Silken Dreams

by Bingham, Lisa

  His eyes grew dark and filled with shadows. “Because I’m the kind of man who could ruin a girl like you.”

  At the word girl, Lettie stiffened and wedged her hands between them, and she pushed him away. “I’m not a girl. I am a vibrant, mature woman! The kind any man would want to kiss. Even you!”

  Silence suddenly cloaked them in a hot, sticky awareness.

  Ethan’s expression of shock was almost comical. “Me!”

  Lettie’s lips thinned. The Highwayman would never have been so rude. Nor would he have passed up such a golden opportunity. She planted her hands on her hips and glared at him in pique. “I suppose I’m not pretty enough for you.”

  “You’re pretty.”

  “But not pretty enough.” She brushed past him, but he caught her arm.

  When she glanced over her shoulder, she found Ethan watching her with eyes that were still and quiet, like the surface of a dark summer pond that hid tangled depths below.

  After a moment he released her, and his thumbs hooked in the back of his waistband in such a way that the fabric of his trousers pulled taut across his hips. She swallowed. The man’s pants were tight enough.

  Her gaze bounced up and locked with his own. His features lay cloaked in shadow. Yet he seemed to know just what she’d been thinking, because he shook his head from side to side in silent reproof.

  “You shouldn’t be thinking those kinds of thoughts, Lettie.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “I think you do,” he breathed, his blue eyes gleaming, his features quiet, sensual. He edged closer.

  Lettie’s chin tilted at a defiant angle. “I thought you were going.”

  “Maybe I’ll stay. Maybe I’ll even kiss you.”

  Lettie could barely breathe.

  “A man would be a fool not to kiss you,” he continued, speaking almost to himself. “You’re sweet. And pretty. Fresh.” A flicker of nostalgic longing flashed across his features, making Lettie think that it had been a long time since Ethan had seen any of those qualities in a woman. That sliver of vulnerability touched her in strange ways.

  Lettie took a step back and bumped into the stall. Ethan’s hands came out to grasp the railing on either side of her. She could feel the heat of his body seeping through the layers of her clothing.

  A soft, whispering “No” escaped from her lips, but Ethan smiled and shook his head.

  “You asked.” He leaned closer. His breath fanned against her cheek.

  Lettie’s head dropped back, her eyes flickered closed, and she waited.…

  Nothing happened.

  Opening one eyelash, she peered up at Ethan, only to find him grinning at her in evident amusement. Drat and bother! He’d been toying with her all along.

  Growling in anger, Lettie balled her hands into fists and slugged him in the stomach. As he doubled over with a grunt, she pushed his arm away and dodged to the opposite side of the barn.

  To her surprise, Ethan chuckled aloud and turned to lean against the stall, rubbing his belly. Despite his negligent pose, his stance was still slightly wary, his blue eyes sparkling.

  Lettie nearly gaped at him open-mouthed. She’d never seen him smile before—not an honest smile that entered his eyes and made them glow. It made him appear boyish and infinitely mischievous.

  “Like I said, a man should never take his eyes off you. You’re a dangerous girl wrapped in a pretty package.”

  Lettie had been about to leave the barn. She’d been all set to whirl on her toes and stomp out the door. Until she heard that word again. Girl. Like a thorn in her side, the word was thrown carelessly into his comment, proving to her once again that everyone saw her as a child.

  She took a deep breath, a simmering frustration growing within her. She wasn’t a girl, she was a woman!

  As if her feet moved of their own volition, Lettie found herself stepping forward. Her shoulders pressed back, causing the rounded curves of her bosom to jut against the bib of her apron. Without stopping, she crossed toward him until her skirts brushed the tips of his boots.

  Ethan straightened, his hands dropping to his sides, his eyes narrowing in disbelief at her sudden boldness.

  “I told you once before: I’m not a girl, Ethan McGuire.” She stepped forward again until her skirts flattened against his thighs and her breasts nearly brushed his chest. Her hands lifted to rest against his shoulders, savoring the firm musculature beneath her palms. She raised herself on tiptoe, lifting her thumbs to position his head so that they wouldn’t bump noses.

