The Baddest Virgin in Texas

by Maggie Shayne

"I had a wonderful night," she said. "Damn near a perfect one." Her gaze slanted deliberately toward Lash, but he quickly looked away.

  "Nearly drowning agrees with you, huh, sis?" Elliot asked.

  "Not drowning is what agrees with me. I could have died last night, but I didn't. And today I feel like a new woman."

  "And I suppose you're taking that old clunker of a truck," Ben asked.

  "That's what it's for, brother dear."

  "You … um … oughtta change first."

  She paused on her way to the door to stare at Lash, who seemed to be rather surprised that he'd just blurted what he had. As if he had any right to express an opinion about what she wore. "Why would I want to change? It'll be ninety-five by noon."

  Lash shrugged. "You want those Loomis boys concentrating on what they're doing, don't you?"

  She smiled. Maybe Elliot had been right. "I think I'll take that as a compliment. See you guys later." And she would. She'd see Lash later, at least. Because she had let him know she'd be there, alone, all night, in Marisella's house. Or at least she knew she'd be there alone. He might wonder. Maybe enough to stop by later, just to check in and reassure himself. Lord, she could only hope.

  Lash fixed fence, counted cattle and repaired a loose shingle on the barn roof. Then he took his own car into town—the long way around, since the bridge wasn't fixed yet—and spent the afternoon going over the rustling incidents with Garrett in his office. They pieced together the bits of information until they had a pretty good picture of the men responsible. It was a big-time operation, judging by the hundreds of head that had been stolen over the past weeks. And in order to make such an operation profitable, there had to be a steady market for the stolen cattle. One not so far away as to make transporting them too costly. All signs pointed south. Garrett suspected the cows were being smuggled across the border and marketed in Mexico. But where, and by whom?

  Though Lash fought hard to keep his mind on the case, he couldn't stop thinking about Jessi, and the way she'd looked when she left the ranch this morning. She'd changed in the past few days. It was as if all of a sudden she knew just how attractive she was, and it seemed to make her giddy with the power of it. She used to look innocent and cute in cutoff shorts and tank tops. Now she looked like some man's secret fantasy. Beguiling. Seductive. A siren. A fox.

  Or … maybe she only looked that way to him. Maybe he was the one who'd changed. He'd certainly become aware of her as more than his boss's baby sister.

  Thing was, he had a feeling those Loomis boys had noticed that about her a long time ago. And he didn't like the notion of their eyes feasting on those long, gorgeous legs of hers, or of the thoughts that might be racing through their minds. Suppose one of them put his hands on her? Suppose she didn't object? Hell, she was going to be in that damned empty house all alone tonight.

  Waiting for him. He'd received her message this morning loud and clear. Kept seeing it flashing in her big, sultry eyes, over and over again. Hearing it in her voice. Damn.

  "You with me, Lash?" Garrett asked, breaking into his thoughts. Lash looked up fast. "You seem … distracted."

  "Sorry." Lash jerked himself away from the window he'd been staring absently through, and turned to cross the office. There was another desk now. An old, dark wooden one that looked as if it belonged in a one-room schoolhouse from days gone by. He ran one hand over the gleaming, freshly polished wood, feeling guilty as hell. "It was nice of you, dragging this desk in here for me, the way you did," he said.

  "Hell, it was sitting home in the attic collecting dust. I figured it might as well get some use. No big deal."

  But it was a big deal. The desk had belonged to Maria Brand, Garrett's mother, and it was most certainly a big deal. Lash didn't imagine the Brand brothers would consent to letting just anyone use it. And someone had taken pains to restore the gleam to that wood.

  They treated him like family. Especially Garrett. "You okay, Lash?"

  Lash gave his head a shake. "Just wondering how you managed to haul this thing over here without your truck."

  When Garrett didn't answer, Lash looked up to see him grinning and shaking his head. "That damn toaster-car is a hatchback. I drove over here with the desk half in, half out, and the rear end squatting so low I think we were throwing sparks from the back bumper." Garrett closed the file folder he had been perusing and slipped it into its spot in the drawer. "What say we call it a night? It's getting late, anyway. The boys probably have chores finished by now."

