Susan Johnson

by Susan Johnson

  His slender arching hand flicked toward the table. “Would you care to join me?” he politely murmured as though he’d never felt the fine silk of her skin or tasted the sweet welcome of her desire. “Not up to your usual standards, I’m sure,” he serenely noted, his voice by contrast lambent heat, “but sufficient to keep body and soul together.”

  “Thank you, no,” Blaze replied to the man known to most people diffidently as Hazard, her own memories of him suddenly too vivid. Unexpected qualms and unfamiliar feelings made her too nervous to eat. His food was simple: fried bread; a large steak, of elk or venison, she guessed; coffee; and a large tin container of raspberries.

  “Try the berries anyway,” he remarked, moving back to the table. “The boy from McTaggert’s spent all morning picking them.” He sat and began eating again.

  “No, thank you,” she repeated, determined to come straight to the point. She found him more disturbing than expected and the memories of the Territorial Ball too volatile to casually dismiss. Unconsciously squaring her shoulders, she said as calmly as possible, “I’m here to offer you a business proposition.”

  Glancing up, his gaze trapped hers and for a moment Blaze saw only luminous eyes and a dark, indulgent amusement. “A business proposition. I see.”

  Blaze relaxed. She’d known he’d be reasonable once one was close enough to talk to him. Yancy Strahan’s business methods had never appealed to her either. Now it was simply a matter of agreeing on price.

  Hazard wondered which businessman down at the bottom of the mountain owned her. She wasn’t married, she’d said the night of the ball, yet was traveling with that group of men. Whoever it was must have brought her from the East; she was more refined than the available women out here. He understood what the business proposition entailed.

  He could visualize her businessman protector now, telling her what to do … how to approach him … what to say; using her to try to get him another way—with a bribe and lure as old as man. So here she was, too nervous to sit down with him. Not sure exactly what to expect from a wild Indian who had threatened to shoot their last agent only this morning.

  “You’re aware your claim is contiguous to several promising properties,” Blaze began, interrupting Hazard’s reflections.

  “Sit down. Do you have a name?” he asked, ignoring her opening gambit, and went back to his meal.

  She hesitated briefly, for his presence was disconcertingly invasive, as though he’d touched her with his words and glance.

  Lifting his eyes for a moment from his task of cutting his meat, Hazard said, “Do you?” and waited expectantly until she spoke:

  “Miss Braddock.” And sat down.

  Ah, he thought, pretentions from a kept woman. Not Mary Braddock or Amy or Cora, but Miss Braddock. Would she be refined in bed as well? he facetiously mused. He ate then while Blaze in a small, dignified voice apologized for Yancy’s discourtesy and began listing the claims around him Buhl had purchased. “So you see, Mr. Black,” she continued, more assured without his dark gaze on her, “as an agent for Buhl Mining I’m prepared to offer you a very advantageous price for your claim.”

  She was really quite good, he thought. All the nuances of diction and substance were there. No doubt she’d been coached for the part. Hazard put down his knife and fork and pushed away his plate. “Fine. You’re an agent of Buhl Mining Company,” he mildly replied, but in the muted light, capricious with shadow, his face was civilly skeptical. “Just for the sake of argument,” said Hazard encouragingly, “let’s say I believe you.” Sliding his chair back, he stood. Moving smoothly around the table, he pulled her to her feet. “Now then,” he murmured, holding her straight shoulders, “what exactly are you willing to offer for my claim?”

  His gaze, rested on Blaze’s startled face, on the pale sunlight on her cheekbones, the slender bridge of her nose, on the ripe mouth. She seemed small, held close, and her soft lips, half open in surprise, were curiously beseeching. His hand moved to the buttons on her blouse and began opening one with unhurried fingers.

  “I’m prepared—that is—Buhl’s prepared to offer you—anything you want,” Blaze softly stammered, mesmerized by his eyes, his touch, by the feelings that had sprung to life at his sudden nearness.

