In the Arms of a Cowboy

by Pam Crooks

  Awash in the delicious sensations intensifying inside her, she drew in a breath. Slowly. Her eyes closed, and she allowed herself to feel, to savor all the wonderful, erotic things he did to her, privileges a wife gave her husband.

  Privileges she’d never enjoy if she still lived in the convent.

  The truth of it only made her want him more, and her knees parted, accepting the shift of his weight over her, cradling him against the juncture of her thighs. He took her breasts into his hands and massaged their fullness, the nipples already hard and inviting him to touch.

  He took one into his mouth, and she moaned at this new pleasure. Her fingers delved into his hair, holding him to her as his tongue swept over its sensitive peak again and again, leaving her hungry for more. He did the same to her other, and her hips began to move as she climbed higher, the pressure inside her building and building.

  “Quinn, please,” she breathed.

  “Not yet, darlin’,” he whispered. “Soon.”

  He stroked her breasts, his fingers masterful in their arousal. His head lowered to dip his tongue into her navel, to whirl across the soft skin of her belly.

  And the sweet pressure climbed even higher.

  He kissed the inside of her thighs. His touches grew bolder, his intent doubly so. He enslaved her with his caresses.

  Hannah thought she’d die from the want of him. He parted her feminine folds with his tongue. Squirrel-Tooth Alice had told her of this, of how a man kissed and licked the most private parts of a woman to give her pleasure, and back then, Hannah had doubted.

  Not now. Not with Quinn.

  She drew in a ragged breath at the beauty of what he made her feel. Wet and hot, his tongue stroked her until she couldn’t hold back any longer, until the crescendo within her built until it couldn’t build any more.

  And the sensations exploded. Again and again and again.

  He rose and slid himself into her, riding the waves, keeping them coming. The bed rocked with the rhythm of their arching bodies, the walls held in their exultant cries, until spent, exhausted, they tumbled from their glorious heights and settled peacefully back down to earth.

  Stunned at the intensity of what had happened between them, Hannah lay motionless beneath him for long moments. Then, she drew in a breath and let it back out again.

  “Glo-ry!” she said.

  He laughed, a low rumble of delight in his chest, and hugging her fiercely, he rolled with her across the mattress, switching their positions.

  “We are good together, woman!” he exclaimed, his breathing showing the rigors of their lovemaking.

  She laughed, too, and remembered his foul mood earlier this evening before they’d gone to visit Jody.

  “Is this why you were cross with me tonight? Because you wanted to make love to me?” she asked softly, wiser now.

  “It was.” His arms tightened around her in a brief squeeze. “I’d wanted you for so damned long. I couldn’t, not until you were ready, and I was feeling mighty frustrated.”

  “Was it worth the wait?”

  “You know it was. Better than my lustiest dreams.”

  Pleased he thought so, she stacked her hands on his chest and rested her chin on top. “But you deserve all the credit. I didn’t do much to pleasure you in turn.”

  He blinked up at her in disbelief. “What are you talking about?”

  She shrugged and thought of how she’d done little more than lay back and let him work his magic on her.

  “I fear there are drawbacks to a man taking a virgin as his wife,” she sighed, honest. “She has no experience to bring with her.”

  She knew he was trying not to laugh. “Did I look like I wasn’t enjoying myself?”

  “Well, no.”

  “A man take his pleasure while giving it. Did you think of that?”

  “No, but--.”

  “And I’m glad you’ve not been with anyone else before me. Anything you learn about pleasuring me I want to come from me.”

  “But--.”

  “But what?”

  “I just think--.” She halted and sighed again. “I want to know how to please you, that’s all.”

  “After what just happened between us? Not once but twice?” he asked, incredulous. “Listen to me.” He tilted her chin up, and she met his gaze. “Maybe it takes a stint in hell for a man to value what he’s got when he has it. He learns not to take anything, or anyone, for granted again.” He rubbed her spine in long, languid strokes. “Having you naked in my arms, in my bed, makes me want you all over again. You’re a hot-blooded woman, Hannah. Before the night is through, I’ll wager you’ll teach me a thing or two.”

  She laughed softly. “The bet’s on.”

