by Harte, Marie
Just when she’d thought she’d put the literal ghosts of her past to bed, she’d heard the voice. Proof she’d never be normal. But here in Brownville, she might just fit in. The artistic bunch liked quirkiness. And the voice that spoke to Lara was naughty but not cruel, and gone as much as she was there. Lara had started to think she could make a go of things. She’d be known as a successful business woman, not a crazy lady who thought she heard voices.
Then Noah had to show up, asking her if she was psychic. The beginning of the end. No, no, and no.
She wondered what he might really be after and intended to Google the name Emilio Vala. She knew little about art, but if this artist existed, he’d be on the Internet.
Lara hugged herself, shivering despite the temperate breeze, aware of the strange emptiness of the street. A sudden urgency to return to the inn hit her, and whether she could attribute that to the voice or her own odd instinct, she didn’t much care. She hastened her step. As she raced past the last alleyway before the inn came into view, a hand reached out to grab her.
She shrieked and ran to the Lady Fine, unsure if her imagination played tricks with her or if someone really had been there. On days like these, she wondered if she’d finally gone around the bend. It seemed like no matter how much she tried, she couldn’t outrace misfortune.
Entering the inn, she noticed the thinning crowd. Thank God for small favors.
“Lara, you okay?” Frank took her coat from her. “You look weird.” His eyes narrowed. “Mr. Sexy, he do something to you?”
“Not a thing. And keep your voice down.” She tugged him aside for privacy. “I need you to do me a favor.”
“Anything, honey. You know that.” Frank kissed her on the nose, and she hugged him, glad for the friendship they shared.
“There’s something strange with Noah.” She told Frank about the painting and her likeness to it, but when she mentioned Emilio Vala, he started.
“Emilio Vala is real. He was a genius with portraits. A skilled artisan known for his work even back in the mid-nineteenth century. You’re saying Noah showed you one of Vala’s portraits? That thing would have to be worth a lot of money.” Excitement colored his words. “Think what we could do with the cash.”
“Frank, focus. The painting was stolen.”
“According to Noah. What do we really know about him?”
“Good point.” She chewed her lower lip. “You research Vala. And see what you can find about Lady Fine. I’m starting to wonder if the painting might be of her. Odd coincidence it’s here in town and looks just like Finn’s descriptions, not to mention me.”
“You could be a direct descendant, because what are the odds you’d look exactly like her or that you’d move here, of all places, to manage her old bordello, now a profitable bed-and-breakfast?”
“Inn,” she corrected, preferring the loftier term.
Frank rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Okay, I’m out of here. I’ll get to work on Vala.”
“I’ll check out Noah.”
“I’ll just bet you will.”
Frank made a few more lewd comments, teasing her mercilessly. His banter eased the panic that had been building inside, and she relaxed in the comfort of being home.
Then Noah returned to the inn, glanced her way, and continued up the stairs to his room.
Frank had made a suggestion that haunted her well into the night. “Why not seduce the truth out of him? Use those luscious lips to make him beg, then get him to fess up? Between that rack and that ass, he’ll be dying to tell you everything he knows.”
She didn’t like the temptation to say yes to everything. And that bothered her more than the damn voices.
* * *
He watched her walk down the corridor to the room in the back. Lara’s private quarters. While the rest of the guests were free to retire to their rooms for the night, Lara relaxed in the back, always prepared to help if needed. Just one call would have her up and moving to assist a guest.
He liked that about her. Her willingness, the sweet submission she tried so hard to hide but couldn’t. Not from him. He’d known it the moment he’d first seen her. The moment he’d known he had to have her.
Leaving her, though he wanted to stay, he felt safe in the knowledge that she wouldn’t sleep with the new guy. Not yet. Lara liked to think of herself as progressive, but she had an old-fashioned sense when it came to men. He’d seen her attraction to the bastard, the wary looks and subtle body language. He didn’t like it. But he had something else to attend to.
After driving back to the house, he quietly entered through the front door and walked to the attic. There, in the center of the room, he lit the candles that gave off the perfect light to illuminate his future. The gilt frame, the curled edges of craftsmanship that no one these days could match. All of it centered on perfection. No monetary value could match what the painting promised, what it pointed to.
The dark brown eyes promising forever. The sultry lips beckoning for a kiss. The timeless portrait of femininity just waiting to be tamed by the right man…
A noise downstairs reminded him he’d left company waiting.
He leaned close to the frame, softly caressed the oiled canvas, and knew the time had finally arrived.
He left the attic as quietly as he’d arrived. Downstairs in his bedroom, he joined his new girlfriend. “Now, sweetheart. Don’t be so hasty. We have all night. And then some.”
She squirmed and tugged at her restraints, no doubt chafing at the need to touch him again. She liked to pretend to discourage him, in order to arouse him. And it worked, but only because she had the look. Dark hair, dark eyes. Large breasts and a bountiful ass. Such a narrow waist made prettier by the bruising lash of his crop.
