Barry knelt to remove her boots and pants, reveling in the warm sweetness of the firm globes that brushed his face when she held on to his shoulders for balance. The skin of her thighs and calves felt like silk as he tugged at the coarse male clothing…and there was that patch of curls beneath her bloomers, musky and inviting from their encounter in the cabin.
Barry inhaled deeply and ran his hands up under her camisole. “Lyla…Lyla honey, if you only knew what you were doing to me,” he breathed.
She chuckled softly. “I’ve got a pretty good idea, you know. And it’s obvious, the effect you’re having on me.”
“Not obvious enough. You don’t know the half of what I plan to make you feel, now that I’ve got all night to show you.”
Still kneeling, Barry lifted the hem of her camisole and circled her navel with his tongue. When Lyla giggled he tightened his grip and continued upward, kissing the velvety skin of her stomach, letting her lacy underwear gather lightly atop his closed eyelids until her breasts framed his forehead. Lord, but she was round and soft! With each of his palms he caressed her gently, content to breathe in her sweetness and feel her fluttering heartbeat.
The touch of Barry’s tongue on her nipple made her gasp. He was kneading her with utmost tenderness, surrounding her swollen peaks with a wet heat that spread like wildfire within her. Lyla took his head in her hands, weaving her fingers through the thick waves of his hair as he worked his subtle magic on one breast and then the other.
Could there be any finer luxury than this man’s touch? She doubted it, yet now his hands were lighting little fires along her sides and then slipping beneath her waistband. Barry’s lips roamed lower, flickering lightly, leaving a damp trail that tickled exquisitely when his breath fell upon it.
His fingertips teased at the crevice between her hips and then he grasped them firmly. She felt her drawers loosening and looked down to see him untying the silk drawstring with his teeth.
He glanced up, grinning as her underwear slithered to her ankles. “I hope you’re not in a hurry, sweetheart. Some pleasures are just too good to rush.”
Lyla flushed with joy. He was leaning back on his heels, openly admiring her legs with his eyes and hands.
“You’re some piece of work, Miss O’Riley,” he whispered. He ran his palms up her firm thighs, savoring their softness while anticipating an experience that would be new to her. As he’d hoped, Lyla inhaled sharply when he drew his thumbs from between her legs to part the cluster of curls he longed to explore. She was inflamed, so ready… “Lean on my shoulders and hold tight, honey. I have a feeling you’ll fly through the roof if you don’t.”
What on earth could he mean? Lyla watched him study her most intimate parts, wondering what could possibly fascinate him so. His sweet, boyish smile alone was driving her crazy, and when he approached her, his tongue extended, she nipped her lip.
A ripple of ecstasy like she’d never known made her fall against him, grasping the sides of his head. Barry was kissing and gently nipping her, moaning softly as though he, too, were caught up in the whirlwind he was creating inside her. When his tongue began a firm, rhythmic caress, Lyla felt her head fall back, and her mouth opened, but no sound came out. She was afraid of falling, afraid of losing control—
“Cut loose with it, Lyla. I’ve got hold of you,” he rasped.
His renewed attentions went straight to her head, faster than any wine. She was whimpering, writhing, opening to receive a gift made sweeter because she hadn’t known enough to expect it.
With a sharp cry, Lyla gave in to him, shuddering in his grasp as she shook with one spasm after another. She was a wondrous creature while in the throes of passion, and when she collapsed he drank in her flawless beauty. Her head was lolled back, her breasts quivered beneath her gossamer camisole, and her baby-soft hair dangled around his hands as he kept a firm grip on her hips. Barry couldn’t remember a more gratifying sight, and her sweet, earthy perfume made him eager for his own release.
“There’s more,” he said with a soft chuckle, “so I’ll lay you down, let you recover for it.”
Still woozy, Lyla felt herself being lowered onto the bear rug in front of the fireplace. Her whole body pulsed to a seductive beat she’d never felt before. She was vaguely aware of Barry sitting beside her, chuckling softly, but too awestruck to chide him. He’d taken her by surprise and was gloating over it! She gripped the bristly bear rug, trying to regain some clarity.