  He smiled, reckless and disarming. She loved it when he smiled.

  “All right, then.” His hands settled on her bare buttocks. “Are you hungry?”

  She eyed him coyly. “For food? Or you?”

  “Food now. Me later.”

  He rolled her back onto the mattress and followed the plan with a soul-destroying kiss.

  And later, again and again, she followed that plan. In perfect order.

  Chapter 18

  A knock on the door pulled Quinn sharply awake.

  His gaze swept the darkened room and focused on the elegant furnishings, the dishes, the empty wine bottle on the low-lying table.

  And Hannah, soft and luscious against him.

  The knock sounded again.

  “Hey, Quinn. It’s me, Jody. You two up yet?”

  Quinn eased away from her and slid out of bed. He reached for his pants.

  Hannah stirred. “Is someone at the door?”

  Her voice sounded thick with sleep, though she’d had precious little of it. She rolled to her back and slid her fingers through her hair, tousled from the pillow. From him.

  Remembering their fiery lovemaking enflamed his loins. She’d given him all she could handle. And then some.

  “Yes. It’s Jody,” he said, fastening the last of the buttons on his pants. He reached for a fresh shirt with one hand, her wrapper with the other.

  “It’s early. Why would he be here?”

  With bedcovers rustling, she scrambled to sit up. The sheet slipped, presenting him with a delectable glimpse of high, rounded breasts. She yanked it back up again. He debated a quick fondle of their fullness, even a suckle or two, then reluctantly thought better of it. He’d kept Jody waiting long enough.

  “We’ll find out. Here’s your robe,” he said, tossing it to her.

  She snatched the wrapper and hurried her arms into it. By the time she’d fastened the thing clear up to her neck, he’d unlocked the door, and Jody strode in, pushing a metal cart.

  “It’s about time you two lovebirds woke up,” he declared cheerily. “Do you know how late it is?”

  “No,” Quinn murmured, eyeing the coffee pot on the cart.

  “After ten. And the day’s a-wastin’!” He parted the chenille curtains and raised the damask shade beneath. Sunshine flowed into the room. He grinned. “I brought breakfast.”

  “Thanks,” Quinn said and went for the pot.

  “Good morning, pretty lady.” Jody leaned across the mattress to give Hannah a brotherly peck on the cheek. “You’re looking exceptionally lovely this morning. Did he keep you up half the night?”

  She blushed and drew her sheet-covered knees up to her chest. “He did.”

  He clucked his tongue in mock disgust. “A rutting stag, that’s what he is.”

  “Shut up, Jody. You’re embarrassing her.” Quinn handed Hannah a cup of steaming coffee and winked at her.

  The blush deepened, but she smiled at both of them. “He didn’t rut by himself, Mr. Hartman. I gave him a good chase, I assure you.”

  Jody threw his head back and laughed heartily. Hannah slipped from the bed, taking the cup with her. She gave Quinn an affectionate pat to his bare belly on her way to the floral-painted wardrobe. Beneath the thin fabric of her wrapper, her firm
buttocks swayed just enough to keep him staring.

  Jody sighed dramatically.

  “I could hate you for having her all to yourself, you know,” he said, his voice so low Hannah wouldn’t hear. “She’s a gem.”

  Quinn sipped pensively from the cup. “I know. It scares me sometimes.” Without elaborating, he changed the subject. “What brings you here this morning?”

  “We have work to do, that’s what.”

  Quinn nodded in agreement and wheeled the breakfast cart into the adjoining sitting room to give Hannah her privacy. “I’ve got questions that need answers. I hope you’ll have them for me.”

  He laid out the dishes in preparation for their breakfast. Jody opened the curtains in this room, as he’d done in the main one. Brilliant daylight beamed inward. “Ask away. We’ll plan out a strategy, and --.”

  He halted abruptly. The color flowed from his face, leaving him ghostly white. “Christ, Quinn. Your back.”

  Quinn straightened, wishing he’d put his shirt on sooner. He feared Jody would be sick all over the thick Oriental carpet.

