The Lady and the Lawman

by Jennifer Zane

  Grant had to tear himself away from the kiss when he heard Dalton’s stalking retreat. He cleared his throat. “Hey, Dalton, aren’t you forgetting something?”

  Dalton halted his exit and turned back, hatred etched in his face. His eyebrow went up in question. His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides.

  “Your horse. Leave him tied out front.” Grant ran a possessive hand over thick, glossy curls and smiled. Damn. A hot woman and besting Dalton. It was turning out to be a mighty fine night—and he still had his clothes on. Hopefully that was about to change, with the help of the delightful morsel in his lap.

  Nodding sharply, Dalton called to his men. Without another word, he stalked out of the saloon.

  Grant grinned, content to have completely ruined the man’s night. Fortunately, Dalton missed seeing the woman’s revenge for Grant’s claim on her charms. Her slap caught him squarely across his cheek.

  CHAPTER THREE

  “What the hell was that for?” the sheriff questioned, rubbing his square jaw.

  Margaret saw a glint of anger and a flash of surprise in his brown eyes that was quickly tempered. She’d hit a man of the law! “I...I—”

  She closed her eyes in preparation for the retribution to come. It never came.

  “Sheriff, I apologize for her rude behavior. I’ll set her straight for you,” Croft said, his voice filled with anger the sheriff's lacked.

  Margaret’s eyes flew open at the cruel man's words.

  The sheriff held one hand up to stop Croft, the other tightened protectively about her waist, keeping her firmly in his lap. She could feel his hard length that pressed against her private areas. She remembered William taking her there, thrusting himself within her painfully, and without any pleasure whatsoever. The sheriff's kiss had been unexpected, and almost indescribable. She'd never felt that way about a man's lips against hers, his tongue thrust into her mouth. The feeling of William doing the same thing had been one of revulsion. But with the sheriff, she had no idea kissing him could be so carnal, so overwhelming.

  He tasted whiskey-laden, dark and mysterious, and his scent was manly. A hint of sweat, horses and something unfamiliar. It was very potent combination. His kiss had heated her skin, sent licks of flames to places on her body she had no idea could feel this way. Her nipples were tight against the confines of her corset. And lower, she felt achy, needy and wet. She rubbed her body shamefully against the sheriff's lap as if it had a mind of its own, as if it was trying to get closer, impossibly closer to what her body needed. What it craved. And it seemed to be the very large—and getting larger—thing in the man's pants.

  “I’ll take care of her myself,” the sheriff said, his voice cool.

  Margaret couldn’t help but gulp at what the he'd said. I’ll take care of her. What kind of lawman beat women as punishment? How could her body have these new and unusual feelings for a man who was planning to hurt her? She was betrayed by her own flesh.

  The sheriff gathered up his cash from the table and downed the last of his whiskey as if it were water. “I think I'll be taking my winnings now. Thanks for the game.” He tipped his hat at Croft, although it was clear it was done more out of cockiness than anything else.

  Margaret was pushed off his lap as he stood up. She tugged at the top of her corset to prevent her breasts from spilling out. Before she could adjust her attire to her liking, and if possible, preserve a modicum of modesty, the sheriff snagged her arm and pulled not-so-gently toward the stairs as if she weighed nothing. He sure was eager.

  ***

  Grant tugged her to the base of the stairs leading to the whores' rooms above. There, he held out his arm, signaling for her to lead the way. Being behind her, he was able to assess his prize, enjoying the sway of her full hips and round backside on the way up the stairs. The view was incredible, and he wasn’t sure what part of her he wanted to sample first. Luscious lips, curvy hips, long legs, ample breasts.

  Strange, her slapping him. It had felt like an impulsive move, he thought while absently rubbing his face. Spontaneous. She didn’t appear to be the type to strike someone, especially the town lawman. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had struck him. A first for a woman. Hell, he probably deserved it. He’d used her to rile Dalton. Looking back, he chuckled to himself. The stinging cheek had been damn worth it.

