Texas Pride (13 page)

She frowned at him. “Punch?” she said, then turned away and headed for the eggnog, wishing there was something stronger that might settle her nerves.

She passed out her presents, and each of the kids thanked her as if she'd given them a new car. When she handed Dylan a package, as well, his look was one of astonishment. He hesitated a moment, almost unsure of what to do, then ripped opened the paper and pulled out the leather gloves she'd bought him. She felt her stomach flutter when he looked back at her with a smile as wide as the boys'.

They ate cookies and popcorn, and when it was time to go, they all hugged her and wished her a merry Christmas.

Dean was the last to leave. He held the baseball cap Jessica had given him in his hands, plus a present she'd bought for his little brother. He cleared his throat and stared awkwardly at the floor. “I appreciate all you've done for me, Jessica. Anything I can ever do for you, you just say so.”

She hugged the young man. “You get an education, then come back here and work for me.”

He smiled, then turned to Dylan. “You ready to go?”

Go? She looked at Dylan, who glanced at her, then nodded to Dean. “You go on. I'll take my bike and meet you in town.”

When Dean left, she turned to Dylan. “You aren't going to Jake's with me?”

He shook his head. “I'm sorry, Jess. Dean mentioned his dad was going to a party tonight, so I thought I'd hang out in town with Dean and his brother.”

He was worried about Dean and Troy, Jessica realized. He wasn't going to come out and say it, but she knew that was why he was going. He was afraid that Dean's dad would come home drunk, and he didn't want to see any harm come to the kids.

Her chest swelled with emotion. Would she ever understand this man? Outside, he had an edge as hard as a diamond. But inside, where it really mattered, where he let few people see, he had a quiet compassion, a tenderness she doubted even he'd admit to.

She felt a twinge—no, more like a stab—of disappointment that he hadn't asked her along, but she understood. He had no ties here, no family. But she did. If she came along, Dean would feel as if he was being baby-sat.

Forcing a smile, she glanced up at him. “Somebody must have tipped you off that Savannah had Christmas carols planned. You're off the hook now.”

“Jessica—” he stared at the gloves in his hand “—I won't be back here tonight.”

Her disappointment settled into a hollow ache. “I'll be fine, Dylan. You go on.”

He looked at her for a moment, started to say something, then mumbled, “Thanks again for the gloves,” and left.

The room was silent when he closed the door behind him and she was alone. Christmas Eve had always been a time of magic, a special night of anticipation, of excitement. A time to share with those you love.

And as she listened to the sound of Dylan's bike driving away, her heart felt as empty as the branches on her tree.

* * *

The smell of mesquite filled the crisp air when Dylan returned from Cactus Flat later that night. His tires crunched gravel on the road beneath him; above him, the full moon shone silver and thousands of stars sprinkled the sky.

He'd passed through West Texas several times in his life, but he'd never noticed how beautiful it was here. He'd never seen bluer skies or wider spaces. Stone Creek was an exceptional place. He understood why it was important to all the Stone siblings, why they held on so fiercely to the land. There was no amount of money that could buy what J. T. Stone had left his children.

He cut his engine and coasted into Makeshift, then frowned at the sight of Jessica's truck parked in front of the hotel. She was supposed to be at Jake and Savannah's tonight, celebrating Christmas Eve. She wouldn't have missed spending the evening with her family.

Unless something was wrong.

His body tensed at that thought, and a sliver of fear crept through him. He parked his bike and moved quietly toward the hotel. If there was a problem or if someone was there who shouldn't be, he sure as hell didn't want that someone to know he'd come back to town.

Through the leaded windows of the hotel-lobby door, Dylan saw the glow of a soft light. It almost appeared to be moving. A flashlight? he wondered, slowly opening the door.

His heart hammered as he stepped silently inside.

As he realized what the light was, his breath caught.

T
here were candles everywhere. Surrounding the tree, on the lobby counter, at the foot of the stairs. Flames jumped and flickered, shadows danced on the walls. The scent of pine and wax filled the air, along with the sound of “Waltz of the Sugarplum Fairies.”

