Sagebrush Bride

by Tanya Anne Crosby

  It would serve them both right, she thought crossly, if she just snatched the door open and exposed the two of them in the midst of their… of their—whatever it was they were doing!

  But of course, she wasn’t jealous! How ridiculous!

  She and Cutter were supposed to be traveling as man and wife. Weren’t they? If Cutter thought for one moment that she intended to sit back and allow him to bring home women like… like… like Bess, he’d best think again! How dare he humiliate her like this!

  “Come on, now, Bess… do you have to do that here?” came Cutter’s muffled, flimsy rejection. “Bess… ”

  Bess giggled suddenly, the sound as clear and musical as the tinkling of little bells. “Course not,” she replied triumphantly. Listening to Cutter’s answering groans, Elizabeth became more agitated with every second that passed.

  “Key in this pocket, darlin’?”

  There was a moment of silence, and Elizabeth imagined that Cutter nodded at the shameless Jezebel. Screams of frustration welled at the back of her throat.

  “Mmmmm… nice… real nice… This here your room?”

  Elizabeth never waited to hear Cutter’s response. She’d heard more than enough! She jerked open the door.

  In fell Cutter, along with the leech in a red dress. His hat fell off, landing at Elizabeth’s feet.

  The leech shrieked in surprise, then rolled off Cutter with a curse that should never have found its way to feminine lips. Huffing angrily, she rose, smacking at her dress in indignation. “What in blue blazes?”

  Cutter, having hit his head on the floor, simply lay there, cradling it with both hands for an awkward moment. Closing one eye, he groaned pitifully.

  “Cutter!” the woman in red screeched.

  Elizabeth refused to be cowed. It wasn’t she who had rolled in clinging so shamelessly to her pretend husband! With hands on hips, she confronted them both, her tone caustic. “Yes, Cutter, dear, do tell!”

  Cutter released his head, angling it to look up at Elizabeth, his eyes gleaming. The harsh lines of his face were eased now, giving him an almost boyish appearance. Relief filled her, for she’d been wholly terrified that he’d never forgive her for her outburst earlier. Unbelievably, he grinned at her, an irresistibly devastating grin with no trace of his former animosity.

  He’d changed his clothing, and his legs were now denim-clad in place of the buckskin. His chambray shirt was a faded forest green, making his skin seem darker somehow, and his hair was a tousled mess. One wavy lock fell carelessly across his forehead. He brushed it back out of his eyes to reveal a narrowed, predatorial gaze. Elizabeth’s breath caught at the intensity revealed there.

  “Hiya, Doc,” he slurred.

  Elizabeth smiled back at him, but there was no humor in her smile. Cutter was sotted. She could tell by his muddled expression that he was. Aside from that, as angry as he’d been at her this morning, there was simply no way that he’d be looking at her as he was now—unless he was three sheets to the wind!

  “Cutter dear,” she said in a honeyed tone, “I’m so glad I waited up for you.” It was all she could do to keep her voice congenial. Her anger getting the best of her, she turned to pierce the gaping woman with a scathing glare. “Thank you so much,” she said as pleasantly as she was able through clenched teeth, “for bringing my husband to me. But I believe I can take care of him from here.”

  Bess’ ample breasts puffed indignantly, and her wrathful gaze snapped downward to Cutter.

  Cutter’s brow rose at Elizabeth’s declaration, and then a slow grin spread across those lips, touching his dark eyes. Tearing his gaze away from Elizabeth, he gave Bess a lopsided smile. “’Fraid so,” he said in confirmation, but there was little contrition in his tone. “That’s my wife, all right.” He nodded apologetically.

  The woman’s gaze jerked upward, examining Elizabeth once more, appraising her shrewdly, then back to Cutter with open ire. “Well, I never!” she exclaimed. And with a flourish of her satin skirts, she spun away and stomped down the hall, airing her lungs as she went.

  Elizabeth watched until the woman diminished to a red blur in the dim hall, then her attention returned to the man sprawled at her feet. Half of him lay within her room, the other half in the hall.

