by Cindy Nord
As if tonight had never happened.
On a sigh, she leaned back in the rocker and clasped her hands in her lap. Despite the exhaustion, bliss bubbled through her. With the marriage called off, she could make whatever decisions she wanted in her life.
A warm pulse thumped at the base of her throat as Dillon’s image resurfaced. She leaned forward and drew her fingers through her disheveled locks. Free of pins and pearls, her long tresses spilled across her shoulders in a silky wave. Unrestricted. Wanton. She shuddered, feeling each nerve ending inside her breathe into life.
Her heartbeat fluttered as her anticipation grew. Every single part of her decision screamed impropriety. Yet, she cared for Dillon more than the rules that had structured her life.
He’d not deserved the embarrassment Lord Green had spewed at him this evening. At the very least, he warranted an apology for the earl’s chastisement in front of half the population of Tucson.
A tremor coursed through Alma. She loathed the earl for his rude behavior, anger she’d shown by publicly cutting him in response to his mistreatment. Instead of acting like a gentleman and accepting her decision to call off their engagement, he’d caught her arm with anger.
Her heart ached for Dillon.
Willingly, he’d taken the blame for his transgressions in response to the earl’s ill-mannered behavior and left the party. His intervention on her behalf had been driven by concern, his protective actions that of a gallant cavalier.
Her frustrations escalated.
Stop seeing him?
The earl might as well ask her to stop breathing.
Alma leaned back and closed her eyes again. As the chair rocked upon the wood, a pang of longing enveloped her, raw and crushing. Her time with Dillon was unforgettable. From the first moment they’d met up through this very night, he’d protected her, kept her safe, cared for her like no other man ever had, except her father.
The slow and steady sway of the chair calmed her. There was so much more to Dillon Reed, to them, than the protector role he’d claimed.
Still rocking, Alma closed her eyes. No matter how much he might deny his feelings for her or fight the truth, Dillon could not call back the longing burning in his eyes when he’d looked at her this evening. That same raging desire now driven by an equal and undeniable need that sang through her own veins.
Joy purled through her. For a second, his possessive kisses, his touch during their journey and their time in the teepee, how his mouth had captured hers, his teeth nipped her skin, and his hands cupped her breasts, the acts made even more enticing by their very wickedness.
Her confidence soared, and she opened her eyes.
Yes. I can do this.
She stood and walked to the wardrobe, pulling open the mahogany doors. A light whish-whish echoed in the room as she scraped the array of expensive garments along the metal bar.
Looking…searching…focusing on just the right one.
Her fingers paused on a simple, sheer ecru cotton-and-linen frock. She smiled at the limitless tiny rose buds, the billowy sleeves, and the bodice drawn into soft gathers at the waist.
Soft…like his cambric shirt.
So perfect.
Alma withdrew the garment and laid the modest dress upon the bed. A tug loosened the satin belt around her waist.
With a whisper-thin promise to her heart, she slid off the robe.
Lamplight illuminated her nakedness as excitement sizzled through her. Staring at herself in the mirror, recalling his bold touch, she ran her hands over her bare flesh. Her skin tingled. She wished Dillon were touching her, and determined that before this night ended, he would be.
A siren’s smile reflected in the mirror.
Never in her life had she been so shameless, but time spent with Dillon had changed her. She wanted him, yearned for his touch. She’d left Boston to marry for propriety, but she was now a woman with desires for a man.
Not any man, but Dillon. And he, an unlikely hero, deserved her at her most vulnerable.
She must tell him…everything.
Alma donned the dress. The material settled around her nakedness like a cloud of softness caught on a summer sigh. Understanding that this night must be perfect for her planned seduction, she secured the four buttons to shield her neckline.
After donning leather-soled slippers and running a brush through her hair, Alma paused once more before the mirror.
Go.
Now.
She settled a full-length Kinsale cloak across her shoulders.
You need nothing more.
A quick tug, pulled up the hood.