Jessica sat cross-legged on an antique rug in the middle of the floor, Indian style, with a pillow propped behind her. Her dress was white lace, with a high collar and long fitted sleeves and waist. Her dark hair shone in the wavering light and hung loose over her shoulders and down her back.

His throat went dry. It was impossible to move. All he could do was stare.
Breathe,
he reminded himself.

A long strand of popcorn lay over her skirt and across the floor. Captivated, he watched as her slender fingers pulled a needle through each puff. He realized she was making garlands, and as he glanced at the tree, he saw she'd already draped several around the branches. Star and bell cookies, with red ribbons, hung beside them.

It was like something out of a Victorian storybook. A child's fairy tale. He half expected her to disappear like one of her ghosts, but when she began to hum, he knew she was real.

He closed the door, and the soft click of the latch brought her head up.

“Dylan!” Her eyes widened with surprise. “What are you doing here?”

“Dean and his brother spent the night with a friend.” He knelt down beside her. “But I might ask you the same question. I thought you were going to Jake's.”

She finger-combed her hair away from her face and met his gaze. Her eyes were like glittering blue ice in the candlelight. “I got so caught up here I lost track of the time. I called Jake and told him I'd see them all tomorrow.”

Dylan glanced around at the shimmering lights. “Where'd you get all these?”

“They're my emergency candles,” she said with a smile. “It was tradition in Makeshift to leave candles burning on special occasions. Besides, Christmas Eve and no decorations on the tree is an emergency in my book.” She waved a hand toward the tree. “So what do you think?”

He leaned back and looked at the tree. “I think it's a good thing we didn't have egg rolls or carrot sticks earlier.”

Laughing, she threw a piece of popcorn at him. “Be serious.”

He tossed the popcorn in his mouth and chewed thoughtfully as he stared at her masterpiece. “I think it's the most beautiful tree I've ever seen.”

Her eyes darkened with pleasure. “You're just saying that.”

“So like a woman.” He shook his head. “Fish for a compliment, then turn your nose up when you get one.”

She lifted her chin indignantly. “I wasn't fishing.”

He raised one brow.

“Well, so maybe I was,” she admitted, threading her needle though several more kernels of popped corn. “But we women wouldn't have to hint around if men would just come out and say something nice without prompting. Try it sometime.”

“A compliment without prompting?” Dylan shook his head. “There are rules against that.”

“It's Christmas Eve.” She set her needle down. “Break the rules.”

Break the rules.

Her words, though spoken innocently, made his pulse begin to pound.
Break the rules.
That was exactly what he wanted to do. Break every damn one of them.

He looked at her, at the soft sparkle of light in her hair and her eyes. He felt a sudden ache, a longing so intense that his breath caught. Unable to resist, he reached out and touched the top pearl button at the base of her collar. It felt smooth and satiny. The way her skin did.

“I like this dress.” His finger slid down to the next button.

“It was my great-grandmother Sarah's,” she said, her voice breathless. “I was getting dressed to go to Jake's when the strangest impulse to try it on came over me. Everything else—” she glanced around the room “—just sort of followed.”

“It looks good on you.” He moved to the third button and lifted his gaze to hers. “The white against your eyes deepens the blue.”

Dylan barely heard Jessica's whispered thank-you. He leaned closer. “I've never met anyone like you, Jessica Stone,” he said quietly.

Her eyelids were heavy as she held his gaze. “I'm not sure that's a compliment.”

He smiled. “It's a compliment.”

“Thank you.”

When he got to the fourth button, he felt her breath catch. His knuckles brushed the swell of her breast through the lace. “I thought you were a ghost when I came in here. You're too beautiful to be real.”

“I'm real,” she murmured.

“I know. You're more real than any woman I've ever met. So real it frightens the hell out of me.”

“I frighten you?” she asked in wonder.

He nodded slowly. “You make me want things, Jess. Things I can't have.”

