The Next Mrs. Blackthorne (Bitter Creek Book 6)

by Joan Johnston

  She heard him make a little sound in his throat, before he shook his head and smiled. “That’s good, honey. More of that.”

  “More of what?” she said, confused.

  He wrapped his hand around her hair until his fist was bunched against her cheek. “You don’t need tricks to make me want you, honey. Just lying there is enough to—”

  “I wouldn’t know how—”

  That was all she got out before his mouth covered hers. She clenched her teeth instinctively, and his other hand came up to force her mouth open for his intrusion.

  She felt a frisson of unexpected desire as his tongue teased along the crease of her mouth, before sliding inside. She hadn’t expected to like it. She hadn’t expected to be aroused by it.

  He sat up abruptly, and she stared up at him, her breathing erratic, her mouth open to gasp air. His hand loosened in her hair and once again played with it. He reached for her shoulders and sat her upright. She was frozen with embarrassment as he released the front clasp of her bra and slid it off her arms.

  She could feel her nipples forming into rigid peaks and thought it must be the cold air, although she felt unbelievably warm.

  North slid a gentle hand under her chin and lifted it and searched her face. She knew she was blushing again. She watched his glance slip to her breasts and then back to her face.

  “You’re exquisite.”

  His hand left her chin and trailed down her chest until he cupped one of her breasts. She’d never imagined her belly would clench at his touch. Never imagined how good his rough, callused hand could feel against her smooth flesh.

  His thumb brushed the stiff nipple, and she caught her lip in her teeth to bite back a groan of pleasure.

  “So responsive,” he said in a guttural voice. He lowered his head and caught her nipple in his mouth and suckled it.

  Her hands grasped his hair, unsure whether she wanted to push him away or pull him closer.

  Before she could do either, his mouth returned to hers. This time it opened wide for his tongue, and she returned the favor, eliciting an animal sound in his throat. His hands were busy doing something unbearably wonderful to her breasts, and she felt herself arching toward his touch.

  Abruptly he released her, and she stared into his eyes, which had changed again. This time they were stormy blue seas. Turbulent. Troubled.

  He hooked a finger in the tiny bikini panties and slid them down her long legs, then gave her shoulders a slight push. She fell slowly backward, her eyes caught on his, as he covered her with his body, his knees forcing her legs wide.

  She felt a moment of panic, realizing how vulnerable she was, realizing what must come next, and begged, “Please. Will you turn off the light?”

  “No.”

  Just that one guttural word. No apology. No mercy.

  He eased himself into the cradle of her thighs, bearing most of his weight on his elbows.

  She tensed like a bowstring as she felt the heat and the utterly strange—and frightening—hardness of him against her nakedness.

  “Relax,” he crooned as his mouth began to play across her shoulders and throat. And then he was whispering in her ear. Words she’d never expected to hear from so ruthless a man.

  “You smell like a woman should. Like a fragrant blossom whose scent is set free by the summer sun.”

  He made her feel beautiful. He made her feel desired. He made her feel…terrified.

  He thought she knew what came next. He thought she wanted to play. He thought she’d only teased him to excite him more.

  His hand reached down between her legs, and she pressed her legs tightly together and reached down to grasp his wrist. No man had ever—

  “Don’t,” she gasped.

  Her breath caught in her throat as he pressed his palm against the heart of her. When he looked at her in question, her mind raced for a way to put off the inevitable.

  “Not yet,” she said in a voice that was breathless—with fear, rather than passion, although he could have no way of knowing that.

  He smiled and said, “Anticipation is always a good thing.”

  The smile made her relax.

  And he slid a finger deep inside her.

  “Ohmigod,” she said. And tensed around his finger.

  He looked into her eyes, and she saw the first signs of confusion. She wondered if there was any way he could know she was a virgin. She didn’t want him to know. Would never give him that satisfaction. There had to be some way to keep him from discovering the truth.

