Brianne wasn't cooling. Rather, a steadily building heat was curling inside her like a beautiful flaming-red ribbon. Her hands grasped the bedsheets.
With one breast completely clean now, Sloan switched to the other. He hadn’t spread any of the crushed strawberries onto the nipples, and he steadfastly avoided the taut peaks. Instead, he concentrated on the full round globes that to him seemed alive beneath his tongue. He tilted his head to better get at the fruit on the underside of her breast. Between his legs his hard flesh throbbed hotly and painfully. He longed to release it from the confinement of his trousers and plunge the swollen shaft into her. Only then would he find relief.
“Take off your gown,” he muttered roughly. “Take off your gown. I want to see you completely naked. I want all of you and more strawberries too.”
A response was almost beyond her, so powerfully was her heart beating, so weak did her limbs feel.
“Sit up, my lovely Brianne, and raise your arms.”
Her gown came off over her head and was flung across the room so fast her head whirled. She fell back onto the pillows.
For a long moment he did nothing. He simply looked at her, taking in the vivid wild beauty of her red hair, her emerald eyes, her smooth peach-tinted skin, and her long, enticing legs. His gaze paused for a moment at the triangle of tiny red curls, then skimmed upward to the flat plane of her stomach, and then higher to the rapid rise and fall of her breasts. Her lips were parted, her cheeks were flushed, her eyes pleaded.
Abruptly, he said, “Spread your legs.”
She gasped, uncertain yet wanting, with everything that was in her, more of the spiraling, breathless passion from him. She didn’t want him to leave tonight. She wanted him. She loved him.
“Spread your legs,” he said more gently, and with his hands pushed her legs apart until he was satisfied that they were spread wide enough. He repositioned himself beside her knees. Then, compulsively, he touched the satiny skin on the inside of her thigh. Brushing his hand up and down the satiny flesh, he muttered huskily, “God, you feel like you’re on fire.” With each flesh-burning sweep of his hand he went higher until Brianne thought she was going to lose her mind. “Sloan,”she whimpered, “please … ”
There was strain in his voice when he answered her. “You don’t have to beg, Brianne. Just ask, ask me nicely.”
His hand was at the top of her thigh, his fingers brushing against the outer edges of the soft folds there. “Sloan!”
“Damn!” He reached for more strawberries, crushed them, then coated every inch of the insides of both of her thighs. When he bent to her, gone were the languid strokes that he had used on her breasts. Instead, he made long, powerful, urgent sweeps up one leg and down the other, licking, nibbling, biting, until Brianne thought she would go mad.
When the lower portion of her legs were licked clean of every last bit of fruit, he suddenly dropped to the floor by the side of the bed. Taking hold of her legs, he pulled her around so that her hips were at the edge of the bed and her toes were touching the floor.
She raised her head to see him kneeling between her legs. “Sloan, what are you doing?”
As if he couldn’t stand the cloth touching his skin, he shrugged out of his shirt. “I want to be able to get at you better. I have to.”
Brianne was mesmerized. Golden flames filled his eyes, and the harsh planes of his face had been made even more so by his passion. She dropped her head back to the bed, and when she felt his tongue start an upward trek, she moaned. She was trembling all over in a fever of need, in a frenzy of desire. How much more could she take? She was to find out.
With his hands he reached beneath her and gripped her firmly rounded bottom. As he held her tightly, his rough yet velvet tongue ruthlessly scoured her, leaving her feeling raw, as if he were removing layer after layer of skin and exposing the nerves to the air.
At last all traces of strawberries were gone. Sloan sat back on his heels and looked at her. He was in agony with wanting her. How he was going to get up and leave her now, he didn’t know.
Of its own accord Brianne’s head rolled back and forth. She didn’t want to feel Sloan’s tongue stroking her skin. She wanted him, all of him. But words didn't come, only a soft, helpless moan.
The unobstructed view he had had his heart pound- ing with a heavy force. “Oh, God, Brianne, you're so wet,” Sloan cried.
“Sloan, oh, God, Sloan … ”
“Wait, just wait,” he murmured. Slowly he bent toward the sight.
Brianne’s body jerked with the force of the heat that blasted through her and centered exactly in the spot where Sloan’s tongue was probing. Her head went back. Her hands were knotted tightly in his hair and she had no idea how they had gotten there. Desperate cries were coming from her mouth. The ecstasy was almost more than she could bear. “Stop, Sloan, stop.”
But Sloan was beyond listening. His tongue invaded, withdrew, then invaded again.
Her body demanded. Thought receded, place blanked out. Sound blurred. Colors went white for her. And the world as she knew it ceased.
Chapter 11
Hours later Sloan was still awake. The night winds were cool and stirred through the long grass with a soft murmur. Above his head a million stars hung in a black sky. Three feet away from him, a campfire sputtered and flamed as it gradually died away.
As boys he and David had slept out on many a night such as this, counting stars and telling stories until they had fallen asleep. Although three years had separated them in age, they always had been close. Their father had never shown affection to Sloan, and after his mother had died, Sloan had known that David was the only person in the world who truly loved him.
