Exactly what “more” was, Rayna couldn’t have said. She knew only that the fire raging inside her had to be extinguished. The ache had become so deliciously painful that she couldn’t think. Rational thought had deserted her, leaving only instinct and need. She had never done this before, never felt such intense passions, but as in everything she did, she held nothing back. She gave completely, and if it was wrong, she would live with the 183

Constance Bennett—Moonsong

[ e - r e a d s ]

consequences, whatever they might be. Her eager hands danced over the muscular ridges of his torso trying to give back every pleasure she received from him.

Somewhere in the dim, clouded recesses of his mind, a voice was telling Meade this was wrong, but he was beyond caring. He had wanted Rayna for too long, and his need was too great. She had penetrated the barrier he’d built around his passions, and that wall had come tumbling down the moment she kissed him. It was much too late to erect it again, even if he had wanted to.

They undressed each other hungrily, every touch fueling their passions even higher, until finally they were naked and Meade was poised above her.

Acting purely on instinct, Rayna wrapped her legs around Meade’s hips and arched up, taking him into her with one swift stroke. Her gasp of pleasure and pain was lost in Meade’s mouth as it closed over hers fiercely.

Overcome by the dizzying sensations he created, she met each thrust eagerly. As the pleasure spiraled and grew, it seemed as though it would go on forever, carrying her higher and higher. And then the fire that coursed through every part of her body exploded in a blinding flash of heat. Meade buried his lips in her throat as she cried out his name again and again and, with a hoarse cry of pleasure, finally found his own release. His body constricted, and then he slumped against her, too spent to move, too overwhelmed to speak or even think.

“Oh, Meade . . .” she whispered, running her hands down the taut muscles of his back. “I feel—”

“Hush,” he said, claiming her mouth in a languid, drugging kiss. “Hush, sweet.”

Wrapping her in his arms, he buried his face in her silken hair and let the comforting pulse of her heartbeat lull him to sleep.

When first light broke in the sky, Meade came awake abruptly and discovered Rayna in his arms, her naked body pressed intimately against his. Her scent was everywhere, even on his own skin, and her golden hair spilled in wild profusion around her head like a breathtaking sunrise. The memory of every sensation, every touch, every sigh they had shared came flooding back to him, arousing him fully again, but it wasn’t night any longer. Meade wasn’t lost in his own needs, and Rayna wasn’t the vulnerable creature who had looked so sad and beautiful in the firelight.

Quite simply, one gloriously passionate encounter hadn’t changed who they were. Rayna was still a hellion, the antithesis of everything he thought a woman should be; and he was still a retired army officer who craved only peace and quiet from the rest of his life. What he had done last night was reprehensible.

184

Constance Bennett—Moonsong

[ e - r e a d s ]

Appalled by what he had done—and craved to do again—Meade gingerly untangled his legs and rolled away from her. He slipped into his trousers and boots, separated his clothes from hers, took his canteen, and slipped away to perform his morning ablutions.

Rayna was still sleeping with the deceptive innocence of an angel when he returned. He wanted her to stay that way so that he wouldn’t have to look her in the eye, but eventually they would have to get on the trail to Fort Apache.

His anger at his own weakness made him clumsy as he began making breakfast, and the clatter of the coffee pot finally roused her.

Still half asleep, Rayna yawned and arched her back, stretching like a contented kitten. The sensuous movement caused the blanket to fall away from her torso, and Meade groaned as her magnificent breasts were revealed to him. He could still feel the weight of them in his hands and the taste of them in his mouth. His loins constricted with a jolt of remembered pleasure, and he swiveled away.

“For God’s sake, Rayna, cover yourself!” he barked.

The rough command brought her fully awake, and Rayna grabbed the blanket and pulled it up between her breasts as she rose up on one elbow.

She didn’t have to wonder how she came to be completely undressed. The memory of their lovemaking was the sweetest thing she had ever awakened to. A contented smile spread slowly over her features as she looked at his back. “And a merry good morning to you, too,” she said teasingly.

“Get dressed while I fix breakfast,” he said gruffly.

Rayna felt too good to be offended by his tone. “Oh, good, my grouchy companion is back. I was afraid last night might have mellowed your disposition.”

Good Lord, how could she joke about it? “Rayna, we don’t have time for sarcasm this morning. Now get dressed so that we can get on the trail.”