  “What else did they do to you?” Jody’s features twisted in a rare fury. He grasped Quinn’s shoulders, forcing him to turn around. His gaze lighted on the faint scars around his wrists. “The shackles.” Jody shook his head in disgust and indicated Quinn’s forearm. “What about these?”

  “A wolf-dog,” Quinn said and donned the shirt, hating Jody’s pity but touched by it. “Those days are gone, Jody. I won’t relive them again.”

  “I’ll make sure you won’t!” he exploded. “Damn Elliott!”

  “We’ll damn him when we’re sure he’s guilty,” Quinn said firmly. “Before I see him, I want cold, hard evidence to throw in his face. I want the truth.”

  “Quinn?”

  At the sound of Hannah’s voice, they both turned. She entered the sitting room wearing a day dress of navy blue sateen, with prim white collar and cuffs. She’d combed her curls and smelled delectably of rose-scented soap.

  His heart filled, just looking at her.

  “Will you help me?” she asked. “I can’t reach the buttons.”

  She turned her back and presented him with a row of dainty pearl ones, left unfastened halfway down her spine. He hooked them easily and thought how adept he’d become at fastening--and unfastening--her clothes. He dropped a warm kiss to her nape after he finished.

  “Ah, the picture of domesticity,” Jody purred, watching them. “Pouring coffee. Setting breakfast. Buttoning buttons. You’re mellowing, old man.”

  Quinn heard the envy in his friend’s teasing. “Prison will do that to you. That and having a beautiful wife in your bed.”

  Hannah tossed him a loving glance and took the chair he offered her. She began spooning hot scrambled eggs and crisp strips of bacon onto their plates.

  “What’s this talk between you two of evidence?” she asked. “Against Elliott?”

  Jody’s questioning gaze darted to Quinn, as if unsure she should be included in the matter, which could turn ugly before it was finished.

  “She’s as much a part of this as I am,” Quinn said. “I’ve got no secrets from her.”

  Jody accepted his decision with a brief nod. “To answer your question, Hannah, yes. If we’re to prepare a case against Elliott, we must have strong evidence to present to a judge and jury.”

  A case against Elliott.

  Quinn had planned his revenge for a long time, but hearing Jody speak of it, to sit with him and plan its execution, left Quinn with a sick, gnawing feeling in the pit of his gut.

  Elliott was, after all, his brother. They were only two years apart, and Elliott was the oldest. Their mother had dressed them in matching knee-pants, and they’d grown up with many of the same friends, had learned to shoot and ride and brand calves together under their father’s keen eye. But something had happened in their older years. Elliott had changed. Drastically.

  And Quinn had paid the price for it.

  The knowledge strengthened his will to see through his revenge, to fine-tune it to perfection.

  “Loretta mentioned that Elliott had fallen in with some bad friends,” he said, slathering a roll with strawberry jam. “Who are they?”

  “Actually, he has very few friends,” Jody said. “Only a couple I’m aware of. All of Amarillo was shocked by your arrest, by Elliott’s handling of Sarah’s death and all. He made some enemies because of it. Anyway,” he said around a bite of bacon, “his cronies are James Steadman, a local newspaper reporter, and Stephen Larson, a physician.”

  “Odd choices for a cattleman,” Quinn said, frowning. “Is Larson any relation to Dr. George Larson?”

  The elder had been Manny’s doctor, and Quinn had complete faith in him.

  “Yes. His youngest son. Stephen spent most of his time in boarding schools and then medical school. Which is why we never knew him. George died, by the way. About a year ago. Went peacefully in his sleep.”

  The news speared Quinn with regret. The old doctor had been a friend. “Tell me more about Stephen.”

  “He’s a spoiled bastard. A daddy’s boy. George let him into his medical practice with an eye toward retirement. Word is Stephen has lost many of his father’s longtime patients.”

  “Why? Through death? Or dislike?”

  “Both, I think. Stephen doesn’t have the bedside manner his father was known for. And he leans toward radical medicine. Quackery. Never the tried and true methods George used. Damned if I’ll ever go to him with influenza.”

  Quinn pondered Jody’s comments. Bedside manner had always been George’s strength. He truly cared for his patients, and his treatments had been effective. Manny was proof of it. George’s death was a loss to the medical profession. To him.

