“Really? I’m not so sure about that.”
She recognized the lie the minute it left her lips, but she intended to hold on to her anger. It was the only part of her pride she had left. “Get out and leave me alone.”
Making no move to leave, he stood like a statue in front of the door. For a minute she considered hurling the ceramic pitcher from the bureau at his head, then he gave her a nod, opened the door and left.
Before she could celebrate her victory she heard the key turn in the lock. He’d locked her in. Again.
“Ugh!” She flopped onto the bed in frustration. “Trust you? You lock me in and I’m supposed to trust you?”
When she didn’t hear his boots going down the hall, she scowled at the door. “I could always crawl out the window, you know.”
He was probably standing out there laughing at her.
Fine. Let him laugh, heck let them both laugh. She was done being used by men as an excuse to kill someone.
“Damn stupid men.”
“Because I’d want your heart as much as your body. And we both know that belongs to Quinn.”
Rage at her own foolishness surged through her. “Ugh!” She stomped across the room to the bureau, then opened and slammed the top drawer.
“Damn, damn, damn.”
Dakota was right.
Who was the stupid one? She’d lost her heart to a man who planned to use her then exact justice for her crimes, quite possibly at the end of a rope.
* * * * *
Something wasn’t right.
Quinn stopped at the top of the stairs. His senses on alert, he palmed his Colt once more and surveyed the situation.
Dakota stood outside their rooms, his back to the wall, arms crossed over his chest. He didn’t seem to be expecting trouble. He looked relaxed and amused.
Then why wasn’t he inside the room with Lacy?
Dakota turned his head. “Put the gun away. You aren’t going to need it. At least I don’t think so.”
“Lacy?” he asked as he slipped the gun back in its holster.
“Inside. Mad as hell.”
“Why?”
“Took exception to me carrying her all the way up here.”
He chuckled. “That all?”
“And locking her in the room.”
“And?”
“Thinks you took those two hombres out back and put bullets in them.”
“Considered it. Why is she so pissed about it?” he asked, even though he already knew the answer.
Dakota shrugged. “Seems she doesn’t like being an excuse for someone else dying. Thinks she’s responsible for Cap’s murder and the other two deaths in Cheyenne.”
“Yep. Even though she was outside holding the horses. Guess we’ll just have to convince her she’s not to blame for their deaths and that I didn’t kill those two idiots.”
“Well, you’ll need this.” Dakota handed him the room key.
He took the key and moved in front of the door. “Aren’t you coming in?”
“Nope.”
“Afraid to face her again?”
“It’s not me she needs to be with right now.”
“So you just going to stand out here listening? Might as well come in and watch.”
“Not this time. I think I’ll go get those herbs we talked about. We are leaving in the morning, aren’t we?”
He met Dakota’s slightly amused gaze. “Well, that sort of depends on what happens in here.”
“Good luck.”
They shook hands, the matching slash scars on their palms crossing. The connection always flashed images into Quinn’s mind of the night they’d sworn to keep a secret and always be blood brothers.
Dakota started down the hall toward the stairs. “Watch out for the pitcher and bowl. She eyed them once as weapons before I left.”
Quinn studied the door in front of him and considered the room’s occupant. A ripple of dread crossed his spine, quickly followed by a thrill of anticipation.
He unlocked the door and stepped inside. Never taking his eyes off Lacy, he felt around until he slipped the key in the lock and turned it.
Standing in front of the bed, still dressed in the green silk dress, she was bathed in the warm glow of the lamp light. He let his gaze drift over the copper curls piled elegantly on her head, then down to the features of her face. Her eyes narrowed as if she could harm him with one look. The lift of her chin. Delicate lace trembling against the long column of her neck. The rise and fall of her breasts in the thin bodice of the gown.
Glorious.
A goddess.
Mine.
Once more that uneasy feeling of needing to claim her filled him as he eyed her fists clenched at her sides.
Yep. She was one very angry woman.
And the sight of her like this had his cock hard and straining at the opening of his pants.
“Did you kill them?” she asked in a calm, level tone.
“Pete and Duffy?”
“Did you kill them?”
He stepped away from the door, unstrapped his holsters and set them on the table next to the bed. “Would you believe me if I said no?”
“Don’t answer my question with a question. Just tell me if you killed those men for no good reason.”
How could she think so little of herself? Keeping her safe was a very good reason. Did she really believe she was worth so little that she deserved to be mauled by drunks on the street?
It was time to set her straight on a few things.
He pulled his shirt off and hung it on the back of the chair, all the time watching her, seeing her anger build. Then he sat and pulled off his boots. “Take off your dress.”
She shook her head. “Not until you answer me.”
“Fine, I’ll fuck you while you’re still wearing it, but I can’t guarantee it won’t get ripped.”
“Damn you.”
She gave him a female growl of frustration but started unbuttoning the dress. Once she had it off, folded neatly and lying on the bureau, she crossed her arms under her breasts, pushing them up and almost out of the silk camisole she liked to wear, her taut dark nipples peeking through the lace trim. “There, I took off the dress, now tell me what you did to those two men.”
