“I don’t fancy either one of them!”
“You told Pierce that Spurling was your fiancé!”
“How dare you gossip about me behind my back!”
“I don’t gossip! I’m a man, dammit, and men don’t gossip!”
“Fiddlesticks! They do, too. Anyway, what right have you to say whom I can and can’t marry? What if Henry were to marry me? So what? You have nothing to say about it!”
“Confound it, you can’t marry that bastard! Not if you expect to have a decent life.”
“Oh, this is ridiculous.” Georgina turned and started stalking back to the main part of town. She wasn’t sure if she should be irate or befuddled or happy that Ash seemed to be taking an interest in her welfare—even if he wasn’t awfully genteel about expressing his concern.
“It’s not ridiculous!”
His shout made her wince. She kept walking.
“Dammit, don’t walk away from me!”
He grabbed her again. This was getting very tiresome. Georgina turned and spoke with rigid courtesy. “I appreciate your concern for my welfare. Mr. Barrett, but I must repeat that you know nothing of my situation. Even if you did, you have no right to offer suggestions, much less make demands, or grab me in this ungentlemanly way.”
He released her arm and ran a hand through his hair, dislodging his hat and mussing his hair. Georgina experienced a mad desire to smooth it back into, place. He had such lovely, thick hair, and the sun made it glint silver and red and gold.
She gave herself a hard mental shake and told herself to stick to the here and now.
“Listen, Miss Witherspoon,” he said in a less aggressive tone. “I’m only concerned about your welfare.”
Georgina said, “Humph. I’ll just bet you are.”
Ash sucked in a lungful of air and released it noisily. “I know, I know. You’re right. I have no right to advise you.”
“Advise me? It sounded to me as if you were issuing commandments, Mr. Barrett.”
“Will you stop calling me Mr. Barrett in that superior tone of yours? You sound like a big-city snob when you do that.”
“Do I?” If Georgina had ever been more confused and upset in her life, she couldn’t remember when.
“Yes. Call me Ash. Please.”
Unwilling to concede anything to him, she muttered, “I’ll think about it.”
He turned and walked to the same poor tree he’d hit before. This time he kicked the tree’s trunk. Georgina didn’t think the tree deserved such rough treatment and said so.
“Thunderation!” replied Ash. “You drive me crazy.”
“You don’t do much for my sanity, either, Mr.— Ash.” Mr. Ash. Now there, to Georgina’s way of thinking, was an almost appropriate name for him, the blistering fool.
“Listen, Georgina—”
She decided not to make an issue of the Georgina question.
Ash continued, “I know what I’m talking about. You’ll be miserable if you marry one of those men.”
“You know nothing whatever of the matter.”
“I do so! I made that mistake once, and believe me, I know!
She blinked, taken aback. “You’re—you’re married?” Good God. She pressed a hand to her heart, wondering why it should suddenly be aching so badly. What difference did it make to her if this awful man was married?
“No, I’m not married,” he said crossly. “She died.”
Relief flooded her, and she knew she was being not only irrational but unkind. “I’m very sorry for you.”
“Don’t be. The marriage was a huge mistake.” This time it was he who shook his finger at her. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you! Don’t marry either of those bankers, because they’ll make your life hell on earth.”
Becoming more out of sorts with each passing second, Georgina asked sarcastically, “Oh? And whom do you suggest I marry instead?”
“Hell, I don’t know.” He turned around. Then he turned again, in the opposite direction. Then, just when Georgina thought he was going to keep going around in circles all day long, he turned once more and shouted. “Me! Confound it! I’m the one you should marry! You should marry me!”
She stared at him, her month open, unable to force words out of it even if she could have formulated them, which she couldn’t. She stepped back. Then she stepped forward.
Then he marched up to her, grabbed her, and drew her to his chest so abruptly that she crashed smack into him, and he kissed her.
