The Gilded Chain

“Then kiss me, damn it!” she growled like a little puppy.

“Fuck, you make me so hot when you act like that,” he said and laughed.

Confusion tinged her warm hazel eyes. “When I act like what?”

“Like a puppy, so young and sweet, with just a little bite to you.” He trapped her in his arms and moved them back so he pi

“Don’t worry. There’s plenty of time to try that and a lot more,” he teased between steamy, slow kisses. The way she responded to his kisses alone was beautiful. She put her whole heart and body into it, the flames of her hunger and the desire heating his own body until he swore he’d ignite.

Unable to resist, he cupped her between her legs, but she bit his lip hard and he stepped back.

“Sorry,” she said and gasped. “I didn’t mean to bite you. It’s sore down there.” She ducked her head but Wes refused to let her indulge in any more self-pity.

“You are right. Too soon to go at it again. But it is time for di

*  *  *

Di

“I have to admit, this was an enjoyable experience.” He set his fork and knife down on his plate and pushed it across the large dining room table.

“What was?” Did he mean the food or the sex they’d had earlier? She’d have to agree in either case. She felt different. Changed. Her virginity was gone and in its place was a secret knowledge of darker, more sinful pleasures and a knowledge of how things could be with a man like Wes. It was more than satisfaction. It was thrilling, a pure rush of excitement, anticipation, and then, at last, pleasure. So much pleasure.

“Both aspects of the evening,” he clarified with a little twinkle in his eye. “Are you finished?” He gestured to the empty plate in front of her.

“Mm-hm.” She nodded. Her stomach was pleasantly full and she wanted to take another nap. Was sex and good food going to overcome her years of natural work ethic? Probably. She almost giggled. It had been half a week away from the ranch now and she wasn’t used to having so little to do. No horses to tend to, cattle to feed, fences to mend, men to cook for. Of course, when she went back, much of that would no longer be her duty, since Fe

Wes rose and collected their plates, setting them in the sink. The distant tinkling sound of porcelain and china assured her he wasn’t pla

Seconds later they flew open again when she was being lifted up in Wes’s arms.

“Wore you out, did I?” he said and chuckled. Callie was not the sort of woman who liked to be carried about, but she’d seen Fe

“Not going to insist I put you down?” He seemed amused at her relaxed reaction to him carrying her.

“Nope. If you had any idea how tired I was, you wouldn’t, either.” She tightened her hold around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder, inhaling the rich scent of his skin. He didn’t wear cologne, didn’t need it. And she preferred a man’s natural scent anyway. Men were supposed to smell like pines and winter and wild winds. Not like a bottle of rotted plants crushed and soaked in chemicals.

“Are you sniffing me?” Wes asked, a rough laugh escaping him when she ducked her head and blushed.

“I like how you smell, too,” he said more softly, that rich seductive lilt in his voice like honey. “Makes me hungry for you, for your body, for your kiss. It makes me think that if dreams had a scent, they would smell like you.”

She stared up at him, astonished at the almost bashful, poetic musings that slipped from his sensual lips. These were not words spent to entice or seduce, but rather confessed to her with a sense of curious wonder. There was so much about him she wanted to know. She didn’t want to feel like he was a stranger, not after everything they’d shared so far.

“Wes, what’s your favorite color?”

“Favorite color?” He climbed the stairs that led to their rooms and carried her into the bathroom.

“Yes. Color. What is it?”

He set her down on her feet and started to run a bath in the massive tub that was more like a hot tub than anything. Once he seemed satisfied with the water’s temperature, he straightened.

“My favorite color.” He crossed his arms, brows furrowed. “Yellow.”

“What kind of yellow? There are a bunch.” Callie thought of cadmium yellow, trying to ignore the wave of homesickness for the ranch.

Wes walked up to her and settled his hands on her hips, gazing down at her. “The yellow of a lantern’s warm glow in summer.”

There in his eyes, a secret shimmered effervescently and Callie ached to see it.

“Why that color?” she probed gently.

Wes sighed, the sound ancient and full of a century’s worth of sorrow. “Before my ninth birthday, my life was rich in love, in color, in friends. I didn’t know the darkness in men’s hearts, didn’t know the evil that drives people to hurt others to get what they want. I was just a boy. I

Callie knew of the kidnapping of the Lockwood twins, had recently learned just how horrible things had been for Fe

“Lantern yellow is a lovely color,” she said. There was nothing else a person could say after a confession like his.

“And yours is cobalt blue. Why?” He seemed genuinely curious as to her answer and she felt compelled to tell him the truth.

“Your eyes. They’re cobalt. It’s such a rare shade of blue. No impurities, only endless depth.” She reached up, unthinking as she touched his cheek and studied his eyes, this time from her artist’s eyes. Sometimes the artist in her was its own being that woke like a sleeping goddess to wave her hand and create magic upon the page before slumbering again. Callie often teased that i