Sloan rolled onto his other side so that he faced away from the fire and out into the darkness. Gradually, his eyes adjusted to the lack of light, and he could begin to perceive shadowed shapes of trees and bushes. Quite often David and he would lie on their blankets and try to guess what lurked beyond their campfire. Sometimes they would convince themselves that there were Indians or menacing beasts just waiting for them to go to sleep. They would scare themselves silly.
Now he was a man. And David was dead. And nothing scared Sloan. Nights such as this had lost their mystery and excitement for him – and in his gut a gnawing, burning pain squeezed and spread with agonizing slowness down into his loins. He knew the reason for his pain, and he knew why he was here, yet there was nothing he could do about it.
Something violent had exploded in his head as he had looked at Brianne and seen her lying there on the bed, so on fire for him, so completely willing. With the taste of her and strawberries mingling in his mouth, he had known he had to get away from her or he would take her there and then, without control, without gentleness. He would take her without stopping … ever.
He had almost run out of Brianne’s room. Stopping in his own room only long enough to get a fresh shirt, a jacket, and his gear, he had left the hotel and the town as far behind him as he could.
He groaned. When in hell had he developed scruples? When in hell had Brianne become more important than satisfying his own needs? He supposed there was no definitive time. From the first moment he had heard her laughter he had been amused and attracted. Need had quickly followed.
He had thought his heart long dead. But gradually and without him being aware of it her spirit and energy, her enthusiasm for people and for life, her refusal to accept defeat and her belief that she could do anything – all of these things, Brianne – had seeped through his wall of hatred, supplying him with something he had desperately needed: life, warmth, laughter.
But they had made a deal. He had told her that he wouldn’t make love to her until he found Patrick. By omitting to tell her that Patrick was safe and would be back in Chango soon, he was lying to her.
His body was screaming for release within her, to take with both hands the joy and peace she offered. But he couldn’t. At the moment he had nothing to offer Brianne. He was a man bent on a v
engeful course of action against a man he knew was perfectly capable of killing him. She couldn’t understand. He couldn’t change.
He paused as a renegade thought struck him. Maybe to a small degree he had changed. He had stood across the table from Wes as he had a thousand times before in his imagination. But before, as the scene had played out in his mind, he had always drawn his gun and fired, shooting Wes dead. The idea of ruining Wes had come only since he had been in Chango.
And now that goal was almost within reach. When daylight came he would ride back to the tent city and talk with Janice. Maybe today would be the day when he would get the proof he needed, and his punishment of Wes could begin.
He sighed wearily. In the end what did it all matter? Things hadn’t changed that much. He would still kill Wes and more than likely die doing it.
If by some miracle he was alive when the dust settled, what would be left? Surely not Brianne.
Living out the rest of his life in happiness seemed a foreign notion to him. In fact, he was sure it wouldn’t be possible.
Sloan closed his eyes and willed sleep to come.
Up on the rise behind the cover of a cropping of boulders, Sloan observed the compound below. It was Saturday, and activity in the tent city was brisk. Sloan planned to use that activity to his advantage. With so many men riding in and out, the chance he would go unnoticed was good.
About ten o’clock he rode down. Janice was waiting for him.
“You were right, Sloan. Dan had a little too much to drink last night and talked quite a bit.” Her nose wrinkled with distaste. “When he wasn’t pawing me, that is. According to Dan, Mr. McCord plans, with some financial jugglin’ and downright fraud, to move large amounts of money from the construction contracts into his own pocket.”
Perfect composure covered Sloan’s elation. “Are you sure about this, Janice? Do you think it's possible that Dan knows you’re working for me?”
Her shoulders rose and fell. “How could he know?”
“You’re right, I suppose.” With his thumb Sloan pushed his black hat back on his head. “It just seems that was an awful lot of important information for a man to give out in bed.”
Janice picked absently at her skirt. “It's hard to tell, but it could be he’s tryin’ to impress me.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean Dan’s tryin’ to figure out how he can get in on the profits. He told me that soon he’ll be a rich man. Mr. McCord is payin’ him good money all right, but Dan is greedy. He’s thinkin’ that there must be a way to get a share of that extra money for himself.”
“Without McCord knowing about it?”
“Absolutely. Mr. McCord isn’t a man to mess with.”
No, he wasn’t, Sloan agreed silently. And he had a hunch Dan Cummings wasn’t either. He just hoped Janice was right about Cummings’s infatuation with her. He didn’t want her hurt.
“Did I do good?” Janice asked, put out that Sloan wasn’t showing her what she considered proper appreciation. The money he was going to give her was wonderful, but if she could have him and the money …
He laid his hand on her shoulder. “You did better than good, Janice, but now I need to ask you to do more.”
“What?” she asked a bit warily. Dan might be crazy enough about her to try to get her to say she’d be his woman, but he was not dumb. And he could be meaner than a snake when crossed. There were whispers about him that would flat scare a girl to death if she let herself believe them.
“I need proof of what Dan told you. For instance, I need to look at the ledgers.”
“Ledgers?”
“Account books. I’m positive that Wes started his financial juggling before he went to Washington. He’s too far along with all of this for him not to have. But I need to see the figures. I have to be absolutely sure.”