  Lifting himself up, Cutter gaped after Bess, whistling softly. “That was close!” Again, he looked up at Elizabeth, his eyes slitted with exhaustion… and something more. “I owe you one, bright eyes. Crazy woman wouldn’t take no for an answer.” With a grunt and a sigh, he laid his head back onto the floor. “My head hurts,” he complained.

  Elizabeth gave him a dubious look. “It certainly didn’t appear to me as though you were struggling very hard to get away!”

  Cutter sighed and closed his eyes, and Elizabeth jabbed him with her bare toe, irritated by his obvious dismissal. “You are despicable! Get up!”

  With some effort, Cutter opened his eyes, refocusing his gaze. And then he turned slowly to gawk at Elizabeth’s bare foot with new awareness, his mouth creasing with displeasure as his gaze then traveled up her half-clad legs to her chemise.

  The color drained from Elizabeth’s face as she remembered finally what she was wearing—or rather what she was not wearing—and she gave a startled little gasp, her arms crossing automatically to conceal her thinly clad bosom. Her feet, on the other hand, wouldn’t move.

  “What in damnation are you doing out here dressed like that!” he shouted suddenly, startling her into retreating. He was up and on his feet before Elizabeth could make it into the refuge of the shadows. “What did you think you were doing opening that door? It could have been anyone out here!” He followed her in, and with his boot kicked the door shut behind him, scowling fiercely. Catching her arm, he swung her about to face him.

  “Are you out of your mind, woman?” Cutter’s vision faded momentarily with the loss of light, then returned more sharply as his eyes adjusted to the darkness.

  Elizabeth merely stared, wide-eyed and tongue-tied.

  Holy hell, Cutter thought, sobering abruptly. How had he ever thought her scrawny? Not even his discovery earlier in the day—when he’d fallen atop her—had prepared him for the reality of the woman before him.

  Even in the dim light, he could see that her thin, wash-worn chemise clung enticingly to her bosom, hugging her flesh where it touched her. And her drawers, though a far larger size than she required, were too sheer to conceal much. His gaze fixed upon the shadowy triangle at the apex of her thighs, and he found himself bewitched by it. The hunger that had eluded his body with the whore now returned, slamming into him full force, and he was just tight enough not to fight it.

  With a groan, he closed his eyes, knowing instinctively where it would lead them if he didn’t avert his gaze. Leaning against the door, he pulled Elizabeth back with him.

  His head fell back, hitting the door with a thump.

  “M-maybe,” she stammered, “y-you should go now?”

  There was a moment of strained silence before Cutter’s head came up again, his gaze piercing her through the shadows. Noticing that her specs were missing, he wondered again why she wore them if she didn’t need them. “Maybe,” he answered softly, enigmatically, his hand stirring at her back. “But I don’t reckon I will.”

  “B-But-”

  “Shhh,” he said, his jaw turning taut. A muscle twitched in his cheek as he fought for control… and lost. He brushed a wisp of hair from her face, his eyes slitting languorously. “Do you know how much I’ve thought about you… like this?”

  Elizabeth shook her head in tiny jerks.

  As his hand moved up her spine, she began to tremble—not in fear, but because her body was suddenly too tense, achingly aware of the man she was pressed to so intimately.

  “No?” he whispered gruffly, answering for her. “Then why don’t you let me show you, bright eyes.” His hand moved up behind her neck, holding her steady as he tilted her head and slowly moved in for the kill.

  Their lip
s brushed lightly at first, sending glorious waves of shock through Elizabeth’s entire being. The scents of tobacco and whiskey assailed her and she inhaled deeply, breathing in those scents along with another more elusive… and titillating. In response, her insides convulsed faintly. It was as though she were famished, somehow, for what he would give her, all of her senses rejoicing in chorus… awakening finally, after an endless slumber.

  Then their lips met and she was lost irretrievably to the moment. Merciful Lord, she had never known it could be so divine to kiss a man’s mouth. She had at times spied lovers in just such an embrace, but only now, this moment, understood the urgency, the yearning, that drove them.

  Her body had a will of its own, Elizabeth thought wildly, and then she couldn’t think at all as Cutter suckled her lips. The shock of it was physical, sending convulsions throughout her entire body.

