Outlaw Heart

by Samantha James

  "You know why." The sweep of his eyes slid downward. Abby felt her cheeks sting with heat. She couldn't say a word.

  Kane silently cursed. Last night came back in scorching remembrance. Her stricken, shattered expression the instant he'd torn through her maidenhead flashed before his eyes. An odd tightening crept around his chest. He knew he'd hurt her, both then and now. Her glazed expression hadn't been from sublime ecstasy—far from it.

  His fingers tightened on the curve of her hips. "I didn't want to hurt you," he said, very low. "I didn't mean to ..."

  Abby averted her face. She couldn't look at him. She simply couldn't!

  "It's just that I thought... How was I supposed to know you'd never. .." Jesus, he sounded like the fool he was. And this conversation was having a dangerous effect on him. He felt his cock begin to tighten and swell. If only she would say something!

  Her gaze drew level with the bristly tangle of hairs at the base of his throat. She could look no higher. Vivid in her mind was how she had lain beneath the dark fur of his naked chest, pleasantly rough against the tips of her breasts. To her shame, her nipples grew all tight and tingly.

  "Abby." He ground out her name.

  She swallowed convulsively. "I'm fine," she said faintly.

  His fingers dug into her hips. "Are you sure?"

  She nodded, reluctantly meeting the steely probe of his eyes. Her tongue came out to moisten her lips, pink and wet. His blood was boiling, his heart pounding.

  "You're not... sore?" His voice was very low. The question made him sweat. He remembered how it felt, imbedded deep inside her, clasped within the velvet prison of her womanhood. She'd been so small, so tight. Tension constricted his entire body as he waited.

  She was embarrassed. He could see it in the way her gaze shied away. The breeze played with a tendril of her hair, feathering it across her cheek. She brushed at it distractedly, then lowered her hand to her side. A surge of longing shot through him.

  He captured her fingers in his. "Abby—"

  "Kane, please." She couldn't think with him so close. She could scarcely even breathe. "I don't think this is something ... we should be discussing ..."

  His grip on her hands tightened. "Dammit, Abby—" His voice roughened. "I need to know that you're all right."

  An odd little tremor coursed through her. His concern did that to her. He did that to her. With a heated rush she recalled the size and breadth of his manhood, the full, straining pressure of him buried deep in her flesh. Her throat grew parched in a way that had nothing to do with thirst.

  He had hurt her. Oh, not terribly, but enough that the memory was still there. Only now it didn't seem so awful. She'd been .. . oh, almost disappointed . .. Because until that moment, there had been so much pleasure, more than she'd ever dreamed.

  Her cheeks were flaming. "I'm a little—sore," she whispered haltingly. "But it's better now ... than this morning."

  She tugged to free herself. Kane wasn't yet ready to let her go. He moved, his nearness overpowering. Abby's breath wavered. He was so close she could see the outline of dark silver that ringed the pure pewter of his eyes. His scent was not unpleasant—horse, musk, and all man. She swayed, her senses swimming dizzily.

  Kane pinned her against him with a growl of frustration, molding her against the lean contours of his body. Her eyes caught his, endlessly blue, awash like a summer sky. Miraculously, he glimpsed no bitter accusation. No hateful condemnation. He lowered his head, aware of his blood running rampant in his veins. Her breath was as shallow as his. Her lips were parted and waiting--

  A burst of mocking laughter filled the air. "Well, well. You two are mighty cozy, aren't you? And it's not even dark yet!"

  The pair broke apart as if a knife had cleaved them in two. What would have happened had Sam not shown up, Kane wasn't sure. God, right now he didn't even want to think about it!

  Moments later they were off once again.

  Riding double with Kane was torture. Her bottom was nestled between his muscled thighs, riding against his blatant masculinity. No matter how she shifted and squirmed, trying desperately to stay erect, there was no escaping it—there was no escaping him.

  Nor was she sure she wanted to. Every time she recalled what she had done last night—what they had done—her emotions scattered in every direction. She had been vulnerable then. Distraught and despairing. She'd needed someone. She'd needed him. She'd wanted him to make love to her. Oh, she'd wanted it with an intensity that even now left her breathless. The knowledge was both heady and a little frightening. She'd sacrificed her virtue—to an outlaw. Why wasn't she ashamed? Why wasn't she horrified?

