RattlingtheCage

by Ann Cory

  A rickety smile strained the man’s lips. “Ah hell, I don’t want trouble,” he said and shoved her off.

  “Smart move.” Lawson released his throat, grabbed a tuft of his thinning hair and slammed his head against the tabletop. “Don’t touch her again.”

  Beside him the vixen stood, her lips curved in a way that made him want to give up his drifter lifestyle forever.

  “Thank you, mister.”

  “Name’s Lawson.”

  She stretched out her hand. “I’m Montana. Montana Lee.”

  Her touch seared like a branding iron, forever embossed on his flesh. Ribbons of pink dusted her cheeks with an irresistibility that roped his throat and left it hog-tied. He turned his head to ground himself back in the moment. His beer, a million miles away.

  “Thanks for rescuing me,” she said, her voice gentle on his ears.

  The rope loosened from his throat long enough for him to splutter, “You deal with that a lot?”

  She shrugged, unveiling the soft curve of her shoulder. “Only when they’re drunk.” Her eyes tracked a slow path from his boots to his hat and settled on his face. “What brings you here?”

  “Just passing through.”

  Her brows slanted. “Hm. I don’t think so.”

  “Think what you like. It don’t matter.”

  Again she studied him. His temples drummed. He wished his legs remembered how to move.

  Another moment ticked by. A smile spread across her lips, brightening her face. “I think I have you figured out.”

  Lawson chuckled. “Oh yeah?”

  “Yeah.” She tapped her fingers against her chin. “You’re a hard case and decided to find a little out-of-the-way dive of a place to pump that ego back up.”

  He smiled in amusement. “Go on.”

  “You haven’t been laid in a few months, and all that pent-up sexual need is taking its toll. You figured if you play hero to the only female in the room, she’ll fall into your arms and let you whisk her off into the sunset. Oh, and all that macho bullshit you fling around is just a way to cover those inner battle wounds you collected in your youth.”

  His mouth grew heavy. She crossed her arms and challenged him with her precocious stance.

  He tempered the urge to spew a tirade. “Hate to say you’re wrong, but you’re wrong.”

  Hands to her waist, she nodded, her long hair caressing her shoulders. “I think I’m just right.”

  Her long black lashes mesmerized him with the way they rose and lowered. He wanted to reel the control back to his side, but she held the line tight.

  Lawson turned and, with heavy steps plodded back to the table, righted the chair and downed his beer to the final drop. He thrust the mug back down, ran his sleeve along his mouth and belched.

  Fresh air beckoned him. He whipped a twenty-dollar bill from his wallet and slapped it on the table. “Thanks for the grub,” he rumbled. “Keep the change.”

  Eyes straight, he strode through the bar, past the red-faced asshole massaging his throat and into the muggy air. His lungs expanded. He’d made a mistake walking in there. It wasn’t a bar. It was a lion’s den. Montana’s cat-like eyes observed too much. She’d clawed away his defenses and pounced on his pride. He declared the bar off limits.

  Grumbling, he shuffled toward the Galloping Motel for rest and to get his head on straight.

  A dull scraping noise from behind turned his legs to lead.

  He turned and faced a vortex of darkness. His eyes, slow to adjust, searched the night. Why the hell were there no lights? Trash cans moved, or so he thought. The heat made him delirious. Lungs tight, he cocked his head and listened.

  His pulse thumped.

  Sweat beaded his brow and soaked his collar.

  Moments passed and he didn’t hear anything more. Lawson turned back around and took a few steps when the noise repeated.

  He pulled out his gun and fired two shots into the night. Careless, he knew, but he didn’t need someone firing a round of lead into him before he’d finished his business.

  Satisfied, he tucked his gun into his pants. Sleep, he needed sleep. And he needed to keep his mind off the sultry vixen from the bar. Nothing good would ever come from getting involved.

  He couldn’t afford to care for anyone in a town he sought to destroy.

  Chapter Five

  She waited until the crunch of gravel faded. An ear-piercing scream wedged in her throat. Weak-kneed, she leaned against the wall outside the bar, her pulse erratic. Montana sank down, her limbs loose, uncoordinated. She hugged her knees and drew a ragged breath.

