She reached out and grabbed his hand as he walked by, stopping him in his tracks. He looked down at her small shapely fingers. Her warmth seeped into him, thawing the ice around his heart.
She was so beautiful, and so his. Dalton had ruined the life of his sister. Grant had no intention of letting the man come between them, too.
Squeezing her fingers, he pulled her to her feet. Their eyes met, close, face to face. Her breath mingled with his. “Let’s forget about Dalton.”
He was desperate to make her his wife—in all aspects. The interference of their lovemaking by the murder had turned Grant’s desire to pain. His control was now close to snapping, and he didn’t want Maggie to suffer because of his randy mood. He owed it to her to take it slow, to teach her all there was between a man and a woman.
Grabbing her wrist, he pulled her out into the hot, summer day. Thoughts of her naked form pressed beneath his had him picking up his pace on the boardwalk.
“Are we in a rush?” she asked, a bit breathless.
“Hell, yes.”
They were crossing the dusty street when the first shot was fired. The second followed almost immediately, and this time the bullet hit the water trough behind them.
“Get down!” he shouted. He pushed Maggie to the ground, his large frame landing heavily on top of her. His weight was probably crushing her, but she said nothing.
As he pulled his gun from his holster, he looked up and tried to find the shooter. The first bullet had gone wide, the second hit to their left. The shooter had to be at some distance and using a rifle; otherwise they’d both be dead.
Someone shouted and pointed to the top of Croft’s. Grant spun around and aimed his gun in the direction of the saloon, five or six buildings away. No one was on the roof, but the false front made it difficult to see. All that moved were flimsy curtains in the open windows on the second floor.
Townspeople had ducked into the nearest buildings for protection, leaving only Maggie and Grant in the street.
“When I tell you, I want you to run into the Mercantile. It’s right behind us. Don’t stop, don’t look back, don’t do anything but run. Understand?”
He felt her head bob beneath his shoulder. He’d assume that was a yes.
He came up on one knee and fired toward Croft’s rooftop.
“Go!”
She sprinted to the Mercantile as he aimed his gun toward the saloon. He heard the door slam shut behind him as his gun emptied of ammunition. Dust settled about him and mud soaked into his pant leg as he dove for protection behind the water trough.
He listened, but could only hear his loud breath and thundering heart. A slight breeze made the air stir a bit cooler, but all was quiet. It appeared the shooter had made his attempt and had run. Fortunately, the man was a terrible shot. Cautiously, he made his way to the Mercantile, and to Maggie.
***
Grant entered the Mercantile and searched for Maggie. He found her as she peered above the counter. A rush of relief flooded him. Her safety was the only thing he cared about.
Running to him, she threw herself into his arms, her face pressed into his shoulder. She started to cry.
He held her tightly as he moved away from the window. She felt so good pressed against him. “Are you all right?” he asked, his voice a bit desperate, his eyes roving over her face, her body. He cupped her head and brushed her tears away with his thumbs.
She nodded into his shirt. After a minute, she asked, “Why...who shot at us?”
His hands moved up and down her back, to reassure himself as much as her. His chin rested on top of her head. “I don’t know who it was.”
“I don’t understand.” She lifted her head and looked up at him.
“I think I’m just beginning to,” he replied. His blood, which had been racing, was finally starting to slow. Somehow, they’d come out unharmed. Maybe a few scratches, but unharmed.
The shooter had been aiming for Maggie. Someone wanted her dead. The reason was clear, especially after the murder the night before. The men from the stage couldn't link Dalton to the murders, but someone must have talked. Someone else knew Dalton was involved, so he was killing them off one by one. But Maggie was the only person alive who knew what really happened at the stage. If she were eliminated, Dalton would have no witness to his crime.
Dalton.
The bastard was being careful. He was removing every possibility of implication through murder. She'd killed one of the men for him. Dalton had gotten lucky there. But that’s where it stopped.
As Grant stroked his hand down her silky mane, he was more than thankful they were both safe. Now they needed to track down their shooter, and to do that, they needed to go to Croft’s.
“I want you to stay here with Mr. Hodges.”
Her grip tightened on his sleeves. “Why? Where are you going?”
“I need to go to Croft’s. The shooter will have left a trail and it starts there.”
“The man was shooting at me, wasn’t he?”
“Yes,” he replied honestly, but worried about how she might handle that truth.
“Do you think it was Dalton?”
He had surmised as much, and was pleased by her logical mind. Beauty and brains. He was a lucky man. “Probably not. Dalton wouldn’t get his hands dirty with this. Someone else he hired to do the job, most likely.”
“I want to go with you.”
“To Croft’s?”
She shook her head. A blush crept into her cheeks and her hand absently brushed over his lapels, her thumbs tickling his skin at the opening of his shirt.
“Where...what—?”
Looking over her shoulder to Mr. Hodges, she darted her eyes to the shop owner and back to Grant. Pulling on his shirt, she stood up on her tiptoes and whispered in his ear, her breath enticing him as much as what she said.
At her words, he grabbed her hands tightly. “Got a back door, Mr. Hodges?”
