by Jackie Ivie
“Didn’t you hear that?” she whispered.
“What?”
“Your pickup getting demolished.”
“No worries, Love. That’s just Tex. Putting it back upright for me.”
“Wh—at?”
The word was split in two. That’s what happens when saying it through shaky lips. Her entire body wasn’t far behind. Goose bumps wavered across her, lifting every hair on her body. Deandra wrapped her arms about herself. She wasn’t cold, exactly. She felt... odd. Excited. Energized. Expectant. Like she’d just been strapped into a new thrill ride and the engine had just started beneath her.
It was more than odd. It was... beyond sci-fi. And then he was there. The cowboy fellow. Dropping to a knee at her side. Silent. Deadly. And unbelievably sexy. Their eyes met and a solid jolt of something slammed right through her. It altered her breathing. Stopped her heart. It electrified. Stunned. Amazed. Almost... frightened. Deandra swallowed and closed her eyes. But when she opened them, he was still there. Still watching her from beneath the shadow of his hat brim. And still sending perfect arcs of lightning. Without expending one bit of effort. The slightest smile curved his lips. Holy cow. Guys like this just didn’t exist. Reactions like this didn’t happen. Emotions like this were complete fiction. He put his hand toward her again.
And this time she took it.
He was chilled. Clammy feeling. And yet, at the first touch a pleasurable rush zipped through her, crumpling her legs. He knew it, too. He had her pulled right against his chest as he stood. Wrapped his free arm about her. Holding her off the ground. Against solid, muscled male.
Oh... boy.
She had a vivid imagination. It was working overtime at the moment. The embrace warmed. Sparked. Aroused. Deandra panted with the gift of sensation romance writers try to explain. They’d all missed the mark. She was glowing. Vibrating. Pulsating. All of it patently ridiculous. And there wasn’t any of her that wanted to stop one bit of it.
“‘Bout time you got here, Tex.”
“Don’t call me that.”
Oh... Wow. This cowboy’s voice was akin to dark chocolate as it melted on her tongue. Deep. Mellow. Shiver-inducing. Especially with her ear pressed against his chest like it was.
“Attitude. That’s all I get from you guys. First His Highness. Then Babycakes. Now you. Fine. But tell me. We need a 4-D team?”
“No.”
“Survivors?”
“Eight. Female. They’re huddled in the van. Won’t come out.”
“You been in the area?”
“Yeah.”
“And they won’t come out? You gotta be kidding me. Wounded?”
“No one is wounded,” the cowboy answered him.
Their words probably made sense. If she listened. Pondered. Deduced. And if she’d move away from this man. Move away from the pulsating wonder of being held in massive arms? No way.
“I see blood. A lot of blood.”
The cowboy growled.
“You gonna tell me why?”
“Montoya had a weapon. He was a fair shot.”
“Where is Montoya?”
“Terminated. Per contract.”
“And Manuel?”
“Who?”
“The other coyote.”
“Oh. Him. They were transporting human cargo. I got angered.”
“Yeah. We noticed. Didn’t we, Deandra?”
“Deandra?”
The cowboy said her name, making it into a symphony of mystery. Hauntingly poignant. Actually, everything about this was already at that stage. And the sensation just kept growing.
“The woman you’re holding. Her name’s Deandra. Don’t know much else. May not need to. You probably should leave. No sense rattling my soon-to-be rescued females any more than I have to. Any beauties among them?”
“None are older than twelve.”
“Kids? I’m about to rescue kids?”
“I told you I got angered.”
Len sighed loudly. Then he addressed her.
“Well. I guess, all that’s left is what Deandra wishes.”
“What?” she asked.
“You coming with me to escort eight scared young females back to the hacienda? Or... you going with him?”
“Now, wait. I never said—”
“She gets the choice, Tex.”
“I told you. Don’t call me that.”
The reply grumbled through his chest. This just got weirder and weirder. They were giving her the choice? Damn everything. It would be so much easier to be forced, even while enjoying the heck out of it. That way, she’d have somewhere else to assign blame and responsibility. She trembled. His arms tightened slightly. He wasn’t cold anymore, either. He was warm. Breath-catching. Enticing.
