Dangerous Waters

by Amy J. Fetzer

  "Uh-ahhh!" she warned, grabbing the long necked bottle before Caesar could throw it. The horse belched and she rolled her eyes. "Pig."

  Chris chuckled and she turned, biting the apple, slowing her

  chew. "Hi."

  Caesar nudged her and she stumbled toward Chris. She glared at the black beast. "Mind your own business," she said, then faced him. He looked so damn sexy, leaning against the door­frame, arms folded over his bare chest. She liked that there wasn't a hair on it either, polished, gleaming with a touch of sweat.

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  She flung the bottle aside. * 'Want a role in the hay, Marshal?"

  He smiled, a flash of white teeth. God love her, she was never subtle, he thought as she moved closer, the yards of white fabric scarcely touching her skin, teasing him, yet he had the intense feeling of being stalked. When she was within reach, he caught her close, gripping her wrist and stealing a bite of her apple.

  Her gaze sketched his face, watching his wonderful mouth and a little gasp sharpened in her throat when his tongue snaked out to lick the juice dripping down her thumb. She really shouldn't be thinking what she was thinking. They'd made love countless times tonight, but Christ, he was just so damn intoxicating.

  He took another bite. "I'm starving."

  * 'Gee, wonder why?''

  "Because you, my huntress, are insatiable."

  She never was before. In fact, sex had been pitifully boring, and she attributed that to herself. She'd let herself forget what it meant to be female in the most basic ways, going from Corps to cop to hunter with no thought of what it had done to her. She'd closed herself off after Trisha's death and Chris brought her back. No one drew emotion from her like this man. And right now, just to look at him, and have him look back with loving promise and heat in his gaze, she flung any residual restraint away and leaned into him. Her thighs pressed his, her knee slipping between and his free hand immediately went to her waist, the touch light, elusive.

  She gave him the fruit and let her juice moistened fingers map his naked chest before she bent and licked the flavor of apple and salt from his skin. His chewing slowed and Chris clutched her, closing his eyes as her tongue moved across his flesh.

  "I love the color of your skin. It's like new bronze, so smooth." She licked his nipple and she heard his indrawn breath. "And what's so fascinating is—" her hand slithered to his waist band and she flipped a button "—that it goes all the way down."

  Chris dropped the apple. It bounced and rolled and Caesar dipped his great head and snatched it up, devouring it as Victoria opened Chris's trousers, each tug of a button driving through him like a sledge hammer.

  He cupped her face in his palms. "What are doing to me?"

  "Making love to you, Chris. Haven't you learned yet?" She didn't wait for an answer. "I guess I'll have to show you some more."

  "Here?"

  "Yeah. Kinky, huh?"

  Gripping him by the waist of his trouser, she backed stepped toward a stall filled with fresh hay. His heart steadily climbed, each beat slamming harder and harder in his chest. She was looking at him as if she couldn't wait, that it didn't matter that they had been rolling over his bedroom floor a couple of hours

  ago.

  ' 'We can make noise,'' she enticed. As if he needed coaxing.

  "I'm not the one who's loud."

  "Hah. I seem to recall a distinct begging when I found that spot at the back of your thigh."

  Chris would have had the decency to blush if he hadn't enjoyed that so much. "Ahh, so we're back to that?" He backed her up against the slatted wall, pushing his thigh between hers. She clamped him.

  "No mercy, Tonto." She opened another button, dipping her hand inside and with a deep groan he covered her mouth, plunging his tongue between her lips and she opened for him, her head tilting to take more, her ringers seeking his arousal. But Chris couldn't stand it, he was already on the edge. All it took from her was a touch; bold or subtle, it still had the same effect, like a rush of lava, searing him to the core. He caught her hands and she smiled, wrestling with him for a moment until he spread her arms, hooking her fingers over the edge of the separating wall.

  "I want to touch you." And she reached. "No," he said and replaced her hands, holding her until she understood he would not be denied this. She didn't pout prettily

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  or make a face as most women might, but leaned her head back and threw a challenge with her gold eyes. Make me beg, they said and he opened her robe, spreading it wide.

