The Surrender of Lacy Morgan

by Suzanne Ferrell

  “That was the only gun I have.”

  “Darlin’, my mama didn’t raise a fool and you’re trying my patience. Start with your shirt.”

  Her eyes narrowed like an angry cat ready to draw claws and attack. Would she?

  He arched a brow, drew her pistol from his pocket and checked the chamber. Clean and fully loaded. He pointed it in her direction.

  Her hands clenched into fists at her side. For a moment he thought she’d refuse, almost wished she would. He was so angry he would like nothing more than stripping her of all pretense to show the harlot beneath the façade.

  Then, slowly, she inhaled, lifted her chin and straightened her spine. Something in her eyes—courage or defiance, he wasn’t sure which—struck a spark deep inside him.

  Almost as if she dared him to watch her, she lifted her hands to the front of her shirt. One after another she released the buttons to reveal the silky white garment beneath. When she shrugged out of the top, her dark nipples stood taut and visible beneath the thin silk.

  Even covered, her breasts were magnificent. Not too big, but certainly enough to fill even his large hands. They stood tight and full against her chest. He clenched his hand tighter around the handle of the Colt, then relaxed.

  She folded the top and laid it carefully on the bed, then turned back to face him.

  “Now the pants.”

  With an inhaled breath, she pulled off her boots. Then she unfastened the front of her pants and wiggled them over her hips. The loose camisole gaped to give him a bird’s-eye view of her breasts as she bent to push the dungarees down her long, shapely legs, then struggled to step out of them.

  Quinn swallowed hard as heat surged to his already stiffening cock. She was a means to an end, nothing more, and he needed to remember that fact.

  As with the shirt, she folded her pants and laid them on the bed, then turned to await his instructions. She was stripping all right, but not of her own will and she wanted to be sure he understood. He read it in her posture and the fire in her eyes.

  Standing before him barefoot and in her silky underwear, she looked like a goddess ready for sacrifice. “Satisfied? I have no hidden weapons.”

  Oh she had weapons, all right, and they were still hidden.

  “All of your clothes.” Holding the gun steady, he waved his free hand to indicate her undergarments. “Now.”

  She glanced at the open window to her right before she reached for the ties lacing her camisole together. Anyone walking past could look in and see her stripping for him. The idea of exposing her nakedness to others had his cock straining to get loose.

  Her fingers worked quickly and he almost missed the subtle shaking in them, so fascinated was he by the growing vision of her skin and breasts. She obeyed him, but she wasn’t used to undressing in front of strangers. He didn’t know why the idea pleased him, but it did.

  Dakota would love watching this. Too damn bad, someone had to get the woman a horse. Besides, they’d shared more than one woman in their travels. Quinn was glad he’d have this memory for himself.

  Once she stood before him proud and naked, he drank his fill. He wished he had time to tame her, slow and seductively, bring her to obey his will of her own accord. Unfortunately, he needed her cooperation before Devil escaped to wreak havoc on more innocent people. He’d sworn to make him and everyone involved, even the naked woman before him, pay for his mentor’s death. Anson’s widow deserved justice.

  He stalked toward her, Colt in hand, letting her fear build just a little. She was magnificent. Tall, round in all the places to make his cock throb, her skin a golden color. An offering waiting for him to claim. He wanted to pull her onto the bed and thrust deep inside her.

  Inches from her, he stopped and slid the cold metal barrel of the gun down her arm, eliciting a shiver from her. Both nipples drew even tighter.

  “Don’t. Please.”

  He reached forward, pulling on one, twisting it between his thumb and index finger, increasing the pressure.

  She gasped, arching her back slightly.

  Yes, he thought.

  Releasing the nipple, he slid his hand slowly down her chest, over her belly to the dark coppery curls at the junction of her thighs. “Open your legs for me,” he ordered, his voice sounding deeper even to his own ears.

  She pressed her lips together in the thin line of anger once more, her gaze piercing him with defiance. “No. I’m not a whore. You can see I haven’t any weapons.”

  “Don’t think for a moment I won’t force you.” Fury swelled through him, along with his need to control her. He locked his gaze with hers, willing her to submit.