  Soon they began to climb into the high country. The trail they took was apparently used very little. Rough and uneven, it jolted her very bones. The sun was so bright and glaring her eyes ached.

  By the time they halted that evening, she was exhausted, both mentally and physically. She scarcely noticed the pristine blue waters of a mountain lake several hundred feet away. Kane dropped down from Midnight. He tugged her down, then immediately swung away without looking at her even once. Feeling snubbed, and battling a ridiculous hurt, she stepped forward. Her cramped muscles screamed in protest. Pain like red-hot needles shot up her legs. She staggered. A hand like a vise closed around her arm. Thinking it was Kane, she glanced up, an instinctive thank-you on her lips.

  The words died unuttered. Gleaming ebony eyes bored into hers. With a gasp she wrenched away. Sam laughed, a guttural sound that chilled her to the bone, then walked away. Moments later a shot rang out. Abby's heart lurched until she realized Kane was standing just a few paces behind her. Sam strode back, a furry jackrabbit dangling from one hand, his rifle in the other.

  Sam lowered himself to the ground and started skinning the rabbit. It was hardly the first time Abby had seen a rabbit skinned. Yet Sam approached the task with such relish that she found herself staring in horrified fascination. In seconds his fingers were smeared with blood. Her stomach churned sickeningly. She whirled and came face-to-face with Kane.

  "We need some wood for a fire," he said brusquely. "See to it."

  His high-handed arrogance brought her upright. She stiffened her spine and fixed him with a glare. A furious retort leaped to her lips; the only thing that stopped it was the silent warning glimmering in his eyes, reminding her of Sam's presence.

  A lazy, taunting smile curled his lips. "Oh, and don't even think about running off, sweetheart. I guarantee you wouldn't like how I'd have to punish you." His insolent gaze traveled over her, leaving no part of her untouched.

  Sam hooted with laughter. Abby's temper began to boil. Sam's laughter wasn't half so bad as Kane's leer. She had the feeling he was actually enjoying this! Her fingers itched to slap the smirk off his face. She marched off before she did exactly that.

  Luckily, firewood was plentiful. They hadn't yet reached timberline so she didn't have to wander far before her arms were filled with dry branches and twigs. The delicate line of her jaw firmed. She stared out where the soft glow of evening touched the clouds with amber fire.

  She'd like to do more than just think about running off. She'd like to do exactly that and to hell with Kane and his edict! But he was so damn smug, she thought bitterly. He knew she wouldn't leave with Dillon still out there somewhere.

  There was a fire already burning when she returned. The rabbit roasted on a primitively fashioned spit above it. Abby dropped her pile of firewood just outside the circle of stones, determined to ignore Kane.

  When the rabbit was done, she found a relatively private place behind a small boulder. She sat alone, ignoring the two men behind her. Though the meat was stringy and tough, she forced herself to eat, knowing she would need her strength. When she finished, she tossed away the bone and wiped her hands on her riding skirt.

  A shadow fell over her.

  "This seems as good a time as any for a bath," Kane drawled. "Get that fancy soap of yours, will you, sweetheart?"

  Abb
y was tempted to snap at him to get it himself. She was dirty and dusty, hot and disheveled. It didn't sit well that he wanted to use her precious sliver of lavender soap.

  Snapping blue eyes clashed with smoldering gray. Abby delayed as long as she dared, then spun around. Muttering under her breath, she fumbled through her belongings, closing her fingers around the soap. She tossed it to him, only barely resisting the impulse to fling it at his head with all her strength.

  He caught it neatly. "I thank you, sweetheart." There was a flash of white teeth in that dark face. "Now all I need is someone to wash my back."

  Abby gaped. It took an instant before she grasped his meaning. She shook her head, her mouth dry as dust. "You can't mean me—"

  His smile held little humor. "Honey, I sure as hell don't mean Sam."

  Abby sucked in a harsh breath. From the corner of her eye she could see Sam looking on with interest.

  He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and leaned back on his elbows to watch. Did Kane really expect her to bathe him? No! She couldn't. She wouldn't.

