"How long do I have to think about it?" she asked wearily. The day really had been a long one, and she hadn't slept much the night before.
"There's a priest in the village. There's not one on the mountain. We'll have to decide before we leave." Sloan released her shoulders and looked down on her quietly. The red of her hair shimmered in the moonlight, but her face was turned away from him.
"Let me think about it. I'm still not convinced you aren't crazy." Sam started for the house again.
He caught her again, pulling her back against him, nuzzling her ear and brushing her breast softly. "A man would have to be crazy not to want you, Samantha. I don't know how you've escaped the others, but I don't mean to let you go."
She was stupid enough to want to believe him. She leaned her head back against his shoulder, felt his kisses trail down her throat, and reveled in the intimacy and security of Sloan's embrace. Whatever moon madness had seized them, she loved every minute of it. She'd sell her soul for more.
In the morning she would see things as they were, but for right now, she allowed herself to believe that she was a desirable woman and he was a man who wanted her for no other reason than that.
The sound of low voices and footsteps leaving the barn drove them apart. Sam hurried down the path to the house, her head spinning too dizzily to answer questions.
Fortunately, few were asked. She could see dozens of them dancing in the face of her hostess when they entered the house, but Jeanne Montgomery had sense enough to whisk her away to a bath and a bed and a good night's sleep. Sam followed her orders like a little lamb and was clean and warm and in a soft bed in rapid time.
She didn't find sleep quite so easily. She could hear the murmur of voices in the other room for some time after. She could imagine the inquisition to which his prim and proper family subjected Sloan, but he had the ability to deal with that without her help.
It seemed to her that he could deal with almost anything without her help. The Sloan Talbott she knew didn't need anyone. He certainly didn't need a wife, particularly one as unsuitable as she was. Maybe that was why he'd chosen her—because she wouldn't be much of a wife.
At that hour of the night, with her mind fuzzy with sleep, that seemed a perfectly reasonable possibility. Sam drifted to sleep, comforted by the thought.
Sloan wasn't so easily deceived by his wayward emotions. He'd lived with himself long enough to know he was walking right into disaster, but he sure as hell couldn't see any other way around it.
Matt and Jeanne had done their damndest to draw him out, but he wasn't about to tell them his plans. They knew too much and too little, and they would only scare Sam to death. No, he would wait until it was a fait accompli before he let them know.
But as he tossed and turned in the comfort of his feather bed and cursed the lack of Samantha's body beside him, he had a good idea what he was doing to himself. He was again placing himself within reach of a woman's claws.
He could console himself that Samantha was different. Sam wasn't likely to seek lovers when she grew bored or irritated with him. She didn't have enough confidence in her feminine attractions to seek other men. He liked that thought. She was so completely different from Melinda in this way, that fact alone more than likely drew him to her.
He could work around Sam. They had no emotional entanglements to complicate living. She would go her way, and he would go his as always. They'd most likely try to kill each other a few times before they worked out all the rules, but he could kiss her into bed when that happened. He could handle it. He had experience on his side this time.
He would just have to prepare for the day when she grew beyond what he had to offer. Sam was a passionate woman. Sooner or later she would demand more of him than he had to give. And when she discovered it wasn't there, she would leave.
He would cover himself against that time. He refused to live through that horror again. There would be no children, no legal ties that bind, no financial disasters. She could walk away anytime she liked, empty-handed.
She simply wouldn't know that until the time came. It would be his parting gift to her.
***
A cool breeze blew across her pillow, and Sam buried herself deeper beneath the comforter, chasing after the sleep so rudely interrupted by the cold.
The wind lifted her blankets, sending a chill down her spine. She muttered beneath her breath and turned to snatch the covers back down. Her hand encountered something hard and warm and distinctly masculine.
She nearly shouted until she opened her eyes to find Sloan beneath the covers with her, his eyes dancing with amusement. The son-of-a-witch had on his black shirt and denims, but she knew how fast that could change.
She quickly moved to the other side of the bed. The gap between them wasn't comfortably large. "What are you doing here?" she demanded, all trace of sleep having fled.
"I thought you'd like to go into the village before everyone gets up and starts berating us with questions. You must realize Jeanne is about to shrivel up with curiosity. I'm not generally in the habit of bringing women here."
"You're not generally in the habit of coming here at all from what I can tell. And they won't have any questions at all if they find you in here. Now get out, Talbott. Let me get dressed before we go adventuring again."
"It would be much faster if I helped you." Grinning, Sloan caught her nightdress and began tugging it upward. Since she was lying on it, it didn't go much farther than her hips, but that was a start. He threw back the covers to admire his handiwork.
Sam brought her knee up to shove him out of bed, but Sloan was too quick. He dropped to his feet on the far side of the bed and leaned over to catch the hem when she struggled to escape.
Her only choice was to hastily divest herself of the linen before he tumbled down beside her again, and she knew how disastrous that could be. With a jerk, she pulled the nightdress upward and slid off on the far side of the bed. His grip on the hem succeeded in removing it completely.
