She broke free and stepped away from him. The more distance and objects she could put between them, the better for her sanity. A jolt of that unusual feeling played hide-and-go-seek between her legs, and she liked it more than a good, upstanding spinster should. She shook her head out of those thoughts and focused on him again.
He was still undressing. Have mercy. The marbling and marring of his perfect skin by bullets and other wounds. Tamar wanted to touch them and curl up with him as he told her his stories for each bullet dodged and lodged. She cleared her throat, trying to find her voice. “Every man doesn’t have stories to tell with each scar, but I am certain you do.”
Her eyes widened as the man continued to disrobe. His hands fiddled with the closure of his dungarees as he kicked off his boots. She closed her eyes, unsure if she was supposed to continue staring at this striptease.
“Open your eyes, ma’am,” he said.
She popped open her lids, and she shook her head at the sight. He was naked as a jaybird, his hands barely concealing his privates. Her eyes roamed over his perfect form. Such a thing like this belonged in a great museum. He was all planes, contours, and muscles. Not an ounce of fat on him. He was perfect like that statue she once saw in a painting. The Michelangelo. Except he was much bigger down there, she thought, slowly pulling her eyes away from the limp cock hanging between his thighs.
“This still doesn’t tell you anything,” he said. “I know that. But I’m a man, bare as the day he is born. I have no weapon or ulterior motives. Just desire for you.”
She reached out and touched the clump of scarred skin tissue on his left shoulder. “What happened—”
He swallowed when her cool fingers traced his warm skin, learning the topography of the injury—the peaks and valleys of his body, the mottled places where someone tried to kill him. Just touching him created a sizzle of excitement stretching from the pads of her fingers to the roots of her coiled hair. A flash of leapt into her and spread across her skin. She wanted to be engulfed by his touch. Whatever she felt, she wanted more of it and soon. She kissed the scar. Under his lips, she shuddered with a sagging breath. The blaze burning inside melted him.] She guided him to the wall of the study as she continued her exploration.
“This one,” she asked, trailing her finger across his collarbone to his throat. “Who did this?”
“A man in Texas. Do you conduct every interview like this?”
She laughed, a deep octave rimmed with an emotion she never felt. Hunger, eagerness, craving. She put a pin in that thought and decoded what she felt. “For God’s sake, hold your tongue and let me love,” she said, using his own words against him.
His checkered past was displayed all over his body. The last wound was above his hip. She fell to her knees, her skirts fanning around her. The evidence of his arousal intrigued her, and she reached between them to caress the length of him.
“If you keep that up, I’m going to spend in your hand.”
She released him reluctantly, only to slip his member into her mouth eagerly, with a guarded boldness.
“I cannot handle your mouth there. Please stop.”
“What are you feeling?”
“I want to explode. I’m weak but feel like I could take on 10,000 men. Don’t—”
She rose to her feet and slid a hand over his hard cock while the other snaked around his neck. He pressed forward so their mouths collided. His moan of release and pleasure filled her mouth as he overflowed into her hand. She continued to pump and kiss, kiss and pump until he had nothing else to give.
“Now, it’s my turn. Tell me the story of your scars, Tamar.”
“Come,” she said. Her boldness shocked her. She grabbed the hem of her nightgown and lifted it off her body, tossing it carelessly to the ground.
He ran his hands down the curve of her back until he cupped her full bottom. With his free hand, Amos unwound the mass of hair atop of her head and she shook out the curls, letting the waves of hair cascade down her shoulders and breasts and down her back. They were like Adam and Eve, nude in their own secret garden.
“So beautiful.” He easily picked her up and laid her across the pallet of blankets on the wooden floor. His gaze stole over her, tracing every line and curve of her body. His hands followed the path, stroking the sides of her cheeks.
He palmed her breasts, a thumb flicking over the tip of her nipples. A shot of pleasure coursed through her body in response. She bit her lip. “Tamar, am I hurting you?”
“No. Don’t hold back.”
He grinned as he plucked one nipple into his mouth. He laved the diamond hard tip and drew back to blow. Before she could complain, his mouth was back on her, sucking, tugging and pulling. One hand wrapped around her waist, drawing her closer and the other pinched the other nipple.
He was the spark to her kindling. Heat pooled in her brain and between her legs.
“I’ve waited so long for this night,” she said, mumbling her words. She was drunk off the nearness of him.
“Open for me, Tamar,” he said, a slurred murmur against her lips before he tasted her tongue again. He slipped lower, kissing his way down her body. Tamar thought he would stop, but he ventured lower. A man shouldn’t—
All the thoughts evaporated from her head when his fingers tapped on the lips hidden in a nest of dark curls. The thrill vibrated across her body and she arched and opened for him.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispered. Tamar laughed, raising a fist to cut off her chuckle. He rewarded her by settling between her thighs and stealing the pillow, contorting the fluffy mass into a wedge-like shape, and stuffing it under her hips. “If I cannot convince you with my words, let me convince you in other ways. A bashful woman would have been shocked by this,” Amos said.
