Joan Johnston - Texas Woman

“I want you inside me,” she gasped, shoving his trousers down over his hips.

He freed her from his loving grasp long enough to strip her as well, and when they were both naked, he pushed her gently back into the feathered mattress, spread her legs wider with his knees, and mounted her.

She captured him with her thighs and arched upward, urging him deeper inside, taking the fullness of him and demanding more.

He rolled them both over so she was on top of him and growled “You are mine, Cebellina.”

She looked down into his blue eyes, dark with avidity, at his nostrils flared to bring air to his heaving chest, at his raven black curls, wild where her hands had thrust through them. She smiled. “And you are mine.”

The sense of power was immense. She lifted herself nearly off his shaft and then, ever so slowly, settled back down again. She watched his teeth clench as the air hissed from his chest.

“You are playing with fire, Cebellina,” he warned.

“I know.” She grinned, fully aware of the danger in taunting him. He grasped her thighs in an attempt to keep her down on him. She allowed him his small victory but rocked her hips against his, increasing the friction until they were both aflame with pleasure. One of his hands left her hip and slipped between them, fanning the flames.

She was lost in her own deep well of pleasure when he at last turned her once again so she was beneath him. He tilted her hips and thrust before withdrawing, teasing, taunting, and thrusting again.

She was beyond being rational. She wanted. She needed. She demanded.

And he gave… and took.

Sloan felt the rising crest of pleasure and at the last instant fought against being overwhelmed by it. But it was too late. She cried out as her body shuddered against his, and heard his cry of triumph as their bodies and souls became one.

Gradually, she became aware of his heavy weight on top of her, of their chests heaving with equal effort to bring air to tortured lungs, and of the musky smell of their sex.

Cruz started to move off her, and she tightened her arms around his sweat-slick body. “Don’t go yet. Stay where you are.”

“I am too heavy.”

“It feels good.”

And so he stayed with her.

She closed her eyes, feeling for the first time truly content. This was what she needed. This was what she wanted. Dear God, she loved this man. Despite everything, she loved him.

And she would stick by him, no matter what. If that was unwise, if that was making the same mistake twice in one lifetime, so be it. She was committed. She would follow him through fire, race with him through hell, and never look back.

It was dark when Sloan awoke, and Cruz was gone. It took her a few moments to realize it was still daytime. A storm had darkened the sky until it was almost black. For a moment she feared another tornado, but realized the air didn’t feel the same-it was less oppressive.

She heard the limbs of the live oaks slapping against the house as the rising wind whipped through them. Then came the slight whistling sound the wind made as it forced its way through the nooks and crannies of the house.

The eerie whisper of the wind had always made her shiver, even when it wasn’t cold. She smiled as she felt herself shiver right on cue. She reached out and pulled the covers up more snugly over her shoulders.

The sudden spring storms were wild and fierce in Texas. This wasn’t anything she hadn’t experienced dozens of times before. In the past, seeing the sky darken so forbiddingly had always left her with a feeling of high anticipation for the powerful raging of the elements. After the tornado she had just experienced, she had a new respect for its power.

Sloan shivered again and wished Cruz were still in bed with her and that she could turn and snuggle into his strong arms for comfort. There had been little opportunity in her life to seek comfort outside herself. She had always taken care of herself, had even wanted it that way. Now she wanted to reach out and grasp the hand Cruz had outstretched to her.

There were muffled sounds of movement downstairs, and Sloan realized that if she wanted to touch Cruz, wanted to hold him, she only had to seek him out. She quickly rose and washed and dressed herself.

She passed Tomasita’s room on the way downstairs, but the young woman wasn’t inside. Her father’s door was still closed so she made the slight detour to the end of the hall to check on him again.

She knocked on his door and heard a gruff, “Come in.” She opened the door and found Rip still abed. “How are you?”

“What are you doing here?” he demanded.

“Dolorosa was destroyed by a tornado this afternoon. It made sense for us to come here.”

“Well, of course, you should all come here. Did everybody come through okay?”

“Almost everybody. Cruz’s mother was killed.”

“That’s too bad,” Rip said.

“I thought you’d be heading downstairs for supper tonight,” Sloan said, unwilling to speak further of the tragedy.

“That was my plan, but I’m still feeling poorly, so I decided to eat up here.”

Sloan walked over and stood beside the bed. He looked tired, his gray eyes dull, without the sparkle that had once lit them. He coughed, and Sloan noticed it hurt him to breathe. “Are you sure you don’t want me to send for a doctor?”

“Won’t hear of it. Now, get on downstairs and take care of our company.”

Sloan left him with a feeling of foreboding. She had never known Rip to stay in bed if he could be out of it. Even the time a mule had stepped on his foot and broken it, he hadn’t been down long.

If he wasn’t up tomorrow, she would arrange for a doctor to come and see him whether he wanted one or not. She determined not to bring up the subject of Three Oaks until he was in fine enough fettle to fight back.

Sloan descended the staircase slowly, not sure what she would find below. She followed the voices to the dining room, located beyond the parlor at the back of the house. There she found Angelique holding court at the supper table like a queen with three very attentive male subjects, and one very irritated lady-in-waiting.

When Cruz saw Sloan, he rose from the table and came to greet her. He took her in his arms and whispered in her ear, “I did not want to wake you. I thought you would need your rest for later tonight.”

Sloan blushed at the implication of his words, but they made her feel warm inside. After she filled her plate from the array of dishes set out on the sideboard, she sat down in the chair Cruz had saved for her next to him. It didn’t take long to realize she had arrived just in time to see the sparks fly.

Apparently, after having no success with Cruz, Angelique had turned her attentions to Luke. Sloan saw that Tomasita was highly agitated by the situation. It was equally obvious that the young woman could hardly act jealous of Luke without revealing to Cruz that she and the Ranger knew more about each other than their names.

Luke wasn’t helping matters. He was paying close attention to Angelique, leaning toward her and hanging on every word.

“Sounds like you had a pretty good time, Angel,” Luke said. “Wish I’d been there.”

“I wish you had been there, too,” Angelique said, laying her hand on Luke’s arm. “I know you would have been able to help me with my gown.”

“I’m sure I’d have figured out something,” Luke said with a grin.

Perhaps if Sloan had gotten downstairs a few minutes sooner, she could have steered the conversation away from danger, but it was too late now to do anything but watch helplessly as Tomasita rose from her seat, picked up her glass of wine, and dumped it on Luke’s head.

He bolted out of his chair, shouting, “What the hell did you do that for?”