  Mutiny and fear warred within her. And something else. Guilt?

  He knew the moment she conceded. With her eyes lowered, she took one step to the side to part her thighs. He slipped his fingers between them.

  Just as he thought—slick and warm.

  The woman might resent his orders, fear retribution for defying him, and even be humiliated, but obeying him had excited her.

  He might not know exactly where to find Devil Morgan, but he’d learned one thing he could use to get the information.

  Lacy Morgan loved having someone else in charge.

  Lacy tried not to flinch at the intensity of Blue-eyes’ gaze, but when he held his fingers to show her the evidence of her own arousal, she wanted the plank floor beneath her feet to open up and swallow her.

  “Your mama was a whore, and you’re gonna be one for me someday.”

  Devil’s ugly voice rang in her ears. If only the words weren’t true.

  But she’d left Devil and his men behind, even the son-of-a-bitch who betrayed her. No man would use her again.

  She lifted her chin a little higher.

  “This is going to be an interesting trip after all.” Blue-eyes licked his fingers.

  Lacy should have been disgusted, but the sensual way he slid his fingers over his lips to suck off her essence surprised and thrilled her.

  He watched her with unwavering power. He was so close, his scent filled her senses. Unlike Devil and his men, this man didn’t reek of rotting teeth and body odor. Leather and trail dust mixed with an underlying scent of sandalwood soap and something purely masculine. Deep inside her, the woman who wanted to be loved shivered at his nearness.

  She shook off the sensation and straightened her spine. Once before she’d fallen for a man who smelled and acted different from Devil’s usual henchmen, only to discover she’d made a tragic mistake in trust and judgment. When she’d ridden out of Devil’s camp, she’d sworn no man was going to own her again.

  She’d leave with Blue-eyes and his partner, but first chance she got she’d hightail it in the opposite direction of them and Devil Morgan. “Satisfied I’m unarmed?”

  Her challenge caused his eyes to narrow just slightly and he lifted one brow as if mocking her renewed courage. He stepped back and pointed her gun at her camisole. “You can get dressed.”

  She slipped on the camisole and cursed her fingers for shaking as she tried to tie the lace ribbon, feeling his eyes continuing to watch her every move. He let her get the men’s shirt on, but pulled the dungarees out of her hands.

  “I think you should wear a skirt.”

  “I don’t ride sidesaddle.”

  “Good. I’ll like looking at your legs.”

  He thought to embarrass her. Too bad. Humiliation had been Devil’s favorite weapon. She’d learned to let it slide off her like a goose shedding water.

  He laid the pants on the bed, then handed her the dark blue skirt she’d just taken off. She narrowed her eyes and snatched it out of his hands. “Just because you have me, Devil isn’t going to come out of his hiding hole. Believe me, you can’t use me as bait.”

  He shoved her gun into the back of his belt. The corner of his lip lifted in a half-smile as she pulled the skirt over her head and fastened it at her waist. “I’m not using you as bait, kitten. More like a gift.”

  He wa
nted to give her back to Devil? No way in hell!

  Panic seized her chest. Fingers stretched like claws, she lunged at his face. “You bastard!”

  He grabbed her hands, but she wiggled one loose and raked her nails down his neck.

  “Dammit!” He recaptured her hand and lifted both over her head. He shoved her up against the wall, his weight forcing the air out of her lungs.

  Lacy tried to inhale once more, but the effort only made her physically aware of his body pressed tightly against hers, each sinewy muscle and hard plane stretched firm along her curves, his erection pushing between her slightly spread thighs.

  “Attack me again and you might not like my reactions.” His gaze darkened before his mouth descended on hers.

  The kiss was meant to punish. Hard. Intense. Demanding.

  Lacy fought to resist. He was no better than the animals who rode with her stepfather. They’d tried to force themselves on her and learned she wasn’t easily dominated by them—men she couldn’t respect. Problem was, Blue-eyes held her in such a position that her usual tricks to get free wouldn’t work.

  Suddenly, he broke off the kiss. Lust filling his eyes, he lifted the corner of his mouth in a slight grin. “I do enjoy breaking a wild filly.”