  Beside her lay two bullets.

  Her mind replayed the moments before her nerves exploded.

  Concealed behind the dumpster, she’d been admiring Lawson’s tight butt and sexy swagger. Until a rat appeared. With the toe of her boot, she’d meant only to kick the rodent away, but instead she’d kicked the dumpster.

  Metal clanged and echoed. She’d stayed low, easing toward the door. The rat scurried onto a woodpile, squealing in delight. A board had slid and created a mini avalanche. Wincing, Montana had reached for the knob. Pop pop went the gun. Above her head, two objects had ricocheted off the building, followed by a sprinkling of neon green.

  “Montana Lee. What the hell?”

  A second scream stuck in her throat. She burst to her feet, hands pressed into the wall for balance.

  Chuck stood in the doorway, hands outstretched, brows arched. “Were you asleep?”

  Her lips wouldn’t pry apart. She shook her head.

  “What the hell happened to the sign?” He volleyed his head from the broken sign to the ground. “Damn vandals.” Gesturing to the door, he said, “I need you back inside. I’ve gotta take off.”

  Montana didn’t want to go inside. She wanted to go home, curl her body into a ball and pretend she had a mother who’d once comforted her with soothing words and lullabies.

  Her gaze fell back to the bullets. Shot for snooping. What a way to go.

  “Montana?”

  “Yeah, sure,” she mumbled and unsealed herself from the wall.

  “What were you doing out here?”

  “I-I needed air,” she lied.

  “So, everything’s good, you’re all under control, right? I can leave?”

  His words drifted out warbled. What control? She didn’t have anything under control. Not her heart rate. Not her nerves. And even more apparent, not her life.

  “Montana!”

  She cringed at Chuck’s impatient tone. “Go home,” she said, her voice hoarse. “I deal with enough assholes inside. I don’t need to deal with one outside, too.”

  “Nice.” He slid past her. “Night, then. See ya tomorrow.”

  “Yeah.”

  Montana slunk inside and closed the door. She re-tied her apron, the strings having come undone, and filled a pitcher of beer. Why the hell had Lawson fired blindly into the night? Who did that? His short fuse disturbed her. Bad enough that he’d left the bar like an ass—throwing money on the table the same way men had tossed money at her mother on their way out. Did she want to trust someone so impulsive?

  She’d made a move. He didn’t bite. She refused to waste her time.

  Tears stung her eyes.

  She was stuck in a dead-end town, and stuck on a man who almost shot her dead.

  * * * * *

  Lawson stormed the motel room, adrenaline pumping. His fingers opened and closed. What an idiot. He shouldn’t have fired into the dark. What if he’d shot an innocent person? A drunk? What if he’d shot Montana? He couldn’t go firing a gun whenever he got spooked. Most small towns kept him on edge, but this town damn near made him mental. Too many memories. Too many ghosts.

  Pulse still racing, he worked to calm his breath. Put focus back onto his plan. His reason for returning to this repulsive place. But he wanted Montana. He burned for her. There’d be no rest tonight if he didn’t see her. Taste her.

  Lawson pictured the sensuous curve of
her shoulder. Soft, creamy skin that he ached to brush his lips against. And her legs. He wanted them locked around his waist as he…ah hell. She was right about the pent-up sexual need. He hadn’t counted on there being one good thing in Rattler City. One pretty little thing he’d have a hard time leaving behind.

  Frustrated, he stalked back to the bar, through the door and straight to the counter, ignoring the hush that followed his arrival.

  His breath hitched when she walked out from the back carrying a pitcher of beer.

  Without thinking, he slapped his hand on the counter and demanded, “Get me a glass and a bottle of whiskey.” Screw the manners, she hated him anyways.

  Her lips thinned. “You again. I’ll deal with you in a moment.”

  Lawson beat his fingers against his jeans. Both knees bobbed. He watched her in motion, the way she swiveled her body between tables, gathering glasses, pouring beer, collecting plates in the provocative crook of her arm. Graceful. Fluid. Moving like a panther.