Hmm...
Go back to the 2100 Radical Society retreat? Never knowing what she’d passed up? Or spend some time with what might be heaven? Decisions. Decisions.
“I’ll stay with him,” she said.
CHAPTER FOUR
“You get motion sick?”
The question rumbled through the chest she leaned against, jogging her from a semi-conscious state that approached the divine. His voice added to the heavenly sensations overtaking her. He still sounded like really dark melted chocolate would if it had a voice. Deep. Sinful. Baritone. Yet melodic. (Like one of those voice-over ads for decadent lodgings.) Wow. It was almost too much. She’d never been carried so closely, so securely, or for so long. The tremor he gave occasionally only added to the impact. It felt absolutely right. Perfect. Or damn near it.
Deandra shifted her head, bringing his jaw into focus. And sighed. She couldn’t help it. He had the slightest scuff of whisker on his jaw. It darkened his chin where the bare shadow of a cleft beckoned a touch. A trace of whiskers also shaded his upper lip, drawing her eye to really kissable-looking lips. The guy was so gorgeous it impacted her breathing. Thinking. Pulse. Again. Still. Double wow.
They were moving. She didn’t know how. Nothing seemed to move on his lower body. She really didn’t care, however. It was enough that wherever they touched, her body could actually feel him. And was enjoying it immensely. Even through their clothing.
“I’ve never ridden a horse... so I don’t know. But I doubt it.”
He smiled, putting nice lines into play about his eyes, and giving her a hint of teeth through his parted lips. She sighed again. Louder this time.
“Didn’t bring a horse.”
“Oh. Well, you can’t possibly drive any worse than Len. So, I’ll probably be fine in a truck, too.”
His smile broadened into a grin. There still wasn’t much light, but what there was glimmered on pearly white teeth. And what looked like really sharp canines. Deandra’s eyes narrowed at the sight an instant before he sobered; and half an instant before she thought about worrying over it. She’d crossed over into insanity. Going heaven-knew-where, with a man she’d just met. She didn’t even know his name. She told her body to stiffen. Nothing obeyed.
“Close your eyes,” he said.
“Why?”
“Trust me.”
“You have to be joking. Trust you?”
“You’re safe. Promise.”
“If I don’t trust you to begin with, why would I believe that?”
He twisted his lips as if considering it, and then moved the arm that was wrapped about her ribcage. Deandra’s breasts got squashed against really hard, muscled pecs as he fumbled with something beneath his vest. That was enough to make her sigh again, but this time she held it. She supposed if she was willing to risk everything for a night in a stranger’s arms, it was a huge benefit that he had the body of Adonis. Or Atlas. Or whichever god had the most muscles. Maybe it was Hercules.
“Here.”
He moved again, releasing her from the breath-stealing hug. A tremor went through him again, transferring into her. Then he pressed something into her hand. For that he had to pull it from where she’d clamped it about his neck. She wasn’t actin
g much like an abduction victim, she decided. Deandra toyed with the thing for a bit, even pricking her palm with the stick-pin.
“Is this... a badge?” she asked.
“Yep.”
“You’re a Ranger, maybe?”
“Marshal.”
“You’re a US Marshal? Seriously?”
“You’ve got my badge.”
“Hmm.” She rubbed a thumb along the ridges of his badge, where raised letters proclaimed whatever it said. Inside the circle was the outline of a star. Wow. Maybe the angels really did look out for fools, after all. Deandra smiled.
“Well. I guess I’ll trust you, then. Even if I don’t know your name.”
“It’s Grimm.”
“Grimm?”
“Yeah.”
“What’s your last name? Reaper?”
“No. Bradley. Why?”
Deandra regarded him for a few moments. He wasn’t kidding. He looked serious. He sent a glance down to her, stopped her heart and her breathing, and then looked back out at wherever he was moving. He didn’t even crack a smile. Okay. So he didn’t have a sense of humor. Or if he did, it was dry. Fine by her. He was the handsomest thing she’d ever seen, had a physique that she was going to love exploring, and he wasn’t just law-abiding. He upheld the law. It could be worse. A lot worse. Starting with - she could be back at the hacienda with Edna and the others.
