Savage Thunder

by Johanna Lindsey

  She made it on the first leap, her fingers locking with his. But her feet went swaying through the air, and her fingers started to slip. She was about to cry out, anticipating a hard landing on her backside, when she was jerked up a bit so his other hand could grasp her wrist.

  Dangling by only one arm sent pain shooting through her shoulder socket, but she was up and sitting on the edge of the roof so fast, there was no time to moan about it. Under the circumstances, however, she didn’t feel inclined to thank her so-called savior, especially when an insistent tug forced her immediately to her feet.

  Again she was about to upbraid him, scatningly this time, when his curt “Come on, dammit” made her grit her teeth instead and follow him up the slight incline to her window.

  Here was another unexpected problem. Her hands, raised high, only just reached the window ledge, and she knew without a doubt that with what her arms had already been through, there was no way she could hoist herself up through that window.

  She was loath to ask, but there was no help for it. “Could you please accommodate me once more with a boost up?”

  She couldn’t see his eyes moving down her body to the likely place he would have to touch to shove her through the window. His manhood, already half aroused just from his standing this close to her, came to full attention. There was no way in hell he could put his hands on her body and not do more than that. Nor did he think he could bend down close to her legs to offer her foot the cradle of his hands and not break his control. Enough was enough.

  “Not on your life, Duchess,” he answered sharply and with finality.

  Jocelyn’s own control snapped at that point. “Well, I’m sorry, but I just can’t do it myself. My arms hurt, I’m freezing, I’m tired…do you think I went fleeing out my window and over the roof for the fun of it?”

  “It’s the middle of the damn night, woman. Who the hell is up and about at this hour?”

  “You were,” she replied stiffly. “And those gentlemen who stole into my room were. And who is to say there aren’t more of them waiting below in the lobby?”

  That was a damn good point, but he still wasn’t going to put his hands anywhere near that luscious backside of hers. “All right, move over,” he conceded with ill grace and vaulted through the window.

  This was exactly what Colt had wanted to avoid, being in her room again, being there with her—alone. He used to think there was nothing he couldn’t withstand, no pain, no torture, no temptation—until he met her. Christ, even that sadistic bullwhacker Ramsay hadn’t been able to break him. But this one little redhead was coming damn close without even trying. And he couldn’t even fault her for it. No, he knew exactly where the blame lay—inside his pants.

  Lust was making a mockery out of his will, and lacerating his pride and self-esteem to shreds. But it wasn’t something that had ever taken control of him before, so he didn’t know how to deal with it. All he knew was that he wanted this woman more than he had ever wanted anything before. And each time he saw her, his need seemed to escalate. It was enough to make a man want to cut his own throat.

  With self-disgust, he grasped her hands and yanked her up onto the windowsill, far enough into the room for her to be able to climb the rest of the way inside by herself. He then turned on his heel and headed for the door, determined to be out of that room before she was fully into it. But she obviously objected to being left dangling half in and half out.

  “Colt!” she wailed.

  He didn’t stop. “If I touch you again, Duchess, you’re going to damn well regret it.”

  “Just because you manage this with no effort at all doesn’t mean…oh, never mind!”

  Jocelyn lowered the top half of her body until her weight tumbled her forward into the room, ignominiously, she realized, as her legs crashed in behind her and flopped down on the floor. But she wasted not a second in correcting her graceless entry and shot to her feet. Nor did it calm her temper to see that he hadn’t been watching. It was in fact the last straw to see him reaching for the door handle.

  “You are the most surly, misbegotten…Good Lord!” she amended when the shambles of her room caught her attention. “What the devil happened here? Did they think I was hiding in one of the trunks?”

  That stopped him. It was a safe enough subject, and she had a right to know. And he did have the distance of the entire room between them. Still, he didn’t want to take the risk of looking at her now that she was no longer cloaked in shadows. The mess she was staring at drew his eyes as well, as if he hadn’t already seen it.

  “They weren’t looking for you, Duchess.”

  “Of course they were. Longnose is the only one—”

  “Not this time. Your Longnose hasn’t caught up with us yet. I’ll know it when he does.”

  She didn’t doubt his certainty, not when she knew he had spent every day on the trail scouting wide circles around them. “Then who were they?”

  “A couple of thieves, likely local boys. That guard at your door was probably the lure. Nine times out of ten, if a man sees a room that needs more security than lock and key, he’s going to assume there’s something worth stealing inside it.”

  Her eyes flew to him as she remembered the loud thud she had heard in the hall. “Robbie? Is—is he…?”

  She couldn’t finish, afraid the reason that Colt wouldn’t look at her was because the big Scot was dead. But he disabused her of that notion, though he still didn’t glance her way. He stooped to pick up a scrap of silk at his feet, staring at the thin blue ribbon in his hand as if it were the most amazing thing he had ever seen.

  “Your man was hit from behind. He’ll have a helluva headache to show for his carelessness in the morning, but that’s about all. It’s my guess one of them distracted him long enough for the other to take him out. It’s a strategy that works well against a single man.”

  “And the two brigands?”

  “You want the gory details?”

  “Colt!”

  She had blanched, though he didn’t see it. It was her silence after that aggrieved cry that made him relent.

