Circle Star Page 13

  On Hartman’s land.

  So that was how far things had slipped out of his control.

  The thought that Susanna might be part of a plan to ambush him filled Connor’s heart with the blackest rage he’d ever known. He dug his heels into the horse’s flanks. Brutus spun around, cleared the riverbank, and raced over the rocky ground until they reached Circle Star.

  “Deal with him,” Connor snapped at Gomez outside the stables, vaulting from the saddle and throwing off the reins in one single fluid motion.

  In the house, he went to the library first. “Susanna!” he roared from the door. The room was empty, although a lamp burned on the mantelpiece. He strode into the kitchen, his footsteps ringing against the tile floor.

  “Where’s my wife?”

  Carmen looked up from her pots and pans. “I don’t know. Ask Miranda.”

  “Where’s Miranda?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Connor shook his head. What was with women, old and young? Contrary shrews, every single one. “Susanna!” he bellowed. “Where the heck are you?” As he turned to leave, he heard Carmen cluck her tongue.

  In the hall, Miranda peered at him, half hiding behind the dining room door. “Miss Susanna is having a bath,” she informed him.

  Miss Susanna. Not Mrs. McGregor. He’d noticed it, but he’d let it go. He should have put a stop to it, right from the start. Women. Give them an inch and they’ll take a mile. “Susanna,” he roared, clearing the stairs three at a time.

  Outside her bedroom, he moved a few steps back, getting ready to ram the door with his right shoulder. The wound in his left shoulder stung like hell. Blood trickled down his arm, but he knew it was only a scratch. He paused for a moment. Then he tried the brass handle. It turned. He flung the door open and stepped through.

  In the center of the room, Susanna sat immersed in a big steel tub, looking at him from under her brows. Foam dripped from her hair and ran in rivulets down her shoulders and over her breasts. She made no effort to cover herself with her arms.

  “Connor?” she said, startled.

  “Why didn’t you lock your door?” he asked, his gaze roaming over her.

  “Because I’m not trying to keep you out.”

  He strode across the room and yanked her up to her feet. Water sloshed over the edge of the tub. “I don’t know what you are up to, but if you’re planning to go to Hartman, you won’t go to him untouched.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  He released his grip on her arms, but only to pull off his coat and toss it down on the floor. He unbuckled his gun belt and threw it on the chest by the wall. Then he grabbed her again. “I knew you were using me for your own aims, but I had no idea the stakes were so high.”

  Susanna squirmed in his hold. “What are you talking about?”

  The soap made her slippery. He slid his hands along her arms and imprisoned her wrists, twisting them together behind her back. She arched her spine—an agile, feline pose that made her breasts jut out at him.

  The rage inside him exploded into desire. It surged through him, hot and heavy. He felt cheated, because she was already naked, and he didn’t get the chance to tear off her clothes.

  “If Hartman’s getting a widow, he can’t have a virgin.” He bent his head and kissed her—harsh, demanding kisses, with years of pent-up hunger in them. Releasing her wrists, he cupped his hands over her buttocks and lifted her against the hard ridge in his groin.

  Damp heat enveloped him as Susanna raised her arms and wrapped them around his neck. He tightened his grip on her, hitching her higher against his erection. With a soft moan, she wound her legs around his hips and clung to him.

  “Your clothes are getting wet,” she said when he finally lifted his mouth from hers.

  “I don’t care. That’s how I want you. Naked and wet. As wet inside as you’re out.” He carried her to the bed and lowered her down on her back, untangling his body from hers only long enough to pull out the tails of his shirt and hook the damp garment over his head. He ignored the tingling sounds as something scattered to the floor.

  “I hope you’re not expecting me to sew those buttons back on,” Susanna muttered. Her words drifted out to him, husky and taunting, as full of promise as her eager response to his kisses had been.