  “And then there’s James Steadman.” Jody’s handsome features showed his disdain. “God’s gift to the newspaper business.”

  Hannah frowned. “He wrote the articles about Quinn’s arrest and supposed death in the Amarillo Champion. I remember seeing his byline on each of them.”

  “You noticed, eh? Funny. No one else seemed to think that odd. By the time I made the connection, it was too late. All the other big city papers had picked up the stories.”

  Quinn’s eye narrowed. “Why is it I’d never heard of Steadman before my arrest? Is he young, too? Like Stephen Larson?”

  “No. He was a washed up reporter from the East who’d spent long years chasing fires, writing obituaries and boring society pieces. Until he pulled up stakes, moved out here, and your story came along, that is. It was a real gold mine for him.”

  “He wanted to make a name for himself,” Hannah mused thoughtfully.

  “And he did. Hell, he didn’t care if the stories were true. He just wrote them.”

  “The way Elliott told him to,” Quinn said.

  “Precisely.” Jody grimaced. “Everyone believed him when he wrote you were dead. Myself included, eventually.”

  Quinn pondered Jody’s information, sorting through all he’d learned.

  “How do you know about these two men?” he asked.

  “Oh, ye of little faith.” Jody grinned. “I hired a private investigator to check them out. A friend of mine from Chicago.”

  “Really.”

  “His report is filed away safely in my office.”

  “Good. Very good.”

  “And you know what else I think? I think it’s mighty strange Sarah happened to die and you happened to be arrested when I happened to be in Chicago. I rarely travel. Too tied down with my law practice. My cousin’s wedding was the first time I’d left Amarillo in a long time. Hell, years.”

  “And Elliott knew you were leaving?” Hannah asked.

  “Damn right he did.”

  “Sounds like a frame job to me.” She cast Quinn a sympathetic glance.

  “A suspicious set of happenings,” Quinn agreed darkly. “Elliott knew Jody would defend me to the letter of the law.”

  “And beyond,” Jody added.
>
  They fell silent, and Quinn wrangled with every word of the discussion to come up with a motive, a logical explanation why Elliott would go to such lengths to see him thrown in prison.

  And die there.

  Suddenly restless, he pushed away from the table and began to pace the sitting room. The motive was elusive--they were a long way from finding the proof they needed to see through Quinn’s revenge.

  “Based on Jody’s investigation, we have a rough idea of what happened after my arrest,” he said, thinking out loud. “Steadman did his part by convincing everyone I was dead. We don’t know why he’d bother. Or how Stephen Larson fits in.” Quinn braced both hands on the table top. He leaned forward, intense. “But we still don’t know what really happened the night Sarah was killed.”

  “I know what happened, Quinn. I was there. I saw everything.”

  At the sound of Loretta’s voice behind him, he whirled.

  Hannah’s eyes widened.

  Jody choked on his coffee, spewing most of it back into his cup.

  Dressed in her maid’s uniform, Loretta Carter stood trembling in the archway dividing the sitting room from the main quarters of the suite. Her nervous gaze bounced from each of them before settling back onto Quinn.

  “What did you say?” he demanded hoarsely.

  “I was there. I talked to Sarah only moments before she was killed.”

  Waves of shock rolled through him. He recovered slowly. “You’d damn well better tell us about it, Loretta.”

  She nodded jerkily.

  He’d never seen her so agitated. Indicating the chair he’d just vacated, he urged her to sit.

  “Would you like some coffee?" Hannah asked softly. “Might help calm you some.”

  “No, but thanks for offering.” She lowered her eyelashes. “Forgive me for eavesdropping. I came up to see if there was anything you needed. I knocked, but no one answered. I just walked in.”

  “Under the circumstances, I’m glad you did,” Quinn said roughly.

  “So talk, Loretta.” Jody bent forward, a you’d-better-tell-the-truth-or-else lawyer look on his face. “We’re listening.”

  She drew in a long breath. “I was working late that night,” she began, twisting a lace handkerchief. “There was a cattlemen’s meeting here at the hotel. We were full and very busy.”