He dropped his large frame onto the bed with a bounce as the bed creaked under his weight. Making himself comfortable, he leaned back against the wall, a pillow behind his head. He tried to remain calm, but it was hard—like some places on his body—to remain so without being aggravated. Aggravated she still had her clothes on, aggravated he hadn't already spread her thighs and buried himself in her.
“Why did you call me Maggie?”
She was stalling. He sighed, trying to temper his desire and lessen the pain building since he first saw her. “Because it's better than Margaret,” he answered, frustrated as hell. “Is that what your other men call you?” Thinking about her with other men, he frowned. “Never mind. Don't answer that. Come back over here,” he commanded, patting the satin spread next to him.
***
It was now or never for Margaret. She could tell from the seriousness of his look and his gruff tone she’d pushed him far enough. Innocent—reasonably so—as she was, she knew every man had a breaking point. And she’d crossed past his. The sheriff wasn’t going to let her back out of the foreplay she’d initiated. She'd felt that when he'd pressed himself into her. She felt him—it—brush against her, pressing against something, some spot between her legs that shot lightning from her core to the tips of her fingers, the roots of her hair. She wanted to find that spot again, to have him rub against her just so she could feel that immense pleasure one more time. To reach for some indescribable sensation. She had no choice but to continue, if not for her own morbid curiosity, but also because the only alternative was to anger him. She was in no rush to see Croft again.
Oh, she’d had the frustrating opportunity to turn his gun on him, but he took it from her before she could figure out how to use it. If only she’d had more time to fiddle with the weapon. Her mind was not clear. Somehow, his touch, his kiss, the very rocking of hips into her had turned her brain to mush like oatmeal. To get to the weapon now, which was right next to him on the nightstand, she had to continue her passionate charade to get to it. Although if she was willing to admit it to herself, the more he touched her, the less of a charade it became.
Surprisingly, it wasn't too hard to pretend. She felt the warmth in her cheeks and knew they were flushed. Her breathing was erratic and her skin tingled in very special places from their kiss. Margaret had no idea kissing would be so...incredible. William had mashed his mouth against hers, but she hadn't responded, hadn't felt tiny flames lick at her skin.
When the sheriff's tongue had slipped into her mouth, at first she'd been stunned. Never knowing that was even done, she'd stood motionless, but the explorations of his mouth on hers had cleared her mind like cleaning a slate of chalk. His thumbs had brushed her cheeks and she'd been lost, overwhelmed by the new sensations, the new feelings coursing through her veins. But he was the enemy! An enemy who could kiss the very thoughts from her head.
It wasn’t just the kisses that muddled her brain. It was his presence, his sheer size that overwhelmed her. He practically sucked all the air from the room, leaving her gasping for breath. His intensity, his domination of all her senses, made her mind and body burn.
It was difficult, to say the least, to stay focused on her plan. She wasn’t that type of woman. Of course the sheriff thought she was, and she was supposed to act like one. When she was in the sheriff’s arms however, she felt wanton, desirable, desperate. Maybe she was that type of woman and just never knew it.
With William using her as he had, she definitely would be considered a whore. They hadn't been married when he'd taken her. Thank God they weren't man and wife. But it didn't matter. In the eyes of society, she was a soiled dove. She either needed to marry William or she would be labeled a whore. No man in his right mind, unless in Croft's saloon for a quick romp, wanted a whore in their bed.
No matter what she would be called from now on, she needed to escape. The only way to do that was through the sheriff. Taking a deep breath, she walked over to the bed, lifted her petticoats—exposed more leg than she’d ever shown a man before—and crawled on hands and knees to reach his side. Hopefully the sheriff couldn’t hear her hammering heart. If she could just seduce him a bit more, she could get the gun and get away. How was she supposed to do that?
***
Grant groaned deep in his throat as he stared at the stunning view Maggie offered. Not only did her hips sway as she crawled on hands and knees up to him, the expanse of cleavage she exposed to his gaze was tantalizing. He’d never been an advocate of corsets, detesting their suffocating qualities, but the view in front of him changed his mind. She was good, really good at her job.