  He was smiling, ever so slightly, as if he thought she were merely teasing him and would back away. But Lettie did not back away, and his smile altered.

  Her own lips tilted in satisfaction, then she drew him down for a kiss, trying to remember in her mind all of the stolen embraces she’d witnessed over the years.

  Wrapping her arms tightly around his neck, she drew herself tighter against his torso, until his hands wrapped around her back and he took most of her weight. Her lips parted, ever so slightly. Her lashes flickered closed.

  Though Lettie feared her true inexperience would show the minute her lips met his own, she need not have worried. Ethan evidently felt no qualms in taking charge of their embrace. Within moments, he had crushed her against him, teaching her the art of blending lip to lip, chest to chest, hip to hip. One of his hands settled in the curve of her back to hold her tightly, while the other moved to tangle in the base of her thick braid to keep her head steady as his lips hungrily traced the curve of her cheek, the jut of her chin. Then he shifted slightly and followed the lower curve of her lip with his tongue.

  Lettie wrenched herself free, breathing hard. She gazed up at him in disbelief, slowly backing away, her fingers pressing against her lips. Her heart pounded like a runaway locomotive and her limbs trembled, barely able to support her.

  She’d never dreamed kissing could be like this!

  Not really knowing what she should say to back away gracefully from a situation she didn’t know how to handle, she turned and rushed toward the door. But just before escaping outside, she turned to gaze at him one last time.

  His eyes were warm. Aware.

  “Your horse and belongings were taken to the stables behind the jail,” she stated quietly, knowing it was the last thing she could give him. Then she slipped through the door.

  Ethan remained in the barn and gazed at the spot where she’d been, wondering why he couldn’t ignore the sweet, heavy warmth that curled deep in his gut and spread throughout his limbs. His mind argued that their kiss had been nothing more than an experiment, a teasing game—to both of them.

  But damn if his body didn’t urge him to kiss her again.

  Ethan waited in the barn until late afternoon. With each moment that passed, the air around him grew hot and more unbearable, until finally, he leaned against the splintered threshold of the barn, cracked open the door, and gazed out at the back porch of the house to watch Lettie iron.

  She was a pretty gir—

  Woman. Lettie had been right in her assertion. She was all woman, with delicate features, dark eyes, long honey-brown hair. And there was nothing girlish about her figure. She had curves in all the places a man liked best. High, firm breasts, a narrow waist, full hips. What Ethan wouldn’t give to spend a little more time with her.

  Grunting in disgust at his own thoughts, Ethan checked the chamber of his revolver and slipped out the door. Moving as quickly as he dared, he walked toward the far end of town, making his movements as inconspicuous as possible. With a little luck, he could reach the corral behind the jailhouse and gather his horse without anyone being the wiser. Since the deputies were scouring the area, they wouldn’t expect him to have the gall to steal his horse from a corral in the middle of town.

  But he only managed to make it as far as the alley butting the west wall of the jailhouse when he heard voices and flattened himself against the side of the building.

  “…paid you enough to see th
e man well and truly caught.”

  “I told you: McGuire disappeared from the area a month ago.”

  “Obviously not entirely. There have been three robberies since…”

  The voices faded away, and Ethan felt only a moment’s indecision before he inched toward the edge of the alleyway and peered around the corner.

  “…want him dead, do you understand?”

  “On one condition.”

  “I’ve already paid you, well in advance—”

  “And I’ll see you get your money’s worth. But I can’t do a thing about your problem until you find a way to get Jeb Clark off my back. He’s somehow managed to catch wind of my… extraneous payroll.”

  Straining to see around the half-dozen horses in the corral, Ethan barely managed to make out the indistinct forms of the men who spoke in such low, confidential tones. Though one man was hidden from view, Ethan was able to catch a glimpse of the silver hair of his companion. Even so, Ethan had no idea who these men could be, but he had no doubts that they meant to see him hanging from a noose at the first opportunity.