Barry removed his boots and then stood up at her feet, gazing at her. That camisole had to come off, but there was plenty of time. He reached out to touch her inner thigh with a bare toe, drawing it slowly toward himself. “You might want to open those pretty blue eyes,” he drawled. “Might want to see what I’m getting you into next.”
Lyla exhaled slowly and then looked at him. “What you’re getting into is more the issue, marshal.” she quipped. “Pretty cocksure, aren’t you?”
“That’s one way to put it,” he said with a soft laugh. “But it’s because of you, honey. Because of the way you accept my affection and return it so freely…because you brought me back to life, in more ways than you know. This is how it’s meant to be between a man and a woman, Lyla. I know that now, and I love you for it.”
Her mouth fell open and her eyes prickled. Barry Thompson was the tallest, burliest, toughest man she’d ever met, yet now that they were alone, becoming lovers in the truest sense, his gentle sentiments filled her with grateful joy. How did he know what her soul had longed to hear all her life? Gone were his ideas about keeping her, like a mistress, or an orphan to be pitied. He was speaking from the heart, his tender words more binding than any of his previous plans to rescue her from the streets or Frazier Foxe.
“I believe you’re a changed man, Mr. Thompson,” she mumbled.
Barry smiled and shrugged out of his shirt. “I should hope so, as many times as I’ve stared death in the eye lately. Can you keep a secret?”
Lyla nodded, her eyes following his hand to his belt buckle.
“After Foxe and his men are in the Canon City prison, I’m turning in my badge. Life’s too short to keep risking it on the likes of him.”
Again her mouth fell open. “But you’re the perfect man for the—what’ll you do? I can’t see you sitting idle, or just helping McClanahan once in a while.”
Thompson let his pants drop to the floor. “My mine, the Flaxen Lassie, has a few good years in her yet. I’ve got plans for a house that’s worthy of the wife you’ll make me, and then I’d like to father a few children and spoil you all rotten. Compared to the way I’ve lived lately, that sounds like a full, satisfying life.”
Would he never cease to surprise her? Lyla gazed up at him and her breath caught in her throat. She’d seen every inch of him when he lay dying in her bed, but watching him disrobe was a different story. Barry was peeling off his union suit slowly, knowing he was taunting her and enjoying every moment, as though he had nothing more serious on his mind than flaunting his magnificence.
“You…you’ve healed quite nicely,” she said in a tight voice.
He glanced down at his left shoulder, at the scar that was barely visible. “I had a fine surgeon. Something tells me she enjoyed her work, knowing she could fondle me wherever—”
“I was in a race with the Reaper himself, Thompson! I had no time for fondling!”
“Surely you at least looked.”
By now Barry had uncovered his arms and was lowering his union suit, grazing his sides with hands Lyla wished were her own. The swirls of hair on his chest teased at her. His muscles rippled as he pushed the cream-colored underwear to the second growth of curls and freed his erect manhood, pausing.
“Did you wonder how I would feel inside you, honey?” he whispered. “Were you curious? Afraid, because I’m so much larger than you?”
Lyla nodded, blushing.
Barry smiled kindly at her, and after he stepped out of his underwear he stood before her, glorious in his strengt
h, glowing golden in the light from the fire. “You said you dreamed of me when you were at Foxe’s. What did I do to you? What was the fantasy you enjoyed the most?”
Her eyes widened. He couldn’t really expect her to admit—
“There’s nothing wrong or shameful about making love to me in your mind, Lyla,” he murmured as he lowered himself onto the rug. He stroked her flushed, freckled cheek and then lightly kissed her nose. “In fact, I find it extremely flattering and…arousing. While I was recuperating at McClanahan’s, I had to take a lot of cold soaks to remain within the bounds of decency as a guest. You’re potent medicine, pretty lady. I made love to you dozens of ways in my dreams, and I can’t wait to try them. But right now I want to hear what you’d like.”