No matter how much he felt lured into her whore’s trap, there was this niggling feeling something was wrong. When she noticed where his gaze was focused, she stopped short, coming up on her knees in front of him. Her hands covered her creamy expanse of cleavage. She looked at him through lowered lashes, bit her lower lip.
He watched her innocent display. Her skills as an actress were impressive, and he had to hand it to Croft at his adeptness for getting out of a sticky card game. Damn him, but it worked. She was the best cock tease he’d been with. He, nor his cock and balls, could stand the torment no longer.
He yanked one of her hands away from her breast. In one motion, he had her tucked in at his side so snugly she couldn’t move, but he could feel her every curve along his length. He wedged one thigh between hers, feeling her shape, even between the thick layers of petticoats. One hand tangled in her hair at the back of her neck, the other on top of a breast she’d so seductively shown him. He stroked the white roundness as his mouth devoured hers. He felt her nipple tighten in response beneath the lacy fabric.
The fabric was a damn impediment. He tucked his fingers into the corset and lifted her plump flesh up and out of its confines so her nipple was exposed to the air, his gaze, his mouth. It was as he'd imagined. Large, a beautiful blush color, and erect. He stared at the pink tip for a moment or two, then he brushed his fingers over, then caressed the small peak into an even tighter bud.
She cried out, her eyes falling closed, which made her press more fully into his palm. “Oh!”
He groaned then returned his mouth to hers, plunging his tongue inside to tangle with hers. Through his haze of lust, he heard her soft moan of pleasure, and that pushed him on. She felt the heat of their attraction as much as he did. He had no doubt.
So intent on her mouth and her pebble hard nipple, he didn’t notice the cold metal pressed firmly against his temple, which was like a splash of cold water on his libido.
He looked to the right, only making matters worse by turning his face into the gun. His gun. Now all he saw was the dark barrel pointed squarely between his eyes.
“What the hell?” His mouth was just above hers, her breath mixing with his. One hand still covered her exposed breast.
“Don’t move,” she demanded shakily.
He had to downplay the situation. “Darlin', you don't need to put a gun to my head to keep me right here.”
Her lips pinched and anger flared in her eyes, replacing that beautiful look of arousal on which he'd been working so diligently. Clearly, his comment hadn't diffused the situation.
He couldn’t believe what was happening. He was being held up by a prostitute, with his own gun! Whatever her plan though, it had many holes. He was lying on top of her. She obviously didn’t know having over two hundred pounds of man lying on top of you was not a good way to escape. She also hadn’t cocked the gun, so it wasn’t dangerous—yet. But a woman with a loaded weapon in her right mind was dangerous enough. A woman like Maggie might be downright lethal. He decided to play along, for now.
“I’ll do what you say, but do you want me to leave my hand here?” He tweaked her nipple ever so slightly, watching as her eyes blurred briefly, then refocused.
She blushed and the gun wavered a bit in her hand. Even holding him at gunpoint, she was able to blush. Remarkable. “What is your odd obsession with my breasts?” she
asked. Her voice had a snap to it he would have found appealing if the situation was a little different.
“Are you serious?” Clearly she had no idea of her appeal. Or the effect her ample bosom had on a man. On him.
She fiddled with the gun and cocked it.
“All right, stay calm. You don’t need to shoot. Why don’t you just tell me what you want?” he asked calmly, trying to ease his loaded gun away from his face with words instead of muscle.
And just like that, her bravado melted. Maggie started to cry, tears slipping from the corners of her eyes and down her pale cheeks.
“Let me up.” She pressed her free hand against his chest and tried to push him off of her, the gun now a limp prop.
He wouldn’t budge. He easily took the gun from her without a fight and placed it on the floor out of her reach, just in case. Taking a deep breath of relief, he said, “Not until you tell me what’s going on.”
