With Just Cause

by Jackie Ivie

He stammered. For all the embarrassing things to happen. Damn. Grimm shut his eyes. He couldn’t help it. It was the way she’d said his name, and the description she’d put to it. The zing of something electrical that snapped right through him had affected his vocal chords. Or something along that line.

  “You going to tell me why?”

  He cleared his throat. “He... uh... died before that could happen.”

  “Oh man. I’m sorry. And they still hold it against you?”

  “My grandpa shot him.”

  She went stiff. Or tried. The way he held her stopped most of it. But a glance showed her open mouth. He went back to watching the dark sky.

  “Well, I hope he got a life sentence, then. The bastard.”

  Grimm let a small smile tip his lips. It was amusing. The great Woodrow Bradley the Third paying for that? Maybe now. Not then. In fact, they’d probably held a victory supper at the large ranch house down there.

  “Nope.”

  “Why not? Huh? I don’t care how rich he is. Money can’t protect against murder charges.”

  “He was a breed. So am I. Well... half, anyway.”

  “Breed?”

  “Yeah.”

  He didn’t say a word as she pondered it. And then she put her hand on his jaw and moved his head down, making him look at her.

  “You’re half American Indian? Is that what you’re saying?”

  He nodded.

  “Hmm. No wonder you’re so damn sexy.”

  Sexy? Grimm pulled his head back, surprised and titillated and something more. Intrigued. Fascinated. Captivated.

  This Deandra truly didn’t look as if anything he’d said mattered. In the slightest. She’d narrowed her eyes slightly and had the sweetest half-smile to her mouth. And then she licked her lips.

  Grimm rocked in place, enduring every bit of the mixed sensations he’d been fighting as they slammed through him. He locked every muscle against it, panting in little increments of real air as he fought his own desire, and stood shaking so violently, she jounced in his arms. She probably thought him mad. It wasn’t far off. In fact, if she licked her lips like that one more time he wasn’t sure he wouldn’t be. It was insanity. And absolute nirvana.

  “What?”

  He thought that was the question coming out of her mouth, but if he wanted to make an answer he had to look away. And quickly. Grimm moved his entire head up to look out and over the valley, even as it pulled against the restriction he’d put on his shoulder muscles.

  “You don’t... care?” he asked.

  “Of course not. I just hope you live somewhere close.”

  Whoa.

  His knees felt that reaction, going soft and weak, as they sent a shudder through him again. Still.

  “I’m a little annoyed at you because you actually thought I’d care. And I got news for you, Grimm Bradley. Man. You have a killer name. Really. Grimm. Bradley. You don’t want to see me annoyed.”

  Her voice had lowered and gone sensual on his name. There wasn’t a description for the whoosh of fire that roared through him, obliterating the earlier sensations. The dirt he stood on was littered with pebbles. It wouldn’t be soft. Or romantic. But he might not have the option. It was sensational. Mind-opening. He’d run across many women over the years. Regardless of which nightspot he visited, he wasn’t lonely for long. He’d be approached. Accosted. Propositioned. They’d shamble over to him, start up some double-meaning conversation, and if he failed to take the bait, some of them got even more assertive. Aggressive. Annoying. They were usually tipsy, too, making them even more unpleasant. Women were trouble. Drunk women were worse trouble. How different it was with this mate of his. Every word she said was like blowing on an already raging flame.

  “So... speak up. You do live close... yes?”

  He cleared his throat. “Yonder. See those dark hills?”

  He’d have pointed, but the valley was backed by large black hills. They couldn’t be mistaken for anything else.

  “You live there?”

  “This side of.”

  “You got a nice big bed?”

  The instant reaction took them off the ground several feet. She had her gaze locked with his and didn’t seem to notice. He nodded. His voice wouldn’t work.

  “That is what you had in mind, wasn’t it?”

  “Uh...”

  “Well, don’t just stand here, get a move on. Or we’re about to test this ground. You got it?”

  His head spun as she put words to his thoughts. Exactly.

  “Then prove it, Cowboy.”