  Before she could free herself, he pulled a leather strip out of his coat pocket and whipped it around her left hand in a tight snare. Then he pulled both her arms down and tied them together. “Until you learn to behave, we’ll just make sure you can’t hurt yourself or anyone else.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “Do what you want. I’m not going to tell you where to find him.”

  He gripped the strip by the loose end like a leash and dragged her toward the door. “In time, I’m sure you will.”

  Panicked he meant to leave her meager belongings behind, Lacy dug her heels in and pulled at her bindings. “Wait. My things.”

  He paused and looked at her, then back at the bag with her clothes half hanging out. “Seems like a lot of effort for a few dresses.”

  “Please. It’s all I have.” She hated to beg, but cherished the bag’s contents.

  For a moment she thought he’d refuse. Then he rolled his eyes and grabbed the bag.

  Outside, his partner had returned with their horses. Between the white and red stallions stood a white and brown paint, a gelding. Dark-eyes looked at the four welts on his friend’s neck, blood oozing from two, and nodded at her. “Gave you some trouble?”

  Blue-eyes shrugged and tossed the other man her bag. “Nothing I couldn’t handle. Tie this on her horse.”

  Dark-eyes arched one brow as if he wanted to tell his partner where to shove his orders, but tied her bag in place.

  Stopping in front of her horse, Blue-eyes nodded at her to mount.

  “I’m not climbing on the horse.” Even with her hands tied, she’d hoped to find some means of escape.

  His lips pressed into a thin line and the pulse at the corner of his neck above his wounds jumped. “Darlin’, you have two choices. You can climb on and ride sitting, or I’ll throw you on and strap you down with your ass bouncing around in midair.”

  The look on his face suggested he’d like watching the latter. She’d be damned if she’d give him the satisfaction.

  She gripped the pommel with her bound hands and tried to lift one leg into the stirrup. The skirt’s confining fit prevented her from getting her leg up high enough. With an I-told-you-so-look, she shrugged. “Guess I’ll have to wear my pants after all.”

  “Let’s get something straight. You’ll do exactly as I tell you.” He slipped an angry-looking Bowie knife out of the sheath on his belt.

  Oh God! He was going to kill her. Over a skirt. She stepped into the horse’s side, causing it to shy toward Dark-eyes’ mount. “You saw me try. Please, don’t do this.”

  “Turn around,” he ordered, no mercy in his voice.

  Why hadn’t she gone east to a big city? Disappeared? Her love of the wild country and vast expanse of the West was going to get her killed. Braced for the pain, Lacy swallowed her fear hard and turned to face the horse.

  The seconds seemed to last forever. Then she felt his warm hand—on her bottom? Trapped with her hands looped over the pommel, she tried to turn her head to see behind her. “What are you doing?”

  “Hold still.”

  He wouldn’t cut her skirt, would he?

  A second later she heard a tearing sound.

  He did!

  Without another word, he slipped the knife around and cut the front seam too.

  Lacy exhaled the breath she’d been holding. She now had a very expensive rag, but at least he’d only damaged her skirt. Devil would’ve slapped her for her insolence and threatened to slit her throat for causing him any trouble in the first place. Which he’d do the moment he got his hands on her once more.

  “Now get on the horse,” Blue-eyes whispered in her ear, his breath fanning her cheek.

  With the extra freedom, Lacy slipped her foot into the stirrup with ease. Before she could protest, he slipped his hand on her bottom and shoved her upward. He used the extra leather binding her hands to secure them to the saddle pommel.

  “You done playing with our prisoner? Daylight’s nearly gone.” Dark-eyes tossed Blue-eyes his reins.

  “Shut up, Dakota,” Blue-eyes said as he started to climb on his horse.

  This was her chance.

  Gripping the pommel tight with her bound hands, Lacy shifted her weight, causing the gelding to sidle into Blue-eyes. His foot half in the stirrup, he stumbled into his horse and hopped on the other foot, trying not to fall. Without waiting to savor her minor victory, she kicked her boot into the paint’s ribs and they shot off like a bullet—away from the shack and her two captors.

