But it was over so quickly, he wondered if he'd imagined it all, if he was suffering from some sort of delirium. If so, he hoped never to recover—at least not until she finished with what was proving to be an incredibly stimulating massage.
Her hands were marvelous, rubbing his chest, his arms, even his feet, with a skillful fervor. Indeed, though the overly warm water was a balm to his chilled flesh, her touch was hot as a branding iron.
The chills began to subside. His shuddering breaths came easier. And though he still felt unaccountably weak, Noble could feel his strength growing.
He flexed a foot. Then crooked a knee. His arms felt equally stiff, but he moved them anyway, opening them to the sweet lady of tender ministrations.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, then pressed her fingertips to his throat. "Strong and steady. Sweetheart, you're gonna make it." She said the last with a heated passion as she pressed her lips to the pulse he could feel beating hard and quick, such was the magic of her kiss.
His loins responded, too, but not as well as he'd have liked. So it was with his mind, taking all of this in while a fuzziness dulled the edges. One thing was clear, however, this was no ordinary harlot.
"You're extraordinarily good at what you do," he told her with all sincerity. Though his voice was raspy, he was grateful for the ability to speak freely again. But most of all, he was grateful for this beguiling woman, the likes of which he'd never met. Not in England, and surely not in this primitive land of Alaska.
"Just doing my job," she said, her smile shining and bright. "But with you, it's more than that. We don't really know each other yet, but you're special to me."
"A mutual feeling, I promise you." Suddenly Noble wasn't at all sure that he wanted to share her. Women were at a premium and this one seemed an impressive cut above the rest—despite her rough language.
Had he ample gold in his discarded belongings to purchase her favors solely for himself? If not, he had hidden gold aplenty, and if he could woo her into agreeing... surely she would prefer the amorous attentions of one man to many.
"However I came to be here," he murmured, "I thank the gods for it." The glow of her smile warmed him and he had to wonder just how he had come to the good fortune of her presence. "Where am I?" he asked, hoping to nudge his memory.
She hesitated before saying, "Juneau."
Juneau! That would explain his lack of familiarity with the brothel he was in. A large ransom hung over his head here; it was not a place to linger. Noble suddenly stiffened.
She urged him deeper into the water and asked with concern, "Are you having trouble breathing? Is your heart starting to hurt?"
"If I'm having trouble catching my breath, it's because you take it away. And no, my heart feels no pain, but without doubt you could break it. Now please, cease speaking, I'm having enough difficulty thinking as it is."
He concentrated hard, and a flash of white came to him. And before that... before that, Bitter making a terrible sound then falling over a ledge. It had been night. Why had he not taken more precautions about the safety of their trail? Had they been trying to escape... pursuit?
Yes, yes, it was coming back to him now. The posse and their gunfire too close at his back. What was to be his last bank robbery, gone awry.
"How was I found?" he demanded shortly.
"You were... you were buried deep and at first thought dead. But someone believed you might live against the odds, and so you were brought here."
He didn't have to think hard to know who that someone was. He'd warned Attu not to follow him, but when had his stalwart friend ever listened? Attu, his dearest and most trusted friend, who had an insatiable taste for harlots.
But he wouldn't share this one even with Attu.
"I presume that we have a mutual friend in Attu. Where is he now?"
"He's—he's... I'm sorry, but he's gone."
"Ah, back to Skagway to make excuses for my absence." The agility of his mind returning, Noble pieced the logical sequence of events together: Attu had trailed him, dug him out of the snow—no doubt nearly freezing himself in the process—then returned to the closest town due to his weakened condition. The local doctor would bear no trust; a whorehouse was far more reliable.
"Tell me," Noble asked urgently, "How long have I been here?"
Again she hesitated. "Nearly a week."
A week! No wonder his dreaming and dark lapses had seemed to go on forever.
"I must go." Noble made to rise, only to find the woman pressing him back. He cursed softly. But he didn't bother to apologize, given her own propensity for swearing.