With deliberate movements, he rose out of the chair then unfastened his pants. He shoved them and his drawers off his hips, freeing his straining erection. He stepped out of them and stood with his legs braced apart. “Come here.”
“No.” She took a step backward.
He advanced. “You’re going to have to trust me.”
“How can I trust you when you won’t answer me?” She retreated as if they performed the intricate steps to a country reel.
He reached her on the next step and gripped her by the arms. “Because you know what kind of man I am.”
“You’re a man. That’s enough reason not to trust you.” She lowered her eyes and tried to wiggle away, but he held her firm.
With her arms trapped at her side and her pert nipples pressed the silk and lace of her camisole against his naked chest, his need to dominate her surged through him.
“Look at me, Lacy,” he ordered, letting his voice go dark and insistent.
It took a moment, but finally she raised those deliciously green eyes to meet his gaze. Her anger had dulled, but only slightly.
“You know what kind of man I am.”
Lowering his lips to claim hers, he slid his hands down her back to untie and push down her silken drawers to her feet. Cupping her ass cheeks in his hands, he nudged her legs apart with his knee and lifted her until she was poised over the tip of his cock. It took all his willpower to keep from surging deep inside her heat. “Do you trust me?”
“Yes,” she whispered against his lips.
“Hold on to me.”
With that command he lowered her, impaling her completely on his turgid shaft. The gasp that escaped her thrilled him as much as the heat that enveloped his throbbing length.
He moaned as she clenched his shoulders with her hands and entwined her legs around the back of his thighs. For several heartbeats he held her steady, flexing deep inside her, watching her green eyes darken to the color of fir trees in the mountains during winter.
“Do you trust me?”
“Yes. Please…” she begged, slipping her pink tongue out to trace her lush bottom lip.
“Tell me.”
Every muscle in his arms, back, ass and thighs strained to support her and yet keep from thrusting deeper. He wanted more than her sex, more than her submission. He wanted her complete surrender. Nothing else would do.
“I trust you, Quinn.”
Her admission broke the restraints on his control. Grasping her thighs, he lifted her to the tip of his cock, then brought her back down while he thrust forward to the hilt. Then he repeated the motion, her murmured whimpers encouraging him to move deeper, faster.
He was happy to oblige.
With each thrust he moved forward until her back was pressed against the wall. Braced eye-to-eye with him, passion danced in the depth of her gaze. She slid her arms around his neck to twine her fingers in his hair, then she did something she’d never done. She claimed his mouth with hers. First she nipped at his bottom lip, then pulled it between hers, sending his brain into a spiral. All he could do was ride the passion to completion.
He pistoned in and out of her sheath.
Harder.
Faster.
Deeper.
Then took command of the kiss. Savagely, he thrust his tongue deep inside her hot mouth to taste her. With each thrust he came closer to filling her with his seed, but he wanted her to find her release first.
Bracing her against the wall, he slipped one hand between them and into her silken folds, finding the throbbing pebble of her sex. He timed his thrusts to the rhythm of his fingers until her arms clutched him closer, her legs tightened around his hips and he felt the tremors ripple through her.
Wanting to hear her cries of completion, he tore his mouth from hers. “That’s it, darlin’. Come for me.”
“Oh God, Quinn!”
A second spasm shook her and she keened her climax.
“Damn, yes!” He gripped her beneath her thighs, lifted her halfway off, then brought her down to grip him completely once more. Pushing her into the hard planks of the wall, he held her fast, his face buried against her shoulder as he shot his seed deep inside her womb.
It took several minutes, but finally sanity returned and he dragged in a shuddering breath. He leaned back enough to see her face. Lips parted, face flushed with spent passion, tendrils of hair curled around her face, she had the look of a well-loved woman—one who had put her body and trust in his hands.
The need to claim more filled him. He crushed her lips beneath his and gripped her by the thighs once more. Still buried deep inside her, he carried her to the bed. The kiss continued, becoming more. He let it soften and turn seductive as he lifted her from him and eased her onto the mattress. Slowly he backed off, letting their lips cling for a breath longer, then climbed in beside her, drawing her into his side so her head rested on his shoulder.
“You’re a treasure,” he said, rubbing his hand down her arm.
“Because I respond like that to you? It only makes me my mother’s daughter. Nothing special.”
He slipped his hand beneath her chin and lifted until he could see her eyes. “When I saw Pete’s hand on you, I wanted to kill him at that moment. Then when he talked about kissing you, I knew he was a dead man. Two things kept me from putting a bullet between his eyes.”
“Two things?”
“Cap taught us to always fit the punishment to the crime. Those two drunks scared you but didn’t harm you.”
“And the other reason?”
“You would’ve thought it was your fault, not theirs.”
“It would’ve been. You heard what they said. They’d witnessed me sitting on your lap in the café, kissing you like some whore.”
“Hush.” He stopped her words with a finger on her lips. He didn’t want to hear anyone call her that name, especially not her. “Listen to me. You kissing me didn’t force Pete to grab you and Duffy to dishonor you. They chose to do that. They made a poor decision and had to pay for it. You’re not a whore and I don’t want to hear you say that again. Understand?”