  His mirth continued, impressed with himself for beating Dalton and for winning such a remarkable prize in the bargain. His steps slowed as his eyes moved from her trim ankles upward, past pretty knees to smooth thighs. Bright red ribbons tied with little bows held up her stockings and just begged to be undone. The swish of her skirts revealed a quick glimpse of the whitest skin above the stockings. His fingers itched to caress those creamy thighs to discover how soft her skin would be.

  She looked over her shoulder as they reached the landing. He’d been right, she had a perfect mouth. Full, round, luscious. The red staining her lips needed to be kissed off, something he intended to do as soon as they were alone. His jaw became set, his pants even more snug, and his patience thin thinking about getting her beneath him in a bed—and then some.

  “Well?” he asked as they stood at the top of the steps.

  “Well what?” she questioned, confusion knitting her perfect brow.

  As a lawman, he possessed a fair amount of patience. Now, however, he was grasping for the last bits his desire hadn’t shredded. Frustrated, in more ways than one, he replied, “Your room. Which one is it?”

  “Oh.” Her mouth formed a perfect circle.

  He didn’t think it was possible for someone to blush so deeply. It looked as if she’d been out in the bright Colorado sun all day without a bonnet.

  The woman tilted her head toward the door on his right and preceded him into the room. She turned to face him and took a deep breath. “Your name is Masterson?”

  He forgot her question as he watched her cleavage press against the confines of the corset. “What? Uh, yes...Grant Masterson, sheriff here in Cranston.”

  Her eyes moved to the badge pinned to his chest. “Yes, I surmised.” She laced her fingers together in front of her. “So Sheriff, are you going to ‘take care of me’ now like you said?” She lifted her chin, her back straightened as if her corset had metal stays instead of bone.

  He grinned at her boldness. Hell, yes, he was going to take care of her. Very good care of her. She was going to enjoy herself immensely. In fact, he figured she’d be screaming her pleasure before too long. He was going to—

  Wait! Desire had fogged his brain like a windowpane in the winter. What was she talking about? After a moment of reflection, he finally remembered the confrontation with Croft.

  He was the sheriff. What on earth did she expect him to do, slap her around? The very thought wiped the grin from his face. “I don’t hit women, if that’s what you’re asking. I thought I’d take care of you in other ways. Ways that are immensely pleasurable for both of us.”

  “Oh...” she whispered, flustered as she caught his meaning. Her tongue darted out to lick her lips and Grant's cock jumped at the thought of what that tongue could do. “Well, Mr. Masterson, or should I say Sheriff, are you going to tell me how you won the game?”

  Was she asking because she was glad he’d won her, or was she stalling? Small talk wasn’t something he was used to with the women at Croft’s. The other women would have had their hands in his pants by now. Or they’d be on their knees. Or both. But hell, it didn’t matter. She was his for the night. There was plenty of time for her to take care of his needs, although his hard length, pressed uncomfortably against the front of his pants, was in much more of a hurry.

  “Are you suggesting that a man of the law cheats?”

  She remained silent. Pushing precariously out of the top of her corset, her breasts were half globes of creamy flesh. He could only imagine how close her nipples were to popping free, hoping one deep breath would offer up their freedom. He gulped.

  Naked. He wanted her naked and
in his bed. Hell, he wasn’t picky. Any bed would do. He imagined she would look even more beautiful, gaudy frills ripped off and thrown aside, then kissed. Kissed everywhere.

  She stared directly at him. Not at his face, but much lower. It was impossible not to grin and become impossibly harder under her close scrutiny.

  “Like what you see?”

  Hell, maybe she’d have her hands on him sooner than he thought.

  ***

  Margaret felt like a complete imbecile. And utterly, morbidly embarrassed. Her attentions focused solely on escaping, her mind honed in on the gun resting against his hip. She’d been staring at his weapon and he thought she was staring at his...oh God! She felt the heat in her cheeks, sure she was bright as a beet. Were his pants tighter than they’d been seconds before?