Lyla remained speechless. His eyes were as serene as a sunlit evergreen forest, inviting her to share her most intimate thoughts. Hesitantly, she reached up to stroke the light stubble along his square jawline, to run a fingertip around the fullness of his lips. Did she dare express what she’d envisioned on those long, lonely nights? A man of Barry Thompson’s experience would likely find her ideas childish or just downright silly.
Barry kissed the soft palm she was caressing him with, sensing her apprehension. She was no prude, but she’d never been asked her preferences—probably didn’t know them yet—and he smiled, waiting her out. He kissed the pulse point of her inner wrist, so soft and pale with its delicate blue veins, and then ran his tongue lazily down her arm.
Lyla gazed, fascinated at the sensations he was creating. He was doing it again, igniting her passions with the simplest of gestures performed so tenderly she had no doubt Barry Thompson made every woman he wooed fall in love with him. But he was here, with her, speaking of a home and children. Talking of permanence and a passion that would never die.
“Barry, you make me feel like warm, drizzly honey, kissing me this way,” she murmured when his lips teased the sensitive hollow of her neck.
Thompson chuckled. “So let me be the hot bread. Spread yourself on me and do what you will, sweetheart.”
He coaxed her down with him into the thick pile of the bear rug, and Lyla felt her inhibitions melting. She reached for him, wrapping her arms and legs about him, reveling in the softness of her lover’s skin and hair and caress.
“What’s that smile for?” he whispered.
She lowered her eyes shyly. “This is the way I saw us, love. Right here on this rug, holding each other so close before the fire.”
“And this is the way I’ve always wanted to kiss you, Lyla.” He drew her against his chest and held her head, claiming her exquisite lips softly, testing with the tip of his tongue. She was indeed like sweetest honey in his arms, flowing against him as she opened her mouth to accept his advances. He’d stolen her kisses at the Golden Rose and crushed her in his ardor at the abandoned cabin, but this…this was loving in the highest sense of the word.
Lyla responded with all her heart, her lips returning nuances she’d never dreamed of until this endearing man taught them so effortlessly. She was floating, breathless and buoyant on the waves of the desire that crested inside her. They were rubbing together, which made the hair on his chest rustle against her breasts in a hypnotic rhythm and brought the tip of him lightly against her hip, prodding suggestively. The kiss drifted on and on, subtle and sweet, until Lyla burned for more solid satisfaction.
She broke away with a gasp and wriggled lower, thrusting to take him in, but Barry stretched away from her. His low laugh told her it was another of his wiles to prolong her pleasure, but she was beyond waiting. Angling, she impaled herself with a moan she heard echoing in his own throat.
“Yes…yes,” he murmured, overwhelmed by the miraculous rapture she gave. “I didn’t know how strong my weakness for you was, honey. I want this to last and last.”
Even as she heard his plea, she felt Thompson’s body straining, urging her to fly with him. She held her breath, incoherent with wanting him, and then soared forth on a burst of splendor that left her clutching his muscled body until neither of them could speak.
Several minutes passed before Barry realized just how far into another world this impassioned lass had propelled him. He drew a shuddery breath, holding her until Lyla, too, regained a sense of where they were and what wonders had passed between them.
When she looked up with her loving blue eyes, he was once again stunned by what he’d found in her—and by what he’d nearly lost to a vengeful Englishman who could still snatch her away. The thought sobered him, yet he refused to spoil this blissful moment. Lyla nestled against him and he curled himself around her, wishing this intimacy were all the protection she’d ever need from Frazier Foxe.
She turned in his embrace to stroke the long, magnificent thigh that stretched along hers. It was the most perfect of moments, yet destined to end. Lyla sensed this would be the only night she and Barry would share until they were truly free from the murderous thieves who might strike back at any time.
When Thompson took her hand, rotating his ring to make the gemstones sparkle with the firelight, she knew exactly what was on his mind, and she was now strong enough to discuss it. “It’s a lovely thing, Barry. You couldn’t have chosen better.”
He smiled ruefully. “Matches your eyes, you know. Looks like it was made for your delicate hand, too. But I wish I’d been the man who put it there.”
