If You Believe

The thudding beat of her heart roared in her ears. Sensations hammered her body, spilling through her in hot, liquid waves of fire. She thrashed restlessly, her every sense focused on his hand and the delicious, forbidden things he was making her feel. She arched up, driving her hips against his palm, pleading in a voice that sounded weak and desperate and frayed. "Please ... please ..." She didn't know what to say, what she wanted him to do. She only knew that she was desperate for something, some relief.

With a low, groaning sound, he pulled her beneath him and covered her body with his own. She felt his hardness between her legs, pressing into her.

He pushed up on his elbows and stared down at her. Their eyes locked.

In one sharp thrust, he entered her.

Pain stabbed through Mariah. It felt as if her insides were being stretched apart.

With a small, surprised gasp, she tried to sink into the mattress to get away from him, but his heavy body had her pinned in place. At his back, her fingers curled into tense fists and pressed against him.

He stilled. "Are you okay?"

She blinked up at him, feeling the embarrassing sting of tears in her eyes. "It ... hurts a little."

"I thought—" He shook his head. "Jesus, you said you weren't a virgin."

"I'm not . . . precisely." She bit her lower lip and stared up at him. "I hope you're not disappointed... ."

His gaze softened. "I would have done it a little differently, that's all." He bent his head down and kissed her again, a soft, gentle kiss that filled Mariah with a raw, painful sense of loss.

She hugged him, desperate suddenly for the feel of him, the smell of him. He made her feel so alive, so beautiful and wanted and sexy. All the things she'd never been in her life and never thought she could be.

Slowly his hips moved against hers. The physical pain of their coupling eased in the wake of the hot need that coiled around her insides, throbbed between her legs. She clung to him, her legs wrapped around his, her shoulders coming off the bed.

Gasping, moaning, she writhed beneath him, matching him thrust for thrust.

"Oh, God," she whispered. The need took on a sharp, painful edge. She reached, strained, arched for something she didn't quite grasp, a relief she couldn't imagine.

"Oh, God."

"That's it, Mariah," he whispered against her forehead. "Come on, baby, come on. I can't .. . wait. . . ."

He plunged into her, filling her with a scalding, pumping heat that pushed her over the edge.

She clutched his sweaty shoulders with talon hands, her head fell back. Control spiraled away from her, left her whole body shaking with need. She clung to him, her torso arched, quivering, trembling....

For a breathtaking second, she felt poised on a sharp, quivering tip. Her body spasmed, went rigid.

Relief came in a red-hot, dizzying wave that sent her flying into a warm, dark nothingness of pure pleasure. Her body rocked, throbbed in a timeless, undulating rhythm.

Slowly it pulsed away. With a quiet sigh of wonder, she collapsed back onto the pile of twisted sheets and blankets, her body shaking in the aftermath of passion, her arms and legs numb and limp.

His arms curled around her, held her close. She felt warm and spent and infinitely safe. "Is it always like that?" she asked softly.

He laughed, and the sound filled her with happiness. "No. It's almost never like that."

She looked up at him, her eyes steady on his. There were so many things she wanted to say to him, but she knew she couldn't say them yet. Knew that perhaps she could never say them. "You were right."

Tenderly he pushed a damp lock of hair from her eyes and curled it around one ear.

"About what?"

"You are the best time I ever had."

He grinned. "I told you I never lie."

Chapter Seventeen

It was the best sex he'd ever had.

Mad Dog glanced down at the woman sleeping peacefully in his bed and still couldn't believe it.

She lay sprawled beside him, one arm curled possessively across his chest, the other bent awkwardly beneath her body. Her face was a pale, perfect cameo against the grayed fabric of the sheets. Silky mahogany curls lay spread out across the pillow and mattress like a waterfall of fire.

He watched her sleep, amazed by the joy he took in such a simple thing. She was so unlike the other women he'd slept with. Course, they were whores, mostly, but still he wouldn't have thought there was such a difference. The women he knew slept like lumberjacks, their painted mouths hanging open, their breath thick with the odor of old tequila and tobacco smoke. During the night, their face paint smeared so badly, they looked like they'd been punched in the eyes.

Naturally, with that sort of thing waiting for him, Mad Dog got out of their beds early.

But now he felt differently. He wanted to sleep with Mariah. Really sleep. He wanted to curl alongside her and hold her tightly and be there with her in the morning when the sun came tapping on the glass.

He gazed down at her. Her skin looked as soft and exquisite as ivory silk, her ears small and delicate. She breathed evenly, ruffling the linen pillowcase with each exhalation. Her pink lips were parted slightly, her dark eyelashes fluttered every now and again.

He focused on her lips, remembering with electric intensity how she'd kissed him, touched him, licked him.

Is it always like this!

Her innocent words came back to him, and this time he realized their full impact.

What had he said to her? He couldn't remember if he'd answered at all. But now, naked and beside her, the truth exploded at him.