"You can't go now," she protested.
"Allow me a fortnight to see to my responsibilities and I'll come fetch you." As for the bank, he would wait out the winter to rob it. Yet he could not wait that long to claim this sweet, lusty lady. "Have you a horse that you could lend me? I promise not to steal it." Despite the frantic need to find his friend, Noble permitted himself a strained chuckle at the small joke he'd made. She did not laugh with him.
Rather, she said fervently, "I want you to stay with me. You have to—at least for a little while. If you go now, you won't be safe, and I'd never forgive myself if something bad happened to you. Please, don't try to leave."
Her palms gripped his shoulders and she pressed him deeper into the tub. Water sloshed over the side and he noticed her white blouse was molded to a pair of breasts so enticing that he was sorely tempted to linger.
A short time would not make much difference. But he could afford only a few stolen moments.
"My good woman," Noble murmured, "I find your character as exceptional as your feminine charms. Unwise though it is, I'll dally with you for as long as I dare." Already he dreaded their parting. But he would make such exquisite love to her first, she wouldn't hesitate to promise to save her favors for him, and only him, until he returned to claim her.
Her lips seemed to beg for a kiss and Noble traced the full sweep of her bottom lip. It quivered softly beneath the pad of his thumb as she whispered, "For the moment why don't we dally together over a bowl of chicken soup?"
Chapter 3
"Your offer of soup is most kind," he replied in a low, roughened voice Lori likened to raw silk. "However, I find that my appetite requires more tempting fare."
Lori was at once enchanted by his quaint, eloquent way of speaking and slightly unnerved by the smoldering glint in his eyes. They were an unusual, riveting shade of gray, reminding her of gunmetal. His unwavering gaze seemed to pin her in place beside the claw-footed tub at the same time it lured her to lean closer and press her palm to his chest.
His heart beat in a steady rhythm, assuring her that he was unbelievably, miraculously alive. She assured herself further that the crisis was truly over by giving in to the temptation of tentatively exploring his chest. Beneath the dense mat of dark hair, his skin was warm, his muscles taut and firm. Without her conscious consent her fingertips wandered, lightly touched the tip of a dark brown nipple.
One side of his mouth crooked up in a devilishly sexy half smile. Definitely alive. Lori's heart caught and so did her breath. The sound of her pulse swelled in her ears. It mingled with the thickening silence, carried on sultry tendrils of steam.
She tried for a hospitable tone, but her voice emerged throaty and carried an undercurrent of innuendo. "If you're not in the mood for soup, what sounds good to you?"
"Your voice sounds lovely. And strangely familiar." Lines of concentration creased his prominent brow, which glistened, droplets trickling from his dark brown hair. "I'm sure that I'd remember had we met before. And yet, it seems like I know you. Such a mystery, is it not?"
As with his previous questions, she was carefully ambiguous in her reply. "Not such a mystery, really. I talked to you a lot while you were... unconscious." Her deepest, darkest confessions coming back to her, she laughed, embarrassed, and ducked her head.
Only to take in the flat plane of his abdomen. Unable to stop herse
lf, she glanced lower and saw that he was partially aroused. Not fully resuscitated yet, but showing impressive signs of life. She jerked up her gaze.
And encountered his amused, intimate regard.
Lori was suddenly uncomfortable—with their compromising positions; with the atmosphere, charged with expectation. But most of all with her awareness of him as a man whose nearness was awakening something inside her, a miracle in itself. The persona he projected was so strong and compelling she could hardly think past the clamoring impulses she had thought buried with Mick. Now they were coming back to life with a desperate vengeance, resurrected by the man she had labored, prayed, to save.
It had been so long, how good it was to feel the tug of desire again. At the moment she didn't even care if it sprang from the ordeal they'd shared, the bond she'd forged with him during the nights she'd watched over him, pouring out her heart for hours on end.
