The Troubled Texan
Page 9
Wedged between a zillion fluffy, white sheep leaping an imaginary fence, visions of Rainey in her makeshift bathing suit kept Deuce awake. Fisting his pillow, he wadded it up and tucked the sucker beneath his head.
Sometimes the vixen was stark naked. Sometimes she wore a skimpy teddy with tiny, sheer panties. Sometimes the lingerie was hot pink; other times, passionate purple, but always sexy as hell and revealing a luscious, hot body.
He hadn’t felt so primed in months, so why couldn’t his urges cool their heels and patiently wait their turn? He had troubles that he had to resolve, beginning with deciding what to do about his mother, followed closely by Rainey’s safety.
Dern it, thoughts of her crept up at the oddest times. But he still needed the lady in ways he couldn’t explain.
Deciding sleep was impossible, he reached for the remote and switched on the TV, disturbing Fat-Cat—now known as The Traitor. Stretching out a country mile, the animal kicked up his purr a notch and curled closer to his master.
Deuce hadn’t eaten. Maybe a glass of milk and some of the oatmeal-raisin cookies that he’d picked up at Winnie’s Bakery would satisfy the empty hole in his stomach.
Rainey had turned off the lights and silenced the television hours ago, so he lay there imagining her cuddled deep into his comfy mattress. He questioned his intelligence by insisting that she sleep in his room while he took the guest quarters.
From the floor beside the bed, he seized his gray running shorts and tugged them on. Whether Rainey was asleep or awake, it probably wasn’t a good idea to parade around in his skivvies which did little to disguise his aroused state just at the thought of her in his bed.
To hell with a shirt. It was his house after all.
Fat-Cat came alive and scampered toward the door. He entwined his furry body around Deuce’s ankles, knocking him off balance.
Deuce found himself asking the tomcat why he wasn’t sleeping with his new best friend. Beating his master down the stairs, the feline looked back as if to give Deuce the answer, “I’m hungry, too. Will you wake the lady and get me some liver?”
Deuce sauntered to the kitchen. Using the light of the refrigerator as a guide, he poured a tumbler of cold milk and retrieved three cookies from the tin. After wrapping the goodies in a napkin, he headed back upstairs.
As he stepped onto the landing, a soft, frightful cry came from Rainey’s room.
The lawman in him sprang to life. He stopped to listen. Was she sobbing? A second louder moan called out in the night. Not a full-fledged cry but whimpering like a child dreaming about monsters under the bed.
Deuce eased the cracked bedroom door open. With the help of a full moon illuminating the room, he could clearly make out Rainey’s silhouette on the bed. She tossed her head from side to side as though fighting a dream.
Fat-Cat shimmied past before Deuce could catch him, jumped on the foot of the bed, and with one cumbersome leap landed on the fretful woman’s chest.
Surprised, she shrieked and shot straight up out of bed. The covers fell to her waist, exposing luscious, full, and oh, so tempting breasts with rosy nubs that immediately shot to attention.
Letting out a cry of relief, she picked up The Traitor, and nuzzled her face in his fur. “You scared the bejazus out of me, but you couldn’t have come at a better time,” she whispered in a broken voice, and began rubbing his head under her chin. “I could really use a friend right now.” She clutched the cat closer.
That’s when she saw Deuce in the doorway. “Deuce Cowan!” She tossed Fat-Cat aside and snatched the bedcovers over her bosom. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“I, u-uh.” Hesitantly, he shifted from one foot to the other realizing it wasn’t just her nipples that stood erect. “Uh, here.” He pushed the handful of cookies forward. “I brought you a bedtime snack.”
“Will you throw me my top?” She motioned toward the ladder-back chair. “And, thanks for the cookies.” Her voice sounded appreciative as she clutched the sheet tighter.
“Sure.” Never taking his eyes from her, he eased toward the bedside table and set down the napkin and glass. Swaggering toward the chair, he retrieved his football jersey. “Here.”
“Thanks.” She caught the shirt in midair. “Turn around and close your eyes.”
