Outlaw Heart

by Samantha James

  "So you're not with Sam anymore?"

  He shook his head and pulled out a chair for her. The woman sat boldly as Kane resumed his seat.

  "Sam's a cold-jawed bastard if ever there was one." Such bluntness from a female made Abby gape. "Why," the woman went on, angling herself toward Kane, "you were never in the same league as Sam and we both know it."

  Kane shrugged. His gaze wandered down her form. The sheer lace did little to conceal the twin white globes of her breasts, and it was there Kane's attention lingered.

  "You look downright respectable, Fanny. Tell me, how've you been?"

  Respectable? Abby began to fume. If Fanny leaned over any further, those mountainous breasts would pop out of her dress right into Kane's lap—not that it appeared Kane would mind.

  Fanny gave a sultry laugh.. "Respectable? Lord, I hope not! But I sold the Pleasure Palace for a tidy little sum and bought myself a ranch about a mile west of town." She paused. "Gets downright lonely sometimes." As she spoke, her hand trailed up and down Kane's sleeve. She smiled with sultry invitation directly into his eyes.

  A sharp stab of some unknown, not very pleasant emotion pierced Abby's chest.

  Fanny rose and placed a hand on Kane's shoulder. Abby didn't miss the way her fingers slid beneath the neckline of his shirt.

  "If you're not busy this evening, why don't you come on out to the ranch for a while and have a drink with me?"

  Kane's eyes flickered to Abby. "The boss lady here tends to keep a pretty tight rein on me."

  "Oh, surely not that tight. And you don't mind if I borrow him for a while, do you, dear?"

  Abby bristled silently. The woman didn't even have the decency to look at her! "Be my guest," she replied frigidly.

  "Then I'll see you later, won't I, Kane?" She framed Kane's cheeks with her fingers. In full view of anyone who cared to look on, she lowered her head and kissed him full on the mouth, a long, leisurely kiss that seemed to go on forever. Abby averted her head, certain her face flamed scarlet.

  Fanny twirled away, her skirts swirling with the sway of her hips. His glass in hand, long legs sprawled under the table, Kane's scrutiny never wavered from her retreat. Abby felt like kicking him—if only she dared!

  At last he turned back, contemplating the amber liquid in his glass.

  Abby spoke, her voice low and controlled. "You two seem rather well acquainted."

  A slow, suggestive smile curled those hard lips. "Fanny's an old friend."

  A friend? Abby sniffed. She would gladly bet her half of the Diamondback that those two had shared a lot more than friendship.

  "I see." She glared at him.

  Her disapproval raked through Kane like claws. He let out a laugh, feeling suddenly almost brutal. "Fact is," he drawled, "Fanny and I go way back. You heard her mention the Pleasure Palace? Well, the Pleasure Palace was the best damn whorehouse this side of the Rockies. Those girls knew every trick there was to turn a man inside out."

  Abby went white. She knew what he was doing. His crudity was just another calculated move to humiliate her.

  "Must you always be so insulting?" Her lips scarcely moved as she spoke.

  He shrugged. "You did ask," he said mildly.

  She got to her feet. "I think I'll say good night now."

  He rose as well. "I'll see you to your room."

  "Don't bother," she said coldly. "I'm quite capable of finding it myself."

  "Nonetheless, I insist."

  Abby's lips tightened. She wrenched her arm away when he would have taken hold of her elbow. He made no move to touch her again as they ascended the stairs and moved down the hallway.

  At the door to her room she turned to face him. "I'd like to get an early start in the morning," she said shortly.

  He gave a silent, mocking salute. Abby stood for a moment, tensing as he started to retrace his steps back down the stairs.

  Her dignity was lost beneath cold, biting fury. "You're going to see her, aren't you?"

  Kane pivoted slowly. "Who?"

  "You know who." She had to fight to find the courage to meet his eyes. "Your friend Fanny!"

  His eyes flickered, as dangerous as a summer storm.

  "You object?"

  "Of course I do! I know what she is, Kane—what she was. She's the kind of woman who—who can be bought!"

  His laughter held no mirth. "And I'm the kind of man who can be bought. The way I see it, there's not much difference between her and me."

  "It's not the same thing and you know it!"

