Not that they weren’t addled already.
“Oh, my,” she whispered again.
“Mine,” he growled, and even he didn’t know if he was deliberately misunderstanding her little exclamations or stating his own desire. “Mine.”
She whimpered. Her hands had begun traveling up and down his arms now, pressing his biceps, his forearms, sliding back up to his shoulders. He finished feasting on her throat and moved his lips lower. All evening he’ d been fascinated by her ball gown and the way it had that swath of fabric gathered over her bosom. He wanted to rip the gathers away and then rip away the material underneath, and see for himself what treasures all that material and boning hid. He wanted to see her naked breasts and to suckle at them; to feel her nipples pebble under his tongue’s assault. To nip them, and listen to her moan her hunger into his ear.
She moaned, all right, but it wasn’t into his ear. She bent her head and kissed the side of his neck while her fingers played in his hair. This time he moaned.
His moan seemed to galvanize her into activity. Suddenly Ash felt her fingers trembling over his shirt buttons. He’d noticed before that she was an agile little thing. Now she had his shirt unbuttoned in a couple of seconds, and her hands were splayed against his chest, her fingernails digging into him Ash wasn’t sure how much more of this he could take standing up.
Hell’s bells, they were in the graveyard. What the hell kind of spell had she put on him to make him act so crazy.
“Oh, Ash,” Georgina whispered. His name sounded like honey on her lips. “Oh, Ash.”
“Georgina,” he growled, and his hand slid beneath the gathers on her bodice. It was a tight fit, but he nearly burst from his britches when he felt the soft flesh of her breast. She was built like something from an adolescent boy’s fantasy.
Lush. She was so very lush. And soft. And her nipples were hard already. He groaned and pressed his lips to the very slight bulge of cleavage that spilled over the confines of her ball gown. Damn all these stupid clothes.
This was too sweet. Too wonderful. He kissed her lips again, getting lots of help from her. In fact, she sucked his lower lip, almost sending him over the edge. He ground his arousal against her thigh and reached down to lift her skirt. She uttered a soft scream against his lips. Good. He hoped she’d scream when she reached her climax. He aimed to work at it.
It took him a good deal of maneuvering, but he finally managed to reach beneath her drawers to the soft, supple flesh of her buttocks. He squeezed gently, and growled with lust. This was hell. It was heaven. If he couldn’t take her soon, he knew he’d die.
“Oh, my.” This oh, my was different from her first few. This one was gruff and deep and throbbed with desire. She wanted him. Ash could tell. She wanted him as no other woman had ever wanted him Georgina Witherspoon was no Phoebe, who’d faked passion. This was genuine. It was glorious.
It was—
Ash released Georgina and leaped away from her as if she’d suddenly turned into a werewolf. Or a vampire.
Or a wife.
Hell! If he continued as he’d begun, he’d be a married man tomorrow. He stared at her, aghast. She stared back, her beautiful lips parted and wet from his kisses. She looked befuddled and a little startled. She blinked. He swore.
“Dammit.”
He was so hard he ached. He wanted her so much he could taste it. She wanted him, too; she was looking at him as if she wanted to eat him for breakfast—a prospect that made Ash shut his eyes and whimper with unfulfilled agony. What he wouldn’t give to spread her legs and kneel between them, to taste her and to let her taste him, and to…
And he’d better stop thinking like that right this minute. “Oh. God.” He raked a hand through his hair. He couldn’t get his vocal chords to work right, so he swore again. “Dammit.’
He desperately wanted to bury himself in her moist softness, to pump in and out until the world went away and ecstasy engulfed the both of them. He wanted to make love to her night and day and for the rest of his life. He wanted to stay in bed with her for a week and a half—even then, he didn’t think he’d have had enough of her.
And if he did, he’d prove himself to be the biggest ass in the world.
Twice.
She held out a hand that trembled. Her eyes were huge with wonder, disappointment, and perplexity. Thank God she didn’t look as if she intended to start bawling any time soon. As much as he hated to admit it, he guessed she had a right to cry.
“Ash?” Her voice was low and uncertain.