  He reacted. Vividly. With primal intent. Subconsciously. It was a reflexive action, lit off the ratcheting of sensation within him. And it was massive. Grimm launched them across the chasm, over the first KEEP OUT signs, leapt the “Beware – Abandoned Mine” barricades. He didn’t even refasten the padlocks on the two massive iron gates that blocked this entrance. He’d do it later. If he remembered. Right now his entire focus was on her.

  They reached the old mine shaft, dropped two hundred feet, while wisps of her hair slid across his face, catching in his chin stubble. She didn’t act like it was of consequence. He didn’t think she closed her eyes the entire time. She didn’t move them from him, either. But he didn’t check. He didn’t dare look at her again.

  Not yet.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Deandra had never felt like this. Disembodied. Acquiescent. Malleable. Easy. And actually requesting that he find a bed? She should be embarrassed. Aghast. She’d never believe herself capable of saying it if the words hadn’t come out of her mouth. Without conscious volition and little thought. She felt unfettered. Unrestricted. Free. And it was heady. It was also amazing. Enthralling. She’d never tried being hypnotized, but this might be what it felt like. Maybe.

  As quickly as he moved, it should feel chilly, cool air caressing all about where sleeves would protect. It didn’t. It was like she was cocooned. Enveloped. And it was dark. Not dark and gloomy, like when the power went out. Nor was it dark like when she shut all the blinds in her condo for the night. This dark was like ink. Black. Pitch black. It was impossible to see anything. Including a path. How was it possible Grimm moved so rapidly?

  “Grimm?” Her voice didn’t sound much like her. It didn’t portray one bit of what should be apprehension. Or at least concern. Rather, the sound was sensual. Rapt. Throaty. Maybe it was just saying his name. She hadn’t been mistaken. He had a killer name.

  “Yeah?”

  Wow. He wasn’t talkative, but it could be a self-defensive thing. The moment this guy was spotted, he probably had a battle on his hands. He’d have been mobbed by the 2100 Radical Society if they’d seen him. That might explain his reticence. That, and how amazing his voice resonated all around.

  They thudded to a stop on the ground. Or floor. Or cave surface. His lower limbs flexed and then they were moving again. This time horizontally.

  “Where are... we going?” she asked.

  “Does it matter?”

  A shiver ran him when he said it, and it transferred through her, ratcheting everything higher. It was difficult to catch her breath. Her senses. Her thoughts.

  “But... how can you see?”

  He grunted. Turned a corner, or swerved around an obstacle. Or something that shifted her weight in his arms.

  “Sorry. I forgot.”

  “Forgot what?”

  Light started permeating the corridor, coming from some still-to-be-seen source. It got sucked into what looked like stone, and that was then shadowed by interspersed wooden beams.

  “Human frailties.”

  They entered an enormous chamber, negatively cambered to form a dome at the top. Deandra craned her head to view stalactites that hung like long icicles far above them. And everywhere was light, as if someone had strung thousands of little white Christmas lights throughout the ceiling. Or whatever you called a cave roof. And somewhere deep in this place was a slight hum noise. Mechanical. Technological. Real.


  “What is this place?” she asked.

  “Gold mine. Abandoned section.”

  “You own a gold mine?”

  He looked down at her and winked, stealing her voice and her breath, and almost her wits.

  “I just told you. It’s abandoned.”

  Deandra lifted her eyebrows. “Then what’s that humming noise?”

  “Oh. Refinery. Down the shaft about mile. Maybe more.”

  “You struck oil. You have your own personal oil supply.”

  “Might, could be,” he answered.

  “What a perfect place for a survival stronghold. Wow. I mean, really, Grimm, this is amazing.” She didn’t hide the awe in her voice. She didn’t care, either.

  He grinned. “Hold tight.”

  The jump he made spanned the cavern, made her dizzy, and barely missed several stalactites before he landed lithely on a platform carved into rock. The next moment he’d pivoted, using his back to shove through double wooden doors that swung inward. And then they were in the center of the room, and she was on her own feet. Wobbling. Unsure. And open-mouthed with amazement.

  She’d landed in a large room, not big enough to create a feeling of isolation, but enough to know space wasn’t an economic consideration. Dressers and armoires and settees and wardrobe cabinet were scattered about along the walls, creating oases of mystery from candelabra atop them. The candlelight created shadows everywhere, alive with the movement of flame. Soft light filled the bed chamber, flickering off the warm glow of polished wood. Expensive wood, none of that pine stuff. Deandra could tell the interior designer had used real oak. Tons of it.