  “Anything?” he quietly murmured. His dark fingers slipped under the linen and stroked the soft rise of one silken breast. “I like the sound of that.” The feel of her skin was like rose petals, velvety and fine, and the thin chemise under the blouse was no obstacle at all to his sudden hunger. She opened her mouth to answer, but then his thumb and forefinger touched her nipple through the lacy fabric and the words lodged in her throat. Slowly, gently, he rubbed and teased each peaking crest into a rigid aching hardness. He hadn’t kissed her yet, content to watch the lush sensuality infuse her face.

  She stood very quietly beneath his hands. She was trained to be acquiescent though, he reminded himself. It was her job, the submissive pose. But he didn’t mind. He was being offered a delectable break in his day and he’d be a fool to refuse it. He could take his time with her—that’s why she’d been sent. So there’d be no interruptions. He might as well enjoy the bounties of corporate deviousness.

  Her eyes were half closed, her breathing hushed, when he reached up to slip the cool linen from her shoulders, down her arms, over her small hands, freeing it from her body. His palms glided down the smoothness of her back; how fragile she felt under his callused hands. Tugging the blouse out of her trousers, he carefully laid it on the chair. The sheer white chemise, more lace than silk, scarcely concealed her upright breasts straining against the light material, nor the peaked nipples pressing like supplicants through the filmy undergarment.

  Instinctively her arms came up to shield herself.

  “Very nice gesture. Such a classic, but,” Hazard said, pushing aside her protective arms, “I want to look at you before I fuck you.” He deliberately used the coarse word, to remind her as well as himself that this scenario was bought and paid for by Buhl Mining Company—her owner, his adversary. She colored and appeared confused, but her sky-blue eyes were helpless when they gazed into his unflinching black depths.

  He lowered his head with deliberate slowness to kiss her, excited despite himself by the stripping away of her habitual grace and poise. Whether artificial or not, the innocent confusion was erotically provocative and the throbbing in his groin swelled prominently against the leather leggings. She whimpered softly when their lips touched and this time her mouth opened of its own accord under his. He was being offered several heated degrees more than acquiescence in the gesture, and when he tasted the sweetness of her mouth, her tongue softly played with his, twined and teased, then winsomely danced away. He noted the difference immediately; she was responding like a young girl to a lesson previously learned. He marveled at the delicate sense of naiveté she was able to portray, gave her high points as an actress, and looked forward to a very pleasant afternoon.

  “Mmmmm …” he murmured against the soft pressure of her mouth. “If you’re the ‘anything’ ”—he nibbled at her lush lower lip— “I’m buying.” His hands played down the small of her back, pressing her closer, molding her lower body to his, until his pulsing manhood was like a living force between them.

  “You don’t understand,” Blaze managed to whisper while the gentle swaying aggression of Hazard’s need burned against her thighs, her stomach, pressed like a brand on her own aching want. And all the complexities of who she was and why she was here were reduced to trivia beside the raging tide of desire racing through her mind and body.

  “I understand, bia.” The rough-soft voice breathed into her ear, his hardness brushing a languid pattern upward. “Perfectly.” His mouth left a fiery trail down her throat, his teeth lightly nipping her satiny shoulder.

  She shivered, trembled, died a little at the restrained hunger of the tiny bites, and her arms finally left her sides, drifting up in slow motion to grip his strong shoulders. Holding on against the
mists of desire enveloping her, she dreamily murmured, “We should talk money.…” Still not completely lost to reason, she breathily added, “… Your claim—”

  “Claims,” he absently corrected, his hands already moving upward. He removed her arms from his neck and carefully placed them at her sides; then, grasping the thin straps of her chemise, he slid them down, returning to gently tug the fine embroidered silk over the fullness of her breasts. The lacy bodice tightened, not designed to be taken off that way. Single-minded now, Hazard improvised. Forcing her ripe breasts upward with one hand, he gently eased the taut fabric over the swelling curves. Blaze felt his hands like flame on her skin, the pressure sure; she felt the filmy material slide over the cresting tips of her nipples leaving her tingling with want. She trembled, felt the silk of his hair brush her skin, warmth rushing in an intoxicating turbulence downward from her sensitive breasts to a new and irrepressible desire. Balancing tremulously on the heady fringes of the unknown, in a soft rush of words, she whispered, “We really … should talk … about—”

  “Later,” Hazard interrupted very softly, just before he slowly drew the tip, the nipple, the entire aureole into his mouth and teased gently with his teeth and tongue until Blaze felt sure she would swoon from the pleasure.