Tamar relished at the angle and the sight before her. The man she enjoyed and loved was worshipping her, lapping at the pearl and kissing her nether lips with abandon. Yes, a bashful lady would be shocked, but the brazen woman, finally blossoming through the sensuous pleasures Amos introduced to her, wanted more. This felt so good and so right.
She came, a cocoon of delight and pleasure swaddling her body. He pressed the head of his cock into her. The man was an expert in slow torture. He took his time, pressing into her and filling her up only to retreat. His strokes were measured, languorous, and spiraling her into madness.
“Give me your delight,” she whispered. He silenced her by circling her button as he stroked. Tamar couldn’t form complete thoughts, and the words flew out of her head. “Now.” The command prodded him to move faster. He leaned down, scooping in to wrap her legs around his body and steal a kiss from her. She milked him with each fast stroke. At her edge, she locked eyes with him. He tumbled soon after. He collapsed on top of her. His weight wasn’t unbearable; rather his skin on her skin was a comfort.
Chapter Twelve
Amos snatched his pocket watch off the stand and peered at the Arabic numerals, computing the time in his head. Four in the morning on the day of his reckoning. He laid the watch back on the table and stared at the ceiling; the warm feminine body next to him searched him out. Her fingers sliding across the pillows until she made contact with flesh. She curled into him, her legs twining with his. This was natural, this was real. This could never happen again. Not like this, not with him still in character.
Amos turned his head and watched Tamar sleep. Knowing that she was shy about her body, he dressed her] once they finished making love. The shift stretched over the swell of her stomach. She moved, kicking the covers off her legs, exposing the thatch of black hair at the apex of her thighs. He wished he could still be inside of her sweetness or have the taste of her on his tongue again.
He resisted. The time had come. He needed to leave her and this life behind. He leaned down and pecked her on the forehead before rising to his feet.
“It’s early,” she whispered.
“Dawn is coming. How would it look for the scoundrel Deadwood Dick to be climbing out of
your window?”
“I don’t care what anyone thinks.”
She may not have cared, but he did. She was a respectable woman who didn’t need any tinge of grime on her reputation.
“I love you, Amos.”
He stifled the urge to say, “I love you” to her. The feeling she brought out of him was confusing. “Have you said those words to anyone else?”
She turned away from him. “This is hardly the line of questioning you ask.”
“You should love the man if you tell him that,” Amos said, tilting her face back to his face.
Tamar frowned, tracing the seams of the blanket with her eyes and fingers. “You should stop stealing.”
“True. I should. There are a lot of shoulds we have in our lives, but I haven’t found the right reason to stop. Until now,” he said with a soft kiss to her lips.
Tamar could hardly enjoy the kiss. “Me?” she asked, breaking apart and tilting his chin so she could look in his eyes. “I’m the one that is going to make you go on the straight and narrow.”
“If I could be a good man, I would for you.” His eyes darkened as he held her gaze. “You deserve better than me.”
“But I want you.” Tamar let out a long, audible breath. “I feel different when I’m with you. Cherished. Beloved. You discard the shell of me and see me as how I am.”
He gathered her into him and settled her on top of him. He was amazed at how easily they fit together, how effortlessly it took for both of them to become aroused. Shyly, she pulled her hair and her hands over her breasts. “Don’t hide from me, Tamar,” he said, brushing aside her hands and kissing her nipples into hardened peaks.
“I’m not hiding. I have never been with a man like this. It’s awkward.”
He still had some things to teach her in the small window of time they had. Wordlessly, he propped himself up with the pillows, still anchoring her to him with his hands firm on her hips. He lifted her a fraction to slide his member into her. A moan escaped her lips as she sank onto him and her hips undulated.
Nature took over. She rode him precisely up and down. He watched her wetness coat his cock, her cunny taking as much of him as she could. She controlled the tempo and intensity. She took his lips. His hips rode up to meet her pumps. Her fingers slipped to touch her aching nipples. He responded by taking one into his mouth, and his fingers took her queen, her clitty.
Spent, she leaned onto his chest, still slowly winding her hips and tightening her muscles around his cock. She was milking him and slowly killing him. He came in a quick burst inside of her and she came soon after.
Sheen of perspiration covered her, turning her skin bronze. His bronze goddess. She was his now, and he was hers forever. He smiled at that.
She tapped the corners of his mouth. “What’s the smile for?”
He answered with a quick peck to her lips. “This night.”
“It’s now morning. You have to go.”
He had to leave. Otherwise he couldn’t let his mind stray. He had a mission to fulfill. His last one before he vanished.
I love you, Tamar Ruth. “I have to go,” he echoed.
He rose from the floor and pulled on his clothes. He kept his back to her so he wouldn’t have to see her pain and longing. He felt the same.
“When will I see you again?” She spoke first.
She wanted more time with him. But did she want the man or the outlaw?
“It’s not safe for you right now. I will let you know when the time is right.”
“How will you get a message to me?”
“I will find a way regardless of where I am.” Amos reached into his bag and pulled out a cigar box. He laid it between them. “That’s for you.”
Tamar pried open the box and gasped. There were stacks of money and coins. A letter and train ticket were at the bottom. “Where did this come from?”