  She traced the scar on his shoulder with her fingertip and felt him shudder. “How did you get this?” she asked.

  “Childhood wound,” he replied in a brusque voice.

  She looked into his eyes and saw the wound was more than skin deep. And that it had never really healed. She heard him draw in a hiss of air as she kissed her way down the length of the scar.

  Then she put her hands around his neck and kissed his throat. And his ear. And his cheek. And his closed eyes. And one side of his mouth and the other. His mouth opened wide, and she slid her tongue inside, tasting him, feeling the textures of him.

  He made a sound of satisfaction deep in his throat and withdrew his finger from inside her. She was congratulating herself on distracting him, when he grasped her hips and spread her legs wider with his knees. She looked down and saw the size of him.

  He was too big. He would never fit!

  And she panicked.

  “No!” she cried. She began to kick at him and beat at him with her hands. “No!” And then she burst into tears.

  He looked furious. He caught both her wrists in one of his hands, and pressed her legs flat beneath his own. He was bigger and stronger, and there was no way she could stop him, if he chose to fulfill their bargain, as it seemed he intended to do.

  It was only when he had her completely within his power that he caught her chin in his other hand and said, “What the hell is going on? Stop that blubbering and talk.”

  His eyes were icy again. Absolutely frigid. Remote. Dangerous.

  “This was a mistake,” she said.

  “You’ve got that right,” he retorted. “I’ve got no patience with a cocktease.”

  “I’m not a…what you said,” she said between hiccups and sobs, uncomfortable even repeating the word.

  “Then what the hell are you?”

  “I’m a virgin.”

  He let go of her hands as though she’d said she had leprosy, shoved himself off her and stalked naked around the bed to pick up his jeans and yank them on. When he had them zipped, he turned to her and said, “Cover yourself up!”

  She sobbed again and reached for the sheet and pulled it up tight under her arms, pulling her knees to her chest. She looked up at him and saw that his eyes had narrowed.

  “How do I know you’re telling the truth?” he said.

  “Why would I lie?”

  “So I’ll take pity on you, and say it’s all right if you don’t keep your end of the bargain,” he shot back.

  “I meant to go through with it.”

  “Sure you did, honey,” he said, his voice filled with sarcasm. “And a bear doesn’t shit in the woods.”

  “I did! I do,” she said defiantly.

  He lifted a mocking brow. “Fine. Lie down. Get rid of the sheet. Let’s get to it.”

  She looked at him in horror. “Right now?”

  He crossed his arms and said, “Is there a better time?”

  “When I know you better.”

  “I’ve only got you till September. I want to get full value for my bargain.”

  “I need time,” she pleaded. “You’re a stranger. This is…it feels like…” Like she’d sold herself for money. She just couldn’t do it. She looked at him and saw there wasn’t a shred of mercy in his soul. Which was why she’d put herself in his clutches in the first place. He would have stolen the Blackthornes’ heritage and never looked back.

  “You’ve got a week,” he said. “You f
ulfill your part of the bargain by then, or the deal’s off.” He lifted a brow and said, “Unless you want to call it off right now.”

  “I would love to call this off!” she snarled. “I don’t like you. I don’t respect you. I think you’re a heartless man without a care for anything or anyone. But—”

  “But you want to save your precious fiancé,” he snarled back at her. “You’ve got a reprieve for seven days, honey. Not one day more!”

  He whirled and headed for the door without another word. When he reached it, he looked back at her and said, “You can have the room down the hall. If you’re still here when I get back, I’ll figure you’ve decided to finish our bargain tonight.”

  She was out of bed with the sheet wrapped around her before he’d slammed the door behind him.

  North balled his hands into fists because they were trembling so badly. Joss had been a Venus lying beneath him, and he’d been harder and hotter than he could remember being since he was a teenage boy fantasizing about what sex would be like with his first woman. Until she’d dropped that little bomb.

  I’m a virgin.

  Sonofabitch. He still ached—hurt—with wanting her.