Whisper soft steps and the voice inside her head, her heart, propelled her through the darkened house and out into the night.
Like a beacon of determination, moonlight spilled in silver streaks around her.
Alma raised her chin as her unwavering footsteps crunched over the ground. The frightened girl who’d quivered at the changes unfolding inside her no longer existed. Tonight her purpose waited in a rundown adobe cabin clinging to the shadowy edges of life. And ultimately, the rugged army scout inside who’d deemed himself unworthy of love would succumb.
Tonight, and every one of her nights forthcoming, belonged to Dillon Reed.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Dillon paced his one-room shack, an oil lamp in the center of the table flickering each time he passed. Twenty minutes earlier, Jackson had shoved him inside and told him to sleep things off.
He grunted. Yeah…right. Like that’s going to happen.
The bottle of whiskey he’d consumed hadn’t even touched the frustrating things still boiling inside him. He muttered a curse. In scouting, in life, for every problem he’d ever faced, he’d worked out a resolution…bedamned the unpleasant consequences.
Except, there was no resolution for loving Alma.
Names anyone could cast at him far from matched those he called himself. This was the stupidest thing he’d ever done.
He’d been ordered to escort her, nothing more.
Escort? Another snort fell from his mouth. Like any sane man could’ve spent time with her without falling for those indigo eyes he wanted to drown in. Hell’s fire, however irritating, he’d even come to appreciate her defiance.
In the end, that spunk had saved his life and stolen his heart.
Hell. A scowl pulled tight as Dillon reached for his gun belt. A hard jerk freed the buckle. The Colt swung free of his hips and he settled the weaponry onto the seat of his rickety chair. She wasn’t some cherry he could poke and then walk away with a flip of a coin, bollocks emptied. A sharp huff shucked his jacket and shirt. With another curse, he tossed them into the corner, quickly followed by each boot.
The entire bottle of whiskey. Shit, he was half-rats, surprised he could even think. His head spun. There’d be hell to pay come morning. Another grate filled the room. He’d done what he had to do, he’d left her damned party…but there was no way in hell he could ever sleep off the things he burned to do with Alma.
Jeezus.
She’d called off her engagement. He struggled to crush the hope-filled trembling that rolled through his veins.
Why?
His heart pounded at her reason: because of him. Hell, as if that were even a thought in her mind. Why would a woman who possessed everything want a man with nothing to give? And yet, if by some miracle he ever made love to her, his life as he knew it would be over. Done. Finished. Did he really want that?
God, yes…in a heartbeat. He’d walked away from her once; if she allowed him into her bed, her heart, he’d never walk away again.
Dillon squelched the asinine thought and plowed his fingers through his hair as he resumed pacing.
Sonofabitch.
She embodied perfection, while his life was riddled with flaws. He found control in hiding his feelings and moving on. Nothing, and no one, had ever broken him.
Until Alma.
Dillon stared at the saddle in the corner, his sparse furn
ishings, fewer clothes…and the cobalt-blue bottle sitting beside the oil lamp. By choice he had few possessions. He’d always travelled light, wanted no one, allowed himself to care for but a few friends.
The flickering flame tossed shadows and light over the vial.
Like a fool, he’d fallen for a society woman, a woman so far beyond his reach the mere concept of claiming her forever seemed laughable.
The huff of his breath filled the spartan room. He’d built himself into a fortress void of caring.
Until Alma.
She proved his greatest weakness. He gripped the side of the table, narrowing his gaze on the bottle of perfume.
A soft knock sounded at the door.
He cut his glare to the entry and cursed. Jackson. No doubt he’d returned with more “sage” advice. His friend wanted to talk?
Fine, Dillon had a few choice words to say, as well.
He shoved from the table and jerked open the door. The cool night air brushed across his bare chest. “I don’t know what you…”
A diminutive figure swathed from head to toe in a voluminous cloak stood before him. A hand reached from beneath the ample folds and pushed back the hood. Pale hair glistened in the moonlight as recognition slammed into his heart.