  In a remote corner of her brain, Blaze realized she should break away, stop this irrational surrender to this man who shocked and thrilled her simultaneously. It was sheer insanity … but an insanity she was powerless to resist.

  Hazard only briefly considered how this luscious woman sent up as a sweet bribe was corrupting his principles—only very briefly—and then his head lifted, his hands moved downward and he began unbuckling the narrow leather belt twined around her slender waist.

  Blaze was pressed back against the wall near the small table, crushed between it and the throbbing hardness of Hazard’s lower body. His lean hips moved rhythmically against her in slow dance of persuasion and lust that caused a tremor in the fingers undoing the gold buckle at her waist. She could feel the full length of him, his roused masculinity like a battering ram testing the way for entry. And when he finally opened the clasp and slid the belt free, it was as if he’d opened her long-dormant passion. Dropping the belt to the floor, he drew her closer, slid a hand down her bottom, and, bringing her up on her toes, forced her to meet the full urgency of his hunger.

  Like magnets to the Earth’s poles, Blaze’s hands glided up Hazard’s dark chest, lifted high on his shoulders, and, lacing her fingers around his powerful neck, she melted into his frame. “I shouldn’t be doing this,” she breathed in a sweet surrendering sigh.

  It was the patently coy phrase and what sounded like a carefully orchestrated sigh that suddenly, like a cold drenching cloudburst, brought Hazard to his senses. He froze for the count of ten, looking down into the perfect face. Bloody hell, he thought, hot anger cresting in seconds, was he going to fall into this strumpet’s arms like so much docile meat? Not that he had any intention of selling his claim, but the whole easy acceptance of her brazenly offered body demeaned him.

  Suddenly the crude and deliberate victimization by Buhl Mining mattered more than the lust licking through his veins. And, as suddenly, he knew he didn’t want to be corrupted. Inhaling a ragged, brutal breath, using every ounce of will bred into him by the harsh, Absarokee tradition, Hazard crushed down the overwhelming emotions driving him to take this woman and very deliberately pulled her arms from around his neck and stepped away from her.

  Turning, he walked the few steps to his chair and sat down, trying with all the strength of his considerable will to concentrate on something—anything but his hunger for this woman.

  Feeling instantly cold and bereft when he walked away, Blaze, her eyes, pleasure-darkened from new, powerful yearnings beating at her sanity, didn’t stop to think, only acted. “Come back,” she softly pleaded. Her senses, her awakened body, were reaching toward some elusive enchantment, and not knowing why she felt as she did when Hazard touched her, Blaze only knew she wanted what he was about to give her.

  Hazard didn’t respond. His breath, a harsh, raspy rhythm, came from deep within his chest, now that the initial suffocating feeling had passed. With an irritated grimace, he shifted restlessly on the chair but he stayed where he was, braced hard against his body’s searing drive.

  Blaze knew, however innocent her knowledge of these things, that he hadn’t wanted to stop. Something had forced him to walk away. And she also knew with an inherent femaleness that she could undermine that resistance.

  And that was when the spoiled Miss Braddock came to the fore, the impetuous Miss Braddock who had been denied nothing in her life, the imperious Miss Braddock whose blood was on fire. “Come here,” she repeated, out of pique this time, unfamiliar with being spurned, a sultry petulance permeating her voice. “I want to feel you …” The sentence was left incomplete.

  Jon Hazard’s treacherous mind finished the thought and his hand resting on the rough tabletop clenched convulsively. “You’d better go,” he growled. “Just get the hell out of here,” he added gruffly, all the ethical and unethical turmoil locked hard within him.

