Slowly she shook her head, her sad features softening to a smile.' 'You had more opportunities to settle before, in England, on the Reservation with your father, and the Saint's know closer to civilization."
"Are you saying that Victoria had something to do with my
settling here?"
He was giving her that look, the hard unpenetrable stare that got him sent to bed without his supper when he was a child.
"Don't be glarin' at me, Christopher." She pushed him back and took the plate over to the dry sink. "Or there'll be no dessert."
"Don't want any. Finish your thought, Abigale."
She tensed, but plunged on.' 'Remember what you said when you found this place and the feelings that brought you here."
Chris was silent, his mind rolling back, his heart accelerating. He didn't recall telling Abigale about that.
He was waiting for something, expanding the ranch, the house, inventing things he'd never had the notion or desire to tackle before. God, he'd spent hours fashioning pipes and pumps, thinking of small tasks made more convenient. And then there was the dream that had come true. Cougar who walks like a woman.
"Christopher?"
His gaze slid to hers. "I remember."
"She's different. Like you."
He folded his arms over his chest.
She wrung her hands. "I've already seen her make things, like you."
His brows rose into his forehead. "What things?" "I can't say, but—"
264 Amy J. Fetzer
He lowered his arms. "Great mother in heaven! Is there a woman around who won't keep secrets from me!" He stormed from the kitchen and into his study, slamming the door
" Twas only too private," she peeped, then sighed dispiritedly and went back to doing dishes.
Chapter Twenty-Six
It wasn't hard to avoid Chris, physically, for his house and ranch were large, and where he went, she . . . well, she stayed in the bedroom. But mentally? That was another matter all together and confusion was the state of the day.
And she admitted to herself that she was a coward, a sensation she detested.
Except her only slightly objective logic insisted that nothing but irrevocable damage would result if she explained how she'd arrived in his town, yet her heart screamed she couldn't go on dealing in half-truths and had nothing to lose.
Except him.
Her breath caught at the thought, her chest aching like the clench of a thick fist.
Deep inside, she had her answer the first time she tasted his incredibly warm mouth, felt the undeniable heat of his skin. And she Knew it the instant he carried her off his porch, dirty and tired and needing him so desperately.
Then let him see your toys and take your shots like a big girl.
Apprehension slithered through her.
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But I'll be like the alien from another planet. And it will be the last barrier you have, a voice needled. Then what?
"How the hell should I know," she hissed, shifting her position on the floor from push up to sit up. Flexing a kink out of her shoulders, she tucked her feet under the low long dresser before the window and pumped a quick thirty.
Even as she forced out twenty more sit ups, sweat trickling down her spine, she knew what would happen.
She'd admit she'd fallen in love with him.
No. I haven't.
She swung around onto her stomach and arched her back, grabbing her ankles and stretching. I haven't. Really.
"Holy—!"
Her foot slipped from her grasp, thunking to the floor and she glanced to the side. One look in his eyes and she knew she was lying to herself.
Chris felt her stare drain him of energy, draw him in and sink into their golden softness.
And she looked away before he could understand what he saw.
"Don't knock much do you?" She recaptured her foot.
"Sorry." Not the least bit apologetic. "The door was ajar."
"How convenient for a Peeping Tom like yourself." Like when he was in her hotel room, watching her and Chris winced when he heard her back pop.
"You're going to hurt yourself."
"Nah, feels good actually," she grunted, before releasing her feet and pushing back to sit. She spread her legs wide, arms up and tipped to the side.
Chris swallowed. *
Her position was ... intoxicating.
"Why are you doing this?"
"To keep my girlish figure," she muttered dryly, coming upright, "and outrun a bounty."
He ignored her last comment. She wouldn't be doing that for a while. Yet, even as last night's conversation sang through
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his head, her complete and absolute logic of the crimes and theory and raising more questions, he knew she wouldn't offer answers until she wanted. And he dismissed their problems and concentrated on the bare legs aching to be touched.
"You look spectacular already."
Victoria allowed herself a private smile. Honest enough, after the way he was salivating over her last night.
"And what, may I ask, are you wearing?"
Victoria stilled, met his gaze, then tipped to the other side, touching her fingers to her toes. Truth or mild lies, she thought. "Cut off jeans."
"I meant—" he waved at her chest.
"A tee shirt." A tank really, plain white, but she wasn't wearing a bra and sweat made the material cling to her. She stole a covert glance at him and saw the effect. "And if you get any harder, you'll split those pants wide open."
His features yanked tight, then a slow smile stretched his lips. "Keep doing that and we'll see who loses their britches."
She paused briefly, smiling and looking him over. "Oooh, threats, I like it."
She leaned forward, arms outstretched as if to beckon him and slowly lowered her torso until her arms rested on the floor. The last time he'd seen anyone that limber was a Chinese acrobat in San Francisco. And he thought for the hundredth time what an extraordinary creature she was, even though she thought the opposite. And he ioved that about her, this take it or leave it woman, with her tough talk and frightening independence.
"Did you come here to throw me out?"