  He paced the length and width of his study, wondering whether he should go back down the hall and kick her out of his house right now. This was going to end badly. For him. And for her.

  He shouldn’t have listened to that sob story Kate had told him about how her mother and father were fated to be together. He must have been mad to come up with this particular scheme to stop Clay’s wedding. Buying up a controlling interest in Bitter Creek stock had only been possible because Libby had insisted North be one of the trustees for Kate’s trust, which held shares of Bitter Creek that Clay had given to his daughter, and for which North controlled the voting power.

  North had figured that Clay would be the one to come crawling on his knees begging for mercy. He’d planned to sell the stock back to the Blackthornes in exchange for Clay calling off his wedding.

  Jocelyn had shown up instead.

  He should have sent her away. He wanted her too much. Had wanted her ever since Libby had thrown her at him a year ago in Wyoming. He’d come away from that encounter admiring Jocelyn’s refusal to submit to him—and her willingness to defend herself.

  His hand went reflexively to the cheek she’d slapped. He had a feeling the oh-so-proper Jocelyn Montrose didn’t often resort to violence. But the instantaneous attraction between them had been undeniable, and she must have recognized in him the same threat he’d seen in her. The power of this one person, above all others, to destroy everything he believed about himself.

  Which was why he’d done everything he could to scare her off. He’d tried to forget about her, but the feel of her skin, the fragrance of her hair, the possibility of a life with her, had crept into his dreams. He’d imagined touching her. Holding her. Putting himself inside her.

  None of which required getting emotionally involved with her. He’d seen how love had ruined his father’s life. He was never giving a woman that sort of power over him. But last year, when he’d turned thirty-five, he’d decided it was time to marry. He wanted children. He wanted their laughter and the pleasure of raising them in a house where there was joy.

  He’d been looking for the right woman to be his partner when his sister had brought Jocelyn Montrose through the front door of his Jackson Hole cabin. She was exactly the type of female he liked, with her generous bosom and long legs. She was undeniably beautiful, with a porcelain complexion, aquiline nose, and full lips.

  He’d felt like he’d been poleaxed when he’d looked into her eyes, which reminded him of the bluebonnets that covered the hills of his Texas ranch in spring. Like bluebonnets, her eyes were a soft lavender, rather than blue, as their name suggested. He’d felt his body come alive. Felt his insides quiver with anticipation. In a different place and time, he would have fought tooth and claw to make her his mate.

  Perhaps it was his feral, animal response to her presence that had raised her hackles and made her instinctively wary.

  What he hadn’t liked was the way she’d looked down her nose at him, as though he were some alien beast, with beast being the operative word. He’d been chopping wood, and granted, he probably hadn’t smelled as clean as the men who showed up at her diplomatic dining table. But when she’d pulled her coat closed to keep him from looking at her breasts, and he admitted he’d leered to goad her, the tight leash he usually kept on himself had broken free.

  He’d moved into her space, stalking in a tight circle around her, brushing against her, feeling her flinch, seeing her nose wrinkle when she caught the odor of hardworking man. He’d made provocative suggestions about what he’d like to do with her—and to her. He’d felt her body tense, saw her look toward the door and escape.

  But he was much too aroused by then to let her go. And angry at her for making him want her, when it was so obvious to him that she was the very last sort of woman he needed in his life. The kind of woman he could come to crave. Like his father had craved the woman who’d been stolen away from him by Jackson Blackthorne. The woman who’d obsessed his father and made him a bad husband to the three women—or four, depending on whether you counted his annulled marriage—he’d subsequently made his wives.

  North’s intent had been to cow Jocelyn. To prove that she was too weak ever to stand up to him, and therefore an unfit mother for his children. So, after he’d taunted her into releasing her coat, he’d reached out and touched her breast.

  But she hadn’t run. She’d attacked, like a wild animal with its back to the wall, that knows its very life is at stake.

