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He pulled back slowly. "Come to bed, Mariah. " The invitation was whispered against her ear. His parted lips felt soft and moist against her flesh.
She froze. Fear spilled through her, left her cold and shaken and trembling.
His words came back to her, mocked her. No one would ever know.
What a fool shed been to even consider them. She would know. What was left of her after hed finished would know, would always know. . . .
She shook her head, trying to say something. But her throat was as dry as old ash, and no sound came out except a pathetic whimper. The progress shed made recently dissolved in a puddle of familiar fear. It felt good, that fear, comforting. It was an emotion she understood.
With a quiet gasp, she ducked out from his arms and ran for the door, slamming it shut behind her.
Mariah didnt stop running until she reached the picket fence. There, she sank to her knees on the cold, hard ground, and bowed her head in shame. God, she wanted to cry, needed to cry.
/ want you. The soft, shattering words came at her from a hundred different directions.
A tiny sound of despair lodged in her throat.
She wanted him, too. There was no longer any point in denying it; she was weary of trying. She wanted him to kiss her. God help her, shed ached for his kiss, dreamed of it. From the moment she met him, hed taunted her, upset her, angered her, touched her. Her world hadnt been the same since he strolled into it last week, and it wouldnt be the same when he strolled out.
When he strolled out.
The words spiraled back at her, burrowed into her heart. He would leave soon, and her life would go back to the way it was. This brief interruption of passion would be forgotten.
Forgotten.
Never, probably, to come again.
Pain welled through her at the thought of Mad Dog leaving her. Tears threatened, burned her eyes, but of course, didnt fall.
Her shoulders caved downward, her spine rounded. She squeezed her eyes shut, imagining all the moments with Mad Dog that mattered. The ones shed remember long from now, during the endless winter nights when she was alone and lonely.
Shed remember everything about him—his gestures, his smile, his touch. The way it had felt when he curled his arm around her and held her close. The feel of him, the smell of him, the taste of him . . .
Oh, God, the taste of him . . .
Could she really let all that go? Could she stand by, afraid and lonely, and let him simply walk out of her life?
Hed never stay. . . .
Once, the words had had the power to hurt her. Now they simply stated a bald, unemotional fact. He wouldnt stay. She couldnt go. In those simple words lay everything that stood between them.
It was so much . . . and it was nothing at all.
The truth, when it came to her, was blindingly obvious. She couldnt let him go, not now, not yet, without ever tasting the passion he offered. Shed been alone for so long, her passion pent up beneath starched layers of linen and too many hairpins.
She didnt want to be alone anymore. She wanted, needed, just this once to be touched by something more human than the wind. . . .
She took a deep, steadying breath and stood. Her legs felt rubbery and unstable—whether from kneeling or from the decisions shed made Marian wasnt sure, and it didnt matter. Straightening her spine, she headed back to the bunkhouse.
With each crunching step, her fear increased. So did her resolve.
She stopped at the door. The thick, white-planked portal filled her vision. It was the only thing that stood between her and passion. Her and pain. If she knocked now, her life would never be the same.
Do it.
Dont do it.
She let her breath out slowly, forcing her hands apart. There was really no decision to be made. She didnt want her life to be the same anymore. She was tired of being alone and isolated, tired of being lonely. Her soul ached for the warmth of a touch.