“Close them?” He turned his back and folded his arms across his chest. By damn, he’d keep his eyes open. So she wanted to play a game? To penalize him for making her shut hers when he disarmed the alarm in the depot.
Behind him sheets rustled and bedsprings squeaked.
“Okay. You can open them up and turn around.” She flipped on the night light and eyed the cookies.
“What if I didn’t close my eyes?” He faced her and wondered what she’d say if he mentioned that the thin fabric did nothing to camouflage her rigid peaks.
“What if I don’t want any of your goodies?” She picked up a cookie and ran her stare from his chest to his knees and everywhere in-between.
“Then I’d have them all to myself.” He had a difficult time dislodging his gaze from her breasts. But he did.
“Hum. Guess I’ll beat you to it.” Lazily, she traced her lips with her tongue before taking a slow, deliberate bite. Waiting until she swallowed, she said, “Thanks, it’s been a long time since I’ve had cookies and milk in bed.”
“Is everything okay?” Deuce wasn’t sure where the conversation was heading, but obviously it wasn’t toward Winnie’s home-baked morsels.
“Why do you ask?” She took a sip of milk.
“I thought I heard you cry out.”
“It wasn’t a cry, it was—Well, I was watching an old movie.” Tiny dimples at the corner of her mouth deepened, as she fiddled with the cookie.
“A silent movie?”
“I’d just turned off the TV.” As any good lawyer would, she expertly shifted focus to another subject. “I thought you had dinner plans and wouldn’t be coming home.”
When she looked up into his eyes for the first time he noticed her swollen eyes and dry lips. He’d been schooled on PTSD and suddenly he recognized the symptoms. Why in the hell hadn’t he seen the signs?
He forced his mind back to her question. So his being out for the evening gave her free rein to parade around in her underwear? And he was the one worrying about making her feel uncomfortable going downstairs half dressed?
“Something came up,” he answered. You waffle and I’ll unwaffle, lady! “So, what movie made you cry?”
“I wasn’t crying. It was an old, uh, Tarzan. One with Ron Ely.” She twisted the cookie between her fingers. “You know he went to school in Amarillo, don’t you.” It was more of a statement than a question.
“And the University of Texas, where you went.” He would not let her change the subject. “Then you were able to relax, unwind, and enjoy a movie while I was gone?”
“Yes—yes, I did.” Much as he suspected, she twisted the truth.
“Rainey, I have an update on your perp, Hunter.”
She stiffened and returned the uneaten cookie to the lamp table. “Oh, God, I hope it’s good news.”
Business replaced their Me Tarzan—You Jane routine.
“I got confirmation that Hunter’s still incarcerated in San Quentin.”
“Thank goodness, Deuce.” As though the words released her, she sprang off the bed, encircled her arms around his waist and hugged him tightly. “I’m so relieved.”
Rainey released him temporarily only to gather him against her a second time. “I could kiss you right now.”
“What’s stopping you?” He squirmed and enjoyed her warm breasts rubbing against his arm.
Pushing up on her tippy-toes, she slipped her hands behind his head, and threaded her fingers through his hair, clinging to him, making him zestfully aware of her sensual body molded against his.
“Like this?” She pressed a fervent kiss to his lips.
For what seemed like an eon, he stood rooted in place. Without warning, impatient m
oans tore deep from his throat and he wrapped his arms around her waist, lifting her higher, tighter, deepening the kiss. She tasted of milk, cinnamon, and oh, so sweet sugar.
Every inch of her body melded against his. Desire fisted in his gut and boiled in his blood, intensifying the ache he already had way down south. Damn, he had to fight off the temptation to slip her a little tongue, wary that she’d whack it off with her snappy mouth and razor-sharp words.
Rainey’s heart thudded out of control and then settled back to its natural rhythm. Shocked at her too eager response, delightful shivers circuited her body. She felt his arousal pressed against her leg. Hard, hot, and hungry.
Giving out a strange, almost sad little murmur of surrender, his tongue began a slow exploration, delving deeper, fuller, and searching.