It wasn't always like that.

It was never like that.

He frowned at the thought. The difference between Mariah and the other women seemed suddenly important.

He couldn't put his finger on the difference, didn't know exactly what it was, but it scared him. He liked whores; he always had. They were easy, forgettable -|

conquests that had no hold on him when daylight came. And sleeping with them had never held any appeal at all.

He pushed away from Mariah and scooted back in bed, staring dully at the whitewashed bunkhouse walls. For the first time, the room didn't seem even a little bit confining.

A strange queasiness settled in his gut. He'd been here almost a week now. The walls should be pressing in on him. This place should be feeling cramped instead of

... cozy.

Coiyl The word came at him from nowhere. He almost smiled at its absurdity.

But it wasn't funny. It was scary as hell.

He looked at the closed door.

He should use it. Now.

He thought about it, thought about easing his way out of bed and dressing silently.

He could just flip his bag over his shoulder and be gone. He'd done it a million times, and never once had he looked back or regretted his decision. It was simple to leave women, easy.

Reluctantly he glanced down at Mariah. The truth came to him, stunning in its intensity.

Not so easy.

"Aw, shit." Thumping his head back against the wobbly headboard, he ran a hand through his hair.

What the hell was happening?

A niggling, expanding sense of anxiety crept through him. Something was wrong.

The damned bunkhouse felt cozy and he didn't want to leave—even after he'd slept with her.

Yet, he told himself firmly, and the simple word offered considerable comfort. He didn't want to leave yet. That didn't mean he wanted to stay.

It wasn't the same thing at all.

Mariah came awake gradually. The tail end of a pleasant dream tickled her, made her smile. Stretching contentedly, she yawned and opened her eyes.

A round, flat nipple studded with coffee brown hair filled her vision.

She was curled against Mad Dog's naked side, her cheek resting on his chest, her arm tucked lovingly around his waist.

The night came rushing back on her. Wanton images tumbled through her mind.

Heat flooded her cheeks as she thought about her behavior in bed. She'd been wild, aggressive—both times.

A smile tugged at her mouth. Third time's a charm .. .

She couldn't believe how good she felt, how incredibly relaxed. Tonight she'd broken through one of the biggest barriers of her past—her sexuality—and it felt marvelous. She felt like a new woman. A free one.

Smiling broadly, she tilted her chin and stared up at the man who'd given her back her ability to laugh.

He was gazing at the door, his eyes narrowed and hard-looking. Something seemed to be bothering him, but Mariah felt too good to care what it was.

She stretched her arms, feeling the sting of exertion in every muscle. "Lord, I hurt."

"It gets better," he answered almost distractedly.

Wiggling up to a half sit beside him, she rested her chin on the smooth curve of his shoulder and looked up at him. "I think it would help if we did it again." She kissed his shoulder, tasting the warm, salty tang of his skin.

He turned and looked down at her. Surprise widened his eyes. "You want to do it again? Now?"

Mariah knew she should feel shy and hesitant and afraid—a "nice" girl would—but she didn't feel any of those familiar emotions.

She felt.. .. free. And giddy with anticipation.

She smiled at that, almost laughing out loud. Imagine her—her!—feeling giddy. It was an incredible, heady sensation that made her bold. She'd just opened the door on a whol& new side of herself, a side she liked, and she didn't want to close it yet.

It had been shut for far too long.

She peeled back the sheets to expose his naked, aroused body. "I don't think I'm alone in wanting it___"

Mad Dog laughed. "It would appear not." Sliding down beside her, he took her in his arms. "So, Mariah, tell me this: How does someone who is 'not precisely' a virgin manage to get so horny?"

She blushed at the crude word, but didn't look away. "You do it to me."

"Only me?" he teased.

She sobered. It was suddenly important to her that he know the truth, that he understand the gift he'd given her tonight. "Only you."

He frowned, and she knew instantly she'd said something wrong. "Mariah ..."

Fear brushed through her. She didn't want to hear what he had to say. Tightening her arms around him, she rolled on top of him. Her legs slid around his hips, her ankles locked around his. The hard evidence of his desire pressed against her thigh.

"Let's do something different this time."

He slipped his arms around her, letting his fingers splay across her naked fanny.

"What would you recommend?"

She pulled back in surprise. "Me?"

He gave her a crooked grin. "You must have learned something interesting when you lost your virginity."

Incredibly, she laughed. She knew then, without a doubt, that she'd made the right decision tonight. In all the years since Stephen, she'd never been able to remember their physical relationship without a searing sense of shame and humiliation. Now all that was gone.

"What's so funny?"

She shook her head, feeling totally, deliciously liberated. For once, the past was in perspective. "Let's just say this. A two-minute egg takes longer than my . ..

experience did."

He grinned. "That's your big 'I'm not a virgin.' Two minutes?"

"Maybe less. It was too dark to look at my watch."

"Did you want to?"

"Have sex?"