She pulled his head lower. God, but she'd wanted to run her hands through his hair for so long. Its copper highlights had tantalized her on the night of the train robbery, when he'd swaggered, spouting wisecracks at her in the dining car. The memory made her smile. Still, she found it hard to be satisfied with hair when so much exquisite, unexplored flesh beckoned below.
She lowered her hand to stroke his chest. The hair there was damp with rain, but the skin was soft and warm. It quivered beneath her fingertips, and she hesitated, thinking she was being too bold. Cord was a family man. Perhaps he liked his women sweet, shy, and complacent—as Beth must have been.
He pressed himself against her palm, though, urging her caress. Temptation got the better of her. She splayed her hands downward, over his ribs and belted muscles, along the sinews of his thighs. She liked the way they tensed, anticipating a more intimate fondling. She would have gladly obliged him, but he'd gripped her buttocks, lifting her hips against his. She gasped, falling against his chest. The raindrops steamed between them, and her nipples tingled, growing hard with the sensation.
Oh, yes. He felt so good.
Unable to resist, she shimmied closer, reveling in that primal pleasure of flattened breasts against hard male musculature. A feral growl rumbled in his throat, and his mouth slanted across hers, hungrier, more predatory. She swayed, the flurry in her stomach creeping south to shake her knees.
His hands seemed to be everywhere then, gentling, tantalizing. She wasn't exactly sure when they unpried the hooks of her blouse. She couldn't remember how the lamp got doused, or how his jeans and her skirt fell in a heap at their feet. He clasped her close in a sweet, intimate kiss, and she marveled at his tenderness. His caring to woo her was a new experience, for she was in the habit of giving pleasure, not receiving it.
Yet the moment she tried to drag her wits back and curb her renegade body, the hot, velvety wetness of his mouth fastened on her breast.
She groaned. She arched her spine. Her every inch was burning now, and she yearned to smoke against his rain-cooled length. When she rode her thigh across his hip, he balanced her weight, running his hand along her limb's quivering underside. Her mound was already smoldering when his fingers dipped inside. Probing and teasing, they fueled her tender places with such volatile energy that she began to combust, consumed by the fever to become one with him.
"I want you, Fancy," he whispered, his voice low and raspy. "I want to love you the way a man should love a woman. I want to teach you what 'making love' means. From now on, there won't be any deals between us. I—"
Thunder crashed—or was that earth-quaking sound the pounding of her heart? She couldn't say. She strained to hear the rest of his words, but they were swept away by the rumbling echo. He carried her to the bearskin, that same erotically plush bearskin where he had pleasured her before.
Only this night would be different, her reeling senses told her. This night, he wanted her. After all those maddening bouts of frustrated desire, she would finally make him her own.
But tomorrow he would ride away, a voice knelled inside her brain. And he won't come back to you unless he's in a pine box.
"No!" she gasped, jolting as if a bullet had ripped through her heart. My God, no. How could she have lost control? She had known what was at stake.
The room shook with the next crash. A blaze of light turned night to day, but just as quickly, night resumed. She was blinded. She wriggled, her foot striking the floor, but his hand gripped her buttocks, and she couldn't pull away.
"Cord, no—"
"I'm sorry, darlin'," he whispered. "I know you prefer the bed, but it creaks, and Wes is next door."
I don't care about the bed, she wanted to say. I don't care about Wes; I care about you.
The heavens boomed again, though. Her ears were buzzing, her eyes were dazed. She groped for his arms, and he eased her beneath him, his mouth unerring in its descent to meet hers. Her shoulders sank into the pelage of the bear; her nipples were buried in the fur of his chest.
Don't let this be our last night together, she wanted to cry out. Don't leave me behind.
But she needed every gasp of air just to breathe. His mouth was delving lower, moistness on the prowl. His hands chased scintillating shocks down her spine. When his tongue flicked between her thighs and his finger joined the thrust, she thought she'd go mad from the electric jolting inside her.