  "Why, sweetheart, don't tell me your opinion of me has improved. Frankly, I can't see why you give a damn what the hell I do—or who I do it with, as long as it isn't you."

  Abby flushed painfully. His mockery cut bone-deep. She steeled herself against an elusive hurt. "Must you always be so difficult?" Her voice was very low.

  "Seems to me I'm not the one being difficult here. I just don't like being judged, and I know Fanny doesn't either."

  "She's a harlot, Kane, and don't you dare say she isn't!"

  His jaw clenched. "She sure as hell doesn't pretend to be something she isn't," he said tautly. "Fact is, sweetheart, she could probably teach you a thing or two about being a woman."

  He whirled and left her standing there.

  Kane was in trouble. He'd known it the instant he walked into Fanny's parlor. The truth was that he'd had no intention of coming here. But Abby, blast her pretty little hide, had goaded him, making him feel lower than low. Who the hell did she think she was to preach to him?

  Fanny was on her knees before him, clad in a frothy white nightgown that revealed far more than it concealed. The silk was so sheer he had no trouble discerning the deep brown color of huge, dark nipples, or the black thatch of hair at the juncture of her thighs. Kane found the display far less arousing and appealing than he should have. He discovered himself thinking her breasts were much too big and heavy; they jutted almost obscenely from her chest.

  His mind was fuzzy from drink. Abby was right, he decided hazily. He did drink too much ...

  Abby.

  Some strange emotion coiled in his gut. He thought about what she was doing right now. No doubt she'd undressed and gone straight to bed. The thought of her undressing nearly wrung a groan from him. He recalled all too vividly what she'd looked like the morning he'd caught her bathing. Her chemise had been simply cut, unadorned except for a small white ribbon of lace across the top of the bodice. Her skin had been damp and golden, glistening like warm honey. Her nipples were small and peaked, prickled against the cool morning air. The sight of her had been like a closed fist rammed hard in his gut.

  It was odd, damned odd, Kane decided in some muddled, whiskey-laden corner of his mind. But the thought of Abby dressed in soft white cotton was a hundred times more exciting than the near- naked woman before him.

  Fanny tugged one side of his shirt from his shoulder. Kane looked on as sleek, feminine fingers pursued a relentless pathway down the furry darkness of his chest, clear to the waistline of his pants ... and below. He felt the delicious shiver that racked her as her fingertips delicately traced the outline of his cock. A part of him reveled in it—at least she wanted him—even as another part of him remained curiously indifferent, a million miles away. His body remained distinctly unaffected by that bold, feminine caress.

  Slowly she drew back, tipping her head to the side. "What's wrong, Kane?"

  "Nothing." He set aside his glass and pulled her into his arms. Fanny's lips, hot and experienced, were almost cloyingly eager, her arms too clinging. Kane fought the unwelcome reminder of how the sweet, captivating innocence of another kiss had inflamed him far more. He ground his mouth against hers almost angrily.

  She drew back, breaking the encircling hold of his arms. "Kane," she said softly, "you don't have to pretend to something that isn't there." When he merely scowled, she smiled almost sadly. "I know the difference, remember?"

  Kane said nothing, merely stared at her. Harlot, Abby had c
alled her, and all at once Kane understood why. She looked cheap and tawdry, her chest thrust forward to reveal those gargantuan breasts. The rouge on her lips and cheeks was overly bright and garish. Harlot. A twist of bitter amusement pulled at his lips. No one but Abby would have put it so tactfully. Abby, no matter that she was fiery and outspoken, was still very much a lady.

  It didn't stop him from wanting her... wanting her with a hunger that seared like fire in his gut.

  And that was the whole damn problem.

  Kane was suddenly furious, both with himself and with Abby. Fanny was lush, willing and eager. Since he'd lost Lorelei, women like Fanny had been his only salvation—vessels in which he could find forgetfulness, and a measure of pleasure, no matter how fleeting. His insides were suddenly screaming. Didn't he deserve that? Hadn't he suffered enough? Was it so wrong to lose himself in the warm embrace of a woman for the night? To seek comfort the only way he knew how? And why did Fanny leave him so cold? Why was tonight so different from all those other nights?