Alma.
“Good evening,” she said, a smile dusting her lips.
Too much whiskey and too little control swelled the instant want for her in his denims. He dared not blink, petrified the angel before him might disappear.
As well she should.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he snapped, wanting nothing else but to pull her into his home.
“May I come in?” she asked, her voice weaving through the frustration and need in his veins.
His grip on the wooden door tightened as he forced himself to meet her eyes.
God, yes.
Hell no…sonofabitch.
Before he could respond, she ducked beneath his arm and entered this sadly sparse side of his life. Dillon scoured the surroundings, cursing beneath his breath. If even one gossip-monger spotted her slipping inside his cabin, her reputation would be in shreds.
He didn’t give a shit about himself, but a late-night visit with any man unchaperoned would destroy a woman of her standing. She must leave. His mind swirled as he turned to face her, adding his heated reminder. “We’ve already said our goodbyes, Alma.”
As if he hadn’t spoken, she swept off her cloak and laid the garment across the closest rickety chair. Lamplight spilled over her dress, outlining her curves in a golden radiance.
No corset.
No society restrictions.
Only softness, simplicity…and a staggering hope that bubbled once more into life inside him.
The scent of roses wafted around Dillon. His heart clenched as he closed the door. He leaned his back against the weathered wood.
His jaw tightened as she lifted the blue bottle, weighing the glass in her hands. “For a special woman?” she asked, not turning to face him.
“Yes. For you,” he growled, unable to hold back the truth. “In remembrance of our time together.”
She faced him. Her chin lifted, and she closed her fingers around the blue glass. “I see,” she whispered. “Then I shall treasure your gift always.”
Inexplicably, the walls of the room closed in around Dillon. His mind spun with anger...the easiest emotion he could conjure. What hellish game are you playing now? He folded his arms across his chest. “Shouldn’t you be patching things up with Lord Green?”
She settled the perfume vial back on the table. “I came to apologize for the disrepute that befell you this evening.”
Disrepute? He snorted at her nicely spun words. “I’m a big boy, Princess. I can handle that jackass.” She couldn’t stay. However much he wanted her, she couldn’t stay. Not after he’d been drinking to forget her.
For a long moment she studied him. “I know you can. In fact, you’ve handled everything life has ever thrown at you. Tragedy, betrayal and loss of loved ones, sadness, doesn’t matter, you overcame them all.” She took a step closer. “But you didn’t deserve such ill treatment this evening. You were only protecting me, and I can’t thank you enough.”
He grunted. “I don’t want your thanks, Alma.” Unable to stop himself, his gaze dropped to her lips. “I was doing my job, remember?”
She nodded, sending her tresses into a shimmering dance. “Yes. Your job.”
The spike of desire for her sharpened, driving into his soul. With a curse, he pushed from the door and stalked to his pile of clothing. A quick shrug pulled on the faded chambray. He whirled, the front of his shirt gaping open. “Let’s stop revisiting things I should’ve left unsaid, all right? I’ve delivered you to the fort safe and sound. Why are you really here?”
“I’d like to talk about our journey…”
She took another step closer.
And his blood ran hot as Dillon struggled for restraint. He wanted to plunge his fingers into her hair, drag her against him, and devour her with kisses. “The journey we’ve shared will never be over,” he growled, his patience fraying by the second. “You’ve one more chance to go. I suggest you take it.”
“I should,” she agreed, “but I’m not leaving.” Alma settled her hands upon the first pearl button. A subtle move slipped the opaque disc through the opening. “Not now. Not ever. Not when there’s still so much left for you to show me.”
Need blurred his mind into a haze of red. He regained control. Barely. “Stop this, Alma,” he said between clenched teeth. Three steps took him to her and Dillon caught her upper arms, giving her a soft shake. “You’ve no idea what you’re doing.”