He kept his voice relaxed, considering the situation. If a man had pointed a gun at him, he would have killed him by now. But, then, he wouldn’t be in a bed lying on top of a man either.
She started to cry in earnest, nose red, sobbing and trying to gulp in air. He couldn’t stand a crying woman. There wasn’t anything worse. It was up there with a bar room brawl and a town hanging.
Waiting for her sobs to subside, he brushed a hand through her hair, trying to comfort her. Her soft body had no more tension, her fight gone. It was hard to resist touching her, to caress her face and run his fingers through her silky hair. He noticed how long her dark lashes were against her flushed cheeks. Realization sank in as he put all of the puzzle pieces together. It was like being doused in a stream at spring thaw. What whore, who had a man right where she wanted him, started to cry inconsolably?
“Croft didn’t put you up to this, did he? You really are a virgin, aren’t you?” Grant’s voice was harsh.
He looked at the woman pressed beneath him in a new light. The evidence was obvious now. The slap, the naïveté, the kisses. Erotic as they were, it was clear how tentative and unsure they'd been. Untried.
She closed her eyes, and he saw her try to catch her breath and contain her tears. “No,” she sobbed, tears starting anew.
Now he was perplexed. He exhaled slowly, trying to calm his raging need, although a gun to his face had helped quite a bit. He had to focus on her and whatever Croft had done to her. “All right. You're not a virgin, but you're no whore.”
She shook her head no, but hiccuped out, “Men will think so!”
The tears started once more. Between her muffled sobs, he was able to pick up the words soiled, escape, and something not very positive about men in general.
“Maggie, I'm sorry.” He tilted her chin up, forced her to look him in the eye. Croft had given her to some man before him. Soiled would definitely be a word some would use to describe her if that were the case. “I thought Croft used one of his women to get him out of a bad card game.” Embarrassed with his randy behavior, he tucked her breast as best he could back into her corset, providing her with some modicum of modesty while she squirmed in obvious embarrassment. “I wouldn't have done all...you know...that, if I’d known the truth.”
She gave him a questioning look. Her face was blotchy red, her green eyes glistening with unshed tears, her look unsure. And damn if that didn't bother him. No woman should look at him that way. Fearful, tentative, scared.
“I don't force myself on women.”
He climbed off of her, hoping his words rang a little truer without his weight pressing her into the mattress. The distance seemed to help. She collected herself enough to stop the tears, wiping her eyes with the red coverlet.
“Really, I'm not like Dalton and the others. I don't touch a woman unless she wants me to.” Just like he'd ultimately touch her at some time in the future, he wanted to add, but was afraid she'd cry all over again. “Come on, sit up. I promise I won't do anything.”
She must have sensed he told the truth, because she did just that, back ramrod straight and folded her hands neatly in her lap. Like a lady.
“I'm guessing from your lack of...um, experience that you haven't been here very long.” Stupid, stupid statement. Man, he sounded like a complete idiot.
She blushed again at his words.
He enjoyed watching her cheeks turn pink at his mild comments. Hopefully, easy conversation would calm her nerves and reduce his urge to grab her and kiss her. Everywhere. Doubtful, but it was worth a try. “How did you end up in a hole like this?”
The color quickly drained from her cheeks. “I...I can't say.”
“Why not?” He knew the answer as soon as he asked the question. Furious, he moved to the edge of the bed and sat down next to her. To hell with keeping his distance! “What did Croft do to you? Who did he give you to first? Were you forced? Has he hit you before like he did downstairs?” he asked as he cupped her chin and his gaze roamed her face and body looking for marks.
She didn’t look at him, but stared over his shoulder, remaining silent. Still fearful.
“Maggie, look at me,” he commanded. He had to get to the bottom of this, right now. He waited for her eyes to meet his. “I’m the sheriff here, remember? I’m here to help you. Tell me what Croft did to you,” he said gently, hiding his raging anger at the thought of Croft touching her. Had he been the one to take her virginity? Just the thought had him clench his jaw tight. He'd kill Croft for this.