"Cord, please." She was panting now. "You have to stop. You have to—" She cried out, her hips leaving the floor, as he found that tiny, pulsating trigger once more.
"Don't hold back," he growled. "I want all of you, Fancy. All of you."
The storm was upon them now. She couldn't escape. It was inside and outside, crashing and blazing. He locked an arm around her hips and pulled her beneath him. He was hot; she could feel the thunder in his veins.
Feverishly, she groped for his rod.
He groaned, thrusting into her, driving deep. Lightning flashed inside her. The current crackled between them, showering sparks across her flesh. She cried out his name, but his mouth swooped down to silence her. Moaning, she could do little more than rise and fall, tossed by the tempest building inside her.
She hardened the grip of her thighs, and he pitched faster, pushing her higher, higher, until she teetered somewhere in the stratosphere, ready to fall.
A tendril of panic anchored her there. She'd never fallen before. The drop looked too far.
"No," he whispered. "Don't be afraid. Come with me, sweetheart. C'mon."
She heard herself sob. How did he know? How could he tell? She strained against him, thinking she could pretend, but the storm clouds only rolled faster, carrying her closer and closer to the precipice. She found herself battling to hold on again.
"Fancy..." His breaths were ragged in her ear. "You're cheating yourself, darlin'. You're cheating yourself, and I won't let you."
He was slowing his rhythm, rolling inside her now like leashed thunder. "Look at me."
She turned her face away, trying to hide her tears, but he kissed her lips and gripped her chin, gently pressuring her to obey.
She blinked. Through the mists, through the darkness, she saw a light. It was shining from his eyes, a radiance so warm and tender, it stole her breath away.
He smiled, brushing back her hair. "Let me love all of you, Fancy."
She nodded, mesmerized by that golden glow. She'd once had a reason to hide her true self away, but she couldn't remember what it was now.
He touched his lips to hers. His tongue only wooed her at first, but as its probing deepened, so too did the thrusting below. Bolts of energy crackled over her nerves. She squirmed, twitching helplessly as the electricity built. Soon she was fully charged again, a shaft of lightning ready to hurl into the abyss. He braced himself against the deluge that would drive him over the edge without her.
"Trust me," he gasped. "Trust me and let go."
He plunged faster, snaking his thickest finger into her wetness. That double penetration was more than she could bear. She cried out; the clouds burst; and she plummeted, tumbling through a shower of sensation.
An eternity of heartbeats later, she finally struck solid earth. Her breath tore from her lungs in great, shuddering gasps. Thunder receded from her limbs; sparks cooled upon her flesh. She didn't know whether to think or to feel. The maelstrom had ended, but she couldn't move. My daddy was a hurricane, he had teased her once. God in heaven. Now she had proof.
Many more minutes passed, yet still he lay buried inside her. His arms and legs wrapped around her as if she were a treasure he might never let go. If not for his still-pounding heart, which echoed the tumult of the rain on the roof, she might have thought he'd fallen asleep.
At first uncertain, then increasingly anxious, she waited for the cue to collect herself and leave him in peace. She wasn't used to being so wholly possessed, much less cherished after the taking.
"Cord?"
He sighed, a long and gusty conte
nted sound.
"Cord?" she whispered more urgently.
It was over, all over, and the fear was settling in. Just like her mother warned, he had taken a piece of her. She feared she might never get it back if she let him ride away.
Raising a shaking hand, she touched his hair. He finally lifted his head. She had no sooner opened her mouth to speak than his eyes slitted and his lips swooped down, fastening over hers.
She was gasping again when he finished his wicked, toe-curling kiss.
Grinning, he shifted to her side and propped his head up on his hand. "You were saying?"
"Stop doing that!"
He smirked. "Need a rest, huh?"
She felt her cheeks burn. The scapegrace. Who would have thought that upstanding, duty-driven, salt-of-the-earth Cord could make her pant and thrash, screaming out his name in a paroxysm of maddening desire? Thank God for the thunder peals. Otherwise, the whole household might have heard.
She gazed into his eyes. They were so open and honest, filled with a genuine warmth.
