Lone Star Winter: The Winter Soldier

She looked up, straight into his green eyes in the glow from a streetlight, and her heart raced. That look on his face was unfamiliar to her, despite her brief intimacy with her late husband. She had a feeling that Cy knew a lot more than her husband ever had about women.

Cy’s thumbs edged around to tease up and down her long, strained neck. Her vulnerability made him feel taller, more masculine than ever. He wanted to protect her, care for her, watch over her. These were new feelings. Before, his relationships to women had been very physical. Lisa made him hungry in a different way.

She parted her lips to speak and he put a thumb gently over them.

“It’s too soon,” he said, anticipating her protest. “Of course it is. But I’m starving to death for a woman’s soft mouth under my lips. Feel.” He drew one of her hands to his shirt under the jacket and pressed it hard against the thunderous beat of his heart.

She was more confused than ever. This was totally unfamiliar territory. Walt had never said anything so blatantly vulnerable to her, not even when they were most intimate.

His free hand went around her waist and drew her slowly closer, pressing her to him as his body reacted powerfully to the touch of her soft warmth. He lifted an eyebrow and smiled wickedly at her frozen expression.

“Why, Mrs. Monroe, you’re blushing,” he chided softly.

“You wicked man…!”

His nose brushed lazily against hers in a tender nuzzling. “I’ve probably forgotten more about women than Walt ever knew in the first place,” he said. “You don’t act like a woman who’s ever known satisfaction.”

That was so close to the truth that it hurt. She stiffened.

He lifted his head and searched her eyes. His own narrowed. He moved her lazily against him and felt her breath catch, felt her hands cling to his lapels as if she were drowning.

“Oh…no,” she choked as a surge of pure delight worked its way up her spine. She hated herself. Her husband was only buried two weeks ago…!

While she was thinking of ways to escape, and fighting her own hunger, Cy backed her very gently against the big utility vehicle and edged one of her long legs out of his way to bring them into more intimate contact.

“This is the most glorious thing a man and a woman can do together,” he murmured as his mouth lowered to hers. “He cheated you. I won’t. Open your mouth.”

Her lips parted on a shocked little gasp, and his mouth ground into them, parting them. He wasn’t hesitant or tentative. He demanded, devoured. His mouth was a weapon, feinting, thrusting, biting, and all the while her body rippled with a thousand stings of new pleasure as she clung hard to his strength. Sensations she’d never known piled one upon the other until a hoarse moan tore out of her strained throat and went up into his mouth.

Another minute and he knew he wouldn’t be able to pull back at all. He had her hips pinned with his, and his body ached for satisfaction.

With a rough curse he dragged his head up and moved away from her. She looked at him with dazed eyes in a flushed face, her mouth swollen from his kisses, her body shivering with new knowledge.

He drew himself up to his full height. His eyes glittered like green diamonds in a face like stone. He had to fight to get a normal breath of air into his lungs.

She tried to speak, but she couldn’t manage even a whimper. Her body was still flying, soaring, trembling with little shivers of pleasure that made her knees weak.

He reached out and caught her small hand in one of his big ones, linking their fingers. “We’d better go in side,” he said quietly.

“Yes.” She let him pull her away from the truck and lead her toward the arts center. She was amazed that she could walk at all.

Chapter Four

Turandot was beautiful. Lisa cried when the tenor sang “Nessun Dorma,” one of her favorite arias. The sets were elegant, colorful, the Chinese costumes glittery and resembling fantasy more than reality. The dragon was a masterpiece of sound and fury and color. All in all, it was a magnificent production, and Puccini’s glorious music brought it alive. Lisa had never seen an opera except on the public broadcasting television channel. She knew that she’d never forget this for as long as she lived, and every time she remembered it, she’d re member Cy sitting beside her in the dark.

Meanwhile, Cy was cursing himself silently for what had happened in the parking lot. It was months too soon for that. She was a pregnant, newly widowed woman and he’d let his emotions get out of control. His jaw tautened as he remembered the silky feel of her in his arms. He wanted to take care of her, and it looked as though she was going to need protection after all—from him.