  All of it surrounded and seemed to protect a platform holding a bed. Her jaw slackened farther as she looked it over, her entire frame running with shivers that wouldn’t stop. That bed was constructed of more carved and polished oak. Craftsmen had even carved into the solid wood of the base. She glimpsed sections of it between lengths of the gauzy gold and red striped material that floated down from the square canopy top. The color scheme matched the coverlet, while tassels trimmed the edges, fashioned of what could be real gold thread. There wasn’t a way to gauge how big or how soft the mattress was, since it sat above her line of sight. It was unlike anything she’d ever seen or imagined, not even in those expensive travel brochures. And it was right there. In front of her. Real.

  “You said something about my bed?”

  Holy smokes!

  Deandra swiveled at Grimm’s question, her entire body quaking as he’d already shed his leather vest and almost finished unfastening his shirt, showing lots of skin and tons of muscle. He hadn’t moved toward the bed, either. He stood closer to the doors. And every bit of candlelight about him put him on display. Deandra licked her lips.

  “You can just hold on right there, Cowboy,” she told him.

  He looked up, slight creases touching his forehead, as his black-shaded eyes snagged hers. Deandra’s heart did that elevator drop thing, taking her breath with it. Several seconds elapsed before she had enough air back to make words. He didn’t help. He just stood there, waiting. And then her mouth filled the gap with more words her mind wasn’t clearing.

  “I get to do the unwrapping here. Get it?”

  His head pulled back, and what was probably surprise flit across his features. And then he sucked in both cheeks to give her a really slow smile, one that slipped sharp canines into his lower lip. Deandra pulsed in place, a wellspring tossed moisture through her, while spikes of heat hit her skin. Everywhere. All at once. With vicious effect. She felt wicked. Intensely stirred. Wanton. And the stranger she’d turned into wanted more. Legions more.

  “Oh, good. You do get it.”

  She sauntered toward him, closing the distance with a slowness that extended her pulse rate, making each beat take longer. Thicker. Stronger. Deeper. Putting a drum cadence through her ears and from there out into the chamber.

  He hadn’t moved. He still watched her with lowered chin, sending a shadow across his face from his hat brim. Deandra stopped within embracing distance and lifted her finger to his hat. He didn’t watch her movement. He stayed focused on her eyes. She knew it. Sensed it. Reveled in it.

  She pushed at the brim, and the hat slid. He moved with a speed she couldn’t follow, catching a finger beneath the chin strap so the hat didn’t fall. And then he reached up and lifted it off with one arm. One very well-defined arm. She watched him flick a glance to his hat as if checking for damage before leaning past her to store it somewhere behind her, flexing all sorts of muscle while he did so.

  She didn’t check. She didn’t move her eyes from really long, well-developed legs that were getting very well defined by the move through the denims he wore. She almost purred when he’d finished. Grimm Bradley. Hmm...

  Deanne stepped a hairsbreadth closer. He jerked slightly as she slipped a hand through the hair at his forehead. He had coal black hair. Glossy. Straight. With a widow’s peak at the top of his forehead. She wasn’t certain on the length since it was behind his ears, but it didn’t look overly long, or too short. Maybe collar length. It was thick. And dented slightly from where his hat had creased it.

  The color exactly matched his lashes, the shade of his eyes, and the shadow of whisker growth atop his lip. Deandra licked at her bottom lip. Wow. The guy was better than gorgeous. She’d have to think of a proper word. She put an index finger on the spot below his throat where he’d opened his shirt and then started sliding down the opening. And everywhere she touched tingled. Sparked. Fizzed. The feeling was akin to touching an effervescent tablet with a wet finger, or something. And he wasn’t helping. He was trembling in place.

  Damn. He wore an undershirt.

  Deandra’s explorations stopped at the cotton garment and she started moving along the hem, tugging away his shirt even more. Exploring. Thrilling. Grimm had impressive pecs. Very impressive. Hard. Yet malleable. Striations erupted beneath her finger as she moved along him. She felt the muscles tensing. Tightening. Oh my.

  “This... isn’t a good idea.”

