sometimes the cowboys had to actually go with the cattle into the abattoirs, to keep them from stampeding. They bawled when the drovers started to leave them.”
Tears sprang to her eyes. She was vaguely embarrassed at her sentimentality and tried to hide her reaction, but he saw her tears. He caught her gently by the shoulders, turning her. He bent, lifting her into his arms, and carried her back to the horses.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“You softhearted little greenhorn,” he whispered back, and he smiled as he brought his mouth with exquisite tenderness to hers.
He’d meant it to be a sweet, comforting gesture, but her mouth opened beneath his, and his breath stopped in his throat. He hesitated, but only for a second. Then he carried her away from the horses and laid her down in the tall buffalo grass, his lean body settling completely over her.
“King!” she gasped.
“Elissa,” he breathed huskily. He kissed her hungrily, giving in to the aching need, the long nights of wanting her. He reached under her to catch her hips and drag them lazily against his, letting her feel the evidence of his need. And for long, exquisite moments, they enjoyed the touch and taste and feel for each other.
Then, when it was almost too much, he groaned and rolled onto his back. Not since his teens had he felt so damned helpless to control himself. And she could see how much she aroused him.
She sat up, her eyes like saucers, and he held her rapt gaze.
“This never happens to me,” he whispered, his voice deep and husky and gruff. “Never this quick or this completely with any woman but you, damn it.”
Her lips parted on a smile as she looked at him, not with triumph but with love. “Do you mind if that makes me proud?” she asked softly.
He drew in an unsteady breath. “I guess not.” He sat up, bending over his upraised knees. “I can’t imagine how I’ve lasted this long.”
She touched his hand where it rested on his knee. “I’m sorry,” she said softly, searching the dark, tormented eyes that met hers. “But it pleases me that even if you don’t love me, at least you want me.”
He brought her hand to his mouth. “Do you want me to love you?” he asked quietly. “Because that may come in time. Marry me, Elissa.”
She lowered her eyes to his hand. “I’ll have to think about it,” she said finally, biting her tongue to keep from screaming yes. She had to be reasonable. She couldn’t let her love for him influence her; she had to think of what was best for him, too, since obviously he wasn’t thinking at all.
His fingers tightened. He started to speak and then seemed to decide against it. “All right.”
She looked up. “Does Bobby know we’re here?”
“Yes,” he said finally. “I called him a few hours ago. Bess is in Oklahoma City until tomorrow morning. He invited us to go riding with them.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow afternoon.” He tilted her face up. “Don’t decide now. You’ve got one hell of a big decision to work up to by bedtime.”
Her lips trembled. “I...I care for you,” she whispered.
His hand touched her cheek, and he wished he could read her mind. He felt guilty and uncertain, but he cared for her, too, in his way. “Then marry me,” he said, feeling oddly certain that it would be the right thing for them both. “Say yes.”
She managed a quiet sigh. Logic went out the window. “Yes.”
He stared into her eyes for a long time, feeling electricity arc between them. He wanted her. He was fond of her. She cared for him. It would be enough. And it would be a final, permanent barrier between him and Bess.
He bent to her mouth and kissed her very gently before he helped her to her feet and back into the saddle. He didn’t say another word all the way home.
CHAPTER NINE
ELISSA SPENT THE afternoon helping Margaret in the kitchen. King had gone out again, presumably to finish his ranch work. Margaret kept throwing the younger woman speaking glances, and Elissa knew she must look troubled.
“Out with it,” Margaret said finally. “What’s wrong?”
“He wants to marry me,” Elissa replied, scouring a pan they’d used to fry steak for lunch.
“Hallelujah!”
“It isn’t that simple,” she said with a rueful smile. She turned back to the pan. “He doesn’t love me.”
“Men don’t know what love is until they’re in too deep to climb out,” Margaret observed, chuckling. “I’ve seen how he