Oh, dear. This was exactly what she wished would happen when Henry or Payton kissed her, but it never did. It was only when she was in Ash’s arms that her bones melted and her knees turned to water and her senses got knocked awry and an insistent tickle started deep within her and puddled between her thighs. She murmured something, intending it as a protest, but it didn’t even sound like one to her. Oh, well.
“That’s what you need,” Ash growled into her mouth. “You’ll never be happy with one of those sissy city fellows.”
She murmured something else—she didn’t know what was supposed to be—but it came out as a little mew. Not like one of Oscar’s mews, which were always angry and aggressive. No, this mew was more like one from her mother’s cat, Buttercup, when she was being offered a delicious tidbit to eat.
Ash still held her to his body, but he’d stopped kissing her. She was very disappointed, especially when he glowered down at her, still looking angry. “Confound it, you can’t marry those two men.”
“I don’t think the law allows a woman to marry more than one man at a time anyway.”
“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”
Tentatively, Georgina touched Ash’s chest. She wished she could rip his shirt from his body and feast her eyes, hands, and mouth on his broad chest. But no. She could only finger his cotton shirt and wish. “What did you mean?”
“I mean you can’t marry either one of them, because he’d make you miserable. Hell, I’ll bet they’re even fussy in bed.”
She felt her cheeks burn. “I don’t believe you should be speaking to me about such things, Mr. Barrett. It’s most impolite.”
“Mr. Barrett? God, I told you I can’t stand you calling me that!”
And he kissed her again. This time Georgina anticipated it, and she kissed him back. Enthusiastically.
His hands began to wander after a very few seconds. Georgina was delighted.
“Confound it,” he muttered. “This is insane. You don’t even know what a man’s touch is like. You’ll never find out if you marry one of those damned bankers.”
Georgina said, “Mmmmm.”
“It’s not fair.”
Georgina said, “Hmmmm.”
“You need to know what you’ll be missing if you tie yourself to one of those fools.”
Georgina said “Aaah,” because his hand had just covered her breast and her nipple had pebbled instantly. His hand felt so good there that she wriggled into his touch.
He growled.
And with that he picked her right up off the ground and carried her to the back of the sheriff’s office, where he had his buggy hitched up. He placed her in the buggy, jumped up to the driver’s seat, and took off like a bat out of hell.
Surprised out of her sensuous stupor, Georgina shrieked, “Where are you taking me?” She slammed a hand to her hat, because it felt like it was about to fly off of her head.
“Home!”
Home? He was taking her home? After kissing her to within an inch of her life? How . . . how terribly disappointing.
It wasn’t fair. Georgina was being bounced around too hard to conduct a proper argument, but she stored her words up, and tried to form them into phrases of the most cutting variety.
All of her hard work flew out of her brain, however, when, instead of driving the buggy straight down the road leading to the Murphy place, Ash made a wild turn to the right, and drove it down another road entirely. It was one Georgina had never traveled before.
She yel
led, “Where are you taking me?” in words made ragged by bounces and jolts.
“I told you. I’m taking you home!”
Gracious sakes alive, what did the man mean? He must have gone crazy. Georgina could think of no other explanation for his bizarre behavior.
Suddenly he cut left down another road, this one much narrower. He hadn’t driven the buggy very far when the path opened out into a meadow, in the middle of which rested a charming white house with a cunning porch decorated with a porch swing and several wicker chairs.
Fences and gates stood around the house, where Georgina saw—not too steadily because of the jostling of the buggy—horses, cows, and sheep grazing peacefully. How pretty it was here. Why, if she’d been given an opportunity to create an ideal place for herself, she didn’t think she could have come up with anything better than this.
But where was she? She opened her mouth to scream her question at her abductor when she realized he was pulling the buggy up to the front porch.
“There,” he said in a gruff voice. “We’re here.”
Georgina struggled to regroup her scattered thoughts. Then she tested her voice. “We’re here?”
He jumped down from the driver’s seat and came around to her door, which he yanked open. “Home. We’re home.”