  Cutter lost himself in the sweetness of the kiss. In his half-sotted state he couldn’t bring himself to give a fig what the consequences might be later.

  He could only feel.

  Though he’d known Elizabeth only twenty-four hours, it seemed he’d waited a lifetime for precisely this moment.

  Too long.

  And she wasn’t resisting him.

  Sucking a rush of cool, sweet air through his clenched teeth, he slid a hand down to the hollow of her back, crushing her closer, wanting her to feel his arousal, embedding himself deeply into the nest of soft curls he struggled so fiercely not to visualize in his mind’s eyes.

  She stiffened slightly and with a belated gasp, she jerked her head backward, but Cutter’s hand held the back of her neck, bracing her for more of his tender assault. She whimpered in protest, but the soft sound only made his foray into her mouth all the more frenzied.

  His tongue swept deeper, seeking out hers, brushing at it softly, coaxing a response from her… again… tasting, entwining with hers erotically.

  Her knees buckled and she sagged against him as her will to fight fled and she responded by meeting his tongue with her own, sparring with it timidly, almost clumsily.

  Cutter nearly exploded on the spot.

  He swept his arms around her waist, crushing her against him as he savored the sweetness of her lips. She might not like the fact that he had Indian blood in his veins, but her body sure didn’t know the difference.

  God, it would be so easy to take her the distance… lift her against him… carry her to bed.

  So easy.

  Her reactions were awkward, but he’d been with enough women to know the signs of her body’s awakening.

  She wanted this as much as he did.

  Clinging to Cutter breathlessly, she arched for him as he sank his fingers into her hair, tilting her head backward to give him better access.

  “Cutter,” she sighed.

  He heard her confusion in the single word, and an unwelcome thought emerged from the dark recesses of Cutter’s mind, creeping obstinately into his consciousness. Stubbornly ignoring it, he deepened the kiss, only to find that it wouldn’t go away.

  He had the nagging suspicion that if he bedded her now, it would be over. That it would end here and now. Innocent as Elizabeth evidently was, she wasn’t aware of where this was leading, he was damned sure. Otherwise, the little prudish miss would be clawing his eyes out just now, rather than urging him on with her delightful little body. As angry as she’d been with him, she’d never have submitted so easily. Her prickly pride wouldn’t allow it.

  Truth was, he could go on… and he doubted she’d put up any resistance a’tall… but tomorrow, or maybe even seconds afterward, she’d be conscience-stricken over what they’d shared and she’d hightail it home quicker’n a hunted jackrabbit. That wasn’t what he was after.

  But damn, would it feel good!

  And—it—still—wouldn’t get him what he wanted.

  Damn it.

  Casting a glance over her shoulder, he eyed the small bed pensively, picturing Elizabeth there, lying beneath him in all her glory, her long, silky hair wrapped around his bare thighs. Jesus, he wanted that. Scrutinizing the piece of furniture intently, he forced himself away from her lips, kissing one corner of her mouth regretfully, before he tilted her head to one side in order to better view his coveted destination.

  Instinctively, even against his will, his sensual lips were drawn to her exposed neck, like a predator to its prey. Forgetting himself, he nuzzled her hungrily as his fingers twisted in her hair. His teeth grazed her flesh ever so lightly, nibbling, his tongue flicking out to taste her. Finding the fragile pulse that ticked just beneath the pale surface, he groaned at the feel of it. As he feasted, his gaze again returned to the waiting bed, calculating.

  So close.

  So damned close.

  And yet it was by far the longest four feet he’d ever considered crossing. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath, forcing himself to wrench his mouth away from her warm skin. His breathing labored, Cutter again laid his head back upon the door. His hands slipped obediently to her shoulders.

  In a state of torment, he watched as Elizabeth’s lucidity slowly returned. All the while, he held her away from himself.

  For the longest moment, she stood as though in a stupor, her head titled seductively, her breasts rising and falling with her quickened breath. Her luscious lips were parted faintly, pursed in anticipation-swollen from his kisses, he noted with deep satisfaction. God, her expression was paradise itself, he thought in that moment, and it took all of his resolve to keep from letting her fall against him and bending slowly forward to reclaim her lips.

