by Sabine Starr
“Are you sure you want me to start with your back?”
He blinked, brought back to the present. He liked her pragmatism because it balanced his artistic flights of fancy. But at the moment what he really liked was the fact that she stood naked before him.
He tucked a long strand of hair behind her ear and traced the whorls of delicate skin. “Your choice.”
She cocked her head to one side, walked her soapy fingers from his navel to his chest, and splayed her hands, rubbing soap across his skin. “With so much choice, it’s hard to decide.”
“If you don’t decide, we’re both going to catch a chill.”
She slapped his chest. “Never. I promised to warm you.” She stroked across his shoulders, returned to his chest, moved downward, and clasped his shaft with both soapy hands.
He groaned at her touch.
When she started the rhythm he’d taught her, using the slick soap to stroke harder and faster, he caught his breath as she moved him ever closer to fulfillment. Yet no matter how good she made him feel, he wanted more. He wanted her. He wanted their bodies joined together.
But he didn’t have the power to resist her determination, particularly since he’d been without a woman’s touch for so long. He felt the power gather in his cock, building, straining, readying for release. And he braced, toes digging into the sandy soil of the river, and spurted out his need for her.
He pressed a soft kiss to her warm lips.
“Did I warm you?” She smiled at him, looking quite pleased with her actions.
He nodded. “But I’m ready to build a fire.”
“On the bank? In the water?”
“Yes.”
First, he wanted a bath. He took the soap from her hands, lathered the washcloth, and quickly washed all over, including his hair. He dunked into the river to remove the soap, came up shaking water out of his eyes, and saw Belle. She stood with her hands on her hips, beads of moisture glistening on her smooth, pale skin. His lady. His love. His life.
“Will you marry me?”
“What!”
He could hardly believe those words had tumbled from his mouth, but once he’d heard them, he knew he meant them. “Marry me.”
“What about Free Love?”
“Means to an end.”
“What end?”
“You.” He walked the few steps to her and grasped her shoulders. “We’re meant for each other. Can’t you feel it?”
“No.” She shook her head. “I want Free Love.”
“But Belle—”
She shook off his hands, moved several steps away, and gazed at him. “This isn’t about me. It’s about Victoria.”
“What?”
“I freed you from her. I engaged in Free Love with you. By the time I came along, you were probably so desperate that anything in a skirt would do.”
“Don’t say that!” He stalked over to her and grabbed her shoulders again. “Listen to me. I know the difference between Free Love and . . . real love.”
“Are you saying—”
“I love you. I want to marry you. Nothing could make me happier than spending the rest of my days with you.”
“And nights?”
“We’ll burn up our bed.”
She sighed and rested her head against his chest. “Mercy, you’re impulsive. I doubt if you are yourself yet. I won’t hold you to those words.”
He slightly shook her. “Believe me.”
“I don’t want to hear anything else about love or marriage. We just met each other.”
“Are you saying that you don’t feel something for me?”
“You’re making me think and feel in ways I never would have before meeting you. I’m not sure if it’s good or bad.”
“It’s good.”
She reached up and stroked his face. “Please, don’t push me. I’m already walking a knife’s edge and trying not to get cut.”
He cupped her hand against his skin, feeling her softness and warmth. He placed a light kiss against the corner of her mouth.
“I just want a taste of Free Love. I don’t care if it’s real love. I want a man’s touch. I need you.”
“You have me.” He looked deep into her beautiful eyes. “If you don’t want my love now, it’s not going anywhere. It’s yours. Take it or leave it. I’ve no control over your response. But I hope that one day soon you’ll accept my love and return it in full.”
“Oh, Mercy, you’re such a sentimental fool. I think it’s the artist in you.”
“It’s you. I’ve been a fool for you since the moment I met you.”
“I’ve been foolish, too.” She stroked his hair. “But I don’t care. I just want you. Every bit of you.”
“How do you want me?”
As if considering, she put a fingertip to her mouth and caught it between her luscious lips.
When he saw the tip of her pink tongue, he lost the last of his control. He picked her up in his arms. As she snuggled against him, he felt the warmth of her curves in sharp contrast to the cold of the water. He walked out of the river and set her on her feet. He grabbed the towels off the blackberry bushes, spread them across the sand, and looked at her.
“Is this the bed we’re going to burn up?” She licked her fingertip as she smiled mischievously at him.
Just the thought of what she could do to him with her tongue set his cock on fire. He was so hard and ready he didn’t know how long he would last. But maybe it didn’t matter. She could keep him going for hours.
Belle sat down, smoothing out the towels as she glanced up at him. “You took my towels. Are you going to dry me?”
“Yes. And I’ve got something better than a rough towel.”
“Really?”
He sat beside her, eased her onto her back, and proceeded to lick her breasts dry, tasting fresh water and sweet saltiness.
She chuckled. “That tickles.”
He cupped her breasts, squeezing lightly as he licked the tip of each tawny, puckered nipple. That made him hungry for more. He sucked the tip into his mouth and plied it with his tongue as he massaged her breast. When he heard her sigh with growing passion, he moved to her other breast. He licked, sucked, and nibbled until she clutched his shoulders and moved restlessly against the towels.