  “…and I’ll take care of Clark. You see to McGuire.”

  Once again, the voices grew softer, some of the words fading into the dusty summer air.

  “He’s brought me enough grief … a lifetime. Just see to it that no trace… you or me… scapegoat…”

  When Ethan heard the crunch of footsteps approaching him, he crouched low and dodged away, staying within the shadows of the alley, then blending into the traffic of the town in a way that he had learned so long before yet had hoped to some day forget.

  He was slipping back into the barn behind the boardinghouse before he realized that he had even returned. As his fingers closed over the splintered wood of the door and he darted inside, he admitted to himself that he had gravitated toward the meager sense of security he had found here, a sense of security in the spontaneous trust of a young woman who had every reason to suspect him of the crimes he was supposed to have committed.

  Standing silently in the shadows, he took deep drags of hot summer air to still the pounding of his heart. But as his nervous energy began to dissipate, he was filled with a firm resolve. For some time, he’d suspected that the answers to his troubles lay in Madison proper. And now he had his proof. To leave now would mean spending the rest of his life looking over his shoulder. But to stay…

  In staying, there would be no guarantees of his safety. He was a wanted man, not only for the past crimes he’d committed, but also for the recent rash of robberies he hadn’t committed.

  And yet, Ethan trusted Lettie Grey—though he should have his head examined for even thinking such a thing. It was ironic really. The only place he felt relatively safe was with the sister of the man who had sought to convict him for so many years. But if he were caught—

  Ethan closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Sweet heaven! Don’t let anyone find him here. Because if they did…

  He’d be a dead man.

  Chapter 7

  Lettie clutched the edges of her wrapper more tightly against her throat and peered out into the darkness, holding a lantern above her head. “Here, kitty, kitty.”

  Though the moon had just begun its ascent, enough light touched the expanse of grass near the chickencoop and barn for her to see that Eloise, the boardinghouse cat, was nowhere in sight. Yet, only a moment before, Lettie had awakened to her plaintive cries.

  “Kitty?” she called again, her voice just above a whisper. Something about the dark night discouraged any kind of noise, even the necessity of calling the cat.

  Once again, the soft mewl of the cat melted into the blackness and Lettie lifted the hem of her wrapper free and ran through the grass in the direction of the barn. Eloise had probably managed to get herself caught in the rafters again. Though she was a brave animal on her way up, she never had the nerve to get herself down.

  Slipping through the door, Lettie paused for a moment, holding the lamp above her so that its mellow light slipped into the corners and warmed the straw with a golden glow.

  “Eloise?” she whispered.

  Silence.

  Pushing away a shiver of disquiet, Lettie padded into the barn. “Eloise, where are you, kitty?”

  “Hello, Lettie.”

  She whirled at the sudden deep voice, a gasp lodging in her throat. She tensed when she found Ethan McGuire watching her from a few feet away. He sat in a soft pile of straw, and in his lap lay the contented form of Eloise.

  Lettie gripped the handle of the lantern more tightly, then lifted her free hand to clasp the neck of her wrapper. “What are you doing here?”

  “Petting the cat.”

  Lettie’s lips thinned in irritation, but his words caused her to look down. Eloise lay in sublime contentment as Ethan’s hand moved down the length of her body from head to toe. Even from her vantage point a few feet away, Lettie could hear the almost fanatical pleasure of the cat’s purr.

  “I thought I heard her call.”

  Ethan’s lips lifted in a slow grin. “Meow.”

  She stiffened, realizing it had not been the cat who had drawn her out to the barn. “You told me you were leaving,” she muttered stiffly.

  His eyes dropped, his features becoming masked. “I came back.” Once again, his hand passed down the length of Eloise’s white fur, from the top of her head to the tip of her tail.

  “Why?” Lettie swallowed when her voice emerged too husky, too soft. Ethan’s hands were broad and firm, his touch light, yet enticing.