  He’d fully expected her to turn down his offer. It had surprised him near out of his britches when she’d boldly claimed him as her husband in the hall. But he could still taste the sweet surge of triumph he’d experienced at her declaration… and was hungry for more of it. Even as furious as he had been with her, he wanted her… and he wanted her willing. Recoiling from the notion of her running from him, he cleared his throat.

  The spell broken, she opened her eyes.

  “You won’ be disappointed… for taking me up on my offer, Elizabeth.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Blinking twice, Elizabeth struggled to brush the cobwebs from her brain.

  “Offer? Oh, oh, yes… that offer!” she declared. Straightening abruptly, she shrugged out of Cutter’s embrace, her face flaming. Once again, she wondered what was wrong with her that she would turn to mush with just a single touch from him. Good night, she was as shameless as Bess! Shivering at the strange look in his eyes, she stepped away from him, retreating into the protective shadows. “That is, I—I intended to,” she said peevishly in order to cover her mortification. Her traitorous heart continued to pound frantically. “Until you brought that… that… woman—”

  Cutter allowed her withdrawal, never stirring. Leaning more fully upon the door, he casually shoved a fist into his front pocket. “Just for the record, Doc. I didn’t bring any woman anywhere.” His tone was smooth and calm, nothing like the storm simmering in his eyes. “The old girl followed me home from the Rushing Bull.”

  Annoyance creased Elizabeth’s brow. “She didn’t seem all that old to me!” she returned petulantly. “In any case, I’ve thought on it—all day, in fact—and you’re right. I can’t trust anyone else to take me to St. Louis.” Her tone was resigned. “You win, Mr. McKenzie.”

  One brow rose. “I win?” he asked softly. He straightened, drawing his hand out of his pocket, and Elizabeth took another cautious step backward.

  “Stay there!” she said anxiously. “And… and turn around, while you’re at it.” She made a little circular motion with her hand when he only looked at her. “Please.”

  Sighing, Cutter threw his hands up into the air and turned toward the door, shaking his head. The moment he turned away, he heard her bare feet pattering softly across the wood floor. She lifted the bedcovers. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

  Elizabeth froze. “Do what?”

  �
��Hide in the bed,” he said, his tone curt. “It wouldn’t be a good idea.”

  “That—is—not—what I was about to do, Mr. McKenzie!” Wrapping the coverlet about herself like a protective cape, Elizabeth moved away from the bed, indignant that Cutter would assume she would give such a blatant invitation—and wounded somehow that he had taken such exception to the notion. “I’m not Bess,” she exclaimed. “You can turn around now.”

  “Izzatso?”

  “Yes, it is. Now… if I’m going to allow you to escort me to St. Louis, McKenzie, there are a few conditions by which you’ll need to abide.”

  After tonight, she wasn’t so certain that it was Cutter she should mistrust, but herself.

  The hairs on the back of Cutter’s neck bristled.

  “Such as?”

  Her chin lifted a notch. “Such as,” she proposed, “you will never, ever, try to—to kiss me again! And you will not touch me. And you will not spend your leisure time with—with women like Bess! You’re supposed to be traveling as my husband, after all.”

  “If you say so.”

  “And,” she continued, “I’ll need my own mount. And my own bedding,” she added hastily. “Furthermore, we will never sleep in the same bed—or even the same room! Not if it can be helped!”

  Cutter was prepared to accept every one of her shrewdly given demands, and hated himself for it; his voice fell to little more than a seething whisper. “Anythin’ else, Doc?”

  “Yes!” Elizabeth said, disregarding his scorn. “I mean to hire someone else once we’ve arrived safely in St. Louis. For obvious reasons, I cannot present you as my lawful husband.”

  As horrible as it sounded, she had no choice but to tell Cutter the truth.

  He flinched noticeably, as though she’d actually slapped him, then his expression shuttered. Elizabeth took another step backward, thinking that he looked ready to pounce suddenly, and tear her limb from limb.

  “Cutter,” she appealed, as he turned abruptly and reached for the knob. “Try to understand!” An awful sinking sensation stirred in the pit of her stomach as he jerked open the door so ferociously that a rush of air whisked by her face.