  Lash glanced at his watch, noting the late hour with surprise. Time flies when you're obsessing, he thought.

  "Okay. Guess I'll head home, then." Sure you will, he thought miserably.

  "You can come to supper if you want. Chelsea's making her fried chicken tonight."

  He thought of the last time he'd joined the Brands for fried chicken. Sitting across the table from Jessi, watching her lick her fingers. Lash compressed his lips into a hard line. "No, thanks. I'm beat. Think I'll turn in early."

  "Okay. See you in the morning, then?"

  "Sure." Lash snatched his hat from the back of his chair and headed out. He drove his noisy black convertible back to his lonely apartment in town. His haven of solitude.

  It was waiting there for him, empty and dark. He shoved his door open, stepped inside, and the thought flitted through his mind that the place was as quiet as a graveyard. And then he frowned. "Since when did quiet bother me? Hell, I like quiet."

  He went inside and tried to enjoy the quiet. One of the best parts of his freedom, he reminded himself over a solitary dinner consisting of a cold meat sandwich and a beer. But the quiet got on his nerves tonight. He found himself flicking on the little portable TV set he barely ever watched, turning the volume up loud. But the tinny voices and canned laughter didn't do the trick. Damn those Brands. He must be getting so used to being around them, being immersed in that big familial den of chaos, that he actually missed it when he wasn't. Imagine that.

  Maybe he oughtta get a dog.

  He tossed his paper plate into the trash, drained his beer and opened a second. He carried the can with him into the living room to sink onto the little easy chair and stare sightlessly at the television.

  Was this what he truly wanted out of life? Endless nights like this one? Alone, bored.

  "But free," he muttered, and lifted his can in a mocking toast to freedom.

  It was that damned Jessi, making him feel restless and frustrated and itchy. Her and all her suggestive glances.

  Her and her hot kisses. Her and her talk about the clinic and the house and the family she'd have there one day.

  He didn't want that, dammit.

  But he did want her.

  His shower that night was a cool one. He dived into bed still wet, hoping the dampness would keep the oppressive heat from smothering him. And after a third beer, he fell into a jerky, restless sleep.

  But she didn't leave him alone then, either. She was there, haunting his dreams, touching him, kissing him, teasing him, as he lay there paralyzed and unable to reciprocate. He thrashed in agony, his head whipping back and forth, his body coated in sweat. Invisible chains held him immobile as Jessi leaned over him, trailing her fingers slowly up and down his body, touching lightly, and moving away. Repeating the torture with her lips. Laughing at him for his helplessness.

  He woke shouting her name. And then he blinked the dream away and sat in his bed, shuddering with need, coated in a cold sweat. The phone was ringing. And he knew better than to pick it up. But he picked it up anyway.

  "Are you ready yet, Lash?"

  "Jessi?" He frowned into the receiver, and then her words registered, and he started sweating all over again,

  "You sound sleepy. Were you sleeping? I haven't been able to."

  "No?" he asked, telling himself to put the phone down now.

  "No," she breathed. "It's so hot, and I'm just … I don't know, jittery, I guess."

  "Jittery," he repeated. "And hot."

/>   "Mmmm… Every time I slide between the cool sheets and close my eyes, all I can see is … you. The way we were on the bank of Sycamore Creek. The way your mouth felt when you—"

  "Why won't you leave me alone, Jess?" He asked it softly, feeling desperation clog his throat.

  "I thought you'd stop by tonight. I'm here, you know. I'm alone. And I've been waiting. Damn, Lash, when are you going to quit disappointing me?"

  "I'm hanging up the phone now," he told her. But he didn't do it.

  "I'm sorry if I'm making this hard on you," she whispered. "Maybe I ought to be ashamed of myself, but I'm not, you know. I want you so much I can't—"

  "I'm human," he muttered. "Dammit to hell, I'm only human." He slammed the phone down, flung back the covers and reached for his jeans.

  Jessi had replaced the receiver, and sighed. He wasn't coming. Okay. She could live with that … for now. But she sure as hell couldn't sleep.