"When you talked to me," he said into the lengthening silence, "did you tell me secrets?"
"Let's just say that you were such a good listener, I did a lot of gut spilling." Lori could feel her cheeks flush. "Pretty messy. Hopefully you won't remember anything I said."
"Hopefully, I will." His smile deepened. "But have no fear, your secrets are safe with me. Just as you've proved that mine are with you. A rare and promising beginning to our relationship, don't you agree?"
Their relationship, she knew, was infinitely more complex and far reaching than he could possibly grasp. How in the world she could prepare him for the reality of his situation, she had no idea. As for how he would take it, his reaction could range from shock to disbelief to rage—maybe all three.
The longer she could avoid the inevitable, the better off he'd be. After the physical trauma he'd suffered, the last thing he needed was for her to heap on distress or confusion by asking him about the secrets he himself had spoken of. Whatever they were, they couldn't be half as horrible as discovering that all his friends and family were long gone.
Lori hurt for him already. He would need a friend, a good one, to get through what lay ahead. And she was it.
"My name's Lori," she said, extending her hand.
He brushed a kiss to her knuckles. "I'm charmed."
Deciding that she'd better get this lady-killer out of the tub and into some clothes before she said or did something she'd be sorry for later, she tried to pull back her hand. He tightened his hold and stroked a finger over her wrist.
"Forget the soup. I'll go see what's in the—" fridge. Catching herself, she quickly amended, "pantry. While I do that you can dry off. Think you can manage by yourself?"
"Perhaps." He returned her hand to his chest and lifted an eyebrow, suggestively. "Perhaps not."
The thought of running a towel over those tough, lean muscles of his stirred her, made her ache in hidden places of both heart and heat. She was experiencing a sweet revival, and though good sense warned her not to, Lori offered hopefully, "I'll be glad to help."
"How accommodating you are, my dear." He wrapped the endearment around his tongue in an easy, intimate way that rendered her spellbound as he led her palm to his shoulder and slid his own to her waist. "I'll accept your offer of help. But first, a request."
Anything, she wanted to say. Lori was drowning in his slitted gaze and getting dangerously close to making a request of her own—kiss me—when he cinched his hold.
"And just what might your request be?" she whispered.
"I wish for you to come join me." He hauled her over, and she fell in with a splash and a gasp.
He cupped her behind and pushed up so that her breasts bobbed against his chest. Water streaming down her face, she sputtered, "What—what do you think you're doing?"
"Thinking is the business of philosophers. Doing is the business between us." He hiked up her full denim skirt while his mouth seemed to be in more places at once than was humanly possible.
Biting her chin, sipping at her neck, tonguing her earlobe, he whispered hotly, "as you can see, my strength is fast returning. And none too soon. You are without doubt, the most delectable morsel of femininity to grace my company and straddle my hips in what seems forever. But alas, our time is short. Please, allow me to show my gratitude for your many kindnesses before I take my leave."
Lori wasn't sure whether to slap his face or beg him to be more than generous in his show of mind-reeling, pulse-pounding thanks. She commanded herself to think, to get this crazy situation under control while she still could.
"If—if you really want to show your gratitude..." More, please more. Her starved senses clamored for attention. So did her professional concerns. How could she be sure that he was entirely stable? What if his heart, his respiration, couldn't handle the excitement her own body was hard-pressed to handle itself?
"You need only tell me what it is you wish for, and I'll grant your slightest whim," he assured her in a rich, gravelly voice. "But while you consider your desires, you won't mind if I indulge one of my own, will you?"
Did he mean to ravish her? Her heart thumping like mad, Lori was terribly afraid that he would—only when he fingered her wet bangs, she was jolted by a distinct disappointment that ravishment was apparently not to be her fate.
"I'm quite taken with your hair," he explained. "Fascinated, really. How you've cut it—I've never seen anything quite so striking. And the color is lovely. Yes, very lovely... as are you."