  His gaze ripped over her body, the tanned thighs vulnerably open for him. Then he met her gaze and arched into her long body, covering her hands. He kissed her and kept kissing her until he felt her barring down on his thigh. Warmth seeped through the rough fabric. He drew back slightly and when her lips sought him, he smiled. She ticked the taste of him from her mouth and Chris's jaw flexed.

  "Make noise for me, Tori," he growled and let his hands slide down her arms, then enfolded her breasts. But he didn't touch her nipples. He touched her everywhere except there and her body throbbed and wanned and the words were on the tip of her tongue. If only he would. Then his mouth came into play, and he moistened every inch of her skin, the contact of cool air drawing her nipples, the skin of her breasts tight and taut. And when the heat of him, the incredible natural heat of his skin hovered near, she thought yes, yes, now, but he didn't and sank to his knees.

  She blinked and he braced her thighs apart. "Oh God, Chris, this isn't fair."

  "After what you did to me?" he said, then his tongue slid up her slender column of muscle and skin. His kissed and tasted, moistened and laved around and around the dampening cleft of her womanhood. But never touching there. He could smell the musky scent of her, feel her exquisite muscles jump and flex with anticipation, but he wanted some power. He was a useless pile of quivering flesh when she touched him. His breath fanned the dark patch and her hips thrust inf itingly, her body speaking what she refused. If only he could capture her heart as snugly.

  His hands smoothed up the back of her legs, spreading over her buttocks, dipping and teasing close and she moaned and twisted and rocked into his touch. "Chris."

  "Hmmm?" he murmured against the flesh of her thigh.

  She looked him in the eye.' 'I know you're about to explode," she taunted in a husky voice that smoked through his blood.

  "Oh?" His lips brushed her and she gasped. "I like seeing you squirm." His broad dark hands splayed her upper thighs, thumbs meeting over the throbbing bead of her sex. Thumbs dipped and spread and she thought the floor had fallen out. Then it did. He licked.

  She screamed softly. He let loose a fiendish chuckle and touched her again. Her lush body shook with the force of her desire. She squeezed her eyes shut, fighting the rolling sensations, her breathing hot and heavy between her parted lips. She wet them and his name tumbled like a siren's lure.

  "Christopher, now."

  On one fluid movement, he stood, flipped open his trousers

  and pushed into her. "Yes," she sighed on a soft laugh of supreme pleasure. "Oh

  yes, yes, damn you!"

  Smiling devilishly, Chris hooked first one of her long sleek legs on his forearm, then the other, gripping the slats behind her and driving upward. She gasped for air. He was thick and solid and he withdrew and sank into her again. Quick. Demanding. She felt exquisite and frustrated, open and vulnera­ble. And she loved it. Loved that he knew without asking, loved the insistent push of his body into hers, her breasts tight to his chest, the hardness of wood at her back. His kisses were thick and heavy and dark with passion. It was raw and powerful and hard.

  Wood jolted with every surge of his hips, her fingers flexing. Eyes locked and held. Caesar stomped and whinnied. The scent of hay and leather swirled around them.

  Chris ravished her mouth,
feeling woman-flesh grip him and suddenly she pressed her mouth harder. A tight feminine whimper clutched in her throat, pushed into his mouth. Chris plunged long and hard and they hung suspended for several moments, fused tike bronze and gold, letting life and heart, melt and mix. Chris's legs felt like wax, his heart beat slamming up his throat.

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  Still kissing her, he released her legs, felt them slide around his waist as his arms enveloped her. He tipped his head to look at her. Her eyes were damp, her expression somber and unguarded.

  'Tori, I lo—"

  She pressed two fingers to his lips, stopping the words she knew would hurt them more than heal. Weakly, Chris sank down onto the mound of hay and held her. He loved her more than he ever imagined he could. If only she would take it.

  Abigale huffed and set another dish on the tray braced on her hip, and Victoria looked up from her book, a book she wasn't really reading, and cast Chris a glance over the edge of the settee, then meaningfully eyed the housekeeper.

  Chris leaned back in his desk chair. "Is there something wrong, Abby? You look upset."