"You're not going anywhere," he said as he crossed the room, sinking to his knees between her legs.
' 'That so?'' Her hands lowered to his biceps, her expression half confused, half wanting.
He couldn't take his eyes off her mouth and brushed his thumb over the lush seam. "Uh-ah." He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her close, pulling her onto his lap.
"Bossy injun, aren't you?"
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He grinned. "Yup."
"Well, Tonto, I don't like being bossed around." Her legs closed around his hips, bringing her femininity flush against his groin, and her body reacted, hips pushing and Chris groaned. His hands slid to cup her buttocks and fit her more closely. "I want you, Tori."
Her heart did a quick slam against her ribs. She'd known that, of course. And she wanted him so badly she ached constantly, even when he wasn't around. But it was the way he said it, a promise of forever in his tone. He didn't mean it-he couldn't. He knew she had to leave eventually.
But what if you can't leave, a voice asked, so reasonable, so calm when her heart was racing up to her throat. His fingers flexed on her bottom and she wet her lips. A tight sound worked in his throat. "Right now?"
The corner of his mouth quirked. "Abigale would cut out my heart with one of her knives." "Christopher Waythorne Swift!"
Victoria's gaze shifted, her cheeks pinkening, but Chris didn't take his eyes off her, didn't move.
"She's arrived to see the deed done," Victoria whispered. "Leave us, Abby." Hurry. Before he did split his trousers, "And close the door." "I will not!"
"Abigale." His voice came softly, yet rang with command.
The woman reluctantly backed out, obeying.
"We've sent her moral fiber in a twist, you know that."
Her fingers sifted the dark curis covering his nape. It was so
deliciously soft. *
"She'll get used to it."
There it was again, Victoria thought, the forever tone. His hands smoothed over her hips, warming the skin of her thighs. Back and forth, back and forth, heightening her senses. His touch felt like butter sliding on her skin. "I love your legs," he murmured.
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"I gathered that."
"I want to taste them," he rasped, ducking to nuzzle her throat instead. A breathy sound escaped her, her arms tightening about his neck and she dropped her head back. "I want to be inside you, Tori."
She whimpered, plowing her fingers into his hair and tilting his head. Her mouth covered his, her head shifting back and forth as her lips savaged his, her tongue driving deeply inside and Chris's heart pounded, rushing blood to every cell in his body. Breathing came labored and harsh. Bodies pushed, seeking release. He scooped her breasts into his palms and she went wild, laving at his mouth, arching to the pressure. His thumbs circled her tight nipples.
"Chris, Chris," she whispered. Between her thighs grew damp and slick.
"I remember what you taste like, Tori. I remember what these," he stroked her nipple slowly, "feel like in my mouth, against my tongue."
"Oh God, Chris, don't say anymore. I—we ... can't."
The hot press of his mouth drowned out her protests and she enjoyed the power of it, then pulled back, her skin flushed, her breathing labored.
She gave herself up to feeling. "I want to, really." He smiled, so sexy and inviting that the hot throbbing inside her increased. "But I—" She lowered her gaze.
Where was all that boldness? She was shy and embarrassed and then he remembered. Her cycle.
"Do you hurt?" He brushed her hair, damp and curling, from her forehead. The gesture was tender, his expression sympathetic and her heart bloomed with something undefinable. That his concern was for her, not himself, spoke volumes about this man.
"I'm "fine—oh, God, that feels good," she moaned as his fingers dug into her spine, massaging away the stiffness. She buried her face in the curve of his throat.
"I have lots of ways to make you feel good," he promised, keeping up the motion and she cocked a one-eyed look at him.
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A tiny mischievous smile painted her lips. She couldn't wait to find out—and try a few on him. "Sure of yourself, huh?"
He sent her a half-lidded stare. "Yup."
She was suddenly scared. Scared of what she was letting herself in for—sheer heart stabbing pain. She had to leave this man, to never see his handsome face, enjoy his touch again. It would kill her.
But that could be days, maybe even weeks, she thought hopefully. God. Where had her drive gone? Becket needed catching and soon, and now he was wanted in two centuries. And if they didn't watch him, others would die, but Chris's strong fingers were working over her skin, easing tension and pain and Victoria dismissed her just-cause to her need and slid her mouth over his, tasting him, loving him.
She had the opportunity to be loved and feel !ove. Here, in his century. And for now, without anything to keep her from experiencing what she'd missed in her marriage, she wanted everything she could get. Recklessness ripped through her. Could she pack a lifetime of loving in a fistful of days?
Yes.
Was she so desperate to grab it that she'd risk hurting him when she knew she couldn't stay?
Yes.
Would he let her go when it was over, when Becket was in handcuffs and on his way through the fall?
He had to.
Or would he try to follow?
That could never happen. Never.
She straightened on his lap, gazing into his eyes.
She had to tell him. It was only fair that he knew the stakes before he made the bet.
"I have to go."
His eyes widened. "Now?"
"Yes." She scooted off his lap. "I need to run."
' 'From me?'' Hurt and anger marked his voice.