  'Time's a-wasting, sweetheart." There was an edge of steel in his tone that hadn't been there before.

  Abby didn't move. Her expression was distinctly wary. His was distinctly unnerving.

  He tapped his fingertips on the gun tied to his thigh. "I'd hate to have to make you, sugar."

  His tone was all the more deadly for its quiet. Time stretched to a standstill. He confronted her with frightening intensity, all the while, his fingers tapping .. . tapping. Abby was stunned by the unyielding intent revealed in his eyes. In that instant, he appeared every bit as terrifying as Sam.

  Her heart froze in her chest. Kane wouldn't hurt her, would he . .. Would he? All at once Abby didn't know. Because before her was the man she'd been so certain she would find and hadn't, until now. She sensed a ruthlessness that pierced her to the quick. Nor had she let herself speculate what crimes he'd committed. She hadn't dared. But now her mind ran rampant with the possibilities. Robbery. Rape. Maybe he was even a killer, like Stringer Sam.

  She grappled for composure, grappled for courage. Through some miracle she found it. Her chin angled high, her shoulders squared, she stepped forward.

  Inside she was quaking.

  A steep trail dropped down to the lake. Halfway down, Abby's feet nearly skidded out from under her. Kane hauled her up beside him. He didn't let loose of her elbow until they reached the water's edge.

  The lake was small, only a few acres at most, pure and clear. A pine-studded hillside rose from the opposite shore. Under other circumstances Abby might have caught her breath in sheer delight, but not now. Her nerves were screaming.

  Kane began to strip. He dropped his shirt carelessly on the grassy bank. His fingers fell to his pants. Hastily she averted her head.

  Water splashed. In all honesty, Abby didn't mean to look. She just couldn't help herself. Naked, he was an awesome sight. His legs were lean and roped with muscle, netted with hair. She couldn't tear her eyes away from the smooth, naked expanse of his back. She had discovered for herself last night that his buttocks were as firm and round as they looked.

  "It's your turn now, sugar."

  Abby's eyes jerked upward. He had stopped, turning to face her. Water lapped the bony ridge of his hips. Above the water the hair on his chest grew curly and thick. His jaw was dark and bristly with several days' growth of beard. He looked dark. Dangerous. Raw and overwhelmingly male. Despite everything, a quiver shot along warm, forbidden places.

  "You heard me, Abby. Strip."

  Abby wet her lips. "What if I don't?"

  "You'd damn well better."

  Abby stood like a trapped doe. The pounding of her heart seemed to jolt her entire body.

  "Don't push me, Abby. Don't test me. Because there are times a man is capable of just about anything."

  His tone was so pleasant, at first she didn't perceive it for the threat it was. But when she did, something seemed to give way inside her.

  "I can't," she cried wildly. "Kane, you know I can't. He—he's watching!"

  There was no need to ask who he was. Kane's gaze flickered to the hilltop. She was right, He was watching, still gnawing on a hunk of rabbit.

  "Wear your underclothes."

  Abby was perilously near tears. "I can't! I told you last night, Kane, I don't have any others!"

  His eyes narrowed. "They'll dry, sweetheart. Now strip, or else I'll come and do it for you."

  Abby searched his face for some sign of compassion—there was none. He appeared utterly merciless, hard to the bone. He hadn't brought his gun, but if he really wanted her dead, he didn't need one. All he had to do was wrap those powerful fingers around her neck.

  Biting back a sob, she fumbled with the buttons of her blouse, wanting desperately to hide herself as she undressed. But where could she turn? she wondered half-hysterically. Stringer Sam was behind her, Kane before her. . . She remained where she was, conscious of how Kane absorbed her every move.

  Stripped down to thin cotton drawers and her chemise, she waded ahead. As soon as she drew close, strong fingers curled around her arms. He moved so they stood face-to-face. She didn't back down from his gaze. Instead she faced him with a bravado that made a painful pride swell within him.

  But she couldn't entirely hide the indignant hurt in her eyes. And her soft mouth was tremulous, though he could see her trying to press her lips together in an effort not to show it.

  Hardening himself, he lifted her hand and dropped the soap in her palm. He turned so that his back was to her, carefully shielding her from prying eyes.