  He’d taken a step back after she’d slapped him and gestured toward the doorway, smirking. She’d hesitated for a moment and opened her mouth to speak, then turned and fled. He’d wondered for a long time afterward what she’d wanted to say.

  Unfortunately, although she’d walked away from him without looking back, she’d never left his thoughts. He hadn’t slept well that night, and many that followed, dreaming of her. Her fancy northeastern name, Jocelyn, had been shortened to a more casual western Joss in his dream encounters. And, he’d woken up hot and bothered by his dream woman too many times to count.

  He’d refused to go after her. He wasn’t going to repeat his father’s mistake. He wasn’t going to attach himself to a woman who occupied so much of his mind. And he’d never let her get near his heart.

  But he’d found out a lot about her over the past year. And somehow, even the whisper of her name had the power to make him dream of what might have been. When she’d shown up at his door tonight, looking up at him with those stunning violet eyes, so wide and innocent, he hadn’t been able to send her away.

  Shit. He should have known she was a virgin. The truth had been there all along, staring him in the face. Her hair pinned up to within an inch of its life against her head. Her clothes tying her up like a package not to be opened before Christmas.

  Tonight he’d discovered the real woman she’d kept so carefully hidden. With her amazing copper hair. And her delicate tatt. And her incredibly arousing lingerie. All of which only made him want her more. And made him even more determined not to let her get under his skin.

  His body tightened as he remembered how Joss had looked at him when he’d touched her. In wonder. And delight. And passion. She’d been aroused. He was sure of it.

  But she’d only offered herself as a virgin sacrifice for the sake of the man she loved. Damn her! He was a fool to let her stay. A fool to go through with this lopsided bargain.

  But if he let Joss leave, she would go back to Clay. And Libby would never have the chance to make amends with the man she’d always loved. Kate would be disappointed. And Libby would be devastated. He owed it to both of them to keep Jocelyn here.

  So, even though he might want to throw her out on her exquisite fanny, Joss couldn’t leave. He had to keep the virgin temptress here with him. At least until after her June 4 wedding dat
e to Clay had come and gone.

  He might as well take advantage of the opportunity he’d been given to scratch the irritating itch she’d become. Maybe if he could quench this unendurable physical hunger, he could rid himself once and for all of this unwelcome yearning for…her.

  She must have some fatal flaws, personality quirks that would reveal her for the conniving Jezebel she was. What kind of woman could do—would do—what she’d done tonight? Who was Jocelyn Montrose, really?

  North didn’t know. But starting tomorrow morning, he intended to find out.

  4

  Jocelyn felt nauseated. For the better part of the day, she’d endured the panicked bawling of cattle as they were castrated and a red-hot brand was pressed against their hides. The sickening smell of blood and burning flesh had become overwhelming in the heat of the day.

  She was grateful not to have been asked to perform either of those jobs, but she’d been posted at a cattle chute to inoculate cows with a vaccinating gun. Her back ached and her feet hurt. She was sweaty and dirty. And starving.

  Which was her own fault.

  She’d cried half the night and tossed and turned the other half, so she’d been less than happy when North flipped on the guest bedroom light while it was still dark outside. He’d ordered her out of bed, insisting she had to work to earn her keep, and gave her five minutes to get to the breakfast table.

  She’d taken a very quick shower and then put on the “costume” she’d brought with her, a beautiful tailored white western shirt with a blue yoke and pearl snaps, designer jeans, a black belt decorated with silver conchas, and expensive black ostrich cowboy boots. She’d put her hair up in an elegant French twist and swiped on some lipstick.

  When she’d arrived twelve minutes later in the kitchen, she discovered North had already fed her breakfast to a couple of dogs loitering at the screen door.

  “Breakfast is over and done,” he said. “You want to stay, you do a full day’s work. That’s the deal.”

  Six hours later, Jocelyn was still seething at North’s arrogant behavior that morning, but hell would freeze over before she’d complain to that brute!