Her eyes welled anew with tears. One escaped and slid down her cheek. “He bought me,” she whispered.
Did he hear her correctly? He must be mistaken.
“What do you mean he bought you? He didn't rape you, did he?” Even asking the question had him ready to kill the bastard. But when she shook her head, he repeated, “He bought you?”
“Yes,” she replied, sniffling.
Unbelievable. “Who did he buy you from?” He released her face, and his hands became fists at his sides. How could a human being be bought? His whole body tensed. Sure, he’d won her in a Poker game and in her eyes, there probably wasn’t much difference. He’d thought she was one of Croft’s women acting the virgin, not a real one. Or close enough to it. Between himself, Dalton and a random cow hand downstairs, he was the least of evils for her to face. He didn't hit, wasn't a sexual deviant, and he bathed much more than once a week.
“I don't know who he was,” she said, and then continued on, as if a levy finally broke on her emotions. “I was traveling on a stage heading to California and it was held up by road bandits. They...they killed the driver, tied me up, and one of the men took me. He said he was going to sell me to someone and must have hit me on the head, because the next thing I remember is waking up here.” She unconsciously touched the base of her skull. “That man, Croft, said I had to work here until I paid him back for buying me from the man. He said he'd keep me safe.”
“Safe? The bastard hit you and was going to force you to sell your body for your freedom. I don't consider that safe.” Grant stood up and paced the room, ready to shoot someone. Hell, he knew exactly who that someone was. Slavery, sexual slavery at that, was a serious offense. Especially a woman who needed help! Instead, Croft planned on using her as a whore. “Damn, when I got to the stage, luggage was strewn across the ground. No one else was around, living at least, besides the driver and, my guess is, one of the robbers.”
She nodded. “You must have come after the man had already taken me away.”
Finding Arden’s killers was his top priority. He could add kidnapping to the charges. Before now, he’d had no witness, no lead in the investigation. Maggie was the only eyewitness to the robbery and murder, and was the only person alive who could identify the culprits. Which meant she was in danger. More danger than his baser desires taking over.
She'd been through so much, and if that weren’t enough, he’d nearly forced himself her. But he would have her…eventually. It was clear to him that this woman was going to be his, to call out his name in the throes of
her climax. It would take time to have her beg him like that, but in the meantime, he'd keep her safe, keep her away from men like Croft. And Dalton. The bastards.
If Dalton had won, he wouldn't have cared about her feelings, her almost-virginity, and with that, her pain. That only added more weight to Grant’s already heavy conscience.
“I asked you downstairs if you needed help. Why didn’t you speak up?” he asked, frustrated. This whole thing had gotten out of hand.
“You asked me if I knew what I was getting into. I did know.”
“You knew because Croft had given you to another man. That's how you lost your virginity?” The very idea made him want to strangle Croft.
She looked down at the ground, her shoulders slumped. “No. That happened before I came here.”
Huh. She'd given herself to someone, and from all appearances, the man hadn't done a very good job. She was completely clueless as to the ways of men and women. He scratched his head. “Then why didn’t you just say, ‘I was kidnapped from a stage and Croft bought me. Help?’”
“Croft had just hit me. I was afraid. How was I to know you’d really help me?”
“Because I’m the sheriff?” he asked, exasperated.
“You gambled for me, just like the others,” she countered.
“Touché. Did Croft say how much he paid for you?”
“He told me one hundred dollars, but I have a feeling that may not be the truth.”
“I doubt it, too. That’s more money than Croft would ever part with.” Grant scowled.
Tears returned to her eyes. “I...I don't know what to do,” Maggie cried, choking on her tears. “I think I'm trapped.”
“You're not trapped. You're coming with me.”
She stared at him, stunned. “What? Even after I held a gun to your head?”
“I should put you in jail for that.” He saw her pale at the idea. “But I can’t blame you. And I’m relieved you didn’t shoot me with my own gun.” He grinned, hoping to gain her trust. “I can't leave you here with Croft.”
The Lady and the Lawman Page 5