  He was the town sheriff. She should just tell him her predicament and he would help her. He was supposed to, that was his job. But he’d bet on her just like that awful man Dalton, and made his intentions as clear as crystal when he’d hauled her onto his lap and kissed her silly.

  Even now, his...growing...desire was blatantly evident. If his flushed skin and smoky gaze were any indication, she’d gotten the man interested without even trying. It was a talent she wasn’t aware she even possessed. A jolt of thrill shot through her at her new power, although she wasn't exactly sure how to wield it. He had some control over her, as well. If the tingling in her nipples and the achy feeling between her legs were any indications, he had some skills of his own. But until she was out of this stinking, dirty mousetrap of a building and heading West on her own, she wouldn't be safe. It was mandatory she get the gun away from him, and fast. Now what? Think, Margaret, think!

  Hiding her apprehension and her naiveté as best as she could, she slowly closed the distance between them and took his hand. It felt warm, calloused, and strong, as she led him into the room Croft had given her. She peered at him through dark lashes, and offered what she hoped was her best—though first—sensuous smile.

  She took another good look at the man who’d won her for the night. He was big, so tall the top of her head only reached his nose. Broad shoulders and a solid chest beneath his soft shirt reminded her of a tree trunk. She could see the glint of gold mixed with the brown of his hair as he removed his hat, tossing it onto the bedside table. His locks were longer than Eastern de rigueur, allowing it to curl naturally over his ears and at the nape of his neck. The length made Margaret itch to run her fingers through it, learn its texture, its softness. He wore a thick blue chambray shirt beneath his vest, tucked into snug pants that showed off slim hips and long, solid legs. Manly didn’t describe his presence, more like rugged. Virile.

  Attraction was something new to her. Feelings of warmth and a strange longing coursed through her veins, pooled between her thighs making all her secret places swell and become wet. Squeezing her thighs together, she tried to dull the ache that throbbed there, but it didn't work. In fact, it had an opposite effect. A shiver ran up her spine as the intense need for...something...built. But the attraction, this unrecognizable need, was tempered with a dash of innocence and a large portion of fear.

  “Shall we move to the bed?” she asked, her throat dry. She couldn’t believe those explicit words came from her mouth. She was a teetotaler, but longed for a shot of whiskey to whet her thirst and loosen her tangled knot of nerves, to relax. She’d never been alone with a man in a room with the door closed before, let alone in the same bed.

  Mortification swept through her at the memory of William taking her with the parlor door open, free for exposure to servants or anyone else who had been walking by. With the door shut, she would have been ruined just by the pretense, regardless of whether something inappropriate had happened or not. Now, though, ruination was the least of her concerns. She was already soiled, worthless in the eyes of men. Freedom was something else entirely. Somehow, she had to lure the sheriff, to entice, to separate him from his gun.

  He walked her backward until she found herself up against the bed, calves pressed firmly into the wooden frame. One small push with his large hands against her bare shoulders had her seated on the lumpy mattress. She found herself looking directly at the front of his pants. Wonderful! There was the gun holstered around his slim waist. She had him just where she wanted him.

  ***

  Grant had her just where he wanted her. She’d been looking at the front of his pants, and what wasn't so hidden beneath, since they came upstairs. Now he was offering her an close up look. And she took it.

  “Is this thing loaded?” Her voice was laced with anticipation as she pulled the gun from its holster.

  She certainly knew how to taunt a man. He looked down and watched her hand stroke up and down the butt of his weapon, her pink tongue darting out to lick her lower lip. Her small hand actually caressed it, then moved up to the barrel and grabbed it in her palm. She squeezed it, her knuckles turning white. One finger returned to stroking the barrel. If she fondled his other “weapon” the same way she fondled his gun, he’d have fired his load by now. A groan escaped his throat in answer.