  Beyond Abigale, Victoria's eyes flared with warning, but Abigale glared murderously at Christopher.

  He sank in his chair a bit. "You want to talk about it?"

  "Nay, I dinna." She clacked another lunch dish on the tray, glanced sympathetically at Victoria, then snubbed Chris, marching from the study and muttering, "Raise a child to a man, and think you've done right ..." Her voice faded off as she headed deeper into he house.

  "She knows."

  Chris shrugged. "We're adults, Tori. What we choose to do is not her concern."

  "Come on, Chris. She's like your mom. I hate to think she's dogging you as if you seduced a whimpy, starry-eyed virgin. Especially when it was my doing."

  "Was it?" he said, closing the ledgers.

  Her lovely mouth curved in a sinful smile. "Who begged who for mercy last night."

  "Me," he said without regret. "And I believe it was this morning—" He left his chair and rounded the desk, "—On a

  scratchy Indian blanket—" He crossed to her, lowering onto the couch beside her, crushing her skirts. "—by the river."

  "Yeah, it was. You howled like a coyote."

  He pressed his lips to her throat, inhaling the scent of cinna­mon. "Did I?"

  "Uhh-huh," she managed, her heart thudding wildly. "Had to dump you in the water to cool you off."

  "It didn't work."

  "God, I'm glad," she said and caught his jaw, covering his mouth with hers. He sank into her kiss, going willingly when she pulled him down on top of her, wishing for privacy and a wilderness of freedom to love her.

  "Ochaiii!"

  They jerked apart and wiggled up to look over the edge of the couch, but saw nothing beyond the doorway but Abby's skirts disappearing around the edge.

  "I'll talk to her," Victoria said.

  "No."

  "Yes." And to prove her point, she pushed him off her.

  He caught her hand. "Tori, let it be."

  "She's blaming you when it was our choice. I know what moral standards are in this century," she said, lowering her voice. Lovingly she stroked his hair from his face. "Trust me on this. It's a girl thing."

  It touched him that she'd intervene. Abby did have a way of making his life miserable when she was mad. "Five min­utes," he conceded. "I'll rig the carriage."

  She blinked and stood.

  "We're going to town."

  Her brows rose. "Gee, I sorta liked being your prisoner."

  He grinned, his dark gaze filled with promise. "We won't stay long."

  "We're going to see him." She'd blocked Becket out of her mind for the past hours, wanting to stay in this warm cocoon of pleasure and love. It was a hard slap of reality she didn't want. And his next words set her temper flying.

  "I provoked him. Last night."

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  "What!" she hissed. "Jesus, Chris. You don't mess with this man. He's like a changeling. God, he could have stalked and killed you."

  He stood, grabbed her closer and silenced her tirade with a deep and thorough kiss, then pushed her toward the door when she wanted to question him. "You can burn my ears off later."

  She whirled on him, poking his chest and he thought she was extraordinary, even in her rage. "Don't pass me off like that again, Swift. And believe me, you're ears aren't the only thing I'm going to burn off."

  She spun away and headed to the kitchen and Batista crossed the foyer, the mute Spaniard glancing at his boss, then his lady. Chris grinned, leaning against the door frame and shoving his fingers through his hair. The woman was fire, he thought, in bed and out.

  Abigale was easy to pacify, especially after she discovered that Victoria was a widow and had once been a mother. That seemed to smooth things over, except when Abigale mentioned that she could conceive. It wasn't possible with the Norplant, but Victoria couldn't tell Abigale that. Hell, she hadn't told Chris. But the thought of having another child, Chris's child, was a wish she couldn't fulfill—not unless she stayed here much longer than she could. And yet a knotting pain scraped through her chest every time she thought of leaving him.

  Standing on the porch, she inhaled deeply, banishing her sorrow into familiar recesses, but a pang shot up when Lucky called to her. She waved. He was astride his pony, riding alongside Garrett Nash for a day of rounding up stsays. Victoria would never have imagined the ex-gunslinger to be so good with kids, especially Lucky. He was just like Chris.

