by Zoe Blake
First he was surprised to see her tear out of the store like a jack rabbit with a hawk on its tail only moments later. Then his curiosity was raised when she headed straight for the old newspapers. Wondering what the little bunny was about, Horn decided to take a closer look. His suspicion was aroused, among other things, when he saw precisely what section of the newsprints drew her rapt attention.
As he silently approached, Horn once more appreciated her fine figure. She was a little thing. The top of her head wouldn’t reach his shoulder. His hands would easily span her tiny cinched in waist. There was a single, glossy tress which had escaped the confines of her bonnet, twisting and curling down to the middle of her back. It was a rich chestnut. He felt a spark of anticipation as he wondered what color her eyes would be. Horn was momentarily denied. As she turned around, the straw rim of her bonnet hid the upper portion of her face. He was given a tantalizing view of full, cherry red lips and a pert chin.
Calling on his own rigid discipline to keep his cock from rising at the thought of what he would do with those lips, Horn focused on the matter at hand…seeing her eyes.
“I got all day, Bunny,” he drawled, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Bunny!” responded Emma as she raised her chin with a startled look. The name sounded positively scandalous and far too intimate…especially how he uttered it.
“Sir, I do not know you. Kindly let me pass,” chided Emma in the haughtiest voice she could muster given her throat was closing in fear. After her initial shock, she had quickly lowered her head, hiding under her bonnet rim.
She had only lived in Wickenburg for a few months but being the school teacher allowed her the opportunity to meet just about every adult in town. This was a stranger. A very tall, menacing stranger, which could only mean one thing. This was the gunfighter lawman whom the girls at the shop were gossiping about with such unvarnished glee. The very man Emma was trying to avoid.
Her eyes were as green as prairie grass in sunlight, thought Horn. She had an adorable button nose to match that pert little chin. As she lowered her head, depriving him of a closer look, his eyes roamed lower. Horn could not suppress a low whistle of appreciation at her magnificent breasts. God bless ‘em, they were too large for her petite frame but you wouldn’t hear a complaint from him. Although clothed in a prim neckline with a delicate lace-edge, he could still make out the luscious curves. More than a handful, they made a man think about burying his cock between their ample weight.
Emma once again raised her chin at the lewd sound. First bunny and now a whistle! This man was a reprobate! A rogue of the first water!
Indignation mixing with fear, Emma shifted to the right, planning on side-stepping him and making a dash for it.
Horn was too quick. Wrapping his large, strong hands around her waist. So diminutive, his fingertips almost met at her lower back.
“Not so fast, little bunny. I can’t let you scamper away just yet.” This was sport of a different color and far more entertaining than chasing down men like Bartlett. Besides, he hadn’t become the best gunfighter this side of the Mississippi by ignoring his gut. He had a feeling this little prim and proper package was hiding something.
Sucking in a breath, alarmed at the warm feeling of his hands through the fabric of her dress, Emma tried to wrench away.
Horn’s jaw clenched. Yep, he was damn sure he wasn’t ready to let her go just yet. At least not before he learned her name.
Looking over his shoulder, he quickly scanned the street. Between the town’s meager three hundred or so residents and it being the height of the hot afternoon, there was barely anyone out and about. No one taking the least bit of notice.
Easily lifting her off her feet, ignoring the kicks of her small kid shoes against his leather encased shins, Horn walked the few steps to the alley between the post office and dress shop.
“I’m thinking we need more privacy to continue our conversation,” he murmured against her ear before slowly letting her slide back to the ground.
She didn’t dare scream, knowing it would draw the unwanted attention of the well-meaning townspeople. Emma immediately tried to back away. Her body connecting with a rough stucco wall.
Horn leaned his hands against the same wall, far above her head. Towering over her, blocking out the light from the sun and imprisoning her between his hard body and the harder wall.
“You can’t just go about accosting complete strangers like this,” sputtered Emma as she ran her hands over the high waist of her skirt, smoothing away non-existent wrinkles in a vain attempt to erase the feel of his hands.
“Let’s get better acquainted then,” chuckled Horn with a crooked smile and another slow appreciative look over her bosom. Tipping his hat, he offered, “Jackson Horn at your service.”
Emma sucked in a breath. She knew it was him, the gunfighter probably sent to find her, but to hear him casually introduce himself in that charming manner as if he didn’t just smash her world into tiny little bits was too much. Emma stared at the ground. The loud thumping of her heartbeat in her ears drowning out all else. Had he guessed who she was? Emma Fairfax, murderess!
Horn cleared his throat. “This is the part where you tell me your name.”
He didn’t know! Oh lord, she had to get away from him. “I have to go,” she insisted, refusing to raise her gaze.
Fear radiated off her small frame, from the slight tremble of her limbs to the rapid rise and fall of her breasts. Standing in an isolated alley with an unknown man would certainly cause any good woman to become faint of heart but Horn instinctively knew that was not the complete story. He could sense her trepidation and excitement from the moment she crossed the road to the newsprint office. It was part of what drew him to her side. A small part, her beautiful backside sashaying across the street honestly played a bigger role.
