THE OUTLAW AND THE LADY

by Lorraine Heath

  Yet he had managed to lure her into loving him with a voice that reminded her of whiskey going down, tales of loss that had touched her heart, and a respect toward her that no other man had ever shown.

  She heard rocks and pebbles sliding away beneath the tread of heavy boots. The familiar pop of knees bending. The warmth from a body scant inches away seeping into hers.

  "So even eyes that cannot see can weep," Lee said quietly.

  "Have you any idea how much trust it takes for a woman to open herself up to a man as I did for you last night?" she asked, her voice catching, betraying the agonizing ache in her chest that threatened to suffocate her. She wanted to be angry—furious, in fact—but she only felt the deep pain and wondered how long it would last. No doubt for the remainder of her life.

  He slid his hands beneath hers and stroked his thumbs across her knuckles. "Angela, come into the house."

  She didn't want to remember how those glorious hands had elicited pleasure in her last night, and yet she couldn't deny that she treasured the memory. She shook her head slightly. "I want to go home."

  Slowly, very slowly, he lifted her hands and pressed her fingers against his mouth. His warm, moist breath skimmed over the back of her hands, and she heated with the memory of his lips gliding tantalizingly over her flesh the night before. Then even more slowly, he turned her hand and kissed the heart of her palm before he flattened her hands against the base of his throat. She felt his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed hard just before his hands drifted away, leaving hers, granting her permission to obtain what she most desired.

  Her breath caught, and fresh tears stung her eyes. She scrambled up to her knees and folded her trembling hands around his neck. Beneath his chin, the stubble of his beard barely pricked her. A day's growth, she was certain, although it wasn't nearly as rough as her father's. It was soft, reminiscent of dandelion petals before they were scattered on the wind. Not at all what she'd expected.

  She knew she should go slowly, memorize the curves, the lines, each indentation, but she was far too excited, filled with too much happiness. She ran her fingers over his chin, along his tense jaw, stopping briefly at his lips. Those she thought she'd known, but his kisses had distorted the shape. Full on the bottom, thin on top, unsmiling. No upward curve; simply straight as though revealing himself to her brought him absolutely no joy. Tiny grooves along the corners dipped down. Lines etched by sadness. Her heart constricted and she wished she possessed the power to make him smile, to erase the rivulets of a life that she knew he hadn't deserved.

  She was momentarily tempted to stop. To give him what he wanted: an identity unknown to her, but she was greedy, greedy to know everything about him. She slid her hands up. His cheekbones were high, much higher than his brothers'… And his nose. Chiseled, narrow, aristocratic popped into her mind. She furrowed her brow. "You don't look like your brothers."

  "Don't I?" he asked quietly.

  Shaking her head, she trailed her fingers over his eyes, over brows not nearly as thick as Jorge's or Roberto's or Eduardo's. Why? Why did he look so different … and yet familiar?

  Had Alejandro refused to grant her permission to touch his face because he was the brother who most resembled Lee?

  Scooting closer, she combed her fingers into his hair, thick like his brothers', but still so unlike theirs. She released a giddy laugh. "Your hair is curly. I thought it would be straight, like Jorge's."

  "Did you? Then I must be a disappointment."

  His emotionless tone matched his expressionless face. He reminded her of a child stoically accepting his punishment for snitching a cookie before dinner. She desperately wanted him to relish her fingers touching his face, raking through his hair. She cradled his cheek with one hand while the other rested along his crown, where the curling strands had woven around her fingers. "Last night wasn't just about trust. God help me, Lee, I've fallen in love with you."

  Groaning, he drew her into his arms, threaded his fingers through her hair, and slashed his mouth across hers, a kiss filled with fervor and desire, wanting, and the knowledge that whatever they built between them would not last, could not last. Wanted posters across the state of Texas demanded his capture, promised his death.

  Losing him would be worse than losing her sight. With her eyes, she'd hoarded twelve years of memories crammed with images to sustain her. With Lee, she had only days. How could she fall so fast, so hard, so deeply in love?