Deandra closed her eyes. It felt like they started moving even more rapidly. She’d have checked but her eyelids felt leaden. Her senses fine-tuned to his embrace. His scent. The sound of his heart pounding.
...or was it hers?
She couldn’t tell. She didn’t care. Grimm Bradley. Mrs. Grimm Bradley. Marshal and Missus Grimm Bradley. Deandra giggled to herself. She hadn’t had these sorts of thoughts since she was little. This was insane. And it was sure nice. She tightened her eyes and hugged into him.
o0o
He had his mate. Of all the impossible, improbable, and unbelievable events, it was still true. His mate! Her. The being fated for him for all eternity. No wonder he shook.
He had her. Now. Right now. In his arms! Sweetly curving into him. Every bit of her. Flesh and blood and sinew, and muscle. Sweet heaven! It wasn’t possible. She was almost too perfect. Totally feminine, and pleasingly curved. Eye-catching. No. She was beyond that. His mate was beauty personified. Large, wide eyes of some light hue... maybe gray? Perfect facial features. Long dark hair she wore in a pony-tail. She was tall but not overly so. Probably fit beneath his chin. And she was womanly. Soft and round where she should be. Whittled in at the waist without use of any foundation he could feel. All of it solid. Tangible. Real. Heart pounding real.
Heart pounding...
As if he still had one.
His mate’s pulse was a drumbeat in his ears, filling his chest cavity with the thrum. The same cadence. As if it forced his dead heart to life and then dragged it to an exact rhythm. That wasn’t the strangest part, either.
He’d been cold. Chilled and lifeless and dead. A corpse. For nigh a century and a half now. And yet the moment he’d sensed her presence standing in that window, the opposite sensation had started somewhere deep within him. Warmth had sparked to life, radiating through him until he’d actually shed his jacket somewhere back there - in the courtyard of that hacienda. Him? Grimm Bradley? The man who should even now be resting beneath the tombstone in The Bradley Ranch’s little cemetery? Under the briefest of age-worn epithets? The one that simply said: R.I.P. 1873?
It wasn’t possible.
He’d lost his purpose. His mission. His anger. His wits. He hadn’t said anything to her then because his mind didn’t cooperate with forming words. His lips wouldn’t have mouthed them if he’d tried because his vocal cords hadn’t felt like they belonged to him, either. Everything on him felt strange. Electrified. Alert. Like it was getting reanimated. Despite the impossibility. Somehow. Through some power.
Grimm hadn’t anything to compare it to. He still didn’t. And every time he thought of what was happening, he couldn’t contain the instant tremor that ran his frame, making him clench her tighter. Nearer. Holding her closer to where his heart actually felt like it was pounding with fluid that required a pulse. It wasn’t possible.
And yet...
His flight overshot the cemetery, and then the gatepost announcing the Bradley Homestead. He’d almost reached the entrance to his lair before stopping. Dropping. Flexing his legs for the move, and actually feeling the muscles respond. And then more. His eyes widened as he felt the stir of it. His groin. He had to look up and somehow swallow the groan at holding it back as even that part of life got gifted back to him.
By her. His mate.
“So... hey. Can I open my eyes now?”
The whiff of breath attached to her question slithered over where he should have fastened the top button of his shirt. And worn a kerchief. Anything to prevent contact that sensitized the skin beneath his jaw. Farther. Over his chest. Spreading in ripples resembling waterfalls down his belly to where he was studiously doing his best to control. And failing. All of it transferred to a tremor that rocked his frame, and then her. Grimm actually had to swallow. Swallow?
“Yeah.”
The word was rasped, but intelligible. He glanced down and quickly jerked away from the contact. Better to look down into the valley. At the plethora of buildings. The hum of activity. The yard lights. Dim hints of light in barn windows, even now in the middle of the night, as someone checked prized livestock. He felt so out-of-sorts and foolish. He didn’t dare look at her. He was barely handling the sensations fate sent him already. Connecting with her gaze could be his undoing. Flickers of heat and want and craving, and all of it combined with absolute need, had been tendered just by the feel of her in his arms.