He whistled as the soft morning light caught on the vibrant colors of her hair where it fell over her bare shoulders. Sam grabbed for the sheet, but she was aware of the picture she presented, even with her back turned to him.
Sloan threw himself across the sheet, preventing that source of cover. From the bed, he wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her back to the mattress, until he could curl around her and fasten his mouth to her bare breast.
Sam gave a squeal of delight and fury as the heat of his mouth warmed her clear to her toes and familiar sensations started their wild siege of her insides. He pressed her back against the blanket and suckled the other breast, and she was writhing beneath him before she could offer any objections.
"I'm hungry," he murmured against her skin, licking a nipple before moving upward with slow, seductive kisses.
"Breakfast is in the kitchen," she managed to answer, but she couldn't do anything to show him the way. In fact, her fingers were already entangling in the thick black curls she had wanted to touch last night.
"It isn't food I want. What I want is right here." His hand slid between her thighs to make his meaning clear, and Sam nearly jumped from the bed with the suddenness of his invasion. And then she melted around him.
"That's good," he whispered against her ear. "That's just how I feel." He moved his hand gently, pressing and rubbing and using his finger in the most amazing ways. "I can make you come like this, you know," he murmured, almost idly. "I can make you come in any number of different ways. And then there's the usual way in any number of different places. I want to take you under this waterfall I know about. We'll wait until it's hot summer. The air will be steaming. We'll be steaming. And the water will be icy cold."
She was already steaming, and he damned well knew it. He propped himself over her, grinning. Then in the next minute he climbed off her and left her lying there in the cold draft from the window he'd opened to get in here.
He held his hand out. "Come on, slugabed.
We're going to town."
There wasn't much point in hiding her nudity after that. With resignation Sam took his hand and allowed him to pull her to her feet. The ache between her thighs throbbed, but she suspected Sloan already knew that. She knew her nipples puckered in the chilly air, and he showed no shyness at looking at her there. In fact, his stare was so warm that she forgot to be cold. She wanted him so much that she was willing to climb right back into that bed and damn the consequences. She looked at him with amazement. She wanted him inside her, and she could tell perfectly well from the bulge in his pants that he was ready to take her. Why hadn’t he?
Instead, he reached inside the wardrobe to find her clothes and discovered someone else's clothes in there, too. With a thoughtful whistle he pawed through the selection.
"Sloan, stop that and give me my gown. I'm about to freeze." Sam grabbed the blanket off the bed and wrapped it around her, deciding damning him to hell was redundant.
He gave the blanket a frown and tossed a piece of white cotton at her. "You look like Chief Coyote. Put this on. It must be the maid's. I doubt if she'll mind if I leave her a coin to replace it."
Sam dropped the edge of the blanket and shook out the white cotton. It looked more like some strange form of underwear to her, but she pulled it over her head. The sleeves were full and didn't come down to her wrists but gathered about her elbows. The neckline gathered low and dipped a little too daringly over her breasts. Before she could protest, Sloan threw another garment at her.
"That ought to do it. Those silks and satins are fine for the city, but these will be better out here, unless you want to wear your trousers." He turned and lifted a questioning eyebrow.
She hastily covered the bottom half of her with the colorful skirt as his gaze fell to her revealing neckline. "These will do if I put my coat on."
"They'll do all right, as long as there isn't another man in sight." Sloan jerked the ruffled cotton shirt up to cover her breasts, then watched it fall off her shoulder. He whistled and walked around her as she struggled to pull the skirt up without revealing much more.
"That looks good on you. I particularly like knowing you haven't got anything on underneath." Sloan gave her a wolfish grin when she glared at him. "And it's too warm outside to wear that ghastly coat. Get your shawl. I'll buy you a piece of jewelry to keep it fastened, or I'll end up fighting every damned man in town."
He was bossing her around like one of his hired hands, but he had her head spinning so fast that she couldn't think for herself. The shawl sounded like an excellent idea. She grabbed it and covered her nearly bare shoulders.
"I need to put on my stockings," she said in what she hoped was a dignified manner. "Turn around."
Sloan grinned again, and Sam considered belting him one in the jaw. If the only time he knew how to laugh was at her, he deserved to be punched out.
But she ended up sitting on the edge of the bed while he pulled the stockings up her legs. He took every conceivable kind of liberty while he was at it, except the ultimate one. By the time he was done, Sam was ready for that, too.
The smoky look Sloan gave her as he helped her to her feet said he wasn't completely unaffected. His fingers traced the ruffles of her blouse, touching not her flesh but the cotton covering it. He found her aroused nipple and stroked that through the material. Sam shivered and waited for whatever came next, for she knew he had something planned to put an end to this burning inside them.
"To the village, then," he murmured, releasing her from his spell by removing his hand. "There's someone there we're going to meet, and then we're going to find the nearest bed or haystack and I'm going to lift that flimsy skirt ..."
The words he whispered in her ear after that made permanent stains on her cheeks and warmed her all over.
Sam followed him out gladly.