Something was wrong with his little captured prey. Horn’s gut twisted. He wasn’t winning any prizes up in heaven but that didn’t mean he liked the thought of a woman terrorized, especially this woman. Whatever she was hiding from it had her terrified.
Horn cupped her chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing her head back. Despite her obvious fear, those bright, beautiful green eyes reflected defiance and fire. Horn smiled. He loved a woman with spirit.
“Tell me,” he ordered. His voice filled with command. The man’s very presence radiated authority.
Emma faltered. For a ruthless gunfighter, he really was quite handsome. Eyes the color of burnt coffee. A strong, angular nose framed by sharp cheekbones. His jaw slightly roughened by more than a day’s worth of stubble. His hat was pulled too low for her to tell the color of his hair. Bet it was dark, like the rest of him, she thought. Dark clothes, dark eyes…dark soul. Emma gave herself a mental shake. This man was a gunfighter, a lawman, a hunter and there was a very good chance she was the prey. She needed to keep her wits about her and not let her head get turned like one of those girls in the General Store.
“I…I…am sure I don’t know what you are asking?” she stalled.
Horn raised one eyebrow. His warm, brown eyes reflecting amusement. “You’re sure you don’t know your name?”
“Oh…ah…oh,” stuttered Emma with a blush. Quickly glancing left then right, it was clear no help was coming from either quarter. She could change her mind and scream, of course, but that would only draw attention to them both. The last thing Emma wanted or needed was more attention.
Horn leaned in close, keeping his grip on her chin. His mouth a breath away from her own. “I suggest you use those lips to tell me your name before I decide I don’t give a damn,” he murmured. His suggestion clear. He would learn her secret soon enough but he wasn’t a god damn saint. He still had other reasons for pursuing her.
Emma hesitated.
Horn shifted his hips forward.
She could feel the threatening press of his aroused flesh against her stomach. Nervously, twisting her hands in the folds of her skirt, Emma unwittingly li
cked her lips.
The innocent gesture elicited a low, rumbling growl from deep within Horn’s chest as he focused on those glistening red lips. She looked like an angel who had just been caught in a sin…by the devil. If another moment passed, he wouldn’t be responsible for his actions.
Horn released her chin. Running his leather roughened hand along her jaw to curve around the slender column of her neck, he pushed his fingers under the straw edge of her bonnet into the soft warmth of her hair. Pulling her head back, he growled, “Time’s up.”
“Wait!” she cried out.
Horn stepped back, watching her intently. Curious.
Shifting from foot to foot, she covered her full lips as she mumbled some garbled name that sounded like Gary.
“You are going to have to do allot better than that, Bunny” he warned.
“Glendolene!” she burst out.
He took in her hunched shoulders and thinned white lips. The way her downcast eyes shifted back and forth. She was not only hiding something, she was lying…and badly.
Only the guilty lied about their name. Horn felt a rush of possessive anticipation.
There was an understood code of conduct in the West that even Horn followed…up until now. When a man wanted a quick fuck, he sought the companionship of an obliging lightskirt. The war widows and young women from the East who had been showing up ever since the War Between the States ended, well, them you left for those who wanted to marry up, all proper like. Pursuing this little bunny would have been complicated but that was when he thought she was an innocent, proper miss he was in danger of corrupting. The game had just changed.
“You’re lying,” he stated darkly. “The question is now, what are we going to do about it?”
“I’m…I’m not lying!” lied Emma.
Horn leaned in close. His lips brushed the high edge of her cheekbone. He inhaled the scent of rose water which clung to her hair and skin. The scruff from his jaw rough against her soft skin. “You just earned your first punishment.”
Alarmed, Emma raised wide green eyes to stare directly into his own for the first time. Up until this point, she had done everything in her power to avoid their intoxicating draw. Strangely afraid she would be taken in, hypnotized into submission…into danger. She wasn’t wrong. His dark eyes lost the small amount of chocolate warmth that had lingered in their depths. They now appeared crystalline black.
Focused.
Although lying to him deserved the sting of a leather strap, he wasn’t going to deny himself the feel of her soft flesh, thought Horn. He would start with the rounded curve of her bottom. If he put her over his knee, he would feel the press of her stomach against the ridge of his shaft each time the flat of his hand connected with a pert cheek. Every shuttering breath. Every tremble. Every tensed muscle. He would feel it on his own body. On the other hand, placing her over an obliging bench also had its possibilities. He would have a better view of that glorious bosom as it heaved and bounced with each strike of his hand. Her big, tear-filled, emerald green eyes would be on full display as she pleaded for him to stop.
Her next outburst interrupted his pleasant musings.
“Please! You must believe me! I’m just a simple school teacher from back East.”
Emma felt lightheaded with rising panic. Everything was spinning out of control. Was he just toying with her? Did he know she was Emma Fairfax or not? What did he mean by punishment? Jail? Hanging?
Emma Fairfax, murderess!
“You’ve already earned one spanking for lying to me. Want to make it two?” challenged the arrogant man.
Wait. A spanking?