  Moments later she disappeared into the back. His patience waned. Did she think he’d leave if she didn’t serve him?

  Tension trickled into his neck and shoulders. She took too long. His urgency to see her turned obsessive. At least everyone had quit staring.

  To his relief, she returned with a glass and bottle of whiskey in hand.

  “Here.” She slammed the bottle down hard enough to shatter.

  “Thanks.”

  “Don’t talk to me,” she snapped.

  He didn’t recognize the hardened look on her face.

  She walked away and damn if she didn’t put an extra swish in her sway.

  Montana. He’d never been to Montana, but suddenly he wanted to visit. Explore the beautiful open range. Sink his teeth into the fine foundation and tease his fingers through the dewy grass.

  Lawson poured another glass of whiskey. And another after the second one slid down too easy. Tension drained from his muscles and he nodded to the music. His intent to stay sharp dulled with each drink. He drafted a new plan in his head. One he found feasible.

  Tonight he aimed to get Montana alone.

  Chapter Six

  Montana bit back a string of harsh words. What did he want? He’d stormed out, almost killed her and then returned to what, finish the job? She hated the way he sat on the stool, gawking at her like a dog itching to play ball. Now that she didn’t want to play, he did. Bastard.

  At midnight she ushered the locals out the door. Lawson remained at the bar, smug and defiant.

  Irritated, she threw down the washcloth and stomped over.

  “I guess you didn’t hear. It’s closing time. That means leave.”

  He smirked and pointed at his half-filled glass. “I’ll go when I’m done with my drink.”

  She snatched the glass from his hands and splashed the remaining whiskey in his face.

  “You’re finished.”

  His grin lessened. He grabbed hold of her wrist and pulled her from around the bar into him. Montana sputtered words even she didn’t understand. Pressed close to his chest, she didn’t know whether to be scared, mad or privileged.

  “You’ve got a lot of sass for something so petite,” he growled.

  A drop of whiskey slid down his cheek. She ached to catch it with her tongue. With minimal effort, she half-struggled to get out of his stronghold, more for show than want. She couldn’t deny the excitement of his body, or seeing her reflection in his silvery eyes. Still, she didn’t want him to know her level of enthusiasm.

  “You’ve been avoiding me,” he rasped.

  His potent aura of danger filled her senses.

  Montana worried her lip and wondered when she’d stopped being mad at him.

  Heart racing, she asked, “Why did you come back?”

  “Couldn’t sleep.” He flashed a wry grin. “Not without knowing how you taste.”

  “Words meant to flatter, I suppose.”

  “Honest words.”

  “Ha,” she scoffed.

  His voice lowered. “I believe me.”

  She groaned. “That’s because you’re a self-centered ass.”

  One thick brow rose, but he didn’t dispute her words.

  Chin high, she continued, “I won’t let you have your way.”

  “No?”

  Her pulse elevated. “I need you to go so I can close the bar.”

  Lawson released her and walked with purpose toward the door. Regret sank in. She stared after him, her arm extended, wishing she had a rod to reel him back.

  At the door, he twisted the sign to read closed and flipped the lock. “The bar is officially closed,” he announced.

  He strutted by her and kept going. With a wicked gleam, he reached behind the bar and topped his glass from a new bottle of whiskey.

  Montana jerked her gaze away. Arms crossed, she circled the bar. A sultry jazz song played on the jukebox. A song about a very hot, very sticky need between two people. The singer crooned with a passion she longed to know.

  With forced sweetness, she asked, “Would you mind leaving? I have to finish cleaning up so I can go home.”

  “Then finish.” An arrogant smile tainted his handsome features. “I’m not stopping you.”

  Her sweetness dissolved. What a piece of work. “You think you’re a badass but you’re nothing but a whiskey-drinking snake with too much time on your hands, and a bad habit of picking on people you deem weak.”

  He rounded the bar, ferocious eyes ablaze. “I’ve heard enough lip from you.”

  Startled, Montana hustled back until she bumped into the pool table. Trapped, she shielded herself.