Baffled, Janice frowned. “But how can I help you with that?”
“I wouldn’t have a chance of getting into his office in town undetected, but there’s got to be a ledger copy here too. Do you know where Dan’s tent is?”
“Sure. I was there last night.”
“Good. Tonight is Saturday night. What happens here on Saturday nights?”
Janice laughed. “All hell breaks loose. Everyone has a great time.”
“There’s a lot of drinking?”
She nodded, a big smile on her face. “Is there ever! Very few people are left standing after midnight.”
“That’s what I figured, and that’s my chance. Can you get Dan to stay in your tent tonight?”
She nodded. “That’s no problem.”
“Then today you’ll show me exactly where his tent is. In the morning I’ll be here before daylight. I should have plenty of time to search for those books.”
Janice’s eyes sparkled. “This is exciting!”
“This could also be very dangerous,” Sloan warned. “Be careful.”
She ran her hand up around his neck. “You don’t have to worry about me.”
Sloan hesitated. “Janice, I need to stay here today. Will there be anyone coming to visit your tent?”
She pressed her voluptuous curves against him. “Not if I don’t invite them.”
“You and I have a business arrangement, Janice, nothing more.”
At the sudden glint of ice in his golden eyes she stepped away from him. “Well, sure, Sloan. Don’t worry.”
The sun rose and set on Chango without any sign of Sloan, and in her room Brianne was seething with fury. She had no idea how she had managed to get through the day. Vaguely, she remembered visiting with Anna Nilsen for a while. And Mrs. Potter had required great measures of reassurance that her hotel would be left standing on the day when Brianne and her party finally left.
As usual Kamanahua had refused to budge from her side. She had purchased a horse for Phineas’s wagon, but he, too, had seemed to come to look upon her as protection, and for the moment, anyway, refused to leave town.
She had spent a long time trying to talk Henrietta into continuing on with her trip back east. But Henrietta was a loyal soul, and she maintained that she would stay until she was certain that Brianne no longer needed her.
What she needed, Brianne thought, was a few less people to take care of for the moment. She felt as vulnerable as a baby bird and as angry as a wounded bear. She was sure that her raw, pulsing desire for Sloan was obvious and that her love for him shone as brightly as the North Star … there for all to see.
And Patrick was still missing! Her belief that he was alive remained firm. She couldn’t believe anything else and still function. But her worry over his well-being had increased tenfold. She had been so sure that Sloan would have found him by now. Tomorrow, she decided, she would begin again to look for Patrick.
God, what a mess! she had groaned at least fifty times during the long day.
And now with night covering Chango, Brianne was at last alone. Although her ankle was still weak, it would hold her weight, and occasionally she would rise from the sofa, where she sat, and pace to the door and back. The door was slightly ajar so she could hear Sloan when he came in.
Where was he? And how dare he leave her last night when she wanted him so badly! And, oh, dear heaven, maybe he was in danger! He could be hurt or worse. …
It was a long time before she heard him pass by her door and enter his. Relief made her weak. He was all right, and soon she would be in his arms. She waited, her foot tapping impatiently, her fingers twisting the cross at her throat. Her heart rate picked up when she again heard the sound of his footsteps, but he passed her door to walk down the hall to the bathing room.
She cracked her door, listened, and heard the sound of George’s footsteps coming up the stairway and the squeak of the handles of the buckets he carried. When he entered the bathing room, she heard his young, serious voice blend with Sloan’s deeper one. Water gurgled and glugged as it was being poured into the tub. Then came the hollow clank of the tin buckets as they were set on the floor. Geor
ge left and shut the door behind him. Brianne also closed her door. A little while later Sloan walked back to his room.
When more time went by and still he didn’t come to her, she decided to take matters into her own hands.
Sloan answered her third knock. “You shouldn’t be here,”he said, glancing up and down the hall to make sure there was no one to see her.
“I think I’ve said the same thing a time or two myself, but it never did any good, did it?”She brushed past him and marched into the room.
He closed the door, leaned back against it, and observed Brianne. Her hair was flaring out from her head in glorious red waves and tumbling untamed down her back to her waist. Her eyes were glittering with emerald brightness. There was a sense that, beneath her gown and robe, her body was resonating with a passionate wrath.
“Why did you do it?” Brianne asked, her voice vibrating with her effort to control her anger.
To Sloan's mind, her wild beauty had never been more vivid. The urge to pull her to the floor and take her was almost overwhelming.
“Why did you leave me last night?” Brianne asked again when he didn't answer.
“We have a deal, remember? I was just living up to the terms of the agreement.”
“Damn the agreement! You knew that I wanted you to make love to me last night.”
“Yes,” he agreed calmly, “I knew.”He crossed his arms over his chest so that he wouldn’t reach out and grab her to him. He had told himself to stay away until he had settled his score once and for all with Wes. And in fact, there was another hotel in town that he could have stayed at. But he hadn’t been able to keep away. He had wanted to make sure she was all right, so he had come back to the Duke but had gone straight to his room, intending to stay there. Whether he would have been able to or not he didn’t know.
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