Emma looked at the man before her. Desperately trying to take stock of her situation. Was it possible he wasn’t here to arrest her? In her panic had she completely misread his intentions? Oh god! Was it possible he was just a randy cowboy?
Emma had no choice. She did the only thing a woman in her position could.
Grabbing fistfuls of her muslin skirt, she hiked the material up high exposing trim ankles encased in soft black wool stockings and just a hint of lace trim from her bloomers.
Horn raised an eyebrow at her quick capitulation, just a little disappointed she had given in so easily without more of a fight. He had assumed she had more spirit. Not that he was complaining of course. Tilting his head to the side, expecting to see the outline of a shapely thigh and the curve of her buttock next. He was not, however, expecting the swift kick to the shins he received.
“Why you low down, no account cur!” Emma squawked, trying once more to kick him.
Unfortunately, her soft kid boots were no match for the heavy, scuffed leather of his Calvary boots.
Horn smiled. Spirit. He knew it.
Grabbing the little spitfire under the arms, he effortlessly raised her high. Pushing her body against the rough wall, he pressed his hips between her swinging legs. At the intimate contact, Emma instantly stilled.
Neither moved.
All around them the world seemed to stop. The only sound, the harsh rasp of her own breathing and the distant rattle of a carriage wheel. Emma could feel the sharp press of his hip bones against her inner thighs. The scandalous swell of his arousal pushed along the center of her stomach. She was surrounded by his scent, his warmth. He smelled like burning wood and warm gun metal. The scents of a man who spent most of his time on the trail. On the trail of human prey.
Emma followed his dark gaze downward. His muscled chest had crushed her bosom till the generous curves threatened to swell above her neckline. She looked like a wanton! His suggestive smirk only making the matter worse. Letting out an outraged shriek, Emma renewed her efforts in earnest. Propping her heels against the wall she pushed her hips outward, trying to dislodge him.
“You don’t need to rub yourself against me like that, darlin. I’m already interested,” drawled Horn.
Horn couldn’t quite make out her response but he was pretty certain he heard dirty, rotten and strangely enough sack? His brief stay in Wickenburg was shaping up to be mighty interesting.
“Enough,” he roared when he had plenty of her ranting and struggles. Emma instantly stilled. Only then did he drop her back to the ground, although still standing stubbornly, scandalously close.
“I’ve had enough of your sass. You’re going to tell me your name and why you were all fired up to check out those wanted notices back there,” ordered Horn. She was a tasty piece but that didn’t change the fact there was something suspicious about her behavior and he meant to know what.
“None of your business!” snapped Emma as she stubbornly crossed her arms across her middle. Well, that is until she saw it drew his gaze once more to her bosom. Damn it all! She put her arms rigidly to her side.
“Try again. And that’s two,” ground out Horn. Towering over her, feet spread wide, hands on his hips; he was the very picture of a stern disciplinarian.
“Two, what?”
“Punishments.”
Her cute, full lips formed the most adorably indignant “o” thought Horn. For her second punishment he was definitely going to concentrate on that magnificent bosom of hers. His already painfully aroused cock lengthened even further at the thought. Would he torture her nipples with wooden clothes pins? Use his lasso to wrap their full weight tight till they were sensitive to the slightest touch and then suck and bite each tender bud? Or just straddle her hips and slap each generous curve until they bore his mark? It would be a difficult decision.
This man was so infuriating! She need to get him off her trail.
“I was looking for information on my beau. His name is…is…Black Bart…and…and…he is wanted for killing one…no…two…no…FIVE…men in at least…ah…three counties,” she blurted out. There. That should do it, thought Emma with satisfaction.
She was less than pleased at Horn’s bark of laughter. Apparently men like him were not easily cowed by the idea of a beau who had possibly killed five men. Damn it all!
“And that’s three.�
�
Horn took a menacing step forward.
Not knowing what else to do, Emma swung around, turning her back to him.
Horn’s strong arm wrapped around her small waist, pulling her tight against his length. Her straw bonnet was knocked askew in the struggle. He got his first glimpse of her rich, dark chestnut hair, piled high in thick curls on top her head. The slight curl he had glimpsed down her back didn’t do it justice. It had only hinted at the deep mahogany color. Even confined in a loose chignon he could tell it was thick and full. The kind of hair a man could dig his hands into and hold on tight. Horn tightened his grasp on her waist. Running his hand over her hip and down her side, he grabbed a fistful of fabric, wrenching it upward.
“You wouldn’t dare try to spank me!” cried Emma, bending over, struggling to pry the fabric out of his strong grasp. The movement pushing her slender hips backward, grinding her bottom against his already hard shaft.
“I’m going to dare to do a helluva lot more than spank that bottom of yours,” growled Horn into her ear. This little spitfire had him completely rattled. He didn’t even give a damn about the open setting. He didn’t give a damn about the proprieties. He didn’t give a damn that he still didn’t know her name or what she was hiding. All he cared about was showing her who was in charge. Him. He needed to feel her skin. He needed to feel her reaction the moment his hand made contact with her ass. That very moment she felt the first pain of his punishment. The first consequence of disobedience.
Neither noticed the little girl skipping down the alley.