  “They got the same as they gave, no more. But I cut up one of your petticoats to truss them with before dumping them out in the hall to keep your Robbie company. Didn’t think you’d mind. They’re not likely to stir before morning, but you’ll need a replacement to guard your door anyway, so he can keep an eye on them as well until they can be turned over to the sheriff.” There was a long pause before he added, “You should have had more protection.”

  She usually did, but tonight there had been special circumstances, because tonight she had planned on receiving a visitor she didn’t want anyone to know about. She had agreed to allow Robbie to stand guard outside her door for the simple reason that Vanessa trusted him to keep whatever he saw to himself. But neither of them had thought to add to his number when the circumstances changed.

  It was a severe jolt to remember that earlier plan now and realize that it had actually come to pass. Colt was here, in her room. They were alone. And it had come about without a summons, so there was nothing for him to suspect in the way of ulterior motives. Good Lord, she was even still dressed for the part, but there was no longer the guilt of a deliberate seduction to prick her conscience and fill her with misgivings. Whatever happened…

  Before her heart could accelerate with that thought, Jocelyn realized nothing was going to happen, because Colt hadn’t once looked at her since they had come into the softly lit room. And somehow she knew he wasn’t going to either. She almost laughed. If she did something to make him look at her, that would be tantamount to deliberately trying to seduce him again. She had to face it. Tonight just simply wasn’t fated to be the night.

  “Having only one guard at my door was indirectly your fault, Colt.” She smiled at the double meaning that he couldn’t possibly guess at. But when she saw him stiffen upon hearing blame placed at his feet, she quickly clarified. “I said indirectly. The fact is I have felt so much safer
since you’ve joined us that I have become remiss in certain precautionary measures. I also felt the men deserved a night off.”

  “What the hell good is that army that surrounds you if they don’t see to your safety regardless of your wishes?”

  Now she stiffened. “Your point is well taken. How stupid of me to depend on your rescuing abilities simply because you have displayed them so well and so often!”

  “Stupid is damned right!”

  That was it! He couldn’t even look at her when he shouted at her.

  “Good night, Mr. Thunder.”

  Seething, she watched him reach for the door handle again and this time slam out of the room.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  No sooner was Jocelyn alone than she yanked off her robe, wadded it up in her hands, and threw it down at her feet. She just about stomped on it as well. That miserable, detestable…

  “And when the hell are you going to lock this damned…door?”

  The “damned door” in question had been opened again for Colt to snarl that question at her. Jocelyn didn’t answer it. She had sucked in her breath at his sudden reappearance and seemed to have lost the knowledge of how to breathe, let alone speak, the second her eyes collided with his.

  Colt seemed to have the same problem, for he had barely gotten the last word out, nor were any more forthcoming. He stood with one hand gripping the door handle, the other pressed flat against the outside wall, merely leaning into the room, which was as far as he got when he saw her. And he didn’t move from that position—at least his body didn’t. His eyes were moving plenty, however, slowly, over every inch of her, from the flame-tinted hair, now in wild disarray, to the bare toes peeking out from the bottom of that incredible sheath of shimmering, clinging green satin, and what was in between—Christ Almighty. What the sight of her standing there like that did to him should have reduced him to ashes.

  “I wondered about it…often…what you slept in.”

  Jocelyn wouldn’t have known what to reply to that even if she could. She had only just started breathing again, and that with difficulty. Speech was still beyond her, as was movement. She was afraid to take a step for fear her knees would buckle. And that wasn’t her only fear. His eyes, usually so opaque, were blazing now with such heat she felt scorched by them, thrilled beyond measure—but frightened too. She couldn’t help it, not when she recalled that he had never once been gentle with her, and looked anything but gentle now.

  Without taking his eyes from her, Colt stepped far enough into the room to close the door behind him. Below the handle was the lock and he turned that too, still with his gaze riveted on her.

  If she hadn’t already known her time of waiting was over, that would have confirmed it. But she did know. He was going to have her. She couldn’t deny him now even if she wanted to. And she didn’t want to. She wanted him, despite the fear, despite knowing she would be getting raw passion rather than gentle lovemaking. Why that didn’t change her mind and send her fleeing out the window again she wasn’t sure. She just knew he had to be the first, that she couldn’t imagine anyone else touching her the way she was going to let him touch her.

  Her budding passion and nervous determination were not as pronounced as her fear, which was all Colt sensed in her stillness or saw in her wide-eyed stare. In a primitive way, it only inflamed him the more. But in the back of his mind he was aware that she hadn’t instigated this meeting, that if he was lynched for it afterward, he would have nothing to blame but his own weakness. He would be a real bastard to use the same tactics now that he had used previously to frighten her off. Having lost the battle, he had no need for them. But he had a need for fairness, especially when she couldn’t stop him, not by herself, not without help. So despite his single-minded determination, he forced himself to give her one last opportunity to escape what he could no longer control himself.

  “Scream now, Duchess, while you’ve got the chance. You won’t get another.”

  Jocelyn wished he hadn’t said that. It sounded too ominous by half, as if she wouldn’t survive this encounter, or had totally mistaken what was going to happen.

