with him.

“Don't make me do this,” she told him. “Not again.”

D
ylan watched the shifting emotions in Sierra's hazel eyes. Passion was the strongest, but anger was a close second. Anger and maybe a little confusion. He couldn't blame her for feeling the latter—he was a little lost himself. Obviously the physical connection between them was as strong as ever. Maybe stronger. He'd remembered wanting her, but he didn't remember craving her the way his lungs craved air.

“I'll never
make
you do anything,” he told her.

Her mouth twisted. “Yeah, right. You probably think it's going to be a lot easier than that. A couple of kisses and I'll be ready to fall into your bed.”

“Aren't you?”

She raised her head slightly and squared her shoulders. “No.”

She'd never been a good liar. But right now he
wasn't as much concerned with her lack of skill as her motivation. Why was she denying the obvious? “Whatever we had before is still very much alive,” he told her. “I want you, Sierra. I want you in every way a man can want a woman. You make me feel alive. I'd forgotten what that was like.”

She folded her arms over her chest. “Don't go all nostalgic on me. This was a one shot deal. You caught me off guard, that's all. It's not going to happen again.”

He reached out to touch her. She flinched, but didn't move back, so he gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. As usual, she wore her long hair in a neat braid. She'd done the same in high school. When they were alone, she allowed him to take off the rubber band and comb his fingers through the rippling waves. He'd always loved her hair.

“What isn't going to happen?” he asked.

“All of it.” She made a sweeping gesture with one hand, then tucked her fingers back under her arm.

“Talking?”

“Whatever.”

“Kissing?”

She scowled. “Damn it, Dylan, what do you want from me?”

That was easy. He didn't even have to think about his answer. “A second chance,” he said promptly. “There's still something wonderful between us and
I don't want to waste another ten years until we find each other again.”

“There is no us. There's you and there's me. We're separate and we're going to stay that way. As for what we had—” Her eyes flashed with fire as the anger burned off the last of her passion. “I loved you and you betrayed me. You lied to me about your relationship with Claire and then you left me. It's taken me a long time to forget you, but I finally have. I don't want to remember again.”

He noticed she said forget, but not forgive. She hadn't forgiven him and he couldn't blame her. But where to start? After all this time, would she even believe him?

“It's not what you think,” he began.

“I know exactly what it is and what it was. You wanted to be successful. Well, glory be, you are. Congratulations, Dylan. You're a hotshot attorney. I hope the money keeps you warm at night because I'm not going to.”

“It's not about the money. It never was.”

She shook her head in disbelief. “It sure wasn't about love, or keeping promises. At least not the ones you made to me.”

Her sharp words were like a knife wound directly to his heart. He held her gaze without flinching—after all he deserved what she was saying.

“I've moved on with my life,” she continued. “You're of no interest to me.”

“You kiss as if you're really interested. Face it, Sierra. I still turn you on.”

Some instinct warned him and he managed to grab her arm before her palm connected with his cheek. She struggled to continue her forward motion and slap him. When it became obvious he was stronger, she tried to pull away. He didn't let that happen, either.

“Let go of me,” she demanded.

“Not until you listen to me.”

“You can't say anything I want to hear.”

Frustration bubbled inside of him. “You're probably right.”

So he did the only sensible thing under the circumstances. He kissed her again.

He hauled her hard against him, pulling her until she was once again flush against his body. He was still aroused and her belly nestled intimately against his groin. He deliberately rotated his hips, making sure she understood what he was doing. The small sound that escaped her parted lips told him she'd figured it out.

He waited a heartbeat, willing to listen to any protests, but there was only the faint whisper of her breathing. So he lowered his head to hers and claimed her mouth.

She'd already parted her lips. He didn't bother with polite inquiries, instead sweeping inside to claim her, like a wild animal claiming its territory.
He wanted to taste her and touch her, to be around her and in her, joined in the most intimate way possible.

When he knew he had her complete attention, he released her arm and rested his hands on her waist. She placed her palms flat against his chest, fingertips lightly scratching at the fabric of his shirt. They belonged together—they always had. Anyone else would be second best…for both of them.

They consumed each other, caught up in the flames of arousal. He lost himself in the heat of her, in the overpowering need. He'd spent a lot of time trying to convince himself being with Sierra wasn't nearly as intense and perfect as he recalled. He knew now that it was more so.

She met him with a passion that matched his. They danced together, the movements sure and familiar—specific touches and motions they'd taught each other all those years ago. He withdrew, allowing her to follow him back so she could tease his lips, his mouth. He lowered one hand to her rear, cupping the curve, squeezing gently. A shudder rippled through her. Her body tightened, her muscles tensing in anticipation. Her hands pressed flat against him.

“No!” Sierra gasped, and pushed away. She staggered a step away and folded her arms across her chest as if she were trying to hold herself together. “No, Dylan. Please don't.”

The soft plea worked as nothing else could have.
His entire being still on fire for her, he nodded briefly. He had to clear his throat before he could speak. “I won't kiss you again if you promise not to run off,” he managed to say at last.

She shook her head. “Let it go. Let me go. There's nothing left to talk about. We have separate lives.”

“That doesn't matter.”

“Of course it does. It always mattered.” Her smile was bitter. “I never figured out what you saw in me back in high school. I dressed in jeans and shirts, not those pretty dresses the rich girls pranced around in. I wasn't especially smart or funny or anything that you would have wanted.”