And with that, he grabbed her around the waist, tossed her over his shoulder, and stormed up the porch stairs with her. Georgina was thrilled. Now this, she thought, is the way seductions were supposed to be carried on. None of that tepid, bankerish balderdash. This was passion. This was excitement. It was also somewhat uncomfortable, but Georgina wasn’t about to complain.
Even though she was more or less upside down, she took great interest in the insides of what to her had been a practically perfect house outside. It was perfect inside as well, thought Georgina, and wondered who had done all the decorating.
The front door had opened into a small entryway, which led directly into the parlor. Due to her situation, she hadn’t seen much of the furniture but what she had, had seemed tasteful. She’d had a better view of the floors, which were hardwood and scattered here and there with rugs, which were very pretty, and looked as if they’d been made by some Indian tribe or other.
Oh, my, there was a bearskin in front of the fireplace. Georgina had always thought it would be charming to have a bearskin rug in front of a fireplace, although she couldn’t think why, offhand. Dime novels and Theodore Roosevelt, she presumed.
Ash took her through a hallway, and she lost sight of the parlor. Hmm, there were pictures on the wall here. A man and a woman. The man looked vaguely like Ash, but the style of the tintype was that of earlier in the century. Perhaps these two people were his parents. Funny. Georgina had never thought about Ash having a family. Yet he’d been married. One simply never knew, did one?
He kicked open another door, and Georgina’s heart began hammering in earnest. Good heavens, it was a bedroom! His bedroom! He set her gently onto a high four-poster bed. She was impressed. Most of the beds shed seen thus far in Picacho Wells were tick-mattressed, makeshift sorts. Not this one. This one he must have imported from somewhere else.
She realized she was wasting her energy on trifles, and thought she’d better scream at him for a while instead. “What do you think you’re doing?”
He stopped in the act of unbuttoning, his shirt and stared at her. “What?”
She cleared her throat. “Do you intend to ravish me?” She was polite.
“Ravish you?” He seemed surprised by the question. In fact, it seemed to bring him up short. He looked at his hands, which clutched his shirt.
“Why else would you he removing your clothes?” It seemed a reasonable question to her.
He looked up again. There was an odd, blank look on his face. He muttered, “Good God.”
He might have been carved from stone. Georgina almost wished she hadn’t asked about his intentions, because she feared he might stop. She said, “If you do intend to ravish me, I believe you’d better get at it.” She smiled, trying to make her smile a winning one. “Don’t you think so?”
“Ah . . .” He swallowed.
Oh, dear, he wasn’t going to stop now, was he? Georgina didn’t suppose she’d ever have a better opportunity to experience rampant lust than right here, right now, with Ash. Ladies weren’t even supposed to know what lust was, for heaven’s sake. If he stopped to think about what he was doing, he’d probably discover some scruples. She decided she’d better take matters into her own hands, so to speak.
“I’m sorry I interrupted you.” She reached for the buttons on her shirtwaist. She was glad she’d set aside her New York wardrobe for the simpler costumes prevalent in the Wild West, because it was much easier to slip out of a shirtwaist and skirt than a basque, overskirt, jacket, shirtwaist, and all the trimmings that went into New York fashion.
She saw him swallow again.
“Don’t let me stop you,” she murmured, hoping to encourage him. She slipped her shirtwaist off and got up onto her knees to unbutton the waist of her skirt.
Her ploy worked. With a savage growl, he ripped his shirt from his back, removed his boots, shoved his trousers down, and stood before her in his underwear. She was soon similarly arrayed, except she still had her shoes and stockings on She lifted her shift to expose one black garter, and peered at him through half-closed eyes. “I don’t suppose you’d care to help me.”
Quick as a wink, he removed his underclothes and flung himself at her on the bed. Georgina had to dodge or be flattened.
Her dodge didn’t work. He grabbed her and flattened her anyway, kissing her mercilessly. Oh, my, but this was thrilling!