All right. He had to pull himself together. He might never recover his composure completely—he knew good and well that after this every single time he so much as thought about Georgina Witherspoon he’d get hard—but he had to try to regain some sense of decency. He was the sheriff, for God’s sake. He couldn’t go around seducing respectable virgins. Hell, seducing virgins got men married. He’d shoot himself before he made that mistake again.
She repeated, “Ash?” Her voice sounded a little stronger.
He cleared his throat. What was he supposed to say? “Er, um, I ...” Dammit.
“Sheriff?”
Her voice was definitely stronger now. She dropped her hand to her side and lifted her chin. Her hair was a mess. Crap. Had he done that? He guessed he had Aw, hell.
She straightened the gathers at her bosom. Ash couldn’t watch. It had been such a pleasure unstraightening them that he wished he’d been able to undo more. She tugged at her skirt, and the wrinkles fell away. Had he untied her drawers’ strings? He thought he remembered doing so, but wasn’t sure. As soon as she sidestepped behind one of the headstones and began maneuvering under her skirt, he guessed he had.
He cleared his throat again. He had to say something. Anything.
And soon.
“Er, Miss Witherspoon—”
“Miss Witherspoon?”
Uh oh. Her voice had changed again. It didn’t sound as it had seconds earlier. It sounded cold now. Hard. He guessed maybe it was a little late to be calling her “Miss Witherspoon.” Generally by the time a man got to undressing a female, they were on a first-name basis. Aw, hell.
“Ah, Georgina, I—I, ah, well, I guess I got a little carried away there.”
“A little carried away?”
She had her voice under complete control now. Ash was sorry to hear it. How had she recovered so fast? He was still about as confused and frustrated as a randy sixteen-year-old.
“I’d say you might have gotten a little carried away.” She marched out from behind the headstone. Her eyes had scrunched up into slits. Angry, mean-looking slits. She twitched the crisp material of her oversleeves down so that it covered the lacy stuff underneath, then reached up to feel her hair.
Ash felt guilty. And helpless. And really, really stupid. “Er, do you need any help?”
“No, thank you.” Now she sounded polite. Icily polite. The kind of polite people used to show other people how much they hated them. “I do believe I would rather slit my throat than accept help from you at this moment.”
Crap. Ash shut his eyes and prayed for inspiration—or maybe a bolt of lightning—to strike him He’d really botched it this time.
“Er, Miss Witherspoon, we should talk about this.” He really didn’t want to talk about it, especially not with her. Nevertheless, Ash had never shirked a responsibility in his life, and he didn’t intend to start now.
“No, thank you.” More frigid politeness. “I don’t care to talk about anything with you.”
Feeling abused and misunderstood, Ash tried again. “Now, listen here, Georgina. I’m, sorry if I got a little, er, enthusiastic—”
“A little enthusiastic?”
She had been stabbing pins into her hair the way Ash suspected she’d like to be stabbing pins into him She was doing a pretty good job of getting her hair under control, even in the dark and with no mirror handy. Ash was impressed. Her hair looked much better now. Less ravished Thank God, thank God. Maybe nobody would
know what they had been doing out in the churchyard.
“I’d say you did, indeed get a little enthusiastic.”
He frowned. “Well, I wasn’t the only one.” Shoot, now he was whining. He cleared his throat again. “I mean—well—I mean, we’re both adults, Miss Witherspoon.”
“Yes, I suppose we are, Mr. Barrett.”
His name sounded like a chunk of ice when she said it like that. He sighed deeply. He’d enjoyed hearing “Ash” from her lips. He wondered if he ever would again.
That was no, way to think Confound it, what the hell was the matter with him?
“Ah, are you all right?” That was a nice thing to ask, wasn’t it? He was supposed to be concerned about her welfare . After all, he’d very nearly taken her maidenhood.
God, what a thought.
He shut his eyes for a moment and thanked the good Lord he’d come to his senses in time. If he hadn’t, he’d have to marry the woman, and then his life wouldn’t have been worth living. Ash hoped if he kept that thought in mind, he’d survive the frustration of the evening.
“I’m fine, thank you, Mr. Barrett.”