  “W—why?”

  Her voice acted like a magnet, drawing him across the room even as he answered with brutal clarity, “Because I’m going to lay you on that bed and fill you with my flesh.”

  God, she hoped so. The words alone sent her blood racing and her heart knocking against her ribs. There was no question of screaming. Moaning maybe. She already felt the need to moan and had to consciously resist it, not wanting any sound to escape that he might mistake before he reached her.

  When he did, the opportunity was lost. His fingers immediately threaded into her hair to grasp her head and tilt it back, applying enough pressure so there was no escaping his mouth as it lowered to cover hers. And as she had anticipated, it was a ravaging kiss, fraught with need too long denied, searing and hurting and angry.

  But Jocelyn understood the emotion behind it, or thought she did. If Vanessa had the right of it, Colt was probably furious with her right now for breaking his control, but even more furious with himself for letting it happen. It was up to her to tame that fury before it got out of hand.

  She shoved desperately against his chest until he raised his head. He even dropped one hand so she could create a space between them. The other hand remained where it was, the fingers closing on her hair. As long as she didn’t try to move too far away from him, it didn’t hurt. But she knew he could yank her back at any second, that he was merely allowing them both a moment to catch their breath.

  Hers was gasping, and instead of calming, it only became more rapid as she watched his eyes drift down her body, taking in everything again at this closer range. When she started to say something, anything that would break the mounting tension in her belly, he knew it without glancing up, and forestalled her with a shake of his head.

  “Not now, Duchess.” His voice vibrated with warning. “You had your chance.”

  She swallowed hard, and it was only because his direct gaze still remained diverted that she managed to get out, “Then call me Jocelyn.”

  In that moment Colt knew she was willing. His eyes shot up to her face to confirm it, and it was there, not fear, or horror, or even disgust, but merely uncertainty, and in her eyes—arousal. That knowledge acted on him like whiskey poured over hot flames. He groaned and reached for her again, and his hand was trembling as it touched her cheek, slid down her throat, then came to rest on her upper chest, where he could feel the wild tempo of her heartbeat.

  Jocelyn released a sigh herself, certain now that there was nothing left to fear. She offered her mouth and he took it, exquisitely, with enough pressure to fan her desire but not enough to alarm or bruise her. Yet when she pressed closer and tried to wrap her arms around him, she found out that the savagery was gone, but not his impatience.

  Colt wanted everything at once, to touch her, look at her, taste her. He wanted to be inside her already. At the same time, he didn’t want to give up the pleasure of her mouth. So without breaking the kiss, which had become a sensual exploration of taste and texture, he hooked his thumbs in the narrow shoulders of her gown. By the time he had run his hands down her arms, the gown hung at her waist. Only then was he tempted to lean back, and what he saw merely increased his impatience. Her breasts were small but perfectly shaped, the nipples hard little nubs, and he hadn’t even touched them yet.

  He was so amazed by that that he looked up at her and was hit with another jolt. The uncertainty was gone. She met his gaze steadily, and there was such naked desire in her look, he couldn’t tear his eyes away.

  “You want me.” He said it in awe, unaware he said it aloud, until he heard her whispered “Yes” and felt her hands on his chest, her fingers working at his buttons, or trying to.

  His own hands returned to swiftly finish what he had started, only he had no more luck than she was having with her own efforts to undress him. The gown wouldn’t budge past her hips, and
Jocelyn was too eager to get her hands on his bare skin to assist him.

  “There are ties in the back,” she offered helpfully.

  “Do you care?”

  “No.”

  The ties broke with his tug and the gown pooled at her feet. He set her back from him then so he could look at her while he got rid of his own clothes, the incentive adding unaccustomed speed and efficiency to his movements.

  She wanted to watch him too, to miss nothing of this body she had fantasized about. But the small space between them brought on a sudden shyness, making her acutely aware of her lack of experience. She didn’t know what was expected of her at that point, or if anything was. Was it rude to stare at him? Shouldn’t she remove his clothes, as he had hers? Or should she have gone directly to the bed to await him? It would be embarrassing if he had to tell her what to do.

  Reluctantly, Jocelyn turned toward the bed, but his husky drawl stopped her. “I want to put you there myself. I said I would.”

  The reminder recalled his exact words, that he was going to fill her with his flesh, and even the memory of those words had the power to weaken her knees. Gladly she gave in to her first desire, to indulge her curiosity about his body, and especially that most mysterious part of the male form, which she had never seen before.

  Vanessa had tried to explain what it looked like, had even drawn some sketches that were ridiculously funny but couldn’t compare with the real thing. Could it? Just thinking about it made her senses reel, and before she did something really silly, like throw herself at him, she forced her thoughts in a different direction.

  She hadn’t really noticed what he was wearing tonight, but she did now as each item hit the floor. His shirt and pants were dark, but normal for a change. In fact, with the gun belt, and the bandanna about his throat that she watched him cut off instead of untying, he came close to looking like any other Westerner. Only the boots with spurs were missing, and, tonight, the hat. But then she saw the two thin braids in front. They blended so well with the rest of his flowing black hair that they weren’t very noticeable, not in such dim lighting.