Kathleen Creighton - The Sheriff of Heartbreak County

A breathy giggle somehow broke loose from her ragged respirations. “Feel free to plumb them-” her voice caught, and she finished in a choking whisper “-if you want.”

“Oh, I want.” He hooked his thumbs in the straps of her bra and drew them slowly over her shoulders. “I definitely want.” Dazed…humbled by the beauty of what he’d uncovered…what she’d offered, he lifted his eyes to hers and said in a thickened voice, “That’s…if you want, too.”

It was another thing he’d forgotten-the vulnerability. Intimacy never had come easy for him. He and Erin had been kids together, played naked in the sprinkler together. Skinny-dipped together. Yet he remembered the first time they’d made love-virgins, both of them-how scared he’d been, not just the usual kind of performance anxiety most of the guys he knew wouldn’t ever admit to having, not in a million years, and probably did a whole lot of bragging to cover up. No…the kind of fear he’d felt had been more in the nature of awe, an overwhelming sense of wonder at the magnitude of this step he was taking…that they were taking. He and Erin. That this woman would open up the most private and personal, intimate part of herself…to him. That he would allow her to see him without any of his defenses…utterly naked in every sense of the word.

After Erin, he’d thought he’d never go through that with another woman, ever again. And yet…here he was.

“I want,” she whispered.

He released a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding…closed his eyes and lowered his head…pressed his mouth to her throat…her breasts… moistening her skin and the lace alike with his essence. Inhaled deeply…he’d forgotten how good a woman’s skin smelled. Tasted. Felt.

The desire to bury himself in her warm body and lose himself there was so intense he felt dizzy with it…hollow, as if he hadn’t eaten in days. His stomach growled, and it made him think again of Erin, other times, before they’d made love, when they’d been necking and his stomach would growl, and she’d tease him about being hungry. Oh, yeah…but not that kind of hungry.

That memory led to another-the reason for those frustrating make-out sessions when he’d been so hard and hot and young enough to think he’d surely die from it: he’d been too afraid to buy condoms, because he figured if Boyd found out-and he was sure to find out, in a town where everybody knew everybody’s business and the only drug store was owned by Boyd’s late wife’s cousin-he’d kill him.

Then one day when they were cleaning out the stables together, Boyd had handed him a packet of condoms. Roan could still hear the rancher’s crusty voice, could still recall, word for word, what he’d said: “You care about a gal, you take care of her. You hear me, son? You take care of my girl.”

Take care of her… Well, he’d done his best. To the best of his knowledge, his father-in-law hadn’t ever held it against him that his best hadn’t been good enough.

“Mary…” He pulled away from her with a groan of regret he felt deep in his belly…his groin…all the way to his toes. “We can’t do this. Not now. I don’t have anything. I’m sorry…”

“There’s a package of condoms in the medicine cabinet,” she said in a strangled voice. And quickly added when his startled stare jerked to hers, “Not mine-they came with the house. I guess Queenie forgot them.” There was a different kind of light in her eyes, one he’d never seen there before. “Either that, or…”

“A housewarming gift?” He managed to say it with a straight face, though he’d already realized the light in her eyes must be laughter. It seemed so improbable, so rare, that glint of wicked humor, his impulse was to shelter and nourish it with secret delight, like an orchid found blooming in a dark wood.

“Talk about unplumbed depths,” Mary murmured solemnly.

And suddenly they were holding each other again, clinging hard, her face buried in the curve of his neck, his in her hair, both of them shaking with smothered laughter, giddy relief and maybe fear.

“Do you want to go get them,” he whispered finally, “or shall I?”

“You go. Just don’t…” She tipped her head back and her eyes, fathomless and green as oceans, searched his. “Don’t be too long.” Again her voice was unsteady, and he knew what she’d left unsaid.

Don’t take too long…don’t think too much…don’t lose this.

“Count on it,” he growled. He kissed her long and deeply, then left her.

It’s because of moments like this, Mary thought as she waited for Roan to return, lovers consider darkness a friend.

Darkness would have spared her the agony of wondering how to wait for him…whether to undress or not…whether to wait for him in bed or not. How humiliating it would be if she did those things, and he changed his mind. Came to his senses.

Nothing like putting on a condom, she thought, fingers lingering uncertainly on the zipper of her slacks, to shine the cold light of reality on an insanity like this.

But, looking at it from the other side, how would it be if he came back dressed and ready, so to speak, to find her dressed and not? How embarrassing would that be for him?

Resolute now, and before she could change her mind again, she kicked off her shoes, pulled down the zipper and stepped out of her slacks. One issue decided.

She was still debating the second, standing beside her bed wearing nothing but a scrap of lace and trying to keep herself from shaking like a leaf, when Roan came into the room. She half turned, eyes filled with all the questions she couldn’t ask. And one look at him told her all she needed to know-that he hadn’t changed his mind, that what she was wearing, or he was wearing, or where she waited, in daylight or darkness…none of it mattered at all.

He’d taken off his boots and uniform belt and shirt, but not his pants. His hard, muscular body, pale as a marble sculpture except for the dark V of tan at his throat and a dusting of mink-brown hair, seemed to shimmer in the mist that came suddenly to cloud her eyes. Even so, she couldn’t mistake the glitter of desire in his…or the naked vulnerability.

Her heart gave a leap she feared would send it through the wall of her chest. She had time for one glad cry and then his arms were strong around her, and his body hard against her softness, scorching wherever it touched her. His mouth opened with hers, both of them ravishing…hungry. His heartbeat thumped against her breasts. One big hand scraped down her naked back and skimmed roughly over her hip, taking the scrap of lace with it…then turned gentle as it slipped between her legs. Warm fingers cupped her, found their way between folds already moist and ready for him…stroked, tested…then pushed inside. The sensation tore through her…jolted her…stunned her. He captured her gasp in his mouth.

It had been too long, the sensation was too raw. The penetration brought her almost instantly to shuddering, knee-buckling climax.

She was sobbing when he laid her down…trembling when he coaxed her legs apart, opened her to him and held her there with gentle hands and insistent thumbs…whimpering when he licked into her and stroked her once again to the brink of madness. And when he slid inside her at last, hard and hot and full, she sobbed again as she cried out his name.

He’d forgotten the feeling. Or had he ever known this desperate, driving need, this lust so savage it was like a wild animal clawing at his belly? The sensation of being wrenched inside-out, hollowed-out, pumped dry? And he’d forgotten, too, the relief that came afterward, relief so complete, exhaustion so overwhelming he wondered whether he would ever move again.