Page 24 of West Wind

He rocked her gently in his arms. He knew it was mistake, but he couldn’t let her go. “What are you scared of, darlin’?”

“Everything,” Annabelle whispered. The vivid dream began to fade, but the memory of it reminded her that she wasn’t safe, would never be safe. She was afraid of dying and never knowing what it was like to really be loved. Of dying and never having a child. Of living and finding out that everything she’d once believed to be important was not. Not at all.

“Why don’t you tell me a limerick,” she suggested. Maybe that will make me forget that I’m afraid of everything.”

Shelley didn’t make a sound for a few minutes, then he managed a disgusted noise. “I can’t think of one. Not a damn word.”

“I don’t believe that.” She snuggled against him, working her way more firmly into his embrace. If she had her way she’d never leave.

“Neither do I. My mind is a total blank.”

“Maybe it’s too late for poetry.” She tried to comfort him with kind words and an easy stroke of her hand.

“Why don’t you recite me some real poetry?” he suggested.

She moved her head so her ear was directly over his heart. His hand was in her hair, his fingers brushed against her neck. “I can’t think of any. Not a verse. Not a line.”

Shelley tried again to return her to her bedroll, but she grabbed his arms. “Let me sleep with my head on your chest.”

He shook his head. “Not a good idea.”

“Please,” she pleaded with him. “You can lie down and sleep. I just want to…” She was about to embarrass herself again, but she didn’t care. “I want to hear the beat of your heart as I go to sleep.”

“Annie…”

“All those days I rode on your horse and slept with my head against your chest it was your heartbeat, low and strong and steady, that lulled me to sleep. I felt safe then, I want to feel safe now.”

He placed his head on her saddle and stretched out, muttering the whole while that this was definitely not a good idea. She settled herself beside him and rested her head on his chest, her ear over his heart. She drank in his warmth, through the thin fabric of his shirt. If only she could move that fabric away so she could experience his skin against her cheek.

Her intention had been to fall asleep, to rest peacefully with Shelley beside her, but the memory of their kiss invaded. Instead of drifting into a peaceful sleep she became more and more aware of him. Of his heat, his slowly exhaled breath, the hands he purposely kept away from her. After a few tortured minutes she lifted her head and looked into his eyes.

“Why is your heart beating so fast?” she whispered.

“Jesus, Annie. What are you trying to do to me?”

She felt his hands in her hair, crept forward until her face hovered over his. He rested his palm against her cheek as she held her face mere inches from his, wondering what would come next. If she kissed him would he push her away? Would it be as wonderful as the other two kisses they’d shared? One he didn’t even remember. A tiny smile crossed her face.

“I never should’ve thrown your makeup into the pond,” he said. “I never should’ve let you out of that damn ugly black dress. I never should have set you on the roan and ridden away from the Silver Palace.” There was a hint of anger in his voice. Just a hint.

She ignored it. “But you did all those things. You can’t take them back.”

“The worst part is, I’m about to do something else I know damn well I shouldn’t.”

“You’re going to kiss me, aren’t you?”

“For starters.”

He kissed her, a sweet, slow meeting of their lips that made her melt into his chest. When he parted his lips she went to him hungrily, wanting more, wanting all of him. No matter what happened once she reached San Francisco, she’d have this one night with him. She’d know what it was like to make love under the stars, to experience passion like she’d never known before.

The shirt that had been a nuisance earlier became an unbearable encumbrance. She pulled her lips away from his. “Can I take off your shirt?”

“Darlin’, you can do whatever you want.”

He hadn’t even finished the sentence when she began unbuttoning his shirt. She untucked the shirttails roughly and laid the shirt open, exposing his chest and the curly hair that lightly covered it. She placed her lips over his heart, then pressed her cheek against it.

He sat up and shrugged out of the shirt, letting it fall to the ground. “My turn.”

He unfastened the buttons of her white cotton shirt. It joined his in the dirt. The lacy, short chemise he pulled gently over her head, and as he tossed it aside he reached out to her.