  He rained kisses over her face, his bearded stubble abrading her skin, but she didn't care. She welcomed the softness and the rough, so much like the man.

  "Angel," he whispered, just before he latched his mouth back onto hers, his tongue delving deeply, claiming all she was willing to give.

  And she did want to give, everything she owned, all she possessed, for whatever time they had, she would be his totally and completely, knowing it would never be enough, understanding it was all she would ever have.

  Suddenly his mouth left hers and he stood, drawing her to her feet. He lifted her into his arms. She wound one arm around his neck and touched his face with her other hand. She found his mouth with ease, kissing him with urgency as he strode over the uneven ground. He broke away and quickened his stride.

  "I don't want to break our necks," he murmured.

  She traced her fingers over his cheek, his chin, his mouth. His mouth that still didn't smile, but it wasn't as straight as it had been the first time she'd touched it. She wanted to constantly keep her hands pressed to his face, to be aware of the muscles shifting with each expression, to know with a touch if he was happy or sad or angry.

  The door creaked on its hinges as he opened it, slammed as he closed it. The aromas of supper teased her nostrils.

  "Aren't you going to eat, Lee?" Juanita asked.

  "Not yet," he replied, and Angela buried her face in the hollow of his shoulder.

  They would know, his entire family would know what was passing between them in his bedroom, in his bed. And she didn't care. God help her she didn't care if her reputation was ruined, if no other man would ever want her, if she was destined to spend the remainder of her life alone. For now she only wanted Lee and whatever time they had, every moment spent within his arms.

  Another door slammed shut, and then he laid her down gently on the mattress, his body blanketing hers as his mouth captured hers. She sensed in him an equal desperation, the knowledge she held reflected in the rapacious hunger with which his kiss devoured her. Their love was but a fleeting illusion that could not exist beyond the boundaries of this house. And yet she didn't care, or perhaps it made her care more, made her want him desperately. Since she could not have forever, she would make the most of now.

  With her fingers, she etched the lines of his face into her memory as he worked to remove her clothes. She imagined the passion burning in his dark eyes, the appreciation.

  "You are so beautiful, querida," he whispered hoarsely, before his mouth began its heated sojourn over her bare breasts.

  Molten fire flowed through her, and she quivered with desire and burned with hunger. He left her for the briefest of moments, and when he returned, they became flesh against flesh, and she'd never expected anything to feel this perfect. She placed her hands on either side of his beloved face. "I love you, Lee."

  His chest rumbled with the force of his moan as he buried his face between her breasts. She threaded her fingers through his hair. "It's all right if you don't love me."

  He kissed the inside swell of her breast before levering himself above her. She brushed her fingers over his face, trying to read his thoughts. Regret?

  "This is wrong, Angela," he murmured quietly before lowering his mouth to hers. A desolate kiss. "I have nothing to offer you but sorrow."

  "I don't care." Her voice cracked and tears filled her eyes. Her fingers felt the corners of his mouth lift slightly.

  "I love you, querida," he rasped. Her heart leapt with such joy that it was almost painful.

  "God help me,
" he whispered, "God help us both because I do not have the strength to walk out of this room."

  "I wouldn't let you leave," she promised, and he laughed, a low, sad laugh. "Love me, Lee, for as long as you can."

  His hands, his mouth, worked their magic, touching, teasing, taunting while she basked in the luxury of touching him as well, learning the shape of every corded muscle, tasting the salt of his sweat as his flesh grew slick, marveling at the tenseness that gave way to such tender caresses.

  When he rose above her, she was ready, and when he joined his body to hers, she lifted her hips to welcome him. His guttural groan sounded of possession and his arms tightened around her. She skimmed her hands across his shoulders, over his neck, along his face, resting them there lightly, reveling in the passion he had unleashed.