For a moment she could only stare at him, her mind whirling on tiptoes of delight, her body tingling from the unexpected tenderness of his touch.
"I'm glad you like it," she said softly. Soft. He made her feel soft inside and feminine all over.
"Oh, but I do. Almost as much as I like the feel of you under my hands, the sound of those catching little breaths I hear. In truth, I like everything about you. Never has a woman so completely engaged my attention. Alas, I could very easily be smitten with you."
"You're dangerous," she whispered, certain of that even if she was no longer certain of anything else.
"Indeed," he agreed, playing with the ends of her hair. "But you needn't fear me, though there are others who should."
A sudden darkness lurked in his hooded gaze. What she glimpsed was brutal, merciless, cold. Lori shivered. It was a lethal, stalking kind of danger that went far beyond the sensual danger he posed to a woman as vulnerable as she. Who was he? Part of her was desperate to find out; part of her prayed she would never know.
"You're so still, so quiet," he said, his gaze mellowing on her. "What are you thinking?"
"It's strange, but I get the feeling... well, almost like you're two different people in one."
"But of course I am." He frowned. "I assumed that Attu told you."
"Your—your friend didn't really tell me anything. I only knew you were in need of help and you're lucky—"
"Lucky Luke," he interjected, chuckling. "Such a lackluster name, don't you think?"
"It's okay." Images of cards and drawn guns came at her.
"So, Attu failed to mention my real name?" At her nod, he bowed toward her—which put his lips a whisper from hers and caused his hips to rise slightly. She stifled a gasp, and then a moan, when he nuzzled into the juncture of her thighs. What had been only half-alive was fully alive now.
He murmured a sigh of satisfaction, then said with a gallant air, "allow me to introduce myself. Noble Zhivago, barrister."
Zhivago, that was Russian, wasn't it? And yet his accent pegged him as a proper Brit. While she found herself puzzling his nationality Lori was struck by the absurd politeness of their exchange in an anything but polite position.
"You're a lawyer?" she asked, unable to subdue a grin.
"It seems you find my occupation amusing," he noted with such seriousness that she couldn't hold back her laughter. "I fail to understand the cause for your humor, but whatever it is, I'm glad of it. You have a truly delightful laugh. I can only hope you indulge the sound often... Lori."
His words touched her, deeply, and sh
e quickly sobered. But a warm, happy feeling remained as she confessed, "actually, I don't laugh, really laugh, very often. At least I haven't in recent years. Noble." She liked the way his name tasted, how the resonance of it lingered on her tongue. "Noble," she said again. "A wonderful name. It suits you."
"Thank you. I'm sure my parents would be pleased to think they had chosen well." That frightening something she'd glimpsed earlier flashed without warning in his eyes. Then, like quicksilver, it was gone, replaced by a silvery gleam as he urged her deeper into the saddle of his thighs.
"Now tell me what you found to be of such amusement," he murmured. "Perhaps I shall laugh with you, then. I fear that my laughter, like yours, comes far too rarely."
"I—uh, I don't think it would be so funny now," Lori swallowed, her throat gone dry. "In fact, I think it would be a good idea if we got out of the tub. The water's starting to cool off."
"The water does grow tepid. My desire for you, however, is quite another matter." His soft bite of her bottom lip coincided with his smooth glide of her hand between them. Down and down he led her, unresisting, touching the taut muscles of his chest, the sweeping width of hair that slid ever downward, thinning, then thickening in an altogether too male area of his body.
There, he paused and let go of her hand. He cupped her where no man had touched her since Mick had died. This, this was life, what she felt unfurling inside her. And how hungry she was for it, to feel the rapture again, to know she was a woman with needs and wants and dreams.
She seemed to be in a dream, touching and being touched by a dark stranger who whispered, "How long has it been since a man cared more about your pleasure than his?"
Mallory Rush - [Outlawsand Heroes 02] Page 3