Chapter Twenty-eight
The day burned as bright and beautiful as the previous one. As they rode the dusty trail into the village, Samantha stopped to admire the way the sun's rays struck the crumbling adobe and turned it gold. In the rear of one house, someone had spread a bright blanket of reds and blues over a bush to dry. A bird chirruped in a nearby pinon tree. It was an altogether delightful day, and when she watched Sloan Talbott's broad-shouldered figure riding ahead of her, the thrill of living coursed through her.
She understood what he meant when he called her his woman. She felt the same pride of ownership. He was her man. He came to her bed, not anyone else's, even though he was the kind of man other women would covet.
She could see that in the eyes of one saucy female when the woman appeared in an open doorway to sweep away the night's dust. She was young with a full head of black hair and bright dark eyes and a voluptuous figure that Sam couldn't match. She smiled at Sloan as he rode by, tossed her skirt flirtatiously, but he didn't even seem to notice. Sam gave the woman a triumphant smile as she rode up behind him.
"You' re looking smug this morning," he said suspiciously when she caught up with him.
"I was just indulging in a little pride of ownership. I know it's a fleeting thing, but it's a day for indulgence," she said lightly.
His eyes narrowed knowingly as he glanced back at the woman still sweeping her stoop, then to Sam. "She-cat," he muttered. "I'm sure as hell gonna regret this, but ownership works both ways. The possessor is also the possessed."
She widened her eyes. "My, but aren't we philosophical this morning."
"Under the circumstances, I have reason to be." Sloan stopped his horse in front of the derelict church. "Wait here. I'll be back in a few minutes."
"With breakfast, I hope," she called after him as he got down from his horse and started down an alley.
He turned and gave her an enigmatic look. "We'll get to that." Then he disappeared into the shadows between the church and the walled garden next to it.
He was wearing his ruffled shirt and frock coat without his vest and cravat this morning. Sam wondered idly if she'd ruined the others last night. He probably had more where those came from.
She tried to adjust her shawl, but she wasn't much used to managing feminine accessories. She needed the pin Sloan had promised her. With more practicality than style, she knotted the ends in front of her.
Deciding that sitting on a horse, waiting for Sloan to return was foolish, she swung down and examined her surroundings. She thought those might be orange trees in the garden beyond that wall. She'd like to see what else they managed to grow there.
Someone threw open the shutters of a shop across the street. A sign in Spanish hung above the door, but from the glitter in the small window, she thought it might be a silversmith's. She didn't wear much jewelry, but maybe he had a brooch.
She tied her horse to a rail and wandered across the street to examine the contents of the window. A man no bigger than herself came to the doorway and said a few words in Spanish. She could see right now she would have to find someone to teach her the language. She didn't like not being able to communicate.
"I can't leave you alone for two minutes, can I?"
Sloan appeared by her side, throwing a few words to the man in the doorway. The man nodded and disappeared inside.
Sam didn't even bother looking at him. A lovely brooch in silver and black lay in the window. The design was so intricate that she could probably look at it for days and never follow it. "I didn't go anywhere," she murmured in response to his accusation. "Was that the man who makes these things?"
Sloan glanced at the display. "Some of them. Some look Indian. I imagine he trades. Come on, there's someone I want you to meet."
She could hear the sound of the steamboat whistle blowing as it came into the dock. She turned and held her hand over her eyes to see it against the sun's glare. "I didn't know it was so late. I hope this person has breakfast. I'm about to starve to death."
Sloan caught her waist and impatiently led her back across the street. "I can see I'm going to have to feed you before I bed you, but that can be arrang
ed."
Samantha turned him an expectant grin. "You really are a versatile man, aren't you? You could probably find a bed in the desert."
Sloan relaxed slightly and smiled down at her. "If you had any idea how long I've gone without a woman, you'd understand. On second thought"—he squeezed her waist as they stopped in front of the church doors—"maybe you do understand. You've waited a good deal longer than I have."
The way he looked at her made Sam's heart do flip- flops. He wasn't just looking at her breasts or frowning at her attire or any of those things he was prone to do. He was actually looking at her, and seeing her. It made her slightly nervous, just as his words did. She wasn't certain she wanted to be understood by Sloan Talbott. He could be entirely too perceptive when he put his mind to it.
Sam licked her lips nervously. "Well, I didn't know what I was missing, did I?"
Sloan's smile grew warmer as his finger caressed her cheek. "No, I suppose not. I'm glad I was your first."
Oh, Lord, but he was making her warm all over, and they were standing outside a church. It wasn't much of a church. It had seen better days. But there was a steeple if not a bell. And probably pews and an altar inside. She hadn't been to church since they'd arrived in California. Maybe that was why he was sending her soul to the devil.
Sloan's hand brushed the side of Sam's breast, then returned to her waist. That was all it took to make her feel all shivery inside. She could see hell staring her in the face if they returned to the mountain while she felt like this. She wouldn't be able to keep away from him.
That thought must have kept her moving when Sloan opened the church door and led her inside. She didn't know why he was taking her into a church, but she had a need for its sanctuary. Maybe if she prayed, she could grasp what was happening to her. She only knew right now she was capable of following Sloan Talbott anywhere he wanted to lead her.
He led her up the aisle.
A priest waited at the end of the aisle.
Denim and Lace Page 23