Ash heaved a huge sigh. This really wasn’t fair. “Listen, Miss Witherspoon. I’m sorry I...” He was sorry he what? Kissed her. Like hell he was. He was sorry he hadn’t gone all the way with her, is what he was sorry for. Confound it, this wasn’t fair. “I’m sorry I kissed you.” There. So what if it was a lie?
“Are you?”
Shoot, if she got any colder, she’d freeze solid. And so would he. Well, there was no help for it. Ash lied some more.
“Yes. I’m very sorry. It wasn’t a fitting thing to do, and I apologize for my actions.” There. She would let him off the hook now. He’d just issued her a very polite apology, hadn’t he?
“It was a beastly thing to do.”
Evidently it hadn’t been quite polite enough. Ash began to feel the slightest bit put-upon. Beastly, was he? He wasn’t sure he could tolerate much more of this. “All right, it was beastly,” he ground out. “I’m sorry. There. I’ve apologized. All right? What do you want me to do? Shoot myself?”
“Well, I have some other ideas but that would be a good start.”
He ripped his hat from his head and slapped it against his leg. Confound it, she wasn’t fighting fair. Not that she ever had. He should expect dirty tactics from her by this time. “Well, I’m not going to shoot myself, blast it. I’m very sorry. Isn’t that enough?”
He could hardly believe it when Georgina began to walk toward him. Really, it was more like a stalk. Ash backed up a couple of steps until he caught himself doing it and told himself not to be so stupid again. Hell, once an ass was enough for any man in a single night. He desperately hoped she wasn’t carrying a derringer up her sleeve.
She poked her finger at his chest. Hard.
“Ow.” He rubbed the spot she’d poked.
“You,” she said in the coldest, hardest, meanest voice he’d ever heard from anyone, “are the biggest scoundrel I’ve ever met in my entire life. You’re a cad. You’re a beast. You’re a brute and a lecher and a rogue and a lout.”
Criminy, he wasn’t that bad, was he? He didn’t get to ask, because she continued.
“You’re worse than evil, because you were elected to protect and serve the people of Picacho Wells. You weren’t elected to seduce maiden ladies.”
“Now wait a minute—”
“You weren’t elected to beat up bankers.”
“Beat up bankers? Dammit, I was trying to help—”
She poked him again, and he shut up. “You weren’t elected to lift ladies’ dresses and feel their intimate areas.”
Good God, had she really said that? Miss Georgina Witherspoon, proper New York City lady? Ash gaped at her.
“You weren’t elected to, undress respectable females in the churchyard and try to have your wicked way with them.”
“Have my wicked way with—”
“You weren’t elected to ruin upstanding, principled women.”
“Now, just a minute here, Georgina.”
“Don’t you dare call me Georgina!”
Her screech hurt Ash’s ears. He grumbled, “Miss Witherspoon.”
“That’s better.” She nodded once sharply. “You’re a low man, Mr. Barrett. You’re a snake. A rat. A skunk. You’re worse than despicable. You take advantage of helpless females—”
“Helpless?” Like hell she was helpless. She was about as helpless as a coiled rattler.
“Helpless females whom you are supposed to be protecting.”
“Hey, wait a minute here. You were the one who said you didn’t need rescuing.”
“I didn’t need rescuing! Not from that idiotic banker. He’s about as dangerous as a dandelion puff. But you! Ooooooh, you’re another matter altogether, aren’t you?”
“Am I?” Ash was lost now. He didn’t know what in blazes she was talking about, and he was pretty sure he didn’t really want to know. Unfortunately, he had a feeling he was going to find out anyway.
“You are. You use the power of your office to frighten defenseless women into submission.”
“The hell I do! You’re about as defenseless as a tarantula.”
“Don’t you dare compare me to a spider!”
“Well, you sure as the devil weren’t frightened. Not of me.
“You’re quibbling, and you know it. You’re a wicked, horrid man, and I never want to see you again as long as I live!”
She whirled around, crossed her arms over her breasts—her heaving, soft, supple, gorgeous—oh, Lord. Ash wished he were dead. He said, “That’s fine with me, and wished he meant it.