A lump built inside her throat. Embarrassed, she dropped her gaze, letting it run over his lean length. He was so beautiful. She swallowed, her fingers touching his breast in a feather-light caress. She could feel the steady, vibrant thrumming of his life force, and a tear threatened to spill. She couldn't bear to know she might never feel his heart again.
"Cord," she said quietly, and as firmly as she could, "I'm not going to let you ride off this ranch without me."
Cord sighed, catching her fingers in his hand.
Did she have to bring up that again?
He touched her hand to his lips. He had hoped they could spend their last hours together making up for the thirty days they must spend apart. In truth, he hadn't climbed through her window with the intent to bed her. But after wanting her for so long, and after realizing how cold and hard the next few weeks would be without her, he hadn't been able to help himself.
A part of him said he was selfish—not to mention morally bankrupt—to seduce a woman who thought she was promised. Another part of him refused to accept the idea that Fancy and Santana were engaged. Back in the prison, when she'd agreed to wait for Santana's release, she couldn't possibly have known that the bastard still thought of her as his "fancy little whore."
As much as Cord longed to warn her that her engagement was a lie, he couldn't bear to hurt her that way. He feared she was just stubborn enough to run to the prison and get Santana to marry her.
No, he had to find some other way to make her realize the outlaw was no good for her. But how could he possibly hope to turn her heart and head around in the space of a few hours?
She finally raised her eyes back to his. He smiled. The light of the hall lamp was slipping beneath the door, bathing her in its soft, golden glow. Just to see her lying beside him with her tumbled curls, flushed breasts, and moist, kiss-swollen lips was enough to kindle a heat inside his belly. He knew it wouldn't take much for that warmth to spread to his loins.
"Did you hear me?" she asked, her chin jutting in a show of resolve.
The storm flashed inside her eyes, and he had the almost overwhelming desire to kiss her nose.
"Yeah," he said softly. "I heard you."
"So it's settled."
"Not quite," he murmured, skimming a hand down her belly. The velvety flesh shrank and quivered at his touch. He found himself longing to taste it again.
Her lashes fluttered downward. He had the sense that she was hardening herself, steeling herself against something. Then she slowly met his gaze again. Her lips curved in a luscious smile—one that made his breath catch.
"You know, Marshal," she drawled, trailing silken fingers along his breast, "you're being terribly shortsighted about all this. I could be most valuable to you as your deputy. Your undercover deputy."
His lips quirked in a lopsided grin. "Well now. There's an interesting idea."
"Yes," she said, her voice throbbing with an earthy resonance. "I thought that might interest you." She shimmied closer, so close that her heat warmed his flesh. "I'm most adept at handling guns."
"Is that so?" He arched a brow.
"Oh, yes. Would you care to see?"
She didn't even have to shift her hand. Just the sound of her voice and the light in her eyes was enough to make him harden.
"But I thought you were all tuckered out," he teased.
"Me? Never."
Suddenly, she pounced. He was so stunned when her weight slammed into his chest that he could only fall back, the air whooshing from his lungs. She grabbed his wrists, stretching his arms above his head, and locked her slinky thighs around his hips.
"Now then, let's see," she said, her voice rumbling deep inside her throat. "Where were we, lover?"
He drew a shaky breath. To be pinned by all that silken flesh was the most heady, pulse-firing sensation he'd ever known. She'd become the jungle cat again, her eyes ablaze with amethyst fire, her mane gleaming with indigo shimmers. When she smiled, revealing wicked, feline teeth, he felt every nerve in his body jolt, reveling in the danger.
He evened out his breathing enough to grin up at her. "Well, the last thing I remember was you calling out my name."
Her eyes slitted in that sultry, catlike way that never failed to start his blood smoking.
"Indeed?" She eased lower, brushing her nipples across his chest. "Funny. I don't remember you calling out mine."