  He jerked at the touch on his arm. Fanny gazed up at him, her expression understanding. "It's her, isn't it? That woman who was with you at dinner tonight."

  But Kane didn't want understanding just now. He wanted ... her. Abby . . .

  He wanted what he could never have.

  "She's my boss, Fanny. She's paying me to do a job for her, no more, no less." He stood abruptly. "I'm sorry," he said with genuine regret. More quietly he added, "I guess I'm just not in the mood."

  Fanny sighed and went to retrieve his hat. Together they walked to the front door. There he whistled for Midnight. "If you decide otherwise," she said softly, "I'll still be here."

  He stepped outside and touched the brim of his hat. "I'll keep that in mind."

  Fanny closed the door slowly after he'd gone. He wouldn't be back, and they both knew it.

  Chapter 9

  Where was he?

  Even as the question rampaged through her brain, Abby turned and pounded her pillow as she had a hundred times tonight. Her ears strained to hear the slightest sound from outside the door, as they had for hours.

  Was he still with Fanny? Her mind conjured up a vivid image, an image she tried to will away but could not. Even when she closed her eyes, she imagined she could see him, his big body naked and hard, poised over Fanny, his hips churning and flexing. She flounced over once again, cursing herself for allowing him to so disrupt her sleep ... and her life! Why should she care what he did—or with whom? He was a womanizing rogue, a cad, and she was the world's biggest fool to even think twice about him!

  There was a thump on the door. The sound was so unexpected she jumped. She scanned the darkness, staring at the door as if she could see right through it.

  The second thump was twice as loud as the first. Abby bolted upright, clutching the sheet to her breast. Her pulse began to pump frantically.

  "Open up this goddamned door."

  Kane. Relief rushed through her, followed by a rush of irritation. By now the night was surely half over. What on earth was he doing? She slid from the bed, lit the bedside candle and turned the lock. Using the door as a shield, she peered out at Kane.

  "What?" She unloosed all her vexation into that one word.

  Kane shoved his booted foot into the narrow opening. Her eyes were wary and suspicious, that elegant little nose tipped high in the air.

  "Let me in."

  "Whatever for? It's the middle of the night and—"

  She got no further. Kane pushed the door inward. Caught off guard, Abby stumbled backward. She grabbed the bedpost to steady herself.

  "Kane! For heaven's sake, can't this wait?"

  "No. Goddammit, it can't."

  His voice was a low rumble of sound. Abby's heart slammed to a halt. His shirt was unbuttoned nearly to his waist, revealing a slice of broad, darkly matted chest. His belly was flat as a washboard, covered with the same, intriguingly dark mat of hair. He stood there, completely filling the doorway, powerful and imposing and starkly male.

  "Kane, please! I—I'm not dressed!"

  Very deliberately he closed the door. Two steps brought him within inches of her. One hand was at her throat, her eyes huge and dark and wary.

  His drink-induced haze cleared like dew beneath a blazing sun. His gaze devoured her, a veritable feast to a man dying of starvation. She'd been sleeping in her chemise and drawers, certainly not a sight to send a man into the throes of passion. He'd never seen Abby with her hair down. It was glorious, falling in rich, thick waves of sunburst glory clear to her hips.

  Her tongue slid over her lips. Desire tightened his gut like a white-hot brand, the desire that had so eluded him with Fanny.

  He moved closer, staggering slightly.

  Abby's eyes widened. "Oh, you stupid fool! You're drunk!"

  "Not drunk enough," he muttered. He felt lightheaded and giddy, but not from the drink he'd consumed. He reached out and snared her by the waist.

  Abby went rigid. Although the odor of whiskey was strong, it was the unmistakable scent of perfume that sent her temper soaring. "God, you are unbelievable! How dare you come here after being with that harlot!"

  He sneered. "And what if I was? You may have hired me, but you don't own me. Who I choose to spend my nights with is no business of yours."

  "And who are you to come barging into my room like this?" she cried. "Get out!"

  He didn't move.

  Abby shoved at his chest, but he was as immovable as a rock. "Get out, Kane! You're disgusting—"

  "Disgusting, am I?" His bitter laugh was directed solely at himself. "You know, you're right. I am disgusting. Because you managed to make me feel guilty as hell, and damned if I can figure out why!"