Amos smiled, cupping her face with his large hand, his eyes looking directly at her. “I do have my own dinero. Earned and legitimate money. I have a working ranch.”
“Where?”
“South of here. Between the Canadian and Arkansas Rivers, where orderly chaos reigns.”
Tamar nodded, her eyes dropping and her fingers toying with the frayed threads of the quilt. He was talking about the Canadian District, the piece of Cherokee territory between those two rivers. He wanted to tell her about the land.
She cut through the silence. “You are full of contradictions. An outlaw with land. A man who cherishes sweets and me.” She raised his hands to her lips and brushed kisses on his knuckles and fingertips. “Who is the real man here?”
“If anything should ever happen to me, go there.”
“Are you expecting something should happen to you?”
Amos lifted his broad shoulders in a shrug. “No man knows the day or time of his death.” He did. He knew, but wasn’t able to tell her. He twisted the plain band off his finger and slid it onto her thumb, the only place where it would fit. “Set me as a seal upon thine heart, for love is strong as death.”
She twisted the ring on her finger. Tears wet her cheeks, gathering on her lashes. Have mercy. The tears of a woman he loved could undo a man. “Song of Songs?”
“You’re right.”
“This isn’t the end, Amos. Is it?”
He kissed her forehead. I hope not. He couldn’t tell her that. “Never. We will see each other again.”
Chapter Thirteen
Dead men tell no tales, and Deadwood Dick was a walking dead man.
He faced the blue wash of sky before him. With each day he was closer to her and closer to his fate.
His fate was secured by the noose some wanted around his neck, the man hunting his crew for society’s good, and the bounty on his head.
By this time next week, Deadwood Dick would be dead, and Amos Tanner would be reborn.
No one in this world would notice the difference except for two people. One of them was on his tail, shadowing his movements. The man he left behind in Kansas City, holding his money and secrets. The other was the woman who had fallen for him, the woman who knew his name but didn’t know him.
“Let’s mount up,” he said, swinging his horse toward the city.
One of Amos’s henchmen rode up beside him. Luke was a bad man who made his name with all the thieveries and killing he had done for years across the territories. Amos’s blood boiled with every interaction with this man, but he was part of the plan. If Luke happened to die that day as well, Amos hoped it was the pine-box, six-feet-deep death.
Luke spoke first. “Plan is still the same, boss?”
He nodded. He was leading these men to danger and maybe their own deaths. They trusted him, thought he was just like them. If only they knew the truth, that he wore a tin star and was double crossing them … He shook his head. Their day of reckoning would come, and he would pay the price for the sins of the past five years.
There’s a season for everything, the Good Book said. This season was ending. He didn’t want to lose the one beautiful thing that had blossomed from this deception. He would lose her before he could have her. If he were smart, he would leave this alone.
He was a smart man most hours of the day. But he was a dumb man closer to having his real life back. A life where he could make her his, legally and romantically. Dumb or smart, he was a man in love, and love made a man stupid, eager, foolish.
• • •
Amos led them to the promised land of milk and honey. The last train of the day. The train carried no passengers when it reached the depot but it did hold a wealth of bills and coins being shipped between banks. Few men dared to rob the locomotives but when they did dare they walked away with a lot of money.
Only he knew that no one was walking out of this situation and into freedom.
The train depot looked deserted in the light of the early morning. But weeks of scoping out the station and the route let them know otherwise.
Two men were in the back of the depot, leaving A
mos and Luke up on the bluff, awaiting a safe getaway. They watched the men make their progress to the building. The tallest one—Frank White, one of the meanest drunks and robbers you could ever find—slipped his mask up higher on his face and strode through the doors. Through the windows, they watched them raise their guns and saw the men inside comply.
Coins and paper bills were stacked and stuffed into bags. They were almost done. Amos counted. The men were to have the money in their hands before they walked out of the door and into the awaiting nest of Pinkertons.
“What the hell—” Luke muttered. The remainder of his words were cut off by yelling and ringing shots. Both men—the lawman turned criminal and the true criminal—turned their faces and guns toward the front of the depot.
Amos swung his head and saw all the Pinkertons swarm outside of the entrances. Dammit, the team was early. Too early.
They watched as the lawmen took over the building.
“It’s over,” Luke said, drawing up to his full height from the crouched position. “They got them. They sure as hell aren’t getting us. I’m going south. We’ll meet up in Dodge City to regroup.”
“The hell we will,” Amos said, spitting out his words. He stalked to Luke and reached him before he got onto his horse. He threw the slight man to the ground. “It’s over. You’re going to jail and face the years you’ve earned.”
“This is a setup.”
“Was a setup,” Amos said. “Get up and take your punishment like a man.” He found the rope he’d stashed for this occasion in his saddlebag.
“I told them not to trust you,” Luke mumbled. “You were too good to be true. No copper would do the things you did.”
“I am a sheriff and a Pinkerton agent.”
“No real copper would,” Luke said, hate piercing his words. “You’re as guilty as the rest of us. I should put a bullet through your skull.”
“For what? Obeying my orders?”
“You’re a liar and thief. They aren’t taking me alive. And they ain’t taking you until you’re in a grave.”
Loving the Lawmen Page 66