  “Shut up.” He reached for her knees and parted them. There was no resistance, no hesitation. Her eyes shone at him, the green stars with a dark circle around them that he had dreamed of for so long. He lowered his head and caught her female flesh with his lips and tongue, sucking, teasing, caressing.

  He heard her cry out, felt her body arch against the mattress.

  “Connor,” she murmured. “Connor.” Her fingers tangled in his hair.

  He raised his head and climbed up on the bed, taking his weight on his elbows as he settled between her legs. She reached her arms around his shoulders. When her hand brushed past the bullet wound, Connor flinched and gave a grunt of pain.

  Startled, Susanna pulled her hand away. She stared at the red smears on her fingers, and then she craned her neck to examine the raw gash on his skin. “What is this?”

  “It’s nothing.” His voice was low and rough. With one impatient hand, he reached down between their bodies and undid the buttons at the top of his pants.

  “Stop,” Susanna said. “You’re hurt.”

  “Later.” He shoved his pants down his hips and lowered his body over hers.

  Susanna skimmed her hands along his shoulders and up his neck, until she could frame his face between her palms. “Stop,” she said firmly.

  “I can’t. Not now.” He was no longer aware of anything but the hard throbbing in his blood and the soft body that yielded under his.

  Susanna fisted her fingers in his hair and jerked his head back, smiling gently at him. Her tone held a mix of tenderness and alarm. “If this is going to be our wedding night, I really would like you to stop long enough to remove your boots.”

  He stared at her, then gave a low laugh. “Later,” he said, but the flash of humor helped to blunt the savage edge of his lust. He needed that, needed to be able to slow down, otherwise he would cause her pain, and despite everything he didn’t want to hurt her.

  “I didn’t rinse,” she told him. “I’ve got soap all over me.”

  “I’ll rinse you.” He crawled down along her body, until his mouth found her breasts. One by one, he licked them clean, tasting the tang of soap, feeling her nipples harden into tight peaks under his touch.

  For one brief moment, caution pierced the masculine hunger that burned in his mind. Our wedding night, Susanna had said. The marriage hasn’t been consummated, he’d told her a few weeks ago when she’d threatened him with divorce. You put in for a divorce, I’ll change it to an annulment.

  Too late for that now.

  For him, it had always been too late.

  ****

  Susanna had been soaking in the big steel tub, thinking of Connor, when the door burst open and he charged through. For an instant, she’d believed him to be a mirage. He stood in the doorway, fury coming off him in waves. Then he set into motion, stalking across the floor toward her, and she accepted he was real.

  She saw the coiled strength in his body, felt the determination that radiated from him. But even then, she didn’t feel a single moment of fear. Only excitement that twisted at the base of her spine and tingled like a fever on her skin.

  Whatever had happened to make his frustration boil over to the savagery that had finally propelled him through her door and into her bed, she was thankful for it.

  And now, as they tangled together on the cool linen sheets, her entire body thrummed with the rapid beating of her heart. Her breasts felt almost unbearably tight. Every time his tongue flicked over the peaked nipples, shockwaves radiated all the way to her core.

  “Connor. Connor.” She said his name over and over again.

  Tenderness filled her as she saw his head cradled on her breasts. Although
he’d come to her in anger, there was no violence in the way he was touching her now. There was need and want and care, and she believed that he was as concerned for her pleasure as he was for his own.

  Connor lifted his head and looked down at her, his face hard with lust. A fierce heat burned in his amber eyes. Bracing up on his arms, he rolled away from her and settled to sit on the edge of the bed. She watched him as he yanked off his boots. Then he stood up and skimmed away the already unfastened pants.

  His expression grew grim as he stretched out over her again, nudging her legs apart and easing into position between them. “This will hurt, if it’s your first time.”

  Susanna nodded. A shiver of fear pierced the sensual haze around her. Then it was too late. Pain tore through her as Connor flexed his hips and pushed himself deep into her with one powerful thrust.