He kissed up her throat to her lips and delved deeply into her mouth as he continued to toy with her breasts. She returned his kiss with such intensity, thrusting, nibbling, sucking, that his passion soared. He lifted his head, smoothed back her burnt sienna hair, and stared into her rich umber eyes.
“I don’t know how long I can hold out.”
“Please. I’m on fire.” She parted her thighs.
He sat up and feasted on the sight of her. He set the scene in his mind. Maybe he’d never get to capture Belle on canvas with her lips swollen with kisses, her nipples hard and dark with desire, and her thighs parted to reveal glossy hair and the pink tip of her nub. But he would remember her wanton beauty for all the days of his life.
He knelt between her legs, as if in worship, and felt his cock throb with anticipation. It’d been so long, but he’d never been with Belle. He didn’t want to rush this moment. And yet how could he wait?
He leaned forward and kissed her belly button, toying in the indentation with his tongue. He kissed down her flat stomach to her triangle of hair. He cupped her mound, heard her moan, and slid his fingers downward to part her delicate folds. Slick moisture coated his fingers as he rubbed back and forth, flicking his thumb over her sensitive nub, pushing deeper into her hot flesh as her hips moved in time with him.
“Mercy.” She reached up and grabbed his shoulders, tugging him forward. “I want you. Please don’t make me wait.”
The last thing he wanted to do was make her wait, but he was considering her well-being. “I don’t have a French cap.”
“Surely this once—”
“I’ll pull out. It’s that or nothing.”
“Don’t even think it.”
&nb
sp; “I’m not.”
But it’d take all his strength to leave her hot depths at the very moment he wanted to be there most. For now, he shoved that thought aside. He wanted Belle, but he wanted more for her to want him in a way that she’d never wanted, or needed, Hackett. He wanted her lust, her love, her very soul.
He raised her legs, put them over his shoulders, and positioned her hips so that she was spread before him. He kissed her swollen nub and then slid his tongue along her slick, hot folds until he found entry. He stroked her with his tongue, delving deeper as he tasted her unique essence. He was rewarded with her throaty moan as she clutched his hair and pushed up toward him.
When he lifted his head, she grasped his shoulders, digging in her nails as she tossed her head back and forth. He smiled, knowing exactly how she felt because he couldn’t wait a moment longer, either.
He spread her folds, positioned the head of his cock, and gently nudged just inside. She bucked upward as she tried to draw him deeper, but he wouldn’t let her rush him. He eased farther inside, felt her heat and tightness, and then backed up. Again, he eased inside and slipped back, going farther into her depths each time, prolonging their complete union as he controlled the upward spiral of their passion.
Finally, he surged in all the way, striking to the heart of her. When she clutched him with her inner muscles, he almost lost control. He held on by sheer force of will. He began long, slow strokes, driving deep as he grasped her bottom to hold her steady.
Soon she moaned and clutched at his arms as she moved her hips in rhythm with his strokes, driving their spiral higher and higher. He had never felt so hot or desperately in need. Sweat dripped from his face down to her plump breasts. His breath came short and fast. He pumped harder and faster. Only Belle had ever brought him to such heights of ecstasy. As their spiral reached its pinnacle, he felt his release come nearer.
When he heard her cry his name and spasm around him, he jerked out and spilled his seed on her stomach, shaking all over with the intensity of the moment. He gently lowered her legs, lay down beside her, and pulled her into his arms. He looked at her face. Tears streamed down her cheeks.
“Did I hurt you?”
She shook her head, pressed a soft kiss to his lips, and snuggled against his chest. “I didn’t know.”
“Know what?”
“It could be like that.”
“Do you mean—”
“Hackett wasn’t the best at everything.”
Mercy smiled in satisfaction.
Chapter 28
By the time evening rolled around, Belle felt like a new woman. She owed the feeling to Mercy. She was still amazed that one man could make all the difference in experiencing sensuality. She hated to be disloyal to Hackett’s memory, but he’d never set a bed on fire. She hadn’t wanted to leave Mercy or their steamy union beside the Boggy River, but the Sun had been going down and they were vulnerable beside the stream.
In the bunkhouse, they’d exchanged heated kisses as they’d dusted off their clothes, changed underwear, and gotten ready for the saloon. She’d wanted to spend the entire night on one of the cots, experiencing everything with Mercy. But that was for another woman, one who wasn’t on the trail of bushwhackers and a kidnapper. She’d set aside her passion for a later time, but it simmered just below the surface, especially when she looked at Mercy.
For now, she stood in front of Burnt Boggy’s long bar with Slim and Red Dog behind it serving drinks and food. She surveyed the crowded saloon. Mercy played poker at a back table so he could gather information. She waited for one of her former informants, but so far none had shown up. She’d begun to fear she’d learn nothing as the night grew later. She glanced at Red Dog and caught his eye.
“No more lanterns on top of bars or mantels.” Red Dog pointed at the wagon wheel chandelier with four oil lanterns casting soft light over the saloon.