“I know exactly what I’m doing.” A sultry smile lifted her lips as she undid the second button. “And just like that night in the teepee, which I do remember by the way, I am in full control of this moment, too. I’m unskilled in love’s ways, yes, but I trust you will remedy that, as well. You are a hero, Dillon…my hero.”
“Hero?” he spat, unable to stop himself from taking in the shadowy tease of her cleavage, the promising heat in her words. His gaze again leveled with hers. “Do you want to know what I really am? I’m selfish, Alma. Selfish because I want you and there’s not a goddamned excuse in this world that can cover all the reasons I’m wrong for you.”
Instead of taking a step back, she leaned closer.
Dillon mumbled another curse. Loving this woman hurt. “And I don’t like sharing you, not with your earl, not with anyone.” And trust…Son of a damn bitch... trust hurt even more. He scoffed. “You don’t know what the hell you want.”
“I know I want you,” she whispered, her voice confident and filled with a mixture of hope and understanding. “We were brought together for a reason. You know this. I know this. Y-you’ve shown me the world, made me question everything I’ve ever known about my life.” She smiled again as she slipped free another button.
The exposed flesh drew his gaze. With a scowl, he looked up.
“But, I’m not questioning this choice tonight,” Alma continued. “I love you, and I always will. You cannot push me away like you’ve done everyone else. No matter how hard you try, I’m staying.”
S-she…loves me?
His heart banged inside his chest as he struggled for control. Another oath ripped from his throat as he dug his fingers deeper, desperate. “I don’t fit in, not in your world. Don’t you see that?”
Something intense and riveting and all-consuming brightened in her eyes. “Of course you don’t fit in, my love. You were meant to be out front, leading, guiding, protecting others, protecting me.”
Good God, did he dare believe her, trust he could be this close to paradise? Had the whiskey blurred his sanity? He released his hold on her, and yet, with every rattling beat of his heart he wanted her to stay. “Go back to Lord Green. He’ll give you the world, which is what your father wants for you.”
“My father wants me to be happy.” Alma slipped the last button f
rom its closure, and the slope of her breasts illuminated beneath the shimmer of lamplight. “And you, Dillon Reed, you make me happy.”
Sweat broke out on his brow as he imagined the cherished treasure that awaited him beneath the dress. She was heaven on earth to his tortured soul. He’d memorized every curve of this woman whom he loved with a depth that left him frightened. The time they’d spent together, the miles they’d traveled, the dangers they’d faced, had bonded them in a way nothing or no one else ever could. She’d seen the angry man, the unforgiving man, the untrusting sonofabitch inside him that made him run from everyone and everything…except her. She’d broken down every damned wall he’d erected, and had pushed hard, even this night, to claim him.
He was finished with fighting her.
Fighting himself.
On a rough groan, Dillon accepted the turning point; finished with denials, fear of intimacy, the feverish fear of abandonment. Dillon swallowed hard. “I want you, Alma,” he growled, the pulsing need for her straining hard to break free from his denims. “Right now, forever, for me nothing else matters in this world but loving you.”
He’d crossed the line. He’d said it…there was no going back now.
Tears misted her eyes. “Together, we’ll get through anything, Dillon. I promise. You’re all that matters to me, too.”
With a shrug, she dropped her dress to the floor.
He stared transfixed as lamplight illuminated pure ecstasy. Her hair caressing the top of her breasts. On a ragged breath her name fell from his lips. A scalding tightness pulled across his chest, his groin, and in one raging heartbeat, Dillon drove her back against the wall. “Know this,” he rasped. “I’m never saying goodbye to you again. Do you understand?”
She nodded, her indigo eyes wide, filled with adoration, filled with need. “Completely.” She slid her hands around his shoulders. “And I will never leave you agai—“
Dillon’s mouth found hers. Desperation surged through him as love for this woman flooded his starving soul. Every static heartbeat became Alma’s, his breathing frantic, matching hers. Weeks of denial tore a tattered groan from his throat as he skimmed his hands lower, dipping into the small of her waist, slicking over her buttocks.