  "You look wonderful," he said from behind her, close to her ear.

  "Thank you." She smoothed the chocolate brown dress at her waist. "But flattery ain't gonna work, Tonto."

  "On what?" he said innocently, coming around her and

  signaling Batista. In a jingle of hooves, harnesses and wood, the elegant open black carriage rolled in front of the house.

  "Don't get cute."

  Chris sighed. He might as well suffer this out, he thought, gesturing for her to precede him. "Well, you'll have plenty of time. It takes longer by wagon than horse."

  "I'd prefer a horse."

  "I know." He handed her into the buggy. "But I want to

  show you off." Her gaze narrowed at the chauvinistic remark. "I'm not a

  prize, Chris."

  "Oh, yes you are." He leaped in beside her, taking up the reins. "You're the find of the century."

  She laughed as he snapped the reins. The carriage lurched. "Don't expect much. And I swear, if you leave me with those petty nit-wits you call ladies, I'll beat you to a pulp."

  He arched a brow. "Never. I asked Jenna and Reid to join us, for lunch.''

  "The doc?"

  "You'll like her. She's just as mean and stubborn as you are when she gets mad. Ask Reid."

  "I'm not mean and I will. Now don't think to change the subject, Marshal." She shifted toward him, bracing her arm on the back of the seat and twirling the strap to a dainty satin bag. "What did you say to Becket? And don't leave out a word."

  Chris gave her a side glance. She looked elegant and refined, her coloring complimented by the dress, her hair swept up in a soft twist. Tiny gold earrings decorated her lobes, ones he'd love to nibble on just now, and though he adored that she wore his mother's necklace, she looked ready to wrap that silken cord around his throat.

  "All right, huntress," he said and she smirked. "Remember what you said about him selecting his victims ..."

  People came out of shops and saloons, stopped walking and stared as they rolled into town. Victoria felt self-conscious as

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  hell and glanced at Chris. He flashed her one of those heart-stopping grins and she returned it, letting him play the gentle­man and help her from the carriage. He purpose
ly let his hands linger on her waist before escorting her into his office.

  Noble was reading the paper, his feet propped on the desk, but as Victoria ducked inside, he looked up. Instantly, he shot out of the chair. "Hello, Noble,"

  He peered, his gaze moving appreciatively over her. "That you? Clara—I mean ... Miss Mason?" "Clean up pretty good for a bounty hunter, huh?" "Dang. Well, just dang!" His gaze shifted briefly to Chris. "You was right, son, she's a wild beauty."

  For the first time in ages, a blush stole into her cheeks. "Why, thank you, sir." She'd decided on the ride out of the valley that she'd do her best not to bring the markings of her century under scrutiny and embarrass Chris. Guess that means no cussing, she thought, crossing to the man and taking his offered hand. "Thanks for being so nice to me before, Noble." She brushed a kiss to his ruddy cheek. He'd no idea how much it meant to her.

  Suddenly the doorway was filled with deputies, each elbowing the other to get inside.

  "Christ, like stags sniffin' after a doe," Noble muttered and Victoria laughed. Noble flushed red. And Chris introduced her to his staff.

  "Now I know why we ain't seen the boss," a short stocky man said.

  "Where you from, ma'am?"

  "Denver." f

  Seth eyed her for a moment. "I feel as if we've met before."

  "It's possible."

  Noble snickered and Victoria promptly took a step back. On his toe. She met his gaze and he was effectively silenced.

  "You a teacher?"

  "No," Chris said and she looked at him, anxious. "She's a bounty hunter."

  They inhaled collectively and gawked at her, then glanced at their boss. His gaze on her, Chris smiled, nodded, then folded his arms over his chest.

  "And one of the best."

  Something warm tumbled in her stomach. "You didn't always think so."

  "Had it pounded into me." He rubbed his chin.

  There was a stunned moment of silence, his deputies slack-jawed and looking between the two before they practically bludgeoned her with questions. She answered as best she could, and over the top of Tomas's head, she met Chris's gaze. He wasn't ashamed of her job, and it touched her so deeply she thought she'd do something useless and stupid, like cry.