or pragmatic. He could only love her.
“Marissa.” He called her name, only her name. Yet beneath the storm of emotions lay an unspoken question as his slowly extended hand offered her a chance to back away. His riveted look moved from his own roughened fingers to her face. As a bewildered frown marred her brow, he spoke again. “Take my hand, sweetheart. But only if you truly want me. Only if you’re sure.”
In a subtle change, hope shone in her eyes. “I’m sure, Jefferson.” As she took his hand, her resolve was strong. “I’ve never been more sure in my life.”
As clasped hands held fast, drawing her up to his embrace, he knew there were questions to ask. Warnings to give. But common sense was lost as he reveled in holding her. Then into his own silence, he breathed a surrendering word. A curse? A prayer? Not even Jefferson knew. The battle was done. There was no going back.
In the stillness he undressed her, and the discarding of each garment became an exquisite seduction. Each button slipped free, unveiling her body inch by inch, inviting a touch, a kiss.
When she was cloaked only in sun-spangled shadows and the dark cascade of her hair, he discovered she was more beautiful than he’d dreamed. More desirable. With a final caress, his hands fell away to attend the task of undressing himself.
When the last of his own clothing was cast away, seeing the apprehension of innocence, taking her hands in his, he brought them to his mouth. Lips and breath warming her cold fingers, he murmured, “Don’t be afraid, Marissa.”
Bringing her nearer, he bent to kiss the tender flesh beneath her ear. As she murmured an indistinct sound of pleasure, he let his fingertips stray over her throat and down. When his hands closed over her breasts, his palms teasing their tips, the nipples hardened, as his own body had, with desire.
“Don’t be afraid,” he said one last time.
Marissa’s answer was a whisper as he drew her down to the floor. “Never with you, Jefferson.” When his lips followed the path of his touch she cried again, “Never with you.”
A virile man, Jefferson was far from innocent. He knew how to tantalize, how to excite, as he took Marissa with him from one degree of longing to another. Erotic forays discovered where to stroke, when to kiss, when to suckle, leaving her desperate for more, yet wondering how there could ever be. Then he tapped a secret well of unthinking hunger that spiraled into impassioned madness, intensifying every need.
Always before, he was the sole maker of madness. Once passion had sufficed. But with the coherent thought he could manage beneath her touch, he knew passion for passion’s sake would never be enough again. And, as he found himself falling deeper beneath her spell, nor would anyone but Marissa.
He’d never wanted forever. He wanted it now. But in its stead, he would make for her a beautiful memory to take to a new life. And for himself, a dream. The only forever he could have.
Swept into the madness, a gentle man became more gentle. When she called his name in a voice husky with desire, there was no past, no future. They were only a man and a woman trembling on the edge of a world where neither had gone, and would never go again.
Drawing away, he looked down at her. “Even the making of a beautiful memory can be painful. But only once.” Sealing his promise with a kiss, he came down to her, whispering, “Only once.”
In a day bright and hot, a cry sounded as moisture laden air painted joining bodies in a sheen of gossamer. Then there was only a sigh of welcome as Jefferson went with Marissa into the last of rapture…while the world waited.
The splash wasn’t enough to wake him, but it did. As naturally as breathing, he reached for Marissa. He was alone. In her place lay the scarf he’d taken from her hair. Sliding on his jeans, he moved to the ladder that led to the ground.
“No,” Marissa called from the water’s edge. “Don’t come down, Jefferson. I don’t think I could bear to leave if you do.”
“Don’t go,” he pleaded, though he knew it was futile.
Marissa didn’t answer. As he stopped short of the first rung, she turned to toss a stone into the pond. The water’s surface was calm before she spoke again. “This day and this place have been magic. So I thought the pond could be a wishing well. It was greedy of me, but I’ve made two wishes.”
“What did you wish, Marissa?”
When she looked up at him, her smile was bittersweet. “First I wished you wouldn’t forget me.”
Jefferson said nothing. It was a wish already granted. How could a man forget a woman like Marissa? “And the second?”
“The impossible.”
“Maybe it doesn’t have to be, sweetheart.”
Her smile faltered. “You’re wrong, my beloved friend. Though I’ve wished with all my heart, how could we meet again?”
A knife in his heart couldn’t hurt as much. “Wishing wells grant three wishes. Will you wish again?”
“Yes.” The stone was already in her hand.
“Will you tell me the last?”
“Not this time. Not this wish.”
Jefferson didn’t pry. And though he knew what would follow the splash of the last stone, he wasn’t ready for it.
“Goodbye, Jefferson Cade.” Her voice was soft, her words halting. “I won’t forget you. I won’t forget this day.”
“Marissa.” He waited until she turned back, until their eyes met. “If ever you need me…I’ll come for you.”
“I know,” she acknowledged and turned away again.
He wanted to call out to her, to ask her again to stay. Instead, as silent as the wilderness, he watched her go.
At the far shore, she stopped and raised a hand. It was then the storm for which the land waited lashed out in a blinding bolt of lightning and a rumble of thunder. When the world was quiet again, the path was empty. Marissa had gone from his life.
Heavy rain was falling when Jefferson paused at the edge of the clearing. Through the downpour, his gaze sought the half-hidden bower where he’d made love to Marissa Claire Alexandre.
His sketch pad shielded by his body, a keepsake folded against his heart, he committed to memory this place. He would paint it, melding sketches and memories. Someday.
Rain fell harder, spattering over the pond like stones in a wishing well. “One wish is true, Marissa.”
Lightning flickered, thunder growled. As quickly as it came, the rain stopped. As a mist shrouded the land, Jefferson waited for one more glimpse that never came. It didn’t matter.
“I won’t forget.”
When he turned away, though the wilderness had been an abiding part of his life, he knew it could never be the same.
He wouldn’t come again.
One
“Well, hello, handsome.” The greeting, addressing the lone patron at the bar, was lilting and feminine. Teasing a favorite customer.
Setting his glass aside, a hand automatically going to his Stetson, Jefferson Cade smiled. A brush of his fingers tilting the tan brim accompanied a pleasant greeting as teasing. “Afternoon, Miss Cristal.”
As she laughed in pleasure at the Western gallantry spoken in a Southern drawl, Cristal Lane slipped her arm through his. “What brings a Southern gentleman like you into town today?”
In this land of old ranches and older family names, with time measured in half centuries, if not centuries, Cristal was counted as new to Arizona. But Jefferson considered the remark conversation, not a question, for she’d owned the most popular saloon in Silverton years enough to know the spring stock