Somehow he was going to have to get them back on a simple friendly footing. It wouldn’t be easy. He had no idea how she felt about what had happened. She sat quietly beside him, obviously enjoying the opera. She even smiled at him from time to time. But if she was angry, it didn’t show. He remembered her soft moan, her clinging arms. No, he thought, she’d gone in headfirst, too, just as he had. But he had regrets and he suspected that she did, as well. He had to draw back before he put the delicate new feeling between them at risk. Lisa was off-limits in any physical way, and he was going to have to remember that.

Lisa saw his scowl and wondered if he had regrets about what had happened. Men got lonely, she knew, and he was a very masculine sort of man to whom women were no mystery. He was probably wondering how to tell her that it wasn’t about her a few minutes ago, that any woman would have produced that reaction in a hungry man.

She would save him the trouble, she decided, the minute they started home. He’d already done so much for her. She couldn’t expect him to take over where Walt had left off; not that Walt had ever really felt passion for her. Walt had enjoyed her, she supposed, but there hadn’t been any sizzling attraction between them. It shamed her to admit that what she’d felt in the parking lot with Cy had been infinitely more pleasurable than anything she’d ever done with her late husband. She didn’t dare think about how it would be if they were truly intimate…

Her hand jerked in Cy’s as the final curtain fell and the applause roared. She clapped automatically, but made sure that both her hands were tight on her purse when they started to leave.

“It’s a beautiful opera,” she remarked as he escorted her to the exit.

“Yes, it is,” he agreed pleasantly. “I’ve seen it in a dozen different cities, but I still enjoy it.”

“I guess you’ve been to the Metropolitan Opera in New York City?” she mused wistfully.

“Several times,” he agreed.

She imagined him there, with some beautiful woman in an expensive evening gown and wrapped in furs. It wasn’t far to imagine them going into a dark room together, where the coat and the evening gown were discarded. She swallowed hard and tried not to think about that.

He could feel tension radiating from her. She was clinging so hard to that tiny purse that she was leaving the indentations of her nails in the soft leather.

When they reached the Expedition, he opened the door for her, but held her back when she started to climb inside.

“I’m sorry about what happened earlier,” he said gently. “I’ve made you uncomfortable.”

Her wide eyes met his. “I thought I’d made you uncomfortable,” she blurted out.

They stood just looking at each other until his lean face went harder than ever with the effort not to give in to the hunger she kindled in him.

“You poor man,” she said huskily, wincing as she saw the pain in his eyes. “I know you’re lonely, Cy, that you just needed someone to hold for a few minutes. It’s all right. I didn’t read anything into it.”

His eyes closed on a wave of pain that hit him like a bat. She reached up and pulled his face down to her lips. She kissed him tenderly, kissed his eyes, his nose, his cheek, his chin, with brief undemanding little brushes of her mouth that comforted in the most exquisite way.

He took a ragged breath and his lean hands captured her shoulders, tightening there when he lifted his face away from her warm mouth. “Don’t do that,” he said tersely.

“Why not?” she asked.

“I don’t need comforting!” he said curtly.

She moved back a step. He looked as if she’d done something outrageous, when she’d only meant to be kind. It irritated her that he had to be antagonistic about it. “Oh, I see,” she said, staring up at him. “Is this how it goes? ‘Men are tough, little woman,’” she drawled, deepening her voice and her drawl, “‘we can eat live snakes and chew through barbed wire. We don’t want women fussin’ over us!’” She grinned up at him deliberately.

He glared at her, his eyes glittering.

She raised her eyebrows. “Want me to apologize? Okay. I’m very sorry,” she added.

His broad chest rose and fell heavily. “I want you to quit while you’re ahead,” he said in a tight voice.

She stared at him without guile. “I don’t understand.”

“Don’t you?” His smile was full of mockery and he was seeing a succession of women from his wild days who liked to tease and run away, but not too far away. His lean hands tightened on her shoulders as his eyes slid down her body. “Your husband didn’t tell you what teasing does to a man?”

“Teasing…?” Her eyes widened. “Was I?” she asked, and seemed not to know.