Unprepared for the ripples of pleasure that radiated through her as he skillfully intensified his kiss, she locked herself in his embrace. Excitement sizzled along her nerve endings and she shut her eyes in a futile attempt to cope with the overload of sensation.
Drunk by his nearness, she felt his touch on her thigh as he eased the hem of her nightshirt out of the way to take possession of her yearning breasts, outlining the tips with his fingers.
In awe at the wonderful feel of his hands on her body, she opened her eyes. Heat washed up her neck and exploded in her cheeks as she found him staring at her.
Deuce’s body was like molten rock against hers. She slipped her hands up his torso, running her fingers through the curly dark hair. Exploring, she stroked one nipple, then the other, until they stood in hard peaks against her palm, marveling how silk-over-steel solid he felt. She couldn’t get enough of him . . . of his body. No more would she be a stranger to his thick shoulders, strappingly muscled chest, and flat belly.
He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her again and again until she was wrapped around him, her hands clutching his back, her legs twined with his, her hips drumming against him.
His breath, warm and moist, washed over her skin.
Releasing her, he held her gaze and slowly removed her nightshirt, dropping it to the floor. Cupping her breasts in his big, warm hands, he circled the rosy tips with his thumbs. She didn’t want him to ever stop as she fell under his spell. He slid his mouth along her collarbone, the motion brushing his cool, silky hair over her sensitized skin at the same time his clever fingers stroked her torso.
Instinctively, her body arched toward him.
Flesh against flesh.
Man against woman.
“Sophomore year, topsy-turvy dance.” She enjoyed the way he rubbed the bare skin of her back and shoulders.
“What?”
“Sophomore year. Don’t you remember the Sadie Hawkins Dance that you asked me to?”
“I certainly did nothing of the kind.” She slid her fingers across the muscular chest wall ever so slowly. “I could hardly stand to talk to you much less dance with you in those days.”
“Too bad about that because I would have gone, if you’d asked.”
“Oh, yeah, you would have sandwiched me between you and ol’ what’s her name—”
“I can’t remember.” His hands were softer than she expected as he explored her waist and hips over her panties.
“Oh, but I do. Allura something or other,” she whispered.
She watched as he lowered his dark, curly head and flicking his tongue on one and then the other breast. “If you say so,” he mumbled.
Gasping, she arched her back as he suckled, gently at first and then with increasing pressure, the rhythmic pull and release causing a corresponding throb that grew increasingly more difficult to ignore.
“Rainey, are you sure this is what you want?”
With her finger to his lips, she silenced any future question.
Without words, she answered with a kiss as challenging as it was rewarding.
He pulled away and raised a questioning eyebrow. “You’re positive?”
“Tarzan doesn’t like Jane?”
Deuce switched off the table lamp. “Oh, yeah, Tarzan likes Jane.” He laid her back on the bed and covered her with his body.
“Show Jane, Tarzan.” She teased his lip with tiny bites.
Pulling to his feet, standing over Rainey, Deuce thunder-pounded his chest with his fists. “Me, Tarzan. You, Jane.” He leaped at her, pivoting his lean, rock solid body onto hers, but in the process accidentally tackled Fat-Cat, sending him into a frantic frenzy.
The cat bellowed louder than Tarzan and shot straight up, landing on Deuce’s shoulder. The tomcat clung for dear life as Deuce sprang out of bed.
Fat-Cat clawed his way down Deuce’s back and over his hip, landing with a thud on the ground. All four legs moved at once on the wooden floor, but the cat didn’t move an inch. Finally getting traction, he fled for safety.
“Sonofabitch!” Deuce reached for the first thing he could get his hands on to throw at the critter, who hauled ass down the staircase. Rainey’s sandal slammed against the door facing, slid across the hall and stopped at the wall.
Warm blood bubbled up along the jagged scratches.
“Holy cow, Deuce!” Rainey scrambled to her knees. “He got you good.” Grabbing his arm, she turned him to her in one swift movement, checking for damages on his shoulder and back. And there were plenty of them. Blood trickled a path from the middle of his shoulder blades to his hip.
“Coward.” Deuce bellowed in case the dern cat was in earshot. He ran his fingers over his shoulder and touched the thick, crimson mess.