“Good. Now go away.”
“All right.” He didn’t move. He couldn’t just leave her this way. Could he? No, he couldn’t. Not in the state she was in. Not in the state he was in. Hell’s bells, he hated this.
“I don’t hear you moving.” She ground the words out between teeth that were clenched up as tight as her fists had been.
“Now, wait a minute, Miss Witherspoon. I don’t like leaving you out here in the dark—”
“Then leave the lantern with me.”
“Listen, I don’t want to go away until I know you’re all right. Are you sure—”
“I’m sure.”
Hellfire. He wasn’t going to win this one. Not by a far sight. Ash sighed again, heavily and dolefully, and turned around. It took him a long time to get out of the churchyard because he kept looking over his shoulder at Georgina, whose back he could barely discern even with the help of the lantern light. He didn’t want to leave her there alone, all by herself. Without his arms around her. Not that she wasn’t able to take care of herself. She’d proved that a couple of times already tonight, more’s the pity.
He was almost to the church before he realized that his chest was cold and that his shirttails were flapping, behind him in the breeze. He stopped behind a tethered horse, buttoned up, stuffed his shirt into his trousers, adjusted his belt, wished his erection would go away, walked around outside the church until it did, and returned to the dance.
He didn’t see Payton Pierce anywhere. Good. He might be inclined to arrest the bastard for indecent groping of a city girl in the cemetery. If that was a law. Ash didn’t know or care. Besides, if he arrested Pierce on that charge, he’d have to take himself to jail as well.
Dammit.
He stomped over to the punch bowl and glared at the lemonade sloshing inside of it.
“Need something a little stronger than lemonade, sheriff?” That voice. Ash scowled and looked over to where it had come from. Sure enough, there was Maybelle, grinning at him as if she knew exactly where he’d been and exactly what he’d been doing. On the other hand, she was holding up a flask, and he really, really did need something stronger than lemonade at the moment.
He said, “Yes,” and marched over to Maybelle, who cackled when she handed over her flask.
Ash tipped it to his lips, took a huge gulp, an
d almost gagged. “What the hell’s in this thing?”
Maybelle was laughing so hard she could hardly answer him. “That’s sarsaparilla, sheriff. Cleans the palate. However, I do have me some rye in this other flask here.”
He handed the sarsaparilla flask back to Maybelle and resisted the urge to whap her one upside the head. She was an old lady, and he was the sheriff, and the sheriff couldn’t go around whapping old ladies, no matter how much they deserved it. He grabbed the other flask from her hand and this time sniffed it first before he took a careful sip.
Ah, this was better. It was rye, all right. Good rye. He took two healthy swallows before he handed the flask back to Maybelle.
“Feel better now?”
No. He didn’t feel better. But because he’d cut out his tongue before he confessed to this old coot what he and Georgina had been doing amid the headstones, he simply said, “Yes. Thanks “
“Heh, heh. That damned banker came in here a little while ago looking like somebody’d punched him a couple of good ones. His formal coat was all dusty, the sleeve was ripped, and his jaw was already puffing up. I told him he’d best get some raw beef on his jaw and eye if he didn’t want to scare customers away from the bank come Monday morning.”
“Is that so?” Ash squinted down at the old lady. She looked like a cat who’d just caught a whole bush full of canaries and was now torturing them—and having a damn good time doing it. Because he was so aggravated by the whole situation, he snatched the flask away from Maybelle again and took two more healthy glugs.
Maybelle watched him, her little bird-of-prey eyes twinkling up a storm. “Yes, indeedy. I told him he was going to terrify folks when he sings in the church choir tomorrow.”
“You did, did you?”
“Sure did. I told him he didn’t look much like a respectable Christian banker with that shiner of his Maybelle tapped her chin with a gnarled forefinger. “Now I wonder who could have punched him like that?”
“Yes. I wonder.”
“And why anybody would want to.”
Furious, Ash grabbed the flask again and drained it. “I have no idea.”
Maybelle went off into a rusty peal of witchy laughter. Ash wished the flask had contained more rye. He wanted to get drunk.
Spirit of Love Page 12