  Abby hesitated for a moment, uncertain what to do next. There was no cloth to soap him, so she did the next best thing. She dipped the soap in the water, then lifted it to his shoulder. Her first tentative touch made her snatch her hand back. His shoulders were thick with muscle, gleaming dark gold in the waning sunlight. And he was so hot!

  She drew in an unsteady breath and started again. Beneath her fingers, his shoulders tightened and flexed. Her other hand came up as well, smoothing the lather across his back. At first her movements were quick, almost jerky. But by the time she reached the small of his back, the motion of her fingers was slow, almost methodical. Cupping handful after handful of water, she rinsed away the suds, feeling shaky both inside and out. His skin was smooth and sleek, but the muscles beneath were solid and hard.

  Kane gritted his teeth. The feel of her hands sliding over his skin, kneading and stroking, soothing and massaging was incredibly arousing. God, but he despised himself for putting her through this! He despised everything he was, everything he'd done. And Abby did, too, because he could feel her trembling behind him. In fear? Disgust? He couldn't stand the thought of either.

  He wanted to drag her arms around his neck and kiss her until nothing else existed—not Sam, not Dillon. He ached with the need to lose himself in her fiery warmth, to erase the pain he'd given her last night and replace it with pleasure. But Sam was watching.

  Sam.

  Slowly he turned. "You're not quite finished yet, sweetheart." His tone was flat, as emotionless as his eyes.

  His coldness was like a blow. God, she thought brokenly. Why was he doing this? Why was he being so hateful? She didn't mind what he'd asked of her; she couldn't hide what she'd felt. She'd liked washing him. She liked touching him. But he was so distant. So remote.

  She stared up at him, tears and dismay keenly evident. "I can't," she whispered.

  "You can, sugar. And you will."

  "I won't!" In defiance she drew back. He snared her by the wrist, pulling her against him.

  Though his face was shadowed, she could feel the hunger that leaped in him. He wanted her again. Her gaze slid down, unwittingly confirming what she felt. Her eyes widened. Through the clear water she could see him—swollen, thick with arousal. She inhaled sharply.

  "Kane," she whispered. "Kane, please—"

  Please.

  That single word sent his mind
flooding back to last night. He wondered bitterly if Lorelei had looked like this, her eyes huge and wounded, if she had pleaded for her life ... as Abby was pleading. He could almost see the thoughts vaulting through her mind.

  His lips twisted. She thought he was heartless. Cruel. But he'd done nothing to hurt her, nothing but impose his will over hers ... and that was nothing to what Lorelei had endured. Lorelei. A wrenching pain ripped through him.

  She had been brutally beaten. Savagely raped. And Lorelei hadn't possessed even a fraction of Abby's fire and spirit. She wouldn't have fought back.

  Some dark, nameless emotion crept over him, like a shadow across the sun. He was suddenly furious, furious with Lorelei for dying, for turning his life into a living hell... furious with Abby for tempting him, for reminding him of all that was better left behind.

  "Kane, please—"

  That stricken cry came again. Kane closed his mind to it. He closed his mind to everything but the feel of her. He pinned her against him, weaved his fingers through her hair and turned her face up to his, holding her immobile. Abby had one terrifying glimpse of glittering silver eyes before his mouth came down on hers, hotly demanding.

  Her precious cake of soap fell from her fingers. She clutched at him weakly, trying to push him away, but his arm was so tight about her back she couldn't move. She could scarcely even breathe. Her heart cried out as she sensed the fierceness in him. He rubbed his chest against hers, abrading her nipples even through the damp cloth of her chemise. With his palm on her buttocks he ground her against his hardness. She was gasping when he finally raised his head.

  She stumbled back, fingertips pressed against quivering lips. She stared at him with eyes that stung painfully. "I hate you," she choked out. "God, I hate you!"

  She surged through the water, nearly falling twice in her haste to get away from him. She struggled into her clothes and fled without a backward glance.

  A confusing, unfamiliar emotion knotted his insides as he watched her flee. It lingered all the while he dressed, all the while Abby sat huddled before the fire, staring into the flames. Sam was snoring heavily when he spread out his blanket beneath the tree. He dropped hers at the far end, then crooked a finger at her.