“Don’t yell at him.” She grabbed his jersey and slipped it over her head. “You scared him.”
“I scared him?”
“Yes, you did. You have a lot of claw marks, but nothing looks too deep,” Rainey said, as though that made a difference.
“Damn cat.” Deuce wiped his bloody fingers on his shorts. “Don’t frown at me, they can be washed.”
“Blood isn’t easy to get out of cotton. Let’s get to the bathroom and doctor you up.”
“Forget the scratches.” He reached for her hand and tugged her back toward the bed. “I’ll live.”
“And get an infection? No way. I’ve got plans for you, mister.” She planted a row of kisses along his shoulder blade. “And it involves you on your back, so let’s get the doctoring over with first.”
“Peroxide’s in the cabinet.” He relented, following her into the hall, only to see Fat-Cat standing at the head of the stairs, quizzically peering up at him.
“You have some nerve,” Deuce barked, causing the feline to scamper away. “Damn it to hell, I wish I didn’t love that little bastard so much.” Following Rainey into the bathroom, he continued. “In my line of duty I expected to get assaulted one day but never by my own cat.”
Rainey dumped out a supply of cotton balls next to a brown bottle of peroxide, found a clean washcloth and went to work, dabbing away the blood with clear, soapy water.
Deuce jumped when the first shot of cold liquid hit him. Damn, the best chance of getting some uh, physical relief that he’d had in weeks, and then to be interrupted in such a libido-wrecking fashion by an animal. He wanted to be the only animal in Rainey’s bed. And the worst part, he didn’t dare tell anyone. What teasing he’d get. Jessup and Danny would be the worst. Nope! Way too embarrassing. Big tough sheriff whooped by his own kitty!
And to think it was only an hour earlier that he thought about taking a cold shower, but now, cold milk seemed much more appropriate. “Hey, let’s go down to the kitchen and get some fresh cookies and milk.”
“In a little bit. But now, I want to put some Corona ointment on the worst scratches. It’ll slow up the bleeding.”
She tended to a particularly nasty scratch on his chest and applied the medication liberally. What a set of touchable, kissable, hard to take your eyes off pecs!
Presenting a case in her mind, she argued against falling back in bed with this man. Although she had known him since play school, she really knew
little about his adult years except his escapades as a football star. And casual sex wasn’t her bailiwick. But then there wasn’t much casual about how his body felt pressed against hers. On second thought, maybe casual sex wasn’t such a bad idea. No promises. No commitment. No baggage.
Deuce interrupted her thoughts before she finished arguing her case against why she shouldn’t go directly back to the lawman’s bed. The jury was still out.
“You’ve cleaned and put salve on each scratch twice, so let’s take up where we left off,” Deuce said.
The verdict was in. She couldn’t just jump in bed with Deuce again. Logic took over. “I’ve got to be at the depot early in the morning. Thanks, but I need to go to bed—alone.”
“Rainey, you should know the rest of what the DA told me.”
Chapter Ten
Deuce’s words cut Rainey to the core. Cold chills ran up her spine and she was almost scared to find out what he’d learned.
She tossed the blood-soaked cotton balls into the trash can before she found the words to respond. “Please tell me that she went up to San Quentin.”
“She didn’t.”
“Damn it to hell!” The revelation staggered her. She closed her eyes. In a couple of seconds she composed herself enough to propel the soiled washcloth into the hamper. “I was afraid of that. Then we can’t be sure he’s still there?”
“Rainey, she’s so certain that I think you should trust her. But there’s something else that’s bothering me.”
“What?”
“It’s about the guy you saw at the café. Since Hunter seems accounted for, is there anyone else who might have it in for you?”
“I’m a prosecutor, Deuce. Fifty percent of San Quentin wants to see me dead and the other half wants to help.”
“Point taken. I just wished the woman had confirmed it for herself.”
“So do I. The whole nightmare makes me second-guess everyone around me. But Judith stood solid, even putting her job on the line for me. I have no reason to think she would lie to you. But do you think something went awry and the warden brushed off her inquiry?”