Dangerous Waters

by Amy J. Fetzer

  Up went one brow and he seemed to be looking down his

  nose at Chris. t

  "Hmm," Chris murmured, remembering all Victoria had told him and couldn't resist one last goad at the monster within. "Then who's being punished, the victim or the murderer?"

  Maybe it was his moving gaze, too random, or the flexing of his fingers on the cane. Chris couldn't point and say there it was, yet he felt it An evil so thick with suppressed rage, it made his skin crawl up his back.

  And he realized with undeniable clarity that he needed Victo­ria to decipher it, to find its direction. It was time, he thought, to bring her back to town.

  Chris trudged up the steps, careful not to wake anyone, but disappointed at not finding Victoria below stairs, maybe wear­ing the shirt he found so enticing.

  He wanted to see her in those tiny scraps she called panties. Hell, he thought, he just wanted to see her.

  But it was past midnight, and even though the recklessness of his actions tonight still lingered, leaving him agitated, he resigned himself to wait until morning. Crossing into his bed­room, he unbuckled his holster, hooking it on the back of a chair. Moonlight spilled from the wide-open window, lighting the room enough to see and he dropped into a chair to remove his boots and socks, wiggling his toes before rising to strip off his clothes and wash away the odors of the saloon. The wind picked up, rustling the drapes.

  A soft crackle caught his attention as he wiped his thighs dry, and he frowned in the dark.

  It came again with the breeze and he lit a lamp, glancing at his bed, then walked over to the four posted monstrosity. There on a mound of pillows was Victoria's head mic. And a note that said two words. Wake me.

  Wrapping the towel around his hips, he smiled and picked it up, tugging the paper free before pushing the on switch and adjusting the contraption over his ears.

  He heard even breathing. Lord. It was like she was pressed against him.

  "Tori," he whispered.

  He heard a moan, low and sultry, then the rustle of sheets.

  "Tori?"

  "Hi." He could feel the smile in her voice, imagined her lazily stretching on the bed. Was she naked? His heart thudded at the thought.

  "What time is it?"

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  "After midnight."

  "Have fun?"

  "No. I missed you."

  "Did you?"

  "Yeah." He dropped onto the bed. "I talked to Becket."

  A hesitation and then, "Tell me later."

  His brows rose. That was not the reaction he expected. Or did she sense trouble brewing?

  "What did you do while I was gone?" He flattened out on the bed, crossing his ankles and folding his arms beneath his head.

  "Took a bath. I smell real good."

  She drew out the words and he closed his eyes. "I can only imagine."

  "What are you doing?"

  "Laying on the bed."

  "Tired?"

  "No," he answered honestly. "Restless."

  Again, he could feel her smile.

  "Guess what?"

  There was along pause. He could heard her draw air and imagined her chest swelling with each slow breath. "What?" he finally said.

  "I want you."

  He swallowed.

  "Is this ..." his brows knitted, "mic sex?"

  "You could say that." Her tone turned devilish. "Know what else?"

  "I cannot begin to imagine the workings of your mind."

  "Oh, but you will . . ." Her voice was hypnotic, a throaty whisper in his head, filling his mind with torrid images of slick bodies and liquid passion. She described what she wanted to do to him—with him—and Chris's entire body clenched with quick heat. His groin hardened painfully. Sweat broke out on his brow. It wasn't what she said, but Christ, how she said it.

  "Tori, stop," he hissed.

  "Liked that?"

  "I'd like you here," he said, licking his lips.

  "Open your eyes, Chris."

  He did.

  She stood at the foot of his bed, a white robe frothing about her curves as she pulled off the headset, shaking out her hair. He came off the mattress in a rush, tossing the set to the floor and reaching for her. He dragged her over the footboard and into his arms.

  He kissed her, an explosion of warm lips and tongue, crushing her mouth, devouring her as if she were the rich desserts he craved, and she tore into him like a thief into the night. She pulled the towel from his hips as he yanked frantically at the sash at her waist, aching for the taste and feel of her skin and when he bared her, she couldn't wait and climbed onto his lap, straddling his hips.