Rayna couldn’t imagine why he was being so waspish. Was lovemaking different for men? Didn’t he feel as wonderful as she did? Hadn’t he experienced the same incredible sensations she had? The sweet words he had whispered to her and the fevered moans she could still hear led her to believe that he had. So why was he being mean?

“Meade, look at me,” she said huskily. She wanted to see his face when she told him how much she loved him.

But Meade didn’t want to see her. He could imagine only too well how she looked, lounging there with her bare shoulders and glorious mane of hair, her blue eyes still cloudy with sleep and the afterglow of passion. Just her husky voice was playing havoc with his senses.

“Meade . . .” she said more insistently, and he finally turned, steeling himself against the sight of her.

185

Constance Bennett—Moonsong

[ e - r e a d s ]

“Damn it, Rayna, get dressed. This is not a whorehouse, and I’m not your first customer of the day.”

Her tender emotions and her desire to confess her love died a violent death. Barely holding on to her temper, she wrapped the blanket around her and came to her knees. “Why are you behaving this way, Meade? What in God’s name would possess you to say something that cruel to me?”

Meade was ashamed of himself, but he needed his anger. It was the only protection he had against what his tangled emotions were doing to him. “I’m sorry,” he said tersely. “It’s just that I’ve never deflowered a virgin before, and this is something of a new experience.”

Rayna almost laughed. “Speaking as the virgin in question, I can say it’s a new experience for me, too, but I don’t feel ‘deflowered.’”

“Well, you should. What I did last night was reprehensible. You should hate me for it, Rayna.”

She couldn’t imagine how anything so wonderful could be reprehensible, but she was undeniably hurt that he thought it was. “Would you feel better if I threw something at you and called you a cad?” she asked sarcastically.

“Damn it, Rayna. Take this seriously.”

“All right, I will. Why should you be so angry? I’m the one who’s been ruined, not you.”

“That’s hardly true. Spending the rest of my life married to an uncontrollable wildcat was not in my plans!”

Insulted and deeply hurt, Rayna sat up straight and nearly lost her blanket.

“When did marriage enter this argument?” she asked mulishly.

Her face was set into its most stubborn mode, and Meade realized he was making a bad situation even worse. “Don’t be obstinate. It’s obvious that I have to marry you now.”

“My, how romantic. Why, Dr. Ashford, I do believe that’s the sweetest proposal any girl ever received.”

“Romance has nothing to do with this, Rayna,” he snapped. “What if you’re pregnant?”

She hadn’t considered that, and didn’t want to. “Heaven forfend. If such a blessed event occurs, I’ll be sure to write and let you know,” she said furiously, struggling to get to her feet without losing the blanket.

“That’s not good enough.”

“Well, it will have to be,” she retorted as she began gathering up her clothing, “because marriage to a stuffed shirt like you is far too high a price to pay for one night’s pleasure.”

“Fine. You remain single and if you ever do go to a marriage bed, be sure to have a good excuse ready for why you’re not still a virgin!”

186

Constance Bennett—Moonsong

[ e - r e a d s ]

“Go to hell, Meade,” she said viciously as she disappeared behind a clump of bushes.

“I probably will,” he muttered, then wondered if perhaps he’d already arrived.

The remainder of their journey was even more tense than the first part had been. Where before, Rayna had been eager for conversation to relieve the boredom of the trail, now she wanted nothing more than for the earth to open up and swallow Meade whole. It was her great misfortune to have fallen in love with a man who was determined to deny whatever tender emotions he felt for her simply because she wasn’t enough of a lady to suit him. He wanted to marry her, but only out of guilt and a sense of honor that caused Rayna more pain than if he’d cavalierly taken her virginity and left her without so much as a farewell.

For his part, Meade was almost as furious as Rayna, but his anger was directed inward. His emotions were tangled in knots so tight he didn’t think they’d ever unravel. He couldn’t think straight when Rayna was anywhere near him, and though he hated the thought of what marriage to her would do to his life, he couldn’t imagine letting her go. He had taken her virginity; the only honorable thing to do was marry her. That conclusion should have been simple, but Rayna was just too stubborn to see it. While he fumed and tried to sort out the mess he’d made of both their lives, she fumed and did an excellent job of ignoring him completely.