  She let out a muffled scream, she simply couldn’t help it. Connor tensed, taking his weight on his arms, his body growing still above hers. “Good,” he said as he examined her face, his expression unreadable. “I wanted that. I wanted to know there had been no other man.”

  He lowered his weight again, anchoring her against the mattress, and started kissing her. They were harsh kisses, with his tongue probing deep in her mouth, just as he was beginning to probe inside her body with his hard length.

  The sense of penetration, of being invaded, was new and fascinating to Susanna. The pain lost its sharp edge almost at once, quickly fading to a dull throb. It mingled with another throb that made her body restless, until she could no longer tell where the discomfort ended and the exquisite pleasure began.

  “Are you all right?” Connor asked, his breath brushing her cheek.

  “Yes.”

  “Good.” He lifted his weight up on his arms. “Tonight I’m taking what’s mine. What has always been mine.” Slowly, he withdrew, paused, thrust back in again.

  The smooth and steady stroking inside her brought back the sensations he’d given her earlier by kissing her breasts, but now they were heightened a thousand times. Every nerve in her body quivered. Every breath she took was an effort. Nothing seemed to exist but Connor, his face above hers, his body moving over hers, within hers.

  Then the storm building up inside her grew too fierce, and it buffeted her on the bed. Her head rocked side to side on the pillow. A frantic whimper rose from her lips—short, muffled wails, in rhythm with his thrusts into her heated flesh.

  “Say it,” Connor rasped. He ceased his motion.

  “No,” she moaned. “Don’t stop.” Her hips rose to meet him, trying to reclaim the pleasure he’d been giving her and was now denying her.

  “Say it,” he demanded.

  “I love you,” she told him. “I love you.”

  “Good,” he said. “That’s what I wanted to hear.”

  Then he began to move again, surging in and out of her in a heavy rhythm, until she fell into a hot cauldron of pleasure that melted every bone in her body and defeated any resistance she might have had left against his power over her.

  At the same time, she felt Connor rear up on his arms and bow over her, and she knew he was spurting his seed into her, sealing their union with a physical bond that might create a child and tie their lives together forever.

  ****

  When Susanna awoke, Connor was gone. Bright daylight streamed in through the window because they’d forgotten to close the shutters. Once her eyes had adjusted, and she could stop squinting, she sat up against the pillows and stretched. Her hair, still a little damp, hung in a heavy tangle down her back. Her skin itched from the soap dried on it.

  With careful steps, Susanna climbed out of bed and tiptoed across the room to the tall mirror that stood on a stand in the corner. The secret place inside her was a little sore, but there was no real pain. A proud smile curved her mouth.

  She was a wife, and she’d spent the night making love to her husband.

  In the mirror, a ragged urchin stared back at her. Eyes round as saucers, lips red and swollen, slender body dwarfed inside the huge shirt into which Connor had bundled her for warmth when they finally settled down to sleep.

  She poked her fingers through the tear at the top of the left sleeve. For the first time, she gave proper thought to the accident that had caused a stray bullet to graze Connor’s shoulder. Cold fear enveloped her. He could have been hurt. She said a prayer of thanks for the mildness of his injury, and then let her mind dwell on the reaction it had caused.

  He loved her. He hadn’t said the words, but no man would treat a woman with such passion, such devastating attention to her pleasure, unless he loved her. Hugging her arms around her, Susanna danced a few steps of victory along the streak of sunlight that fell across the floor. He loved her.

  She needed to get Miranda to bring hot water for another bath. Then she would find Connor, and finally their life together at Circle Star could begin. They would run the ranch together and love each other, sharing the toils of the day and the magic of the night.

  “I’ll never let you go,” she whispered into the empty room.

  She hurried downstairs, barefoot, clad only in Connor’s torn shirt. On her way to the kitchen to summon Miranda, she stopped to peek into the dining room, just in case her husband was still eating his breakfast.