  Her chin swept up in disdain. "Forgive me if I don't care to hear the intimate details of your evening with Fanny."

  "Intimate? God, that's rich!" He threw back his head, the cords in his neck standing out tautly. He didn't know why he let her get to him. He already knew she felt he had no scruples.

  "Sugar, you and I have been a hell of a lot more intimate than Fanny and I were tonight."

  His revelation left her stunned. "What?" she asked faintly. "You mean that you ... that she and you ..." She faltered, unable to go on. Her cheeks burned.

  'That's right." Kane's expression was savage, his tone just as fierce. "We didn't, not that the lady wasn't willing."

  Abby was stunned. She found his statement difficult to believe, yet he was so adamant she had no choice. But why was he so angry? She gasped when his hands clamped around her waist and dragged her against him.

  "That's hardly my fault," she cried shakily. "Go back to her, then, if that's what you want. Just go back and—"

  'That's mighty generous of you. But the truth is, sweetheart, I don't want her! In fact, I couldn't lay a goddamned hand on her!"

  Abby tried to pull away. He wouldn't let her. "Kane," she said desperately. "I don't understand what this has to do with me. . . why you're so angry!"

  He let loose a curse that blistered her ears. "It has everything to do with you, don't you see?"

  Shocked, she inhaled sharply, uncertain of all she sensed in him.

  "Kane," she said desperately, "you shouldn't be here. No gentleman—"

  "How many times do I have to tell you, sugar, I'm no gentleman. And you can pretend all you want, but you're no lady."

  Shocked, Abby couldn't do anything but endure the ruthless heat of his gaze.

  "Don't give me that hurt, wounded look," he sneered. "I fell for it once, but not again. You can play the prim, proper bride all you want, but you don't fool me."

  She drew an unsteady breath. "I don't know what you're talking about!"

  "If you wanted to ruin my night with Fanny, you did a real fine job. Because all I could think of was you." He laughed harshly. "Oh, yes, sweetheart, you. And you couldn't have done better if you'd planned it that way. Jesus, maybe you did! Maybe you're the kind of woman who can't be satisfied with just one m
an—hell, I don't know. But for a while there tonight, why... I could have sworn you were jealous."

  Jealous! Why, of all the...! She'd managed to wedge her hands between their bodies. She opened her mouth to inform him his charge was utterly ridiculous.

  She never got the chance.

  Her hands had come up between them, but when she would have pushed indignantly at his chest, he snared her wrists and dragged her close ... so close she could feel the rampant thunder of his heart. And all at once her own was doing funny things in her chest, her pulse clamoring.

  Dark, fathomless eyes pinned hers. "You're a tease," he accused almost fiercely, "whether you admit it or not. It doesn't matter that you're married. You like it when I touch you, don't you, Abigail? You like it when I kiss you."

  "No." She shook her head, the word hardly more than a wisp of air. "No." But it was more a denial of herself than the truth.

  And Kane knew it.

  He was so close, she thought in panic, too close. The very air around him seemed to pulse with a force that was purely raw, purely masculine. She felt impaled, consumed, swallowed up by something dark and desperate, something she didn't understand.

  Something she couldn't fight.

  His head lowered. His mouth hovered dangerously near hers. "Remember that night with Chester and Jake? I kissed you. And I held you—and I touched you ... here." With his thumbs he slowly, deliberately, circled the dusky crowns of both breasts. Immediately her nipples thrust impudently, hard and pointed against the sheer cotton of her chemise.

  His fingers slid to the dainty pink ribbon which held the garment closed. He tugged. A vile curse filled the air when the ribbon knotted. He raised both hands to the scalloped edge of material. The delicate cloth rent cleanly in half beneath the pressure of his hands.

  Abby's entire body jerked. Her mind reeled. She was terrified of the way he made her feel—afraid and breathless and excited all at once.

  She jerked when a callused fingertip trespassed boldly down the valley between her breasts and up again. He displayed no hesitation, no faltering whatsoever. Not once did he release her from the relentless probe of his eyes. He smiled thinly, a goading smile of satisfaction. Abby almost hated him for it—hated him for this strange mood he'd fallen into—and into which he'd pulled her as well.