“It's Christmas Eve. Anything's possible if you believe.” She lifted a hand to his cheek. “But you have to tell me what it is you want.”

He felt her heart pounding under his hand, felt the answering beat of his own thundering heart. “You,” he said softly. “I want you.”

Jessica understood there were no promises, but for this one night, she refused to care. His skin felt warm under her hand, and the beginning of a beard tickled at her fingertips. She looked into his eyes, saw the urgency and need there, and felt as if she was looking into a mirror.

Candlelight surrounded them like a fiery cocoon. She sighed his name, leaning close, offering the most precious gift she could give him. A gift that could never be taken back once given. A gift, she knew, that would never be given to anyone else.

His lips brushed hers lightly, tracing the contours of her mouth before his tongue followed suit, tasting, testing. His hand cupped her breast and she arched into him, marveling at the magic his palm worked. He was gentle, so incredibly gentle, she thought she might cry.

She felt weightless, as if her body were drifting. She felt his lips move over her lips like a whisper, no more than the flutter of a butterfly's wings.

This was like nothing she'd ever experienced before or ever would again. Her hands slid around his neck, pulling him closer, then closer still, wanting to be a part of him, wanting him to be a part of her. There was desire, there was passion, but there was more, so much more.

What was happening? Dylan wondered. She was everything a man dreamed of, everything a man could want. It wasn't possible to feel this desperate, this out of control. It was as if he was on the outer edge of a branch, watching in helpless despair as the limb snapped in two. He felt himself fall and he held on to her, knowing she was his only salvation. His only chance.

The need for her sharpened and grew. He rained kisses on her mouth and neck. She molded herself to him, murmuring encouragement, whispering his name. He drew her away, his breathing ragged as he looked down at her, she up at him. Her irises were dilated, her lips swollen and wet from his kisses.

“Touch me,” she whispered. “Please.”

It was impossible to resist her. He couldn't. It would have been easier to stop the sun from rising. One by one, he slowly undid the front buttons of her dress, then carefully pushed the heavy fabric aside.

Her underclothes were as much a surprise to him as the dress. The cotton chemise dipped low, with one faded pink ribbon at the V of the demure garment. He tugged gently at the ribbon and the chemise fell open, exposing her breasts to him. His palms felt damp, his skin hot, as he stared down at her. “Beautiful,” he murmured, and a blush rose on her cheeks.

He couldn't take his eyes off her as he slipped the chemise and dress completely from her shoulders. Her skin glowed like smooth porcelain. She trembled when he brought his lips to her shoulder. His hands slid around her rib cage, his knuckles brushing the velvety underside of her breasts. She gasped when his mouth covered one swollen nipple; she moaned as his tongue swirled hot and wet over the beaded tip.

Sensation after sensation exploded inside her. A need sharper and clearer than she'd ever felt before coiled low in her stomach. She was incapable of thought. She could only feel. And the feelings were so intense she thought she might rip apart from the force. She held him to her, burying her fingers in his hair as he lowered her to the floor. The pillow was soft under her head, the rug coarse against her back. She cupped his head in her hands, moaning as he wet one nipple with his tongue, then pulled the hardened peak into his mouth.

What had started with such tenderness became urgent and wild. She worked at the buttons of his shirt, needing to feel his skin against her own. She lifted her hips as he slid the dress and chemise down her body, then her hands fanned across his bare chest and tugged the shirt from him.

He pushed to his knees, rising over her, his eyes glinting with passion as he unbuckled his belt and slid his zipper down. Boldly he tugged off his jeans. Naked, he lowered himself, parting her legs with his muscular thighs.

He entered her, his gaze burning into hers. The pain of wanting, the pleasure, became one, and she grasped his arms, holding on to him as he filled her with maddening slowness. Impatient, she arched up to meet him, driving him deeply into her. His moan echoed her own, and as he rolled his hips, she laced her fingers around his neck, pulling him closer still, wishing she could draw herself inside him.