  So now she was balanced precariously on a rickety step ladder, screwing a new light bulb into an old socket in the now empty garage. The Loomis boys had worked like wild men for her today, and between the three of them, they'd had the entire contents of the garage sorted, packed and hauled away to a storage shed on their ranch—which they'd insisted she use for as long as she needed—in a matter of a few hours. They were grateful to her, and they showed it. The mare was on her feet today, and doing well. Jessi had gone out to their spread at lunchtime to check on her. She'd be all right. Jessi felt good about that.

  She also felt perfectly all right about the little stop she'd made on her way back here. At Mr. Henry's Drug Store. She'd gathered up her courage, and for the first time in her life, she'd purchased condoms. No easy task, what with a mischievous-looking nine-year-old boy peering at her and giggling every few seconds, with his carrot-colored curls and his faceful of freckles. But he was too young to know what the little foil packets were. She hoped. She had bought three, individually wrapped, and had silently hoped Lash would come to her … tonight. Well, he hadn't, but he would. Soon. And when he did, she'd be prepared.

  She'd fully expected him to come to her tonight, and her disappointment burned. She wouldn't sleep before dawn, she was sure of it. It was still early. But if he hadn't shown by now, he wasn't going to.

  She'd been so ready for tonight. She'd thought of everything. The peach-colored silk teddy still hugged her secretly beneath the robe she'd pulled over it when it became obvious Lash wasn't going to come over. The condoms were still in the robe's pocket. She'd soaked in a scented bath that left her skin silky-soft and smelling faintly of honeysuckle. In the bedroom, she'd had soft music playing, and candles glowing. But he hadn't come to her. Even her little wake-up call hadn't convinced him. And dammit, she'd been too wound up to sleep. So she'd come out here to get some work done.

  Beginning with new light bulbs.

  The garage was pretty much empty now. Aside from the ladder on which she stood, there were only a few items scattered around—things she'd decided to keep for her own use. The rusty toolbox in the corner containing a valuable selection of tools that were in surprisingly good condition. A brass magazine rack she planned to use in the clinic's waiting room. A box full of antique books.

  She reached overhead to twist the new bulb in tighter. The ladder wobbled. Her balance faltered. And two strong hands clasped around her waist to steady her.

  She knew those hands. Knew the familiar warm pressure of each callused fingertip. "Lash," she breathed.

  He didn't say anything. Just lifted her gently, and lowered her to the floor. Her body brushed his on the way down. Her knees felt weak, and when she was standing, she leaned back against him, feeling the heat of him, relaxing against him. His arms hesitated, then slowly slid around her waist. His head bowed, and he spoke softly, very close to her ear. "What the hell am I ever going to do with you, Jess?"

  She turned in his arms, tipped her head back, stared up into his eyes. "You know the answer to that just as well as I do."

  "You're driving me crazy," he whispered, his eyes roaming over her face. "I can't sleep nights anymore. You're like a siren, Jessi, and I think you know it. I think you're actually trying to drive me right out of my mind."

  "No, Lash. I only want to drive you into my arms."

  He threaded his fingers in her hair, touching it, rubbing locks of it, bringing it to his face to inhale its scent. "Dammit, Jess, I don't want—"

  "Yeah, you do," she said. "You know perfectly well you do, Lash. Just as much as I do. So why don't you just shut up and kiss me?"

  * * *

  Chapter 7

  « ^ »

  He shook his head slowly, slightly, and he searched her eyes. Then he kissed her. And she knew that her plan was going to work. He was going to make love to her. He was going to see how perfect they were together. He wouldn't be able to stay away from her after this. And when his job with Garrett was finished, and it came time for him to leave, he'd realize that he had fallen in love with her. He'd decide he had to stay. He was going to love her. It was going to work.

  "I can't stay," he muttered between kisses. "You have to know that up front, Jessi. I'm not a settling-down kind of guy."

  "I didn't ask you to stay," she told him. "Just this. Just tonight. This is all I want," she lied.

  He lifted his head, probing her eyes, and she knew that he knew she was lying. For just an instant, she saw the hesitation—the second thoughts clouding his eyes. So she took a single step backward, pulling out of his arms, and she parted the robe she wore, letting it slide from her shoulders, down her arms, to pool around her feet.