  Skin meshed and rubbed and brushed, moans of pleasure and satisfaction pricked the air and Chris stripped the robe from her body, scrubbing his hands up her spine, over her shoulders,

  down her arms.

  There was no patience between them, weeks of wanting and waiting climbing to a boiling eruption. He chanted her name against her lips, enfolded her lush breasts, feeling lace and smelling the heat of his woman.

  Her low surrendering moan speared him like a lance.

  Her nipples tightened, pushing against the fabric, against his palm, her sensitive body screaming to be assaulted and ravished and adored. And he did, dragging his mouth down her throat, her shoulder, a slickening of fire and moisture to her breast.

  Anticipation inflamed her, her thighs tightening as he found her nipple through the lace, teasing her as he laved it with his

  tongue.

  "Am I being good?" he said, his breath cooling the bur­geoning tip.

  "Oh, God, yes,"

  His finger traced the edge of the lace surrounding the plump swells before he unhooked it and drew the fabric down. Her nipple spilled into the open heat of his mouth and with a dark

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  groan, Victoria threw her head back. He sucked, drawing her tighter and deeper between his lips, his hand richly fondling the mate before sampling the nectar of her bosom.

  A humming blasted through her body, wrapping around her waist and diving between her thighs. Her head felt light, her thoughts foggy. Nothing in her life felt this sensual, this erotic— this natural. She could stay forever in his arms, she knew and combed her fingers through his hair, shaped his face, his shoulders, his strong muscular arms as he fumbled with the clasp and stripped the bra from her body. Impatiently, his hands swept roughly over her warm skin, cupping her buttocks, fingers feeling the slim thread of fabric dividing her firm cheeks as he ground her to his arousal, letting her know there would be no time wasted, no time left for sweet talk and teasing.

  And her answering pushes, the heat of her sex, made him thicken, blood throbbing to hot, tight pleasure points of need. She smiled into his eyes, nipping his mouth with dripping kisses as her slim fingers wrapped around his erection.

  "Sweet Jesus," he breathed and dumped her onto the mat­tress, driving himself against the bead of her desire and she welcomed him, arching for more, impatient for him to be smooth and solid inside her. But Chris was not satisfied with the frustration of restraint. He wanted her in agony and he lay thick lush kisses to her breasts, her tight ribs, licking a steamy wet line down the indentation of her stomach, his thumbs catch­ing the white lace panties. His wicked gaze told her he loved the scrap of nothing. The white triangle teased him mercilessly with what lay beneath and he ground his mouth into the curve of her hip as he drew the tantalizing fabric down, down over her softness.

  Then his mouth took her, and she cried out, straining for his touch, straining to move her legs imprisoned by his weight and spread herself wider, for more, more, but he wouldn't let her, dipping his tongue deeper, luxuriously deep, loving the sheen of sweat on her body, her hands fisting in the sheets, his name on her lips.

  And Victoria thought time ceased to exist and the earth opened up to
swallow her whole. Her body was alive as never before, his tongue and mouth swamping her with sensation after glorious sensation until she couldn't stand it and begged him to come to her.

  "Oh God, Chris, please. Please!'

  But he refused, taking her essence and torturing her into madness. Yet when Chris felt her sculptured body quake on the brink of rapture, he shifted, tearing the panties free of her legs and covering her with his weight. She opened for him, reached for him, covering his mouth with hers, clawing at his shoulders, plowing fingers into his hair.

  He filled her in one long driving thrust, a savage kiss smoth­ering their cries of utter satisfaction. Then he retreated and plunged, over and over, heightening desire with every long, rampant stroke, the slick glove of her grabbing him back, deeper, quicker, hotter. Her strong arms and legs enfolded him, captured him, fusing solid to soft, heart to heart. He rose up to look at her face, braced as their bodies met and parted in erotic cadence.