***
Grant was none too gentle as he led her across town, darting through the back alleyway between buildings toward his...their home.
She couldn’t believe her boldness at his reaction. At the news of their intended trip to Croft’s, she had been disappointed with her husband’s focus. Hadn’t he told her since he met her he wanted her? Desired her? Of course the shooter needed to be brought to justice and be penalized.
Ever since the banging on the front door interrupted their lovemaking the previous night, her mind had been focused on one thing. Grant in bed. Naked. Sure, it was brazen of her. She couldn’t help it. She was in love with Grant and the realization only made her need for him grow. To show him how much she loved him, she wanted—no, needed—to give herself entirely to him. To make her his. With everyone trying to kill her, she didn’t want to die an almost-virgin. She didn't want her only chance at lovemaking to have been William's painful fumbling.
Reliving the words she’d whispered to him, she blushed. She’d never seduced a man before, and hopefully, her words were a start. From his actions, it seemed she had been successful.
Grant had found the back door to the Mercantile quickly. A poor fit made the door stick. He kicked the door open with the heel of his boot in one motion without releasing his hold on her. He slammed the door shut behind them with more vehemence than necessary.
Their pace was quick, yet careful. By the time they reached the house, she was all but running to keep up.
He opened the front door, pulled her inside with one yank on her wrist. The room was cool, light filtering through the muslin curtains at the windows. All was quiet except for their ragged breathing.
The intensity blazing in his eyes was enough to scare her. But it didn’t. When he placed one hand next to her head on the door and leaned in, she should’ve been afraid. But she wasn’t. He lowered his head, his mouth enveloping hers with enough heat to set her aflame, she let him come.
Her arms circled his neck, pulling him closer. The kiss deepened as he coaxed her mouth open and thei
r tongues met, mated. A groan bubbled from deep down inside her, making him angle his head and delve impossibly deeper.
Oxygen was not needed. Grant was supplying all the life giving she needed. His spare hand ran across her cheek, then lower, caressing her nape, then moving to the buttons on her shirt. Each button seemed an impediment to her, blocking Grant from her heated skin she desperately wanted him to touch.
Slowly, oh so slowly, the buttons were undone.
When he reached her waist, it started the climb back up, making small circles, swirls of a sorcerer’s wand across her flat stomach. He moved his hand higher, brushing over the bottoms of her breasts, lightning shot from his fingers and set her on fire.
His lips sadly left hers. Bereft, she cried out her disappointment. Mere seconds later, she cried out once again, this time with the sheer thrill of his tongue teasing her nipples. They hardened on contact and her cry turned into a scream.
“Yes!”
She bit her lower lip, trying to control the sensations he was arousing.
“I want to hear you,” he breathed against her heated skin.
His amazing tongue continued its ministrations as he dropped to his knees in front of her. Reaching up, he grabbed the fabric of her shirt at the shoulders and pulled down, bunching the material at her waist, all but pinning her arms to her sides. She couldn’t reach out and touch him, only feel his touch rake over her.
Desperate as she was, the thought of him leading her, taking her where he wanted to go, was highly arousing. Her head fell back against the door as he slid his tongue over her, taunting her, teasing her painfully hard pink tip. Closer, ever closer he moved, but never close enough. Her mind was focused solely on her neglected nipple, begging him to close his hot, wet mouth over the distended peak.
“Not yet,” he told her, his voice muffled as he kissed a path across her belly. Had she begged, demanded he suck on her nipple out loud? Reflexively, she arched her back in hopes of bringing his mouth home.
It worked. He worked her nipple with his tongue, his lips a soft kiss plying her sensitive area like he had her mouth. She cried out once again. It was impossible not to.
“Is this what you were talking about?” he asked, still at her breast.
“What?” Her mind was too foggy to think.
“At the Mercantile. You said you wanted me to kiss you again. Is this what you were talking about?”
Sweat slicked her brow, heat radiated through her entire body, a rush of sensation shot to her middle...and lower still.
“Yes!”
He moved to the other nipple, switching back and forth until Margaret was frantic, her legs ready to collapse beneath her.
There was nothing she could do but let him have his way. She wanted to run her fingers through his hair, to pull his head into her more, but she couldn’t. Instead, they bunched in her shirt and pressed into the wood door as his teeth tugged even harder.
“I want to touch you,” she said when she was able to catch her breath.
One minute the hard door was against her back, the next she was flat on the soft mattress. Somewhere between the two rooms, her shirt had been removed, and she was naked, Grant’s weight atop her, his mouth once again fusing with hers. She roamed her hands everywhere. Pulling at the bottom of his shirt, the tails came free of his pants and she was able to run her hands underneath and up his back. Tight muscles danced underneath her fingers, skin slick with anticipation.
***
It wasn’t enough. Grant wanted more. More of her touch, more of her body in direct contact with his. Struggling with the buttons running up his shirtfront, Maggie let out a frustrated groan. Breaking free, he stood, eyes raking over her face, then lower to take in her body.
“You are so beautiful.” His eyes roamed, taking in her firm, high breasts with their perfect pink centers. It had only been minutes since he’d touched them, licked them, but he wanted more. He wanted to taste all of her. Now.