  The rumble of his words transferred to her finger, making it vibrate against his skin.

  “You’re joking, right?” she replied.

  Deandra brought her other hand to his button placket, pulled the tail from where he’d tucked it, and then finished unfastening it. His shirt was classic Western cut. Nothing rodeo fancy, but authentic. Fashioned from heavy cotton with a light plaid weave in a tan shade, featuring pointed yoke, and snaps with a pearled finish. It was well made. Impossible to rip off him, even as she thought of it. Deandra moved her hands along his chest to his shoulders and pushed the fabric onto his upper arms. And then she was looking over ripped abs barely hidden beneath a white cotton, sleeveless shirt.

  Really ripped abs. Deandra’s hands moved without orders to running along a washboard frame that trembled beneath her explorations. Flat belly. Nice thick ridge of muscle along his waist. She yanked the undershirt up and then pulled at his belt buckle. The chunk of metal gave easily. Deandra held it for a moment before pulling on the brown leather it was attached to. His buckle wasn’t large or ornate or fancy. None of his attire was. It spoke of workaday cowboy, not glitz and glam rodeo. He was even wearing button-fly denims that dropped low on his hips as the belt came free. And then he grabbed for her hands and stopped her.

  He wasn’t just trembling. He was shaking. It took her into cadence with it.

  “I wasn’t joking.”

  The world beneath them rocked, making her stumble. If she hadn’t been held by his hands, she might have dropped to her knees. Then it ceased. Everything seemed to stop. Even time. His eyes caught hers, ensnaring her with unfathomable depths of black atop a mirrored surface of more black. Deep. Dark. Matte-finish black. And everything on her answered. Deandra’s lips opened, allowing pants of breath. Her nipples tightened, going to nubs that rubbed and annoyed against her bra lining. She flushed. The space about her heart heated. That muscle expanded, ramping her pulse beat higher. Her kne
es weakened. Her thighs twitched. Sensations moved higher, twanging a chord deep in her apex. Her loins began to flex and release. Moistening. Growing heavy with longing. Craving. Desire. Absolute need.

  “Grimm...”

  The name came out as a plea. A moan. A cry. A combination of all three. The one thing it didn’t sound like was her.

  “You don’t understand.”

  He tensed everything about him, moving her closer with the tightening of his arms. He’d gritted his teeth, too, putting slicing-sharp fangs on display. She couldn’t blink. Think. Move. He looked feral. Untamed. Wild. Primal. And wholly male.

  And Deandra was caught.

  “I haven’t been with... a woman. Not for... some time.”

  “Some time?” she managed to whisper.

  “Yeah. Years.”

  The instant feeling that rippled through her veins like champagne bubbles was so close to euphoria, she felt faint. Giddy. Overjoyed. Amazed. She cleared her throat in order to answer.

  “Oh. Good. I really... hate asking the awkward stuff anyway.”

  “Stuff?”

  “You know. Stuff like... rubbers. Birth control. Other... partners.”

  He growled. Growled. The sound emanated from him until bass tones filled the room, pulsating off the walls. The real Deandra would have been annoyed. At the very least. This Deandra was even more intrigued. Caught. She wouldn’t have moved her eyes from him even if she’d been able to. She narrowed the space between them, standing, not touching. Lifting her chin. Pursing her lips. Trembling. Waiting. And then he lowered his head to her, and matched his lips to hers.

  The moment they kissed, Deandra lost all semblance of control. She lunged for him, gripping him to her with her arms beneath his while her hands grabbed at chunks of fabric. Her breasts flared with spasms of desire that spread outward from where they’d smashed against his pecs. Something pricked her lower lip. A slight sting happened. And then a thrill such as nothing she’d experienced. Ever. Her body shuddered through wave after wave of ecstasy. Molten pleasure. Incredible bliss. And she wanted more.

  Drum-like pounding pulsed through her with a power and volume beyond physical limitation. Throbbing with intensity. Beating with intent. Deandra launched upward and he caught her, and then held her tightly against him. She wrapped her legs about his hips and ground her pelvis against his, her motions matching the rhythm within her. The thrum. The building momentum. Her entire body in the thrall of something so elemental and wild it took any inhibitions and sent them packing.