  She stroked his chest, whispered how much she wanted this, how right it felt and how she knew it would be wild and untamed. Her husky words owned a power, hungry and exotic, turning his blood molten and stripping him of control. He pounded into her, driving her across the bed, swallowing her moans with hot, dark kisses.

  Their bodies possessed a motion of their own, pulsing and pushing, fed on sweeping caresses and the power of their loving. She thrust herself against him, against the point of his posses­sion and passion, seeking, seeking. Her gasps quickened. Her heart thundered.

  A whimper of need caught in her throat.

  "Join me," he whispered into her mouth and she did. Like a crack in a dam, desire unleashed, and they fused as if to stop the break, yet urged it on and on and on. Sweat slickened bodies arched tightly, grinding, the shattering deluge of pleasure and

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  liquid desire rushing through them like quicksilver, spilling, spilling. Rapid bursts of everlasting fire cast moans and whis­pers into the darkness, gray moonlight bathing over them, the bed a take of wrinkles and tangled limbs, love born on a bond they knew would never be broken.

  Chris took pleasure in her mouth, savouring her flavor. Her breath rushed along his cheek.

  "Tori, Tori, oh God—"

  "I know, I know," she whispered near his ear, stroking his damp hair, his slick back. She gripped him snugly, almost protectively from the sounds of the night, of reality, squeezing her eyes shut and hoping he didn't notice her trembling, hoping morning would never come and take this dream away.

  He pressed his lips to the bend of her shoulder, the touch incredibly tender after all the wildness they shared. And she sighed back into the down bedding.

  Chris struggled to lift his head and look at her.

  She smiled, the gentlest smile he'd ever seen on her face and brushed the curling black tendrils from his forehead. She watched her movements and he tilted his head and kissed her palm.

  Something hard and sweet caught in her chest at the sight of him, his eyes closed, savoring the taste of her as if she were something precious.

  She loved this man. With her heart and now her body and she never wanted to leave his embrace.

  "Chris."

  He met her gaze, his tongue tracing a vein in her wrist. She sank her fingers into his hair and drew him to her mouth, bursting to tell him her heart and knowing she'd shatter his. For they could never be—never. And it would destroy them, she knew it. Yet she poured her feelings into her kiss, the heat and madness of passion sated, now simmering into him from her soft loving kiss. And Chris felt it, felt it fill him and take him places he never imagined.

  The back of his eyes stung, his mind painfully aware of their

  DANGEROUS WATERS

  uncertain future. Yet he kissed and held her as close as he could his heart chanting to hers.

  Stay with me, love, stay. No one will love you more than I.

  No one.

  Not in this century, nor yours.

  Chapter Thirty

  "I should go back to my room," she whispered against the

  crook of his neck.

  "No," came almost panicked, his hold tightening.

  He didn't want her to leave him, ever, and not so soon after loving her. It felt incredibly comfortable and natural to have this woman lying beside him, her leg entwined with his, her head on his shoulder. Her fingers skimmed the center of his

  chest.

  "You came through the balcony door, didn't you?"

  Her lashes swept up. "Sneaky, huh?" His smile agreed, "You were right about those panties." He inclined his head to where they hung, somehow hooked on his holster. "They served a very definite purpose."

  "I could tell." She shifted, half over him, her*breasts warm against his chest and he toyed with her nipple, watching her gold eyes flare and darken.

  "Trying to start something, Marshal?"

  "Yes."

  "Hell of an appetite, Mister."

  "You give it to me." His hand rode the curve of her spine.

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  pushing the twisted sheet down so he could fondle her buttocks.

  Her head dipped and her tongue snaked out to circle his nipple.

  His inhaled breath hissed through his teeth. "God, I never

  thought that would feel so good."

  "Me either. You have such a beautiful body, Chris." As she spoke her hands skimmed his muscles, her eyes inspecting and approving and his lips quirked. She'd no notion of how exotic she looked, her muscular body tanned except for her breasts and the treasure between her thighs. Her hair was a wild tangled

  mass, her skin flushed. And when she half sat and leaned out to pull the coverlet

  over them, he rose up and stopped her.