It took a moment, but she gave him a simple nod.
With that nod, something hard and tight deep inside him loosened. Something he wasn’t ready to examine just yet.
“Good.” He tucked her head back down against his chest.
“So, where are Pete and Duffy?” she asked, her breath whispering across the hairs on his chest.
“Cooling their heels in the town jail. I have the sheriff’s promise to keep them there for forty-eight hours. Long enough for us to get out of town without them bothering you again.”
“Thank you.”
He stroked his hand over her arm. “Had I known they would’ve attacked you, I wouldn’t have had you sitting on my lap like that.”
“Yes, you would’ve. You like making me do things I don’t feel comfortable doing. Pushing my boundaries.”
“Only because you respond so readily to them.”
“I’ve had other men try to control me.”
“Devil?”
“Him and his number-one man, Santos.”
The way she spit out the other man’s name set his danger sense on edge. “Did this Santos leave those scars on your back?” If he did, he was a dead man.
“No, Devil did that.” She let her hand trail over his stomach then up his chest. “Before you and Dakota, Santos was the only man I’d let fuck me.”
He was definitely dead.
“It was my own fault. I was lonely. He didn’t act like Devil or the others. He actually bathed.”
He snorted at that. “Honey, even dogs will jump into water to kill fleas.”
She laughed, the sound easing some of the tension in him. “Not the dogs in Devil’s valley.”
A minute passed. Then another.
Was she asleep?
“How did he try to control you?”
“Besides leaving me completely unfulfilled? He was sneaky. I thought I was in love and he knew that. He wanted me to prove my love by going on the Cheyenne raid. Then afterwards, when he laughed at how naïve I was, I knew I’d meant nothing to him and he’d used me for his own purposes.”
Guilt stabbed through Quinn. Wasn’t he doing the same thing? Dragging her back to Devil, using her body’s responses to force her to obey him and help them capture the gang and recover the money?
Reaching across him, Lacy turned his right hand over and traced her fingers over the scar bisecting it. “How did you and Dakota come to have identical scars in identical places?”
He recognized her need to change the subject, but damn did the woman have to focus in on his darkest secret? And how much did he tell her about the night that forever tied his fate to Dakota’s?
Yet her soft fingers caressing the ridge of scar tissue held the promise of acceptance no matter how bad the tale.
“Remember the story I told you at the river of how Dakota came to live with Cap and me?”
With a shift of her head on his chest, she raised her gaze to meet his. Compassion and sadness turned her eyes an almost emerald color in the lamplight.
“Yes. He’d been almost carved in half and nearly dead.”
Bile rose in his throat at the memory. He swallowed hard, fighting back the anger that surged inside him. It was in the past. And besides, he and Dakota had prevented it ever happening again.
“Quinn?”
“We weren’t sure he’d survive, but thanks to Juanita’s nursing skills and Dakota’s stubbornness, he was up on a horse in a month, hell-bent on revenge.”
“On his grandfather? But wasn’t he just a boy?”
“Yep. He wanted to g
o after the son-of-a-bitch the first day out of bed. Scared poor Juanita half to death.”
“Juanita is Cap’s wife?”
“Sort of like a mother to us.”
“Ah. So what happened?”
“The only way I could think to keep him from doing anything too soon was to promise to go with him once he was all healed. We spent weeks making plans. And frankly after seeing what the old man did to Dakota, I wanted nothing better than to make him pay too.”
The room’s dim light shifted and he drifted back to that night, creeping through the countryside, heart pounding with fear in his ears.
“His grandfather was a former Confederate soldier who wandered from town to town, never really staying too long in any one place. Cap said he was the kind who found trouble wherever he went. We got word he’d been seen in town. So we waited until Cap and Juanita had gone to bed and the cowhands would be changing watch over the herd, then we snuck out Dakota’s window and headed for the old man’s campsite.”
The drunk man had shouted his surprise when he realized his grandson hadn’t died from the thrashing and torture three months earlier. Then he’d seen the knife in Dakota’s hand and the gun in Quinn’s.
Looking down at Lacy, who studied him closely, he decided to leave out the more gory details of the story.
“When we were done, we dragged him into a gully and left him for the coyotes and buzzards.”
She nodded. “And the scars?”
“The whole time we were planning our revenge on his grandfather, Dakota told me stories about living with his mother’s family. When the men were going on a raid of another tribe or against the army, they’d slash their hands and mix their blood, becoming blood brothers, sworn to always watch the other’s back in a fight.”
“So you and Dakota aren’t just adopted brothers…”
“We’re closer. We’re blood brothers.”
“And did Cap ever learn what you two did that night?” she asked, no condemnation in her voice.
“He knew. We confessed, expecting him to hang us for our crime. But that was the first time he told us punishment should fit the crime. Dakota never would’ve gotten justice in the white man’s courts. Better to deal with it on our own.”
“Smart man, your father.” She kissed his palm. With a yawn she snuggled in beside him. “Thank you for sharing your secret.”
The Surrender of Lacy Morgan Page 17