The tears sparkling on her cheeks were a nice touch but not necessary.
“So eager, aren’t you, my love?” he crooned and removed his clothing.
He wanted to hear her, but he knew from experience that her screeching was a pitch higher than it should have been, and it ruined the mood. So he left the gag on.
He leaned closer. “I’m here, and it’s time.” A soft stroke over her hair, a bit coarser than the feel of Lara’s earlier, when she’d raced past him in the dark. “Soon, Cecilia. Soon we’ll be together again. But for tonight, a small sample of our pleasure, hmm?”
She danced for his whip, but when he brought out the knife, the fun really started.
Chapter Three
Lara didn’t see Noah at all for the next three days. She disliked the fact that she’d looked for him and chalked up her interest to wanting more explanations than she’d been given.
She’d done her research. Noah First existed. He had family in Maryland, if they were the same Firsts she’d tracked through the Internet. His driver’s license was legitimate. Of course, getting that news had meant trading favors with Mike Buckman, the pushy deputy who thought himself God’s gift to women. Not that Shelly seemed to complain.
The inn’s cleaning woman and sometime cook, Shelly currently sat with Mike at one of the dining tables. Most of the guests were eating dinner in town at this hour. Since the inn served evening coffee every other night, Lara had the opportunity to simply relax.
“Free coffee and treats for a whole month, hmm?” Shelly batted her eyes and flirted with the deputy.
A vain but pleasant enough girl who had no idea what she wanted to do with her life, Shelly seemed stuck in limbo, wanting to leave town but with nowhere to go. At twenty-two, pretty but with no prospects on the horizon, she seemed as likely to get knocked up as she was to get fired if she didn’t soon change her attitude. More than one rumor had alluded Shelly did her best work flat on her back. She apparently had her sights set on the large man in charge of the law.
“Yep. Lara promised to make homemade doughnuts too.” Mike bit into a cookie Shelly had earlier sneaked him and hummed his approval. “Law appreciation month.” He winked at Lara. “Lucky me, surrounded by the prettiest women in town.�
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Shelly quivered like an eager puppy, and Lara turned away in disgust. She admitted she had a thing for a man taking charge, but acting like a doormat annoyed her. Shelly had a tendency to say yes to everything with a penis.
Amused at the thought, she turned around to leave and accidentally ran into Noah.
“Whoa.” He steadied her, and she worked hard to ignore the heat that flared to life between her legs.
Just from his touch. God, she needed to get laid. Maybe Frank was right. Life without sex could, in fact, lead to brain damage.
“Enjoying your stay?” She mustered a pleasant face and smiled. A solid presence from behind boxed her in between walls of muscle at her front and back.
“You staying at the inn?” Mike asked, his deep, authoritative voice in cop mode.
“Yeah, I am.” Noah didn’t offer any more than that.
Lara could practically smell the testosterone, making it hard to breathe. “Um, guys? Excuse me.”
Noah wouldn’t move, but he did at least break eye contact with Mike. “Lara, we need to talk.”
Curious, she nodded. He didn’t sound annoyed; he sounded…worried.
“Sheriff, want more cookies?” Shelly asked from behind them, holding a tray.
Mike ignored her, and Lara turned around to look him in the eye. As usual, interest and suspicion lingered in his gaze. If she’d been a less honest person, she would have been alarmed. But Lara had nothing to fear other than being bullied into a date, and she had no intention of succumbing to Mike’s questionable charm.
Mike frowned. “Lara, you okay?”
She realized Noah’s hand rested on her shoulder. Proprietary-like. The way a man oughta be.
His fingers tightened over her, and she swallowed hard. “Fine, Mike. I’ll leave you in Shelly’s capable hands.” She turned and nodded to Noah. “We can use my office.”
“Lead the way.” He laced his words with seduction, and she knew without looking that Mike’s gaze had narrowed on them both.
Once in her office, she closed the door to give them privacy. The small area had once been a larder, until she’d convinced Ida to remodel for some much needed administrative space. The older woman had furnished the room with a handsome Queen Anne desk, chair, and filing cabinets, as well as a narrow preacher’s bench that sat against the wall. Pretty but functional.
Noah didn’t sit. Instead he loomed over her when she sat behind her desk. “Did you research the painting?”
“Yes.” Frank had verified that Emilio Vala was a real person. Mention of a missing painting had turned up online, yet no picture had been attached.
“So?”
“So what?” Lara tapped her fingers on her desk in a jarring rhythm. “You aren’t lying about the painting.”
“No, I’m not. I’m also not lying about my name or why I need it back.” He sighed. “This should have been a simple job. I should be home right now instead of arguing with a mule-headed woman.”
An archaic insult, and one she didn’t intend to let pass.