It didn’t matter much. He felt her unwavering gaze on him. Steady. Unblinking. Easily discernible in the combination of illumination from the quarter moon and what light the Bradley Ranch exuded. That gaze of hers sent kindled passions right past the smoke stage...pretty close to catching pure fire. And he didn’t know what might happen then. He’d never felt it, and hadn’t any experience on handling it.
Grimm tightened everything in an effort to tamp it. Or, at least control it. His abdomen. Shoulders. Calves. Thighs. Buttocks. Groin.
Damn it!
That was stupid. His arms clenched instantaneously, lifting her body higher into his chest, and adding to the affliction. This was pure madness. And complete wonder.
“Wow.”
More of her breath touched his chin, starting the chain of events all over again. Ramping it higher, extending the range of each separate sensation. Heat. Craving. Excitement. Anticipation. All of it with increasing intensity. Grimm nearly groaned.
“I mean... double wow. Do you live there?”
She was speaking of the ranch.
Disappointment invaded, dulling the edge of what promised to be uncontrollable. Deflating. Reducing. Diminishing. It was akin to shoving his head in the horse trough. Dribbling water into a hot skillet to test for temperature. Shoving wet wood onto a bonfire.
His arms loosened, dropping her weight slightly. He wondered if she noticed.
“That’s the Bradley Ranch,” he finally told her.
“Bradley Ranch. Hmm. That’s probably listed in a guidebook about Texas, isn’t it?”
“Maybe.”
“Lot of acres?”
“Yeah. Sections.”
“Sounds... rich. Real rich. Any of those barns look bigger than the Special Events Complex back home. Are you one of those cattle baron millionaire guys? Maybe an oil tycoon?”
“Not me.”
“Sure looks like it. Maybe you’re the heir? Or one of them?”
The awe staining her voice was worrisome. As was the excited tone that looking over the Bradley riches imbued into her voice. The combination started a twist deep in his gut. He shouldn’t have stopped. He could have had her deep into the mine with him. In his rooms.
On his bed. But some bit of steel deep within him made this happen, creating this conversation. Forcing the secrets into the open. And he knew why. She was his mate. She existed. And he’d found her. Mating with her on that bed was going to be pure perfection. No lies. No secrets. No darkness. He wouldn’t allow it.
“Well?”
The breath from her query chilled and muted this time, altering the forces he’d been barely keeping at bay with something else. It wasn’t disappointment. It went a lot deeper. More personal. There wasn’t anywhere to hide. It was easier to stick with short answers, even if they kept getting harsher voiced.
“Nope.”
“You don’t live there?”
“Nope.”
“But you’re one of them? A Bradley?”
“Yes. And no.”
“That sounds promising... in a sinful kind of way. Dark. Exciting. Illicit. I’m game. Are you like a black sheep or something?”
Her voice sounded sincere, saying things that couldn’t be. As if it was nothing.
“Sort of,” he answered finally.
“What did you do?” She asked it expectantly, and with a hint of drama.
“Came from the wrong side of the blanket.” He avoided looking anywhere near her as if an infusion of real blood darkened his already swarthy skin. He flushed? Incredible.
“Wrong side of—oh. You’re illegitimate.”
He’d been wrong. What happened now was definitely a flush. He flicked a glance to her eyes. She wasn’t looking at anything but him. Grimm nodded and looked over her head. At nothing but sky.
“You’re kidding, right? They still care about that? Hasn’t the twenty-first century arrived here yet? I mean, honestly. I thought it was something really bad.”
“There’s more,” he interrupted her.
“What could be worse?” She was amused. It carried over in her voice. “I mean, honestly, Grimm... and you have the most sexy name, by-the-way. It’s almost overkill. But really. You’ve got me wondering here. If it’s so bad to be illegitimate, why didn’t your parents wed?”
“C-C-Couldn’t.”