Her head dipped, trailing fragrant curls across his nose and throat. He closed his eyes, expecting a kiss. When her teeth fastened on his bottom lip, he gasped at the sharp prickle of sensation. She pushed her tongue into his mouth. There was nothing ladylike about her kiss. Brazen, demanding, she sucked and nibbled, parried and thrust, as if she were waging some kind of battle.
A battle of wills.
The warning had barely knelled in his brain when he felt her hips rise. She was already moist and hot like melted butter. When the fur of her mound stroked his shaft, a current of sparks jerked through his loins.
"There. You see?" Her fingers twined through his. "Making business isn't all that bad, is it, Marshal?"
Her tongue thrust into his ear, and he made a strangled sound, half laugh, half groan. "I ought to turn you over my knee."
"Oh no, then I couldn't do this." She positioned herself, sliding slowly, artfully, until she'd buried him deep inside her wet heat. "Or this," she added softly, tantalizing him with tiny false starts as she crept back up the trail. "And you like it when I do this, don't you, Cord?"
He nodded. He couldn't help himself. She grinned triumphantly. Sheathing and stroking, she took him again. Down and up, in and out, and he groaned, feeling his control slipping away. He knew she was toying with him. She had some nefarious scheme in mind, and he'd be eating crow the second he let himself give in. But she was sucking him deeper, gripping and gliding with her muscular walls. Her rhythm was driving him mad. He began to strain, rising to meet her. She rewarded his cooperation with a hungry kiss.
"Now then," she whispered huskily, her breath hot and moist against his lips. "Let's make a deal."
"No," he panted. "No more deals."
She slid out of reach. He bit his tongue in frustration.
"Then a promise," she said. "Between very close friends."
She rubbed and teased. He felt his blood surge, engorging him further. A moan escaped him, despite his best efforts.
"Fancy, sweetheart, please. Don't make me lie to you."
"But that's just it, don't you see?" She brought her face back down to his. "You can't lie well enough to save your life. That's why you need me. And if you won't take me with you, then I'll help the boys track you down."
She meant business. He could read the determination in her eyes. Nothing short of tying her to the bed would keep her safe at the ranch. He would have to choose between risking her or risking his brothers. And that was an impossible choice.
"Fancy, don't do this," he pleaded. "I'm scared you'll be hurt."
<
br /> "I'll be skinned alive if I stay at this ranch. Your family will never forgive me if something happens to you. I'd rather face a judge and jury. Now quit being so stubborn. Besides, it's my damned future riding on those plates."
So it was the plates she was worried about? The plates and his family?
A sliver of pain sliced through him. Why couldn't she just admit that she cared about him?
She didn't love Santana. If she did, she wouldn't have screamed "Cord" in her passion. He'd touched a part of her no other man had ever touched. He knew he had. He'd learned long ago in his marriage bed when a woman was holding back. He had never dreamed that Fancy, of all people, would be a fledgling to her own erotic pleasure, but he was delighted that he—he, by God—had taught her how to fly. She had given all of herself to him, and that meant she cared.
And she wanted him too.
He would prove it to her.
With a shove and a deft roll, he switched their positions. She was light; it didn't take much effort to pin her hips to the bear pelt. She tried to tear her hands from his, but he held on, smiling smugly at her oaths as he stretched her arms above her head.
"Not so loud, darlin'," he drawled. "Aunt Lally might hear and come wash out your mouth."
Fancy squirmed, twisting to no avail. She didn't know whether to be outraged or amused. How dare the wretch use her tricks against her? The expression on his face was positively gloating. If she hadn't had so much invested in the outcome of this duel, she might have laughed and called him a peacock.
But as it was, she wanted to wring his neck. Her own too. Fancy, my girl, you are a fool. You know better than to gamble with sex when Cord Rawlins is the player.
Finally, she subsided, glaring up at him. As much as she hated to admit it, his weight and strength, the sheer beauty of his virility, were arousing. She had to bite back a moan as he positioned himself, his shaft probing the slick, trembling flesh that sought to guard her opening.
Tin-Stars and Troublemakers Box Set (Four Complete Historical Western Romance Novels in One) Page 59