“Why is that?” Belle was pretty sure she knew. She figured he was mostly trying to distract her from worry that she’d learn nothing new that night.
Slim gave her a narrow-eyed look. “Not that you’d do it, but calicos have a way of starting fires with lanterns around here.”
“They can’t reach those lanterns near the ceiling, can they?”
“Not unless they stand atop a table.” Slim filled a shot glass and slid it down the bar toward a patron.
“Hope not,” Red Dog said. “We’re not of a mind to build again.”
“I don’t blame you.” Belle gestured at the room. “The place looks really good.”
“Thanks,” Slim said in agreement. “We’d like to see it stay that way.”
Red Dog chuckled. “’Course we can’t complain. Those fires have been good for business.”
“Burnt Boggy Saloon is legendary now,” Belle said. “You don’t have a single empty seat.”
Red Dog leaned toward her and lowered his voice. “I think they’re all hoping for the return of that wagonload of soiled doves.”
Belle chuckled. “They’ll be waiting a long time since they were never here in the first place.”
“Shhh.” He put a fingertip to his lips. “Hope springs eternal.”
She laughed. “And sells a lot of liquor and beans.”
“Yep.” Red Dog wiped down the top of the bar.
“Fine bar you’ve got here,” Belle said.
He tapped the top with his knuckles. “Cherry wood. Mercy’s a fine wood carver. If we can get him to fancy this one up like the Red River’s, we won’t need nothing else.”
She chuckled, realizing how much she’d changed her view about Mercy’s art. After her experience with Free Love, she could appreciate his love affair with the female form because she now had one with the male form.
“I’m glad to see him looking well,” Red Dog said. “Hope he stays that way.”
“So do I.” She had an uneasy feeling that Victoria was still prowling and looking for a way to get at Mercy, but so far he remained stable.
She caught Mercy’s eye. He gave her a slow perusal and then a wink. He didn’t have to tell her what was on his mind. She was thinking the same thing. She licked her lower lip and was rewarded with a sizzling look before he went back to his cards. From the corner of her eye she noticed a man sidle up close to her as he slid his shot glass down the bar.
“Ain’t seen you in a month of Sundays.”
She glanced toward the sound of the gravelly voice. A man of medium height and build, medium brown hair and eyes watched her. He wore a blue plaid shirt, leather vest, blue jeans, Peacemaker, and boots. He was forgettable except for his eyes, and they missed nothing.
“Dusty, as I live and breathe.” She smiled, feeling relieved to see him. He was an outlaw, but he lived by his own code of honor. He might share information, but he never accepted payment. Whatever he told her, she figured it served his own purpose. He had a reputation as a man not to cross.
“Glad to see you’re still with us.” He balanced on the balls of his feet, as if ready for action.
“Any reason why I wouldn’t be?” Belle turned toward him, instantly alert at the tone of his voice. She braced an elbow on top of the bar.
He tossed back his whiskey, set the glass down with a snap, and motioned to Slim for a refill. “You ever catch that bushwhacker?”
“No.” She felt the Soleil Wheel over her heart tingle in response. He knew something important. She just needed to coax it from him, but she had to be careful not to spook him.
“B’hoy like that gives us all a bad name.”
“True enough.”
“Hackett.” He turned away from her, put both elbows on the bar, and tossed back his second whiskey. “You learn any more about him?”
She wracked her brain for a moment, trying to figure out what he meant, but came up empty. “Guess a bounty got him.”
He cast a sidelong glance, then faced her. “Deep fellow, Hackett. Figure you know that.”
She felt her Soleil Wheel burn hot. She unconsciously
rubbed it through her blouse. “Don’t you mean a straight arrow?”
He shrugged. “Could be he left a few loose ends.”
“Like what?”
He gazed at her with narrowed eyes. “Like Tex. Like you.”
“I can’t imagine what you mean.”
“He was your intended, wasn’t he? You two shared a lot, didn’t you?”
“Yes.” She felt as if she was strangling on some truth that eluded her.
He rubbed his face and leaned back against the bar.
“Dusty, if you’ve got something I need to know, please tell me.”
He glanced back at her. “You ever go to Wildcat Falls?”
“You know better.”
He nodded, smiling. “Hackett liked it there.”
“Hackett?” She felt dizzy with confusion. “But he wouldn’t last five minutes at that place.”
“Wouldn’t think so, would you?”
She felt a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach. “Are you trying to tell me—”
“Ain’t telling you nothin’ you don’t want to hear.”
She took a deep breath. “I’m looking for a man who rides a pacer. I found those tracks where Tex and Hackett both bought it.”
Dusty nodded and turned back to the bar. He held up one finger for a refill.
“A young woman was kidnapped in the Bend by a man who rode a pacer.”
“Same one?” he asked.
“Must be.”
“Hate to say it, but there’s a pacer turns up now and again at the Falls.”
She felt chilled to the bone. “How long?”
“Several years now.”
“You think the pacer’s there now?”
“Don’t know.”