“I loved you.”

Hazel eyes darkened. “Why?”

At last an easy question. “Because you made me laugh,” he said, remembering all the fun they'd had together. “I liked how you think, how well we got along. I enjoyed your company, your way of looking at the things. I liked looking at you, being with you. Loving you was the best part of my world, Sierra. I was a better man when I was with you. We understood each other. We wanted the same things. I could imagine growing old with you.” He shrugged. “None of that has changed. At least not for me.”

She dropped her gaze to the ground. “I asked,” she muttered quietly. “I only have myself to blame for your answer.”

They were both silent for a few minutes. Dylan
tried to figure out how to convince her that this time would be different. This time he was a grown-up, not a kid trying to act like an adult.

“Find someone appropriate,” she said, still not looking at him. “You're appropriate.”

“Hardly. I'm not domestic. My idea of gourmet cooking is taking the frozen entrée out of the plastic container before eating it. I can't make small talk. I don't decorate. I'm not interested in chic charity work. I'd be a lousy mother. Besides, look at how I'm dressed.” She motioned to her shirt and jeans. “What would your friends say?”

“They'd adore you.”

“Yeah, right. Think they want to shake hands with me?” She held her hands out in front of her. The skin was rough and tanned. Several cuts and scars formed an erratic pattern on her palms. She turned them over. Her nails were short, but she had long, lovely fingers. They might not look right in an ad for nail polish, but he'd felt them on his body and to him, they were perfection.

He stepped forward and took her fingers in his. “You're beautiful. Everything about you is exactly as I want it to be. Why can't you believe me?”

“Because you're not being realistic. Our worlds are too different.”

“You're just afraid.”

She met his gaze. He watched her expression
harden and she pulled free of his grasp. “Do you blame me?”

And then he knew. Whatever he'd suffered when he'd left her, it wasn't close to what she'd gone through in being left. He'd gone away, with a wife and a child. She'd stayed behind in a small town that thrived on gossip. In doing the right thing, he'd destroyed the only woman he'd ever loved.

“I'm so sorry,” he said softly. “I can't tell you how sorry.”

“It's too late for apologies. They can't fix anything now. It's not important anymore. We've changed. Let the past be, Dylan. Let me be.”

“I don't believe that's what you really want.”

“Why? Because it's not what
you
want?” She planted her hands on her hips. “I'm not the same person you left behind. You don't know me anymore. Don't presume to think you understand anything about me.”

“Fair enough. We've both changed. But some things have stayed the same.” He drew in a breath to steady himself. Maybe it was too early to play this card, but he wasn't sure he had a choice. “I still love you.”

She froze like a small creature catching the scent of an approaching enemy. Her eyes widened and her lips parted. Color fled her cheeks leaving her oddly pale, despite her tan. Her hands slipped down her hips and hung loosely at her sides.

“No,” she said, the word more shadow than sound.

“Yes,” he told her firmly.

“No.” She shook her head. “You're just saying that. It can't be true.”

“Why is it so impossible to believe?”

She closed her eyes and half turned away. An unexpected pain shot through him as he wondered if she was going to cry. Torn between giving her space in which to compose herself and wanting to go to her and hold her close, he did nothing. After a moment, she turned back toward him, her expression neutral.

“You just disappeared,” she said, her voice resigned. “You'd made me promises about being together forever, and then one day you were gone. You took everything. My hopes, my dreams. I didn't know how to exist in a world without you. I didn't know how to get over the lies.”

“I didn't lie to you.”

“What would you call Rory if not a lie? You swore you h-hadn't—” Her voice cracked. She straightened her shoulders. “You swore to me you hadn't slept with Claire, yet the proof that you did is your nine-year-old son.”

There were dozens of things he could tell her. The truth for one. But the stiffness in her body warned him she wasn't prepared to listen. Not now. He shouldn't have told her he loved her. He should have waited a little so she could get used to having him around.

“I didn't just disappear,” he said, deciding to pursue a safer topic. “I wrote you several letters. You're the one who didn't write back.”

Her mouth twisted. “I never got any letters.”

“I know. Maybe you should ask your brother about that.”

“What are you talking about?”

He shrugged. “Take it up with Kirk.”

“You're saying my brother kept your letters from me?” Her tone highlighted her disbelief. “You're going to have to do better than that.”

“All it takes is one question, Sierra. Why would I lie about something so easy to check?”

Her eyebrows drew together. He desperately wanted to pull her into his arms and hold her again. He needed to feel her body against his. Only when they were together did he know he'd finally come home.

But he didn't bother trying to hold her or kiss her. She'd erected fences and signs warning him to Keep Out. He would listen…for now.

He stood by his truck until she'd ridden away. When she disappeared over a rise, he slowly opened the vehicle's door and stepped up into the driver's seat. His parents had taught him he could do anything he set his mind to. In all his attempts, he'd only failed once—he'd let Sierra down. But he wasn't an impressionable kid anymore. He couldn't be manip
ulated by well-meaning adults or one determined young woman.

All that stood between him and what he wanted was a little information and a few demonstrations that the fire was still burning bright between them. He knew he still loved Sierra and he was willing to bet everything he had that she still had feelings for him, too. All he had to do was convince her of that.

He thought about kissing her and holding her—and about the incredible thrill of making love with her. They belonged together. He would use everything in his power to make her see that. He'd lost her once—he wasn't going to lose her again.