Lyla sighed, praying she wouldn’t hurt him inadvertently as she revealed the painful details of the past weeks. “Frazier has a way of granting favors expressly so he can turn them into threats,” she said quietly. “I knew he had this, and my silver shamrock, too. So when I demanded my brother’s necklace, he appeased me by saying it would grace my gown— which he designed—on our wedding day. He then presented this aquamarine as a token of his admiration, he said. And in the next breath he stated I was to wear it every day, to remind me of how foolish falling in love is and of how much I lost when you died in that fire.”
Thompson’s gut tightened. And as he listened to her tell how Foxe had orchestrated the Angel Claire explosion to make him look incompetent, and how he’d insinuated Mick O’Riley was an opium addict, and how he’d bought men in all stations of life for the purpose of killing him, so the marshal’s office would be another coin in his pocket, Barry remained too shocked to speak.
How had Lyla survived, living with such duplicity? In a trembling voice she continued her tale about how Foxe planned to beget an heir—how he’d laughed about sketching it, damn it! Before the robbery at the Golden Rose, Barry had considered the monocled stockbroker a pillar of Cripple society with a few pesky mannerisms. As his woman revealed one abomination after another, however, he became painfully aware of just how dishonest Frazier Foxe truly was, and, in league with Connor, how difficult he’d be to convict. No one else suspected Frazier of being an arsonist, a murderer, or an expert at forgery and chicanery. Who could say how many documents and deals he’d sealed with the name of that nonexistent attorney, Quentin Yarborough? And proving these charges would be even more of a challenge than he’d anticipated.
“…so I figured when Rafferty steered me toward town, I’d go in as though nothing unseemly was taking place,” Lyla was saying with a little more sparkle in her voice. “Just a bride come to check on her wedding arrangements, you see.”
Barry blinked. “You don’t really intend to go through with this wedding? Honey, you’re tempting fate—”
“What else can I do?” She studied him, knowing she wasn’t the only person in danger if her strategy failed. “I devised this plan before I knew you were alive, knowing the McClanahans would help me avenge your death and prove our innocence. Which is just as well, since you have to remain out of sight until we have Frazier cornered in the church.”
Her talk had taken a turn while he’d been meandering down his own thought path, so he pulled away slightly to look at her. “Back up, sweetheart. You were heading to Cripple to check your arrangements?”
“Of cour
se! Frazier made them all himself, by messenger—wouldn’t risk leaving his estate, with or without me. So that’ll be my explanation when he comes to Cripple to catch me,” she stated pertly. “I wanted to try on my gown, and approve the invitations, and speak with the caterer and Princess Cherry Blossom. She’s to be my maid of honor,” Lyla added with a roll of her eyes.
Recalling his last encounter with the war-painted whore, Barry nearly choked on the irony of this. “So you’re setting yourself up as bait? I don’t like it. Too many things can go wrong, and—”
“What could be more wrong than having to bed Connor Foxe with Frazier looking on?” she demanded shrilly. She sat up, wondering if their lovemaking had addled his brains or if he hadn’t been listening closely enough.
“I’ll stop in at the Rose, have a fitting with Mrs. Delacroix—all these things to convince people that I truly am marrying Frazier, you see? But you and McClanahan will be ready to spring on him the moment I come down the aisle. It’s perfect! He’ll think I’ve been going along with his secrecy until bang!—the sanctuary will offer him no sanctuary after all! I have the papers you’ll need to prove—to prove…” She’d risen to her knees, as though going for her coat, yet Lyla was now turning as pale as a pitcher of milk.
“Prove what, honey?” he asked.
She sat down with a disgusted groan, pounding the bear rug with her fist. “How could I be so stupid? I—” She looked at Barry’s earnest face and felt utterly foolish for what she was about to say. “Foxe made me sign a prenuptial agreement concerning the division of his estate at his death, as well as a copy of his will-both papers bearing Yarborough’s forged signature. That in itself would be proof of his connivery, but I left it…stashed behind Jack Rafferty’s bunk. Along with that five hundred dollars you gave me.”
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