  He heard her boot heels on the floor and tensed, his knuckles pale against his swarthy skin. The visual image of her backed against the wall, naked above the waist, her breasts softly swollen under his hands, her wide eyes warm and liquid with wanting him—the vivid portrayal added inches to his arousal. “I don’t want to go yet,” she whispered softly, like a young girl wanting something she shouldn’t have. The tone was jeunesse dorée, willful, and transiently he wondered if she wasn’t a hussy but some wealthy young lady fallen into disgrace.

  His ambivalent musing was dramatically abridged in the following second, for her hand touched his hair.

  She felt him steady himself after the initial, breath-catching shock, and as her small fingers, slender and pale, smoothed down the sleek blackness of his hair, Hazard sat unmoving, his breath almost in abeyance. Then her hand slipped down to his shoulder, her warm palm lying lightly on him, and an overwhelming sexual response poured over Hazard. He could no longer convince himself of the corruption. All he could think of her was her long legs wrapped around him.

  Blaze focused on her pale fingers lying on his skin: fragile femaleness on brown male strength; the erotic contrast of brute virility beneath her fingers like a tender rose on an anvil. Then she saw Hazard Black begin, automatically, to breathe again, felt the warmth of his skin move. Would it hurt, she wondered for the first time in her life? Could she take on all that driving power and ever be the same? Why was she drawn to this uncivilized man with the terribly civilized touch of a polished courtier?

  Hazard had always prided himself on picking and choosing; with his charm and physical grace, he’d always been able to. He knew how to say no when he didn’t want a woman. And he shouldn’t touch her, particularly not this one. It was the reason she was sent up here. He would be falling into their unsubtle ploy with scarcely a struggle. He should say no and send her away.

  For five full seconds all the reasons for refusing to respond to the provocative touch and coaxing words made sense, and then her hand slid down his spine, and his whole mechanism for feeling, thought, deed lay shuddering, hostage to that small hand. He became perfectly still, shaken by the agony of his mind until the devastating ache in his loins, disregarding every scruple, forced his reaction. Turning sharply, he looked up at her. Then, rising suddenly, he took two steps, forcing her back against the wall. One hand came up and planted itself beside her left shoulder. Lazily, his other hand rose, grazing her breast in its upward passage before it came to rest solidly by her right ear. He leaned close, the heat from his body bathing her heightened senses, and in a low, deliberate tone said, “You know what I’m going to do if you stay.”

  Her eyes were large and darkening, the unalloyed longing there to see. Even for all its severity, like a man suddenly annoyed, Hazard’s voice had a heated, thrilling effect on her—like getting too near the fla
me. Fascinated, lured, against all her best judgment, she didn’t move.

  Then, abruptly, his face tightened. “Dammit … dammit to hell. Go. It won’t work,” he tersely declared. “Tell them it won’t work,” he harshly added one last time and his hands dropped. But despite the words, his need smothered her.

  “I don’t want to go,” she said very simply, the offer in her eyes unmistakable.

  Damn, he thought and touched her shoulders delicately with only his fingertips, a tentative touch as reluctant as his ambiguous feelings. “You don’t want to go. I don’t want you to go,” he pronounced like a schoolmaster explaining an unpleasant assignment. “I suppose everyone in camp knows you’re here. You’re half naked already,” he went on with the illusion of calmness. “We might as well,” a shade of exasperation drifted into the rich voice, “get down to business.” And the hands closing on Blaze’s shoulders were like steel clamps, and this time the kiss was hard, brutal, possessive.

  Hazard’s urgent hands ran down the silky contours of her back, cupped her bottom, and hauled her fiercely close. There was no subtlety now. He had given her every chance to leave; he felt no compunction any longer. Twenty days’ hunger, the arousal and frustration of the past half-hour crested like a rolling storm over the Rockies, while, astonishingly, the luscious woman reveled in the urgency and swiftly moving passion driving him. She answered his needs with melting flesh and soft cries of longing. If she was acting, he brutally thought moments later, carrying her over to the campaign bed in the corner, she should get an extra bonus for startling realism. Carefully placing her on her feet, he settled on the bed in a sprawl, his eyes never leaving the spectacular woman standing before him, and in a cool voice said, “All right. Undress. I haven’t had dessert yet; it might as well be you.”