  "I'm cold."

  "I'll warm you, love," he said in a dark voice, and she smiled as he pulled her against him, his chest to her back. They knelt, tucked close, the heat of his skin warming the coolness of hers. Her buttocks nestled to his groin, Chris made her be still, his hands gliding softly over her body from knees to breasts, palms skimming her nipples, cupping the firm lush globes, rubbing. Her head dropped back onto his shoulder, tilting to him, one hand coming up to cradle his jaw and she

  kissed him, a slow drugging kiss. He toyed with her nipples

  over and over and she gasped into his mouth, surging back

  against his hardness warming between them.

  "Tori, don't," he hissed when her hand slid between to

  touch him.

  She disobeyed. "Why?" He could feel her smile against his lips. "Because just your

  touch brings me to the edge of—"

  "Yes?"

  Her fingertip slid mercilessly over the moist tip of him and

  he choked. "Madness." "How nice."

  "Tori.''

  "You're so warm, Chris. 1 can't help it. 1 love touching you, feeling you grow harder in my palm." She licked the line of his lips before adding, "and getting wet."

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  He groaned, catching her jaw as he filled her mouth with his tongue. She dueled and suckled, retreated and teased. And the smoldering desire turned to white hot passion, his hands gliding more forcefully over her body with every stroke of her firm hand. Then his fingers found her, slick and fire hot and she whimpered against his lips, covering his hand, pushing, urging him, and their kiss broke for a moment as she rose and pressed his erection between her thighs. She rocked wetly along his length, taunting him.

  "Tori, oh God, Tori," he rasped. She grasped the footboard, leaning out and he surged inside her, thick and stone hard.

  Then she clamped her legs tightly closed.

  And Chris thought he'd explode then and there.

  He hovered, his body curved to hers, her breasts in his palms and she drew away and slammed back.

  "Slow, darlin' he said into her ear. "I'll hurt you."

&n
bsp; "No, never."

  His hands drove down, between her thighs, fingers stroking wildly, feeling himself join and part from her. Wood creaked. Breaths panted. Their pace quickened and she gripped the wood frame, surging and slamming back into him, crying out her need, demanding he join her now, and he grasped her hips and plunged, her tight velvet sheath pulling and flexing, dragging his climax to the limit of sanity. It felt like an eternity before the spiraling feel of liquid heat and femine power slowed, drifted into a humming that would live in his veins.

  His arms circled her and they collapsed on a heap of down and quilts, sweating and breathing fast, bodies joined.

  "You're going to kill me, woman."

  Sluggishly, she twisted to look at him. "Oh, I haven't even begun."

  Slowly he lifted his head, a slight frown wrinkling his brow. Then his features softened into a smile. "We'll see who begs for mercy."

  She patted his cheek. "That's the idea."

  He awoke and found himself alone and it scared him. He shouldn't feel this way, but he immediately swung his legs over the side of the bed and lit the lamp, glancing around. Her robe was missing but she left the delectable little panties hooked on his holster, like a trophy of the night. He smiled, pushed his legs into his pants and went looking, without boots, without thought, as if he could hear her breathe. Making love had forged more than bodies, and he knew she was in the barn and with the realization his panic ceased, abrupt and dismissed. Then he saw her and the sight knocked him breathless. The lantern hung on a nail, high and to her right, casting shadows and light across her freshly brushed hair, the fluttering dressing gown sashed loosely at her waist. Yet even through the haze of fabric, the yellow glow outlined her body in perfect clarity down to her bare feet. She looked like a wind spirit come to tame the wild black beast stomping in his stall. But his enchanting image faded when he realized she stood before Caesar's stall, an uncorked bottle of beer in one hand and an apple in the other.

  "Well, which is it. Now think hard, 'cause you don't know what I had to do to get you a beer, pal."

  Caesar's big head nudged the beer and Tori sank her teeth into the apple as the horse lipped the bottle, caught it, then tipped his head back, draining it.