Still on her knees, she cupped his jaw, her thumb rasping over his lips. "No. Not anymore."
His eyes softened.
"But I need a little time, to think this out." God, how was she going to tell him she was from the twentieth century! It would blow him away.
His pulse galloped and he realized he'd finally get his answers. As he climbed painfully to his feet and pulled her off the floor, he suppressed the ungodly urge to push the matter.
"I'll be here."
"I know." I don't deserve him, she thought, turning away and shoving her feet into her boots. She knelt to tie the laces.
"You mean you're actually going to run, for exercise?"
"Yeah, it clears my head."
"Like that!" He pointed to her bare legs.
She spared him a mild glance, then stood. "Got a problem with it?"
"Yes, dammit! A lady doesn't expose herself—"
She stiffened "I'm not a lady. And if you're expecting one, forget it, It ain't gonna happen."
He saw the self-depreciation in her features and crossed to her, slinging an arm around her waist and jerking her against him. "You try to hard to be ferocious." She gazed into his eyes, her hair half covering her face. He brushed it back, watching his moves. "And, as to being a lady ... you are, darlin'. A lady has strength and courage and—" he smiled into her eyes "—excessive amounts of stubborness, I've realized."
Victoria beamed, settling her arms around him. "Thanks, Chris." She needed to hear that. God, how she needed to.
"Go ahead, wild one. Run half naked, if you like. My relatives do."
"So do you," she said, then cast him a sly glance. "Going to strip down to your breechcloth and join me?"
He frowned. "I thought you wanted to be alone."
She didn't, not anymore. She'd spent the past five years that way and realized it made her more than just lonely. "Not if I can get to look at the cute behind wrapped in deer skin."
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Amy J. Fetzer
He blinked, then grinned.
" 'Course, you'll be eating my dust."
He arched a brow. "That a bet, woman?"
"Cheyenne warrior afraid of soft white woman?" she grunted and he chuckled mysteriously.
"Tori, darlin', you obviously don't know much about my people." His brows wiggled. "We're all gamblers."
Excitement coarsed through her and she backed out of his embrace.
"A wager, eh? What are the stakes?"
He gave her the sexiest look imaginable and her knees melted. "Promising, but unfair."
"All right, then ..." He was thoughtful, glancing around the bedroom for a clue. His gaze snapped to hers. "I win, you wear that." He nodded to the dresses draped over a chair.
She agreed. Easy enough, she thought, she'd been dying to wear one anyway. "And if I win?"
"Name it," he said, folding his arms over his chest.
"You show me your inventions."
His brows shot up. "That's it?"
"Seems fair to me." She bent, snatching her shirt off the floor, and Chris groaned at the sweet curves of her buttocks peaking out from beneath the cropped pants.
Fair? With her dressed like that! She was lucky he didn't toss her on the bed and ravish her right now.
She straightened, realizing she ought to wear a bra to run and that Chris was still standing close, a pained look on his face and a bulge in his trousers.
She couldn't resist teasing him.
"Well, go get half naked."
"We haven't sealed the bargain."
She dropped the shirt and came to him, gliding up against his body, fitting herself to his hard contours as her muscled arms snaked around his neck, her mouth hot and liquid on his. And Chris's knees wo
bbled and he staggered for balance, crushing her to him, pouring his heart into the kiss. Abruptly
he released her and she stumbled back, blinking, touching her
lips. "Whoa." Her breath rushed in her lungs, it boggled the
mind, the way they ignited.
"Yeah." He struggled for air, raking his hand through his hair. Alone. On the mountain, with her. In short pants! Who was he fooling? "Five minutes," he managed, then left, and Victoria rubbed her hand over her face, her body pulsing and briefly, she closed her eyes, waiting for it to turn down to a low simmer. Then she searched her backpack for a bra, unaware that he'd turned back and caught a glimpse of the satchel's contents and the scrap of lacy fabric dangling from her fingers. He moved away without a word.
Patience. Yes. He could stand a few more hours, couldn't
he?
He met up with her at the back of the house near the paddock. All work had ceased as his ranch hands gawked at her long
tanned legs.
Chris barked at them to turn around and Victoria laughed as he dragged her behind the barn and out of sight.
"Never again," he growled down at her.
He looked absolutely beside himself, she thought happily. A man's jealousy was something she'd never experienced before. Ain't bad either, she decided, letting her eyes feast on his bare chest and upper thighs. His moccasins were actually leggings, attaching somehow beneath the flap of his breech cloth, yet while the garments covered his calves, knees, and most of his thighs, generous portions of corded muscle and naked hip was
exposed. And she wanted to pull one of those raw hide strings and
see what would happen.
"I hope they know better and keep this quiet," he griped, slinging a quiver of arrows over his shoulder.
"Yes. Let's not let my sins get out."
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His gaze flew to hers and found hers dancing with mischief. "You don't care?"
"Only for your sake."
"I'm the black sheep of this town." He dropped the strap of a hide-covered bladder over one shoulder and beneath his arm. "Hardly matters."
"You have to live here, not me."
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