Allison Leigh - Montana Passions

Her breath hitched as she landed.

“Better?” he asked.

“Oh, I think…”

He nuzzled her neck, pressed a burning kiss at the place where her pulse beat close to the skin. A lovely shiver went through her and she sighed.

“You think what?” He breathed the words against her throat—and then he caught her earlobe between his teeth. He worried it, lightly, as she clutched his shoulders and sighed some more.

“Oh, Justin…”

His tongue touched the place where his teeth had been, a velvety moist caress. He licked the tender hollow behind her earlobe. Briefly, with the very tip of that bold tongue, he dipped into her ear.

She let out a low moan. She was supposed to be telling him…something. The question was what. “I…well…”

He threaded his fingers up into her hair and he brushed a line of butterfly-light kisses along her jaw. “What you think…”

“Think?” The word sounded alien. Not surprising. At that moment, thinking was the last thing on her mind.

He cradled the back of her head, holding her still, bringing his mouth a breath’s distance from hers. “You were telling me…what you think…”

“I…well…”

One corner of his mouth lifted in a knowing smile. “Well, what?”

“I forgot.” And she had.

She’d forgotten everything. Nothing mattered, at that moment, but this man and the drugging pleasure of his hands on her body, his mouth so close to hers. “Kiss me. Again.”

He obeyed. His mouth covered hers and she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back with boundless enthusiasm.

This time when they came up for air, he took her by the waist and held her away from him. “We’d better stop.” His voice was rough—almost curt.

She started to argue. She didn’t want to stop. But maybe he was right. Where could they go from here, except to the bed with the pineapple finials?

Was she ready for that yet?

As much as she liked kissing him and feeling his hands on her body…as much as she liked him …as much as she couldn’t help but start to think that there was something very special going on here, between them…

That was a big, fat…maybe. Even given what she’d decided that morning—about the lack of sex of any kind in her life, about how she was going to stop being a cliché. Even given all that, well, they didn’t need to rush this, did they? There was nothing that said they couldn’t take their time. Though she was determined to get herself a sex life one of these days very soon—and with Justin—she was old-fashioned in some ways. She believed making love should be special. And it shouldn’t be rushed.

He smoothed a wild curl of hair off her cheek. “Listen.” His eyes teased—and burned, too. “I want you to get up. And I want you to do it very carefully.”

She frowned, and then she understood. Oh, my. Yes. She could feel him and it was just like out in the shed the day before. He was very happy to be near her.

“Oh. Oh, well. You’re, uh—”

“Katie.”

“Uh. Yeah?”

“We don’t need a lot of discussion here.”

“Oh. Well, no. Of course, we don’t.” She put her feet on the floor and stood, backing off a little. Her gaze dropped to—oops. Blinking, she yanked her chin up and gave him a nervous smile. “Is that better?”

“Not really.” The chair legs scraped the floor as he turned to face the table—a deft movement, in spite of the pained grunt that accompanied it. Now his lap, and the obvious bulge there, was hidden by the tabletop. “In a few minutes, I’ll be fine.”

“Well. Good.”

He folded his hands on the tabletop. “It would help if you wouldn’t stand there looking so damn…thoroughly kissed.”

Her wobbly smile widened. “But Justin. I am thoroughly kissed.”

He commanded sternly, “Think of an activity. One that doesn’t involve kissing.”

She pretended to give his request great thought. “Well, now…we could go out and visit Buttercup again.”

He scowled. “Let me qualify. Something that doesn’t involve kissing or that mean old mare.”

“Hmm. It’s a tough one.”

He shifted in his chair, wincing. “Work with it.”

An idea came to her. “I know. We could tour the museum.”

“Why? I’ve seen it.”

“Now, wait a minute. I’ll admit, you’ve seen about all there is to see in the central room. But the two side rooms…why, Justin, you’ve hardly had a look. And you know, on second thought, you’ve only slept in the central room. That’s not the same as a tour.”

He let out a dry chuckle. “I’ve been up close and personal with that dinky narrow cot of mine. Isn’t that enough?”

“Oh, no. You have to see it all. I insist. The rich and varied history of Thunder Canyon is right here, only a few steps away. You owe it to yourself to explore it.”

“I can’t wait.”

“Don’t get so excited,” she instructed, deadpan.

He tipped his head toward his lap. “I’m trying.”

She couldn’t help it, she burst into a laugh—and then she frowned. “You know, now I think about it, it’s not really fair that I always get the big bed.”

“Katie. I’m fine with the cot.”

“But still, it’s only right that we—”

“Stop. I love that cot of mine and you can’t have it. Now, I want you to go on ahead of me, reconnoiter the display rooms, get your tour guide rap down pat. Let me, er, relax a little here.”

She decided not to remark on what might need relaxing. “Hey, we could even take some rags in there, dust the display cases…”

He sent her a pained look. “The fun never ends.”

She was dusting a case full of old gold-panning equipment in the south room when he joined her. She handed him a rag and one of the two bottles of spray cleaner she’d found in the storage room.

“I thought this was a tour,” he groused. But he was grinning as he took the rag and bottle.

“The museum is a community effort,” she told him tartly. “We all have to pitch in.”

“Hey. I’m all for that.” He saluted her with the spray bottle.

They set to work dusting the cases. As they sprayed and polished, she explained about the Montana gold rush that had begun in Idaho, with the Salmon River strike. “Gold fever came to Montana in 1862. John White and company, en route to the Salmon River mines, found gold on the way—at Grasshopper Creek.” She paused to point out the exact location on the big laminated territorial map on the wall. “Bannack—” She pointed again. “—Montana’s first boomtown, sprang up during that rush.”

“Just like in the reenactment Saturday.”

“That’s right.” She beamed at him. “For a man who didn’t have the benefit of a Montana education, you’re a very good student.”

“Thank you. I try.”

“Shall I continue?”

“By all means.”

So she explained that the gold rush had lasted into the early 1890s, starting with placer mining and then, as the streams petered out, panning and sluicing gave way to hardrock mining. “There were a number of mines right here in the Thunder Canyon area. Caleb still owns one, as a matter of fact. It’s called the Queen of Hearts.”

“So I heard.”

“From Caleb?”

“More or less.” At her questioning look, he explained, “I’m in business with Caleb. My people have gone over his books, with Caleb’s full knowledge and consent, of course. As a result, I know a lot about what his assets are, as well as which pies he’s got his fingers in. I understand the gold mine’s been shut down for years. ‘Played out,’ isn’t that what they say in the trade?”

“That’s exactly what they say—and I’ll bet you didn’t know that Caleb’s great-grandfather, Amos Douglas, won the Queen in a card game.” She sprayed and rubbed with her cloth. “Or so the legend goes.”