“Elijah I—”
“No.” he snapped. “I have nothing to offer you but this. Fucking. Isn’t that what you agreed to, Sheridan?”
He dropped his forehead to hers. “I am not man enough to refuse you, but you will stop thinking it will mean more than slaking a need.”
She had a moment of clarity that shook her. This was not the way to win Elijah. Not by using her body, even if it was to offer him comfort. She did not want his disdain or simply fucking as he termed it. She wanted his love. “You are truly an unmitigated ass,” she said peering into his eyes.
He froze and pulled from her. He dropped her legs and her gown pooled around her ankles. He brushed a light kiss against her lips that had her heart stuttering.
“This will not happen again Sheridan. I lost my head for a little while. Forgive me if I hurt you.”
“You didn’t hurt me,” she reassured.
He stuffed himself in his denim and opened the door. “Go, Sheridan.”
“Elijah I—”
“Don’t hope for a fairy tale life with me, Sheridan. I will not warn you again,” he said gruffly.
She debated pushing, but the haunted look in his eyes made her reconsider. She had though his loneliness, the pain was because of the war. But it was more than that. His face closed in that cold painful way and she slipped through his door and walked with silent feet to her chambers. She desperately wanted to strip away his layers and get to know him. The weeks they had been lovers had all been about learning each other’s bodies, introducing her to pleasure. They had been ripped apart before she even got a chance to understand who he was. She wanted to know him. To understand what drove him, to even understand why he decided to offer her protection, to know what drove his nightmares. The wildness he possessed, the fierce lover she had spied, even his torment, she wanted to take it and be a part of him in every way.
Chapter Nine
The nightmares again wrenched Elijah from sleep. Rolling from the bed, he drew on his pants, his hair damp with sweat pasted to his neck. His skin felt sticky and the residue of terror lingered in him. Bright sunlight filtered in through the drapes.
He exited his room and clambered down the steps and out of the house. He walked past the barn and around to the smaller creek nearest to the main house. The sun rose over the mountains and lighted the range in soft hues, but its beauty did nothing to soothe the edginess he felt from his dreams.
A deep part of him now wished that he had taken Sheridan last night. He had felt the insane notion to unburden himself to her. But then he had seen her need for more, and it had scared the hell out of him, because he’d wanted to give it to her. Despite knowing he was broken.
He should have taken the heat she offered. He gritted his teeth, fighting the hardening of his body. He hated to admit it, but some of the only nights when he had slept undisturbed were after he’d taken her. She’d been right when she wondered if the reason he never allowed her to sleep with him fully was because of his dreams. He had not wanted her to know of his failure that still tormented his mind daily. Or of Emma’s failures.
Walking over to the spring, he drew a bucket of water and plunged his head into it. The cold slammed into him and he welcomed it. He heard a rustle behind him and turned to see Sheridan walking towards him. His mouth went dry. There was sensuousness to her movements that was inherent. Her hair rippled down her back freely and she wore a soft blue fitted shirt tucked into a brightly pattered flared Mexican skirt. She held something in her hands and as she came closer he saw that they were Lilacs.
She stepped in front of him, her eyes tracing the water than ran from his hair down his chest, into his pants. She graced him with a sweet tentative smile and held the flowers out to him. Her smile was a potent lure and a scent that was uniquely hers filled his nostril.
Curiously he took them. “What are they?”
“Surely you recognize flowers.”
He frowned. “Why are you handing me flowers, Sheridan?”
“I am courting you.” She laughed softly as if embarrassed by her fanciful notions.
He thought she had never looked more out of place, sultry and mysterious, innocent. Tension began
to steal through his body. “A woman doesn’t court a man.”
She lifted a shoulder in a small shrug. “This woman does, and I am courting you.”
He stared at her nonplussed. What the hell does he say to such a statement?
“Do you remember the first time you brought me flowers, Elijah?”
His mind tried to keep abreast the shift in conversation.
Without waiting for him to respond she plunged ahead. “You had saved me from almost drowning myself and I slapped you for being ungentlemanly then you kissed me. You brought me flowers the following day to apologize for being inappropriate. As if you couldn’t resist, you kissed me again and then brought me flowers again a few hours later.”
“Are you still refusing to acknowledge that you were spanked?”