The candlelight circled them; their shadows rose and fell on the wall. The flames within them rose higher, then higher still, until the blaze overtook them and exploded, shattering into a thousand brilliant sparks.

And as the embers slowly settled, he held her close, listening to the sweet sound of her heartbeat.

* * *

“Is it not the most wonderful gift ever?” Meggie asked, her eyes bright as she spun in front of the altar. “We have our church again, Lucas. Our beautiful church. How can we ever thank her?”

Lucas watched Meggie's skirts fly as she turned. She'd never looked so radiant. At least, not for a hundred and twenty years. He smiled, pleasured by her delight. “We'll find a way, my love.”

“If only we knew who the nasty individual was who set the saloon on fire. We could expose the scoundrel somehow.”

Lucas shook his head. “Since we didn't see, we can't know. Not even Hannibal saw who it was.” Lucas looked at the dog, who had shown up a few minutes ago with news that Dylan had returned. There was no telepathy involved to understand that the hotel was off-limits tonight.

“We'll all have to be more watchful, then,” Meggie declared. “We can't let anything happen to Jessica or to Makeshift. Where would we go, what would we do, if it was gone?”

Lucas didn't know. Frustration boiled in him. There were so many things he didn't know. With every advantage he experienced as a spirit being came a limitation that sorely tested his patience.

But what worried him the most, what he hadn't even told Meggie, was the feeling that he was being drawn from her, away from Makeshift. He'd fought the sensation, but he understood that if it was finally time for him to leave here, there was nothing he could do to stop it.

He couldn't think about it. The idea of leaving Meggie here alone was inconceivable.

“Dance with me, Lucas,” Meggie whispered. “A Christmas dance.”

“I'd be honored, my lady.” He held his arms out, pretending, as they had so many times before. Smiling, she moved into his arms, also pretending.

And as they glided over the floor, somewhere the pretense became reality, and for the first time in one hundred and twenty years, Lucas held the woman he loved in his arms.

* * *

Sunlight woke Jessica the next morning. Sunlight, and a wet sloppy kiss on her cheek. A little
too
wet and sloppy, she thought, slowly opening her eyes. Hannibal stared back from beside her bed, his tongue hanging sideways out of his jaws. She burrowed under her pillow, but the dog barked and nudged her with his cold nose.

“Go away,” she moaned.

He waited a moment, then nudged her again.

“I said go away.”

“That's not what you said last night,” a deep voice whispered sensually as a large hand slid over the blanket covering her rear end.

Dylan. She smiled, then shivered as his touch grew more intimate. When the mattress dipped, she pulled her head out from under the pillow and combed her hair back from her face. Hannibal was gone, but Dylan sat on the edge of the bed, smiling down at her. They'd spent the night in her bed making love, and now, in the light of day, she felt the rise of a blush. Dylan wore jeans, but the snap was undone, and just looking at his bare muscular chest made her pulse leap.

“Really?” She feigned boredom. “I can't seem to remember.”

He lifted one brow. “Is that right? Well, then, I'll just have to jog your memory.”

His hand glided over the roundness of her buttocks and up her back. “Does this ring a bell?” he whispered.

An entire cathedral of bells,
she thought as she drew in a sharp breath. It took every ounce of control she possessed to lie still while his hand moved upward. “It's still pretty blurry,” she murmured.

“Maybe this will sharpen your focus.” His teeth nibbled the back of her neck while his hand slid over the soft edge of her breast, then between her body and the mattress.

Razor sharp,
was all she could think as he lowered his body beside hers. And when his hand moved lower and slipped between her legs, it was impossible not to squirm.

“It's coming back to me now.” Wantonly she moved her hips against the delicious press of his fingers.

“Oh, it's coming all right,” he said, chuckling softly as he rolled her onto her back and lowered his body over hers. She tugged at his zipper, then slid his jeans over his hips.

“Dylan!” she cried out as he slid into her.

“So your memory returns,” he said raggedly, moving against her slowly.