“Mule-headed? Look who’s talking. Ever since you arrived, you’ve been acting like you own the place.” Even though she knew her reaction made no sense, she felt a sudden rush of challenge. Lara stood and rounded the desk, alien anger filling her as she poked him in the chest. “You arrogant ass. You think you can stroll into my place like you own it, make demands? Hell no. I don’t care how handsome you are, or how deadly.”
Everything fogged. Reality blended with a vision of cowboys and scantily clad women strolling around the establishment. Lara felt the remembrance even as she heard Noah calling her name.
“Darlin’, you’re just beggin’ to feel the bite of my belt.” The big man stepped closer. “And the kiss of my cock,” he growled before plastering his mouth to hers.
She lost herself in his taste. An echo of peppermint flavored his kiss, her favorite treat. Fury penetrated her mouth with his tongue, taking charge and not apologizing for it. He yanked her against his chest between one heartbeat and the next.
“Touch me,” he ordered through gritted teeth.
The sane part of her struggled to emerge, to protest. But the touch of the outlaw roused in her a combination of rage and desire.
She ran her hands over his shoulders and down his muscular arms. So strong, so powerful. He caged her, his fingers tightening over her hips while she dragged her hands down his broad chest to his firm belly.
“Lower. Do it.” His low drawl excited her, demanding obeisance. Then he was kissing her again, mastering her responses, and she followed his direction without a second thought. She pressed her palms against the flat of his trousers, measuring the thick length of his erection through the material. So big, and all hers for the night.
“Sugar, I’m right here,” she purred. “Waitin’ for it.” So wicked, taking this outlaw for her own. Oh, Fury liked to play it rough, but he was clay in her hands when she molded him just so.
She tightened her fingers over him, and he groaned. His lips trailed from her mouth to her neck, where he sucked hard. His hands rose to cup her breasts, pinching her nipples through the thin silk of her clothing. She was aching. Throbbing. The resultant desire traveled like lightning to her clit, and she had to have more.
She unbuttoned his trousers. He rocked back on his heels, and she shifted his cock so that it lay flush against his body. The tip of his cockhead poked past the gap in his pants, wet with arousal. With need for her.
Wiping her thumb through his slit, she made him groan. And then she edged under his clothes to the heat of him and gripped him hard.
“Fuck.” He ripped down the front of her dress and exposed her breasts. “Gimme.”
Fury bent to suck her, nipping and tugging at her tits, and the moisture between her legs grew. He laved her breasts with attention, making her squirm while she played with his thick cock. Then he returned his mouth to her lips, kissing her with raw desire. He held nothing back, and his honest need took her breath away.
She pushed his trousers apart and pumped his shaft. The delicious things he did to her with his mouth deserved a reward. With her other hand, she cupped his balls, rubbing the firm sac with a sensual touch. Her fingers grazed his ass, teasing but not quite penetrating his anus. And all the while she stroked him, prodding him closer and closer to orgasm.
Fury pulled away from her mouth and stared down at her with a fire in his eyes. “Darlin’, yes. Oh fuck. Here I come.” He pulsed in her hand, a wash of warm seed covering her fingers as he shuddered in an intense orgasm.
“So pretty in your pleasure, aren’t you?” Her husky laugh sounded rusty, raw.
Unfamiliar…
Lara’s eyes widened, and she blinked—right into Noah’s astonished stare. His cheeks looked flushed. He was breathing hard.
“Holy shit. I wasn’t alone in that. I mean, with what I saw. You were there. You saw it too.”
Lara wondered what the hell had just happened. When she’d been young, before she’d learned to ignore the ghostly whispers, she’d heard voices. But never had she been so involved with a scene like that, where she’d seen it as if through her own eyes. Where she felt like she’d actually been there. She couldn’t help looking down at Noah’s crotch, expecting to see him naked and covered in cum. Instead she saw a prominent bulge between his legs.
“Lara, we need to talk.” He took a deep breath and shifted his stance.
“No kidding.” She tried to calm her breathing. That scene had felt so real. As if she’d held Noah—no, Finn—in her hands. She could smell his musk, could feel the rigidity of his arousal under her fingers. His heat, thick and hard and ready. For her.
Lara sat down at her desk and clasped her head in her hands. “Oh my God. What is happening to me?” She wanted nothing more than to feel Noah deep inside her. Stroking in and out, taking her to climax as he exploded within her. She looked up at him, determined to ignore the heat rushing to her cheeks. “How did you see all that? Because you did see them
touching. Together. Right?”
He sat on the bench across from the desk and grimaced before subtly spreading his legs. “Oh yeah. I saw it all.”
He kept his gaze away from her, and for that she was grateful. She feared if he gave her the slightest encouragement, she’d be all over him. Lara didn’t do casual sex, but she was all for making an exception in Noah’s case. Though she didn’t know him, they had an indefinable chemistry. Good Lord, did they ever.