  He wrapped his hands around her arms and pulled her in, his eyes shadowed by his hat. “You think I’m a snake?”

  Her lips quivered. His warm, smoky breath fanned her face.

  She ran her tongue along her lower lip. “A no good, rotten, dirty snake.”

  Lawson pushed her into the pool table with his upper thighs, his cock firm. Her jaw went lax.

  “Are you afraid of snakes?”

  Her throat thickened. She nodded.

  “If I let you go, will you run?”

  His grip loosened, as if to test her. Montana studied the intensity in his face, the angle of his brows, the perfect slope of his nose. A man with brains and brawn. A man she didn’t have any business trying to tame.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” she confessed.

  For too many ticks of the clock, he held her captive, his towering form exuding heady waves of heat. Her body sagged from her weighted breath. She didn’t think she’d last another moment under his dark gaze.

  The suggestive lyrics of the music filled the silence. Words about need. Words about want. Words about filling that need, and how nothing else mattered.

  Montana dipped her head, but he captured her chin.

  His thumb stroked her bottom lip. “That mouth will get you into trouble.”

  He removed his hat and tossed it onto the next table. An inky black strand of hair fell across his brow. Her fingers twitched. Half a heartbeat later he sliced his tongue between her lips. Currants, peach and a hint of vanilla exploded inside her mouth. Heat rippled beneath her skin. The final tendrils of resistance softened.

  She slipped her arms around his neck and welcomed the fiery kisses. Inexperienced, she followed his lead. Matched the stroke of his tongue. Returned the hard, fast rhythm of his desire.

  When he broke away, she released a stifled moan.

  Montana searched his eyes and recognized the burning hunger behind them. “I didn’t say you could kiss me,” she mumbled.

  His thumb outlined her lips and caressed the rise of her cheek. “Tell me you don’t want more, and I’ll stop.”

  “I’m not easy,” she countered. “I don’t sleep around.”

  Crinkles bracketed his eyes. “Listen, beautiful, I won’t be here long enough to take you out and date you proper. Unless you say otherwise, I’m going for it.”

  Montana smirked. Like
the song from the jukebox repeated, it was about filling a need. A hot, sticky need. She wanted to fill that need with him.

  He smiled. “Are you done talking?”

  “Maybe.”

  “About damn time.”

  “Bastard,” she hissed.

  Humor creased his brows. He traced his fingers over her collarbone. Inside her core, an inferno raged. There’d be no more silly fantasies playing in her head. She had a hard-bodied reality standing before her eyes.

  Lawson pulled her close and sealed his mouth over hers. Heat seared her throat. Dizzy and feverish, she anchored herself to his body, melting further with each generous kiss. His hands dragged through her hair and swept up along her face. Her lungs begged for air, but she didn’t stop. Too caught up in his whiskey-laced taste. Too caught up in him.

  At the parting of his lips, she gulped air.

  “I can’t get enough,” he said gruffly.

  He brought her in tight and rested his chin on her head. She wilted. The scent of danger and his raw masculinity ringed her body. His heart raced against her ear, a quick-paced staccato. Eyes closed, she imagined all her nights this way.

  He pulled back a fraction and held her face in his hands. Gently, he kissed the corners of her mouth and brushed his lips along the side of her neck. Arousal blossomed low in her belly. His hands slid to her waist, sending goose bumps along her skin. He gathered the end of her shirt in his fists and pulled the thin layer of material over her head.

  His dark lashes lowered and she straightened, basking in his smoldering gaze. She’d never felt more brazen.

  “No bra?”

  “Hate them,” she said. “Don’t like being tied down by anything.”

  “Bet you’d like it if I tied you up.”

  The deep resonance of his voice tripped her pulse.

  Lawson cupped her breasts. His tongue draped a blanket of warmth around each nipple, taking care to bring each one to full peak. She trembled. Her body alive and awakened by his touch. The jukebox switched to a sensual rhapsody.

  He flicked his thumbs along her nipples and took one between his teeth. She lashed beneath him, unprepared for the exquisite rush.

  Head raised, he pinched a nipple. “You’re quite the little charmer.”