  And Lash's lips parted and his eyes widened and his Adam's apple swelled and receded again as he swallowed hard. His gaze moved slowly down the silky teddy, back up again. He drew a shallow breath. "Mercy," he muttered, and she thought maybe he meant it.

  Too bad if he did. She wasn't going to show him any mercy tonight.

  She moved close to him again, pressed her body to his, caught both of his hands in hers, and kissed him. And when she finished, he was shuddering and shivering and sweating. Best of all, he was kissing her back. He trailed his lips over her chin, down to her throat, and then her shoulder, pushing the teddy's silken strap aside with his mouth as he did. His hands kneaded her buttocks, pulling her tight to him as he arched against her. Her fingers sifted his hair, urging his head lower, until he worked her breast free of its confines to suckle it thoroughly.

  He was hers. All hers now. She knew it a second later, when he let go of her, eyes blazing, and tore his shirt open, struggling out of it hurriedly. She smiled softly when he reached for the button fly of his jeans, as well.

  But her smile died when he paused. "Dammit, what the hell am I thinking?"

  "Don't think," she whispered. "You think way too much as it is, Lash. This isn't about thinking. It's about feeling, Lash."

  He gave his head a shake. "We can't do this," he muttered, turning slowly away from her, pushing one hand through his hair and messing it up endearingly. "I didn't bring… I don't have…"

  "Oh," she said. "You don't have … protection? Is that what you mean?" Jessi crouched and slipped her hand into the pocket of her robe, emerging with one of the small foil packets and holding it up. "But I do."

  He blinked, eyes narrowing. "You were that sure of yourself, were you?"

  She shrugged and tossed him the packet. He caught it, still staring at her. Still having second thoughts, she was afraid. So she pushed the straps of the teddy the rest of the way down, and let it fall to her feet. She stepped out of it, catching the peach silk on the end of one toe and flinging that at him, too.

  He didn't catch it, though. The teddy hit him in the center of his glorious chest, and fell to the garage floor, forgotten. Lash didn't seem to notice it. His gaze slid, very slowly, all the way down her naked body, and then up again. And then he whispered, "I'm gonna burn in hell, Jessi Brand, but not until I've loved every inch of you."

  He pulled her against
him, kissing her deeply, hungrily, and lowering her to the floor atop her soft robe. He pushed her down on her back, and held her arms at her sides, and kissed her all over. It was incredible, the way he made her feel. And all Jessi wanted was more of this magic. She didn't let herself tremble, even when a tiny whisper of fear—fear of the unknown—tiptoed through her mind. Instead she played the role of seductress, the one she'd written and then cast herself in, to the hilt. She kissed him and trailed her hands down his hard back. She touched him everywhere, and when he sucked air through his teeth, she knew she was doing it right.

  His fingers dipped and probed and parted her, and Jessi shivered with a forbidden pleasure as she parted her thighs for him. "Now, Lash," she whispered. "We've waited long enough. Do it now."

  She wrapped her legs around him, moved her hips against him, and he did what she asked. She felt him nudging his way inside her, bit by bit. And then she felt filled and stretched, and there was a brief stab of pain that made her go stiff all over and had her eyes flying wide open.

  He stilled. "Jessi?"

  No, he wasn't going to stop. Not now. She closed her hands on his firm buttocks and pulled him to her, and into her, and she moved against him, and in a few seconds he was hers again. All hers. No second thoughts about repercussions could hold him the way she could. He was hers, dammit. And he might as well get used to the idea, because he was going to stay hers.

  It wouldn't be long. Couldn't be. Not if he was feeling a tenth of what she was right now. It was as if … as if they'd become one.

  When he moved inside her, she arched to receive him. When he turned his head in search of her mouth, he found it there, waiting for his kiss. No words, no signals—nothing was needed, because the connection between them was so strong. He held her hard and tight, as if he'd never let her go, and she wished it could go on forever.

  And then her mind whirled out of the realm of cognizance, as the feelings he was stirring took over. Sensation enveloped her. There was nothing else, only pleasure, mounting pleasure, pleasure so intense she wanted to scream with it.