He sat up again, suddenly, and brought her with him “I’m going to show you what a man feels like, dammit.”
He reached for her chemise straps as he spoke. Georgina helped him by shrugging them off. When his mouth closed over her bared breast, she almost died then and there. She’d thought that feeling his hands there was exciting. This was ten times more so.
“You’re beautiful,” he mumbled, moving his tongue playfully around her nipple.
She couldn’t speak. With trembling fingers, she began unlacing her corset. She couldn’t wait to get out of the wretched, confining thing. When it finally fell away, she sighed deeply.
Ash growled, grabbed the corset, and flung it across the room. Then he pushed her onto her back again and kissed her some more, using his tongue as she’d never known a tongue could be used.
Georgina had never felt more free. All she had left to get rid of were her petticoat and drawers. She fumbled for the petticoat tapes and untied them, wriggled out of it, then shoved off her drawers, and lay there, naked as the day she was born. Although, she had to admit, there was a good deal more to her now than there had been on the day she was born.
Ash sat up abruptly and stared down at her with hungry eyes. Georgina, never having been seen by a man in anything less than full battle gear before this moment, blushed so hotly she feared she might ignite. Instinctively, she crossed her arms over her breasts.
“No,” Ash growled. He reached for her hands and gently thrust them aside.
Good heavens, this was so embarrassing. She wished he’d kiss her again. At least when he kissed her, his eyes were closed. Or hers were. Anyhow, when they kissed she didn’t feel so exposed. She feared she wouldn’t come up to his expectations, and the idea dealt a hard blow to her confidence.
“Stop staring at me,” she commanded, trying to sound firm. Blast! Her voice trembled.
“No.” He shook his head.
Georgina frowned. Trust Ash, the most recalcitrant man she’d ever met in her life, not to do the one simple thing she asked of him
She tried again. “You’re embarrassing me.”
Again he shook his head. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, Georgina. You never need to be embarrassed.”
“Oh.” That put a different light on things. She still felt uncomfortable under hi
s gaze, as if she were a side of beef on display in a butcher’s shop.
He reached his hand out and, almost shyly, splayed it against her stomach. His hand was brown as a berry from the work he did outdoors in the territorial sun. It looked amazingly dark against her white, white skin—skin that had seldom been exposed at all, much less to daylight. She saw him lick his lips.
“You’re—” His voice had gone hoarse, and he had to clear his throat. “You’re very delicate.”
“Am I?”
He nodded. “I—I don’t want to hurt you.”
Georgina frowned. This didn’t sound good. If he stopped now, she’d die. She knew it. “I’m not that delicate,” she declared stoutly.
“Yes, you are.”
“I am not.”
He joined her in a frown. “Yes, you are.”
“Am not.”
“Are too.” He removed his hand from her stomach, leaving a cold spot.
Georgina was horrified when Ash pushed himself off of the bed. “I can’t do this.”
She sat up as if he’d slapped her. “You what?”
“I can’t do it.”
She could see for herself he was lying. Granted, she didn’t know much about these things, but she couldn’t imagine how his sex could get any stiffer. He was huge and hard and about as ready as he could possibly be, or she was a three-legged goat. “Yes, you can.”
He shook his head. He looked to be shaking all over actually. “No. No, I can’t do it.”
This was ridiculous. Georgina bounced up from the bed, too, and strode over to her skirt, which was bunched up on the floor. She reached down and picked it up, her bare bottom pointed at Ash. He groaned again, and when she turned her head, she noted that he’d been staring at her naked bottom.
The fool. She groped through the yards of fabric until she found her pocket. She reached into it and fished around for her derringer until she felt it. Then she pulled it out and aimed it straight at the most outstanding target on Ash’s body.
“You will make love to me right this minute, Ashley Barrett, or I’ll fix it so that you’ll never make love to another woman again as long as you live.”
Spirit of Love Page 22