  He rocked against her, his body growing more tense as hers heightened with pleasure. She wanted to dig her fingers into his shoulders in order to stay tethered, but she wanted more to know the many facets of passion that played over his features.

  Sensations rippled out from her core, and she splayed her fingers over his face as the darkness of her world shattered into a million stars of incredible beauty. She cried out, arching beneath him as he shuddered above her. He lowered himself and buried his face in the crook of her shoulder, his breathing harsh, his breath skimming along her collarbone. With one hand, she stroked his broad back, while with the other she touched his face, creating in her mind the image of contentment.

  He groaned, and carefully, with their bodies still joined, he rolled them onto their sides. Never in her life had she resented her blindness more, that at this moment she could not see love reflected in his eyes.

  He skimmed his fingers along her side, across her bare hip, down her thigh. "I warned you that I was a weak man."

  She smiled softly. "You're anything but weak."

  He chuckled low. "Not where you're concerned. I should have returned you to your father the moment I realized you were blind."

  "But the posse—"

  "I should have risked it."

  But she was incredibly glad that he hadn't. To have gone through her life not knowing passion or a love this binding … she could not imagine the emptiness. She didn't even have the heart to ask him to stop calling her "Angel." He'd done it twice this evening, and she was surprised that the pain did not come with the reminder of the little boy who had been such a joy. Unexpected sadness rippled through her. She had been Damon's angel and he'd died. Now she was Lee's … and death waited slightly beyond reach for him as well.

  * * *

  Raised up on one elbow, lying on the bed, Lee placed a sliver of watermelon into Angela's waiting mouth. Under Alejandro's knowing glare, he'd gone to the kitchen and heaped food onto a plate. His brother wanted to talk; Lee didn't.

  He didn't need to hear his misgivings voiced or be told that he trod on dangerous ground. Angela was his tonight, tomorrow, for as long as she wanted to stay. When he had to give her up, he would somehow find the strength to do so.

  Her fingers journeyed over his chest, halted, journeyed again, halted. "How did you get all these tiny scars?" she asked.

  The small indentations had always dotted his flesh. He shrugged, momentarily forgetting that she couldn't see his movement. "I don't remember. They've always been there."

  "There's so many. Whatever happened must have been painful."

  "Not so painful if I don't remember it," he reassured her. He saw no point in dwelling on what might be unpleasant, especially when the simple act of gazing upon her brought such intense pleasure.

  He slipped a grape between her lips, leaned forward, kissed her, and took it into his mouth. God, he wanted to make love to her again. "Still hungry?" he asked.

  Shaking her head, she nestled into the pillow. "No."

  Grateful, he set the plate aside before easing his body over hers. If the heavens smiled on him and let him live to be a hundred, he would never have enough of her. She skimmed her fingers along his cheek, a different touch, not searching, but caressing. Last night how could he have even considered making love to her without giving her the freedom to touch him? Without realizing it, he had deprived them both of so much because of his fears of capture. He lowered his mouth to her breast and circled his tongue around the sensitive bud. She combed her fingers through his hair.

  "Lee?"

  "Mmm?" He suckled gently, relishing the quick intake of her breath.

  "Lee, I want to talk."

  "So talk. I am a man of many talents. I can kiss you and listen at the same time." He trailed his mouth to the valley between her breasts. The way his hand molded around the soft orb was perfection.

  "I don't know … I don't know if I can talk while you're doing that."

  Chuckling with satisfaction at her admission, he lavished kisses on her other breast. "Then don't talk."

  She yanked his hair.

  "Ow!" He jerked his head up. "Why did you do that?"

  "I want to talk."

  He scowled, a wasted action. He flopped onto his back, then rolled to his side, turned her so her breasts could flatten against his chest, and skimmed his fingers up and down her spine. "All right, talk."

  She ran her tongue over her lips. He leaned forward and planted a hard kiss against them.

  "Lee!" she scolded.

  "Do not draw my attention to your mouth if you do not want me to kiss it."