The last button came free. He pulled the shirt off his shoulders and down his arms. He looked his fill of her white belly, flat and smooth, hot under his fingers and smooth under his tongue. Undoing his pants, he pushed them down his legs as his eyes roved even lower.
He was away from her too long. Damn the clothes!
Finally, he too was naked, and from the look on her face, more than ready to make her his...forever. Not wasting another moment, he returned to her, kissing a hot trail down her body. He moved his hands to follow, echoing the sensations his mouth brought. His fingers clenched her hips as his tongue circled her navel before dipping lower. She tasted so sweet, so Maggie, he wanted more. He wanted all of her.
He smoothed a hand up her calf, over a knee and grazed across her inner thigh, creamy white and buttery soft. She arched her back. Her hands moved to his shoulders.
“Oh!”
That was all he needed to hear. His fingers found her hot, hotter than he ever imagined. Soft wetness clenched him as they slid gently up inside. Her back arched like a bow, his fingers the arrow, adding more and more tension. She was ready for her release, but he wasn’t done. He gripped her hip, holding her still as she bucked and screamed as his mouth covered hers.
She was wild. Thrashing, her eyes closed and her hands were now in his hair, all but holding his face in place. All of her prim self-control was gone. In its place was an abandon he had only dreamed about. He'd expected some reaction from her, but hell, she was a screamer.
It was driving him crazy, her uninhibited arousal. She was more than ready for him, her release almost upon her. He had to stop so she could find that pinnacle once she was his and not before.
He kissed his way back up to her mouth as he spread her legs wide with his knee. He positioned himself and slowly entered her. Any objections she had, he swallowed with his kisses. In and out, he slowly moved, deeper with each stroke.
Beads of sweat burst on his brow and coated his back. He moved his hand came between them, touching her in the exact spot that made her scream once again as he lunged forward in one stroke, driving himself home.
She gasped when he stilled, their bodies fused together as one.
Through his lust-filled brain, he realized, in that instant, she really wasn't a virgin.
Up on his elbow, he looked down at her, stunning with her cheeks flushed, dewy with desire. Her lashes lay softly against her cheeks.
“Maggie, look at me.”
“Who?” he asked.
Her eyes gained focus. “William. Once. He took it from me.”
He held still within her. They were merged as one, but he processed her words. Realized Hunt had raped her. Taken something precious from her. From them. But all her actions since he'd met her, indicated that was all he took. Her passion had been held in check, packed away like a special gift, waiting for him to open and explore. That was just for him. Only him.
A tear ran down her temple.
“Hunt took your virginity. But that's all. He didn't, he can't take anything else.” He kissed the tear away. “You’re mine now. Mine forever.”
He started to move, to prove to her she belonged to him, to prove he was the only one who could bring her fulfillment.
“Say it.” He needed her reassurance as much as he needed to move.
A small cry of pleasure came from her lips and her eyes fluttered closed.
“Say it!”
Surprise made her eyes fly open. He moved his hand, still between them, in small, perfect circles to bring her closer to what she wanted, even as he continued to move, stroke for stroke.
“Yours. I’m yours.”
With that, he moved even faster, bringing them both to the brink of pleasure, then hurtling them over.
He felt her release as he watched her arch toward him. He drove deeper and harder into her to stoke his own fire and when he sought, then found his release, he called out her name. He lowered his body over hers and rested his weight on one elbow. He'd never felt such raw desire turn into such pure pleasure before
. He was sated and utterly lost in his new wife.
He was probably smothering her, so he rolled onto his back and pulled her into his side. She looked up into his face after some time and smiled.
“What's that smile for?” he asked, moving a curl out of her face.
“I...I liked that.”
He laughed at her admission and kissed her forehead.
“Good. I liked it too,” he said softly, lulled by sleep from having his long-anticipated pleasure sated. “Very much.”
He pulled her closer so her head rested in the crook of his arm. She turned over as he loosened his grip and settled in with her back to his chest, her body matching his shape, conforming to his. Pleased that she would shift to find a way for them to be closer, he tightened his hold, one hand naturally cupped to her breast.
He heard her even breathing, and realized she had fallen asleep. He laughed to himself. Maggie, his wife, naked and sated, slept in his arms. His last thought before sleep took him too was he liked matrimony very much.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“I’m going with you,” Margaret told Grant as he pinned the shiny star to his chest.
“No, you’re not. You’re staying here.”
“Why can’t I go to Croft’s with you?”
He lifted a brow as he looked at her. “Because every woman in the place will look like you right about now, and the man she’s with isn’t her husband.”
She was lying across the bed, the white sheet pulled up over her haphazardly, enticing areas of creamy skin exposed.
She waved her hand at him absently. “I’m well aware of their profession and the men they take to their beds. I’m surprised it slipped your mind.”
“Touché.” He walked out of the bedroom, leaving her to stare after him. Jumping up, she grabbed the sheet and wrapped it around her and chased after him. “Wait!
He spun on his heels and faced her. “Sweetheart, no. These men are dangerous. I can’t protect you if something goes wrong.”
The Lady and the Lawman Page 20