  “Dammit, stop her!” Quinn shouted as he tried to regain his footing.

  “You tied her to the horse. You get her.” Dakota O’Keefe admired how the woman rode across the barren terrain beyond the shack. Even tied to the horse, she sat the saddle well.

  “Before she breaks her neck, Dakota.”

  Without another word, Dakota charged after the woman and her horse. Over the years, as deputy marshals, he and Quinn had chased down more than one outlaw trying to escape. He had to admit this was the first sexy one he’d ever had to rein in.

  As he closed the gap between them, he could see her golden-colored legs contrasted against the horse’s white and brown markings. Having them grip him when she rode him would feel heavenly—and he had no doubt she’d be doing so before they turned her over to the territorial prison.

  She must’ve heard his horse coming up behind her. Her head whipped around and her startling green eyes widened.

  “Shit,” he muttered as she set the paint to a faster pace. The sun had nearly set behind them and the sensual hellcat would kill herself if she continued riding this hard in the dark. With a nudge to his horse’s flanks, they once again gave chase. The stallion’s powerful legs ate up ground until they were beside her.

  “Please, don’t,” she said as he reached over and grabbed the horse’s reins, slowing their momentum.

  “We need you. And not with your neck broken.” Dakota lowered his voice to the quiet reassuring one his father taught him years ago to use when soothing a wild horse. Hopefully, it would work on the frightened woman as much as her mount.

  She gave a harsh laugh. “Why? Your friend means to turn me over to Devil or try me for the robbery alone. Either way, I’m dead.”

  Dakota moved Fuego closer, then reached over to tuck a loose curl behind Lacy’s ear, cupping her soft cheek in his hand. He held her gaze a moment. “In life there’s always hope.”

  A spark snapped between them. He could tell by the way her green eyes darkened and her breathing deepened that she hadn’t expected to be attracted to him as well as Quinn. Her breasts moved when she inhaled, the hardened nipples pressing into the material of her shirt.

  The kitten was very sensual. Did Quinn realize her responsive natur
e? Did she? This would be an interesting trip, indeed.

  Never letting the visual connection between them break, he slid his hand down her neck and over the delicate bones of her shoulder. “Quinn and I must bring Devil Morgan to justice, kitten. He’s destroyed too many lives.” He squeezed her shoulder, then trailed his fingers down her arm. “Even yours, I think.”

  “He’s an evil man. You don’t know…”

  Memories of how Cap’s bullet-ridden body looked when he and Quinn claimed it in Cheyenne flashed in his mind. He settled a finger over her lips. “Believe me, we know his depraved nature.”

  “No, you don’t.” She visibly shivered.

  He resisted the urge to pluck her off the horse and set her in front of him. She wasn’t some innocent caught in a bad situation. She was an outlaw—a woman who had participated in a bank robbery where civilians had been killed, one of whom was the marshal who trained him and Quinn.

  The sounds of horse’s hooves pounding the earth behind them signaled Quinn’s arrival. By the set of his brother’s jaw, Dakota knew the sexy outlaw’s brief flight had done little more than anger Quinn.

  He snatched her reins from Dakota and tied them to his saddle. “That was a futile exercise, woman. Are you in such a hurry to die?”

  “I’d rather die by my own hand than yours or Devil Morgan’s.” Her chin went up and fire sparked from her eyes.

  Quinn inched forward, grasping her chin in his hand. “Trust me, before this is over you’ll be very happy to submit to me. And I suggest you not try escaping again. There is nowhere you can run where Dakota and I won’t find you. Understand?”

  She narrowed her eyes, and for a moment seemed ready to defy him. Then she lowered her gaze and nodded, though her knuckles were white where she gripped the saddle pommel.

  Dakota took the lead and headed southeast, back to the mountains where the Hole-in-the-Wall Gang hid, his mind on their captive. The woman had courage and spirit. He and Quinn would need to take care not to strangle those qualities when they broke her to their will.

  Chapter Two

  As he followed Dakota along the tree line leading away from Beaver Run, Quinn seethed inside.