  Shaking her head slightly, she smiled softly and unerringly laid her palm against his cheek "Sometimes you remind me of a child."

  "Then let's play."

  He tucked her beneath him, bracketed his hands on either side of her face, and kissed her soundly, deeply, passionately. Never before in his life had he had time for a woman. He took pride in the fact that he had not fumbled too noticeably, that she had not guessed he was as untutored as she was.

  He kissed her cheek, her closed eyes, her brow. He would never grow tired of kissing her.

  "My father is an influential man," she muttered as though from far away, as though she'd force the words past the realm of pleasure.

  He nibbled on her earlobe. "So you have said."

  "Christian Montgomery is even more so."

  He stilled, his heart thundering within his chest, a steady staccato beat that seemed to echo within the room. Kit Montgomery's relentless pursuit of justice was legendary. The man had fascinated Lee simply because he was the exact opposite of all that Lee had come to stand for.

  "Lee, Kit could help you."

  "To the hangman's noose, querida," he said, pleased that his voice didn't tremble with the thought of all he would lose if he fell into the legendary Ranger's hands. With the tip of his tongue, he circled the delicate shell of her ear. He wanted to bury himself deep within her, not face the demons that haunted him.

  She dug her fingers into his scalp and lifted his head as though she needed to look him straight in the eye; perhaps she only needed him to see her, worried, fearful, holding the knowledge that he was only passing through her life, not staying for any length of time. It hit him hard that as deeply as he cared for her, he should have spared her this torment.

  "If you turned yourself over to Kit, willingly gave yourself up, explained that night, exactly why you killed—"

  "No!" He rolled out of bed and began to pace, his bare feet pounding against the planked flooring. "I promised Juanita that I would never tell a soul; I would take what happened that night to the grave with me."

  "Your brothers—"

  "Made the same vow once we discovered she was with child."

  She sat up, her hair cascading around her in magnificent glory while tears glimmered within her eyes. "Do you honestly think Juanita wants you to hang?"

  "She is not strong like you, Angela." His chest ached with his failure. "I could never learn how to make her strong."

  "By making her face facts. My God, Lee, don't you think I was terrified when I discovered that I was blind? I never wanted to leave my bed. I just wanted to
lie there and stare at the darkness that my world had become. If the truth would prevent you from hanging—"

  "It wouldn't. I did not kill him in self-defense. That is the way of it." She jerked back as though he'd slapped her. The tears rolled onto her cheeks, branding his heart with unbridled pain. He sat on the bed, cupped her cheek, and captured a tear with his thumb. "Oh, my angel, I should have never touched you."

  More tears surfaced, dampening her lovely face, pooling at the corners of her mouth. She shook her head. "No, don't say that. I don't regret what's happening between us. I'm just greedy and want more time. The rest of my life. If you'd be willing to meet with my father and Kit, I'm certain that they could prevent your hanging. You might have to go to prison for a while…"

  The bed dipped as he shifted his weight, and she eased forward until she could press her face to his back and wrap her arms around his waist. "Maybe it would be enough to just tell them what Shelby did to your family without mentioning Juanita," she whispered. "It's a chance for us, Lee."

  He closed his hands over her clasped hands resting against his stomach. "I don't know if it's a chance worth taking. To be with you, sí, that would be worth it, but to find myself at the end of a rope if the truth made no difference … I would rather die in a blaze of gunfire." He lifted her hands, curled his back, and kissed her fingertips. "I'm going to return you to Fortune tomorrow."

  "I no longer want to go back to Fortune. I want to stay here."

  He held his breath, not daring to believe that he'd heard correctly. "You would stay here with me?"

  "Sí. I'll even learn Spanish."

  Turning, he combed his fingers through her hair. "What of your parents? Do you not care that they might be worried?"

  "I'll write them a letter, explain that I love you, and that I'll be happy—"

  "Would you be happy, Angela?"

  "I'll be happy as long as you're with me."