  Beads of sweat popped out on his forehead as he watched her deft fingers. She’d only had the gun for a second, but it seemed time stood still as he watched her. What would it feel like when she touched his rock hard shaft?

  His brain was slow to clear from the fog her steamy actions had brought about. “Give me that gun before you shoot yourself,” he all but growled. He snagged it from her, ending her tantalizing show.

  She reached for the gun, looked at it in a way Grant considered longingly, but switched tactics when it was beyond her reach. “Let me get this off of you,” she murmured as her hand moved to his waist, brushing the front of his pants—and his hard cock—in her haste to remove his gun belt.

  He gritted his teeth. “Lord, woman, if you want in my pants so badly, let me help you.”

  He moved his hands to his waist to remove his holster, but she insistently pushed them back, looking him in the eye. “No, let me,” she replied, serious now.

  He dropped his hands to his side and watched. If she wanted to undress him, so be it. What man in his right mind would stop a woman from doing that?

  Remaining silent, she undid the buckle, releasing the gun belt from around his waist. Standing, she placed a hand on his chest to have him step back. Completely under her spell, he gave her the space she needed. This vixen was no virgin. She walked across the room and carefully placed the belt on the nightstand next to the bed.

  His need became painful, his pants uncomfortably tight. Closing the small distance between them, he eagerly brushed his fingers along her cheek, knowing her skin would be soft and warm. He remembered how supple and luscious her lips had been from the hot kiss they’d shared downstairs. The desire to feel her mouth beneath his again was too strong to resist. Tilting her chin up with his fingers, their eyes met briefly before he leaned down and brushed his lips over hers, a whisper of a kiss.

  He backed her up against the closed door and lifted his hands to caress her face. His brain had been too addled to even realize he still held his gun. With a loud thunk, he placed it next to his gun belt and hat without taking his gaze off her, knocking his hat to the floor.

  He planted his palms against the wood door on either side of her head, pressing the full length of his body into hers. He felt every inch of her soft curves. Lush breasts, rounded hips, long legs. She fit against him perfectly, his erection pressing squarely against her sex. She wasn't going anywhere. All possibility for her to escape was gone. Dropping his gaze to her face, he drank her in. She appeared overwhelmed, soft, and damn kissable, her lips swollen from his aggressions.

  “God, I don’t even know your name,” he said, stunned at his ungentlemanly manners.

  “Margaret.”

  He whispered her name as he lowered his mouth to hers once again, more urgently this time. His hands snaked around to hold her head, as his fingertips caressed the smooth nape of her neck, playing wi
th the silky, loose curls. His thumbs brushed over her heated cheeks, her heartbeat erratic against his palms. He teased her lower lip, nibbling and finally nipping on it, taking the kiss even deeper. A quick gasp escaped her throat as his tongue touched hers.

  The sound surged through him, and shot like a bolt of lightning to his groin. He rocked his hips into her. His need, his intentions could not be denied now.

  Lifting his head, he ran his thumb over her bottom lip and raked his eyes over her, down to the creamy slope of her breasts rising and falling as she tried to catch her breath. He once again leaned against the door to balance himself, leaned down and kissed a mound of smooth skin at the top of her lacy corset.

  His mouth brushed shivering flesh, then air, when she pushed his head back from her breast. She ducked under his arm, spun around and stared at him from across the small room, silent except for her breath escaping her lips in short pants. It was difficult to rein in his growing anger. Playing the innocent was one thing, teasing a man in his desperate state of need was another.

  Her lips were now red, not from coloring, but from his kisses. She was flushed and her hair was wild about her face and down her back. Her fists clenched and unclenched by her sides.

  Then he noticed the fright in her eyes. It was unmistakable.

  “What's the matter, Maggie?” He raked his fingers through his hair, frustrated as hell. If he didn't sink himself into her soon, his dick was going to fall off. Somehow, with only just a kiss, she'd practically crippled him. There was no way he'd be able to ride a horse home in this condition.