  When he didn’t answer, Lettie glanced up. She knew he’d noted her fascination with his hands. His touch.

  A muted fire began to glow deep in his eyes. Gently scooping the cat from his lap, he set her in the straw beside him and stood up.

  Obviously disgruntled by his actions, Eloise twined between his legs, muttering kittenish sounds of displeasure. But Ethan wasn’t looking at the cat. He was watching the way Lettie clutched the neckline of her wrapper.

  “It’s awfully late, Lettie. Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

  “I was in bed.” Lettie stopped, realizing she shouldn’t be talking this way with Ethan McGuire. “Why are you here?” she demanded again.

  He ignored her question and took a step forward, mindful of Eloise at his feet, but his movements were determined, nonetheless.

  “I never took you for the soft and frilly type.” He gestured to the delicate batiste of her wrapper and the intricate white embroidery Lettie had added to the edges of the collar, sleeves, and hem. “But it suits you.”

  Lettie turned away, suddenly conscious of the fact that she wore nothing more than her wrapper and a threadbare nightshift beneath.

  “If you’ve been waiting for dark to make your escape, then go now before someone sees you.”

  She gasped when he walked up behind her and took the lantern from her hand, setting it on an old trunk that held leather strips and old laprobes.

  “What if I told you I’ve decided to stay?”

  She whirled. “You can’t stay!”

  Too late, she realized he’d taken another step forward and the heat of his body seeped into her own.

  But it was his eyes that made her pause. Though they were cloaked in the shadows of the barn, she thought she saw a loneliness in their depths. And a sliver of desperation.

  “Do you know what I’ve been doing the last few years?”

  She shook her head, struggling to breathe when he took another step closer. Sweet heaven! He was so close now, she could smell the musk of his body, feel the faint scratch of the straw clinging to his clothing.

  “I’ve been digging potatoes in Nebraska.” He took another step. “Do you know what that does to a man’s hands?”

  She shook her head, trying to back away, but the rough slats of the stall behind her halted any attempt at escape.

  Ethan lifted a hand, and one finger touched the high curve of her cheekbone. His skin was warm, calloused.

  “It makes a man’s
hands rough, Lettie. Rough and scratchy.” He took another step. His thighs brushed against her own, his chest grazed her breasts. “Do you know what I thought about?”

  She shook her head, and her hands rose in an effort to push him away. But he was immovable.

  “I thought about the velvet touch of a woman. The soft whisper of her skin against mine. The heady fragrance of soap, and lilac water, and female.”

  A soft moan eased from her throat when his head bent. His eyes grew dark and stormy blue. The finger at her cheek shifted, and his hand curled around the back of her neck, drawing her toward him.

  “It’s been so long,” he whispered, just before his lips brushed against her own. “Don’t push me away, Lettie. Please. Don’t push me away.”

  Lettie’s hands had braced instinctively around his rib cage, yet at his words, she hesitated, drawn by the submerged vulnerability she’d heard in his voice.

  His head lifted, and her eyes stared into his own. Such a proud man, too proud to show his need of others. Until now.

  Unbidden, her hands slid around his ribs to rest against his back. “I won’t push you away,” she whispered, just before his mouth covered her own.

  Though there was more hunger than gentle entreaty in his embrace, Lettie surrendered willingly to the tumultuous emotions thundering through her. Her inexperience proved to be no impediment to Ethan. In fact, he seemed to revel in the innocent response of her mouth to his own. And when Ethan drew away, they gazed at each other.

  Ethan’s eyes became guarded once again. Yet Lettie had seen a flash of wonder, a flash of need. Unconsciously, she lifted a hand to brush back the dark hair spilling over his brow.

  He stepped back and turned away from her, as if just now realizing how much he’d allowed her to see.

  Lettie hesitated only a moment, gazing at the proud line of his back, the rigid cast of his shoulders. Then, moving toward him, she reached out and took his hand. When he looked at her, his azure eyes dark and shuttered, she twined her fingers between his own.

  “You can’t spend the night in the barn. Come with me.”