  At the end of the table, a dirty place setting waited to be cleared away. A piece of paper lay propped against the milk jug. The note was unfolded, only a few words scrawled across the sheet in bold letters. Rushing closer, Susanna snatched up the page.

  Her eyes scanned the text. It was no tender love note. Back by Saturday was all it said. No heading. No signature. Saturday was five days away. For all she knew, it could have been a message for Carmen not to cook for him. Her arms fell down to her sides. Connor’s note rustled in her hand as her fingers fisted over it.

  He was gone. Just like that.

  Susanna returned upstairs. She washed with cold water and dressed. Then she went out to find Pete Jackson. He avoided her eyes as he told her that Connor had ridden out with a team of a dozen men. They had gone south, past the fenced land, to the open range where Connor wanted to round up the cattle that had strayed too far down the valley.

  Susanna gritted her teeth as she stormed back into the house. So much for working the ranch side by side, loving each other. At least Connor had taken the trouble to leave her a note that he planned to stay away. But the small courtesy was of little consolation.

  ****

  Claire Vanderfleet frowned with a mix of dread and confusion as she read Susanna’s latest letter. So, it was done. Her friend was married to the man she had dreamed of half her life, and now the harshness of reality had replaced the girlhood dreams.

  The idea of marrying without love, just to keep her promise to Harriet, had troubled Claire, but now she took comfort in the prospect. She might be happier in a marriage of convenience, for it seemed that love brought only heartache.

  She left the upstairs parlor and went to find her sister.

  Harriet was in the library, curled up in a winged leather chair, her nose buried in a book. When Claire got closer, she saw the title. Techniques of Open Cast Mining. Her brows drew together, then smoothed as she understood. Of course. Clayton Armstrong’s family owned copper mines. Among a million other things.

  Claire sank into an identical chair across the marble fireplace. “I need your help.”

  Harriet looked up, suspicion stamped on her features. “Yes…?”

  “I’m going to visit Susanna Talbot.”

  Harriet’s blue eyes narrowed. “No,” she said. “Don’t even think about it. Father has refused his permission. He won’t change his mind, and I’m not going to help you run away and be left behind to take the punishment.”

  The comment had a grain of truth in it. Years ago, Claire and Julius had wanted a duck for the backyard pond and had sneaked out to the park to capture one. Harriet had stayed behind. Their parents had discovered the absence and had confronted her. Harriet had
refused to turn traitor and had been punished for her silence.

  When Claire and Julius returned, soaking wet, grass and leaves stuck to their hair, disheveled but triumphant, clutching a frantically struggling duck, their parents had been too relieved to punish them. Harriet, who had declined to join the escapade, had been the only one punished for it—something of a pattern over the years.

  Claire leaned forward, heat from the fireplace blasting out at her. “All I’m asking is for you to reassure them after I’m gone.” She hesitated, and then she went on to reveal the details of her plan. “We always go to father’s family in New York the week before Christmas. I’m going to pretend that I’m ill and stay behind. Then I’ll tell the household staff that I’m better, and I want to join you. When the coachman takes me to the railroad station, I’ll make my escape. It will be a week before they notice I’m gone.”

  Harriet looked smug. “Your plan has a flaw.”

  “What?”

  “The servants will not let you travel without a chaperone. They’ll insist that one of them takes the train to New York with you. If you argue, they’ll telegraph father in New York to alert him.”

  “Oh.” Claire dipped her chin with a forlorn air. She got up from the chair and smoothed her skirts. “So much for that plan, then.”

  So much indeed, she thought as she walked off. Poor Harriet. She’d been warned. Of course, their parents would never allow Claire to travel alone, but it would be Harriet, not one of the servants, who would be ordered to accompany her.

  It troubled Claire to know that she might ruin her sister’s Christmas, but accepting a proposal from some pompous fool should make up for it. If she got engaged in the spring, Harriet could marry her Clayton Armstrong in the fall, which ought to compensate for a lonely Christmas.

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