Bound for Temptation

by Tess LeSue

  Time lost all meaning. The kiss ebbed and flowed. They slowed to gentle teasing, then intensified again, then relaxed into a slow pulsing dance of tongues. By the time they surfaced, the sunset was long gone and they were in the languorous salt-scented darkness. Emma could hear his ragged breathing. It matched her own. She was liquid with desire. He gave a shaky laugh and pressed his forehead against hers. She felt the tickle of his eyelashes against her skin.

  Then his laughter faded, and she felt the mood grow solemn.

  “I shouldn’t have done that,” he said. He didn’t sound regretful. Just sad it had to end.

  “I was the one who did it,” she disagreed.

  “You certainly did.” His breath was hot. Sweet, like boiled sugar. “But I got involved.”

  “You certainly did,” she echoed, running her fingers through his hair.

  He lifted his head and stared into her eyes. She felt it all the way to her toes. It was because when he looked at her, he saw her.

  “I wish . . .” His voice was full of longing.

  She knew what he wished. And it was a wish she could grant. If she had the courage. Or the foolhardiness.

  She figured she had both in spades.

  “Tom,” she said shakily, “there’s something I have to tell you . . .”

  25

  SHE WASN’T A nun.

  Tom felt like he’d fallen off his horse. Into a cactus.

  He should be furious at her lies. The woman was incorrigible. Every second thing she said seemed to be a red-hot falsehood. But the euphoric relief was too overwhelming to leave room for much else. And, to be honest, he’d already had his doubts. About her and Calla both.

  He could have whooped up a storm, he was so happy. His conscience had been killing him. It was bad enough to have lustful thoughts about a nun, but even worse was the fact that what he felt for her was more than simple lust. She took up all the room in his thoughts. He heard her slow Tennessee drawl in his dreams, and the sight of her every morning sent his blood leaping, even when she was in that smothering black habit. He was aware of her movements every single moment of every single day. He knew her mood, her stride, her habits. He knew that her favorite time of day was when she got to bake. She fed her starter like it was a child, talking to it as she stirred in flour and water. She kneaded and shaped and baked and glazed and was constantly speckled with flour dust. She smelled like hot bread. And everything she made was the best thing he’d ever eaten.

  When they reached the San Diego boardinghouse, after that torturous trek with the captives, he’d had a chance to think clearly for the first time in weeks. He felt like he’d walked through the desert for forty days. As he let the silence of his empty room fill him, his mind emptied. And it was only then that he realized he hadn’t so much as thought of Alex in a long time. In fact, he could no longer quite remember exactly what it was that he’d felt for her. Whatever it was hadn’t been this. This was like a wildfire; it tore through everything in its path, lighting up the world. Now that he was still, he found he no longer felt so wildly unhappy, so afraid of the sucking black emptiness that had been at the heart of him for so long. In fact, he felt anything but empty.

  He felt exhausted. But alive.

  As he sat in the bath, scrubbing off the trail dirt, he’d seen the scar on his hip was healing, and the sight of it brought that sinfully good sponge bath to mind. And once he started thinking about it, he couldn’t stop. Before long, he was lusty as a bull. Sister Emma seemed to have that effect on him. Alex never had. Emma’s sly tawny eyes and cheeky sharp-cornered grins sent him wild. As he sat in the tub, he felt a bolt of rage at fate, for giving him feelings for yet another woman he couldn’t have. And if there was anything worse than fancying yourself in love with your brother’s wife, it was falling head over heels for a nun.

  But it turned out she wasn’t a nun at all . . .

  It was too good to be true. He didn’t trust it.

  But he also didn’t want to jinx it. When she’d told him, all he could do was groan with relief and yank her closer. They’d stayed in the dark, on the shore of the bay, kissing late into the night. Neither of them wanted to break the spell.

  “How?” he’d sighed against her mouth. He was so drugged with her that he could barely find the words. “Why? Why are you a nun?” He didn’t let her answer. He traced her lips with his tongue, until she melted and he could plunge into her.

  She answered him word by word, between kisses. “Tomorrow,” she whispered. “I’ll tell you tomorrow.”

  That was fine last night. Last night he’d been happy to surrender to the maelstrom. They’d kissed like green youths. It hadn’t gone further. Both of them had been oddly shy. There was something bewitching about kissing her. He didn’t need more at that moment, and the kissing felt like fragile magic; he thought they were both afraid of shattering it, of letting reality back in.

  Eventually, they slowed and lay in each other’s arms, listening to the soft lap of the bay waters.

  “I should go back before Calla sends a search party,” she whispered.

  He had a thousand questions. But he didn’t ask a single one. They had plenty of time, he thought, feeling a spurt of joy. They had all the time it took to get down to Magdalena to get to know each other, lots of long September days in the mellow sun. There’d be hours in the saddle to talk, and even more hours late at night under the stars . . . his imagination fired at ways he could spend that time. He didn’t want to spook her tonight, or push her to talk before she was ready. She might be a liar, but she’d always had an understandable reason for lying. She’d tell him when she was ready. He was more than happy to be patient, especially if he could spend the time waiting kissing her.

  It had been hard to say good night. They’d stood in the hall outside her door, indulging in last kiss after last kiss. She tasted like red currants and spices, and went to his head like wine.

  He thought he’d be too keyed up and lusty to sleep, but actually, he had the best night of sleep he’d had in years. He fell asleep with his pillow in his arms, smiling like a fool.

  He’d never in his life been courting, but he figured this was exactly how it should feel. He felt like he was floating two inches off the ground. The next morning, he was up at cockcrow, hair brushed and teeth clean. He asked the landlady to deliver breakfast to the women, and then spent the early morning hours restocking their wagon.

  “You did all this?” she asked, astonished, when she finally emerged into the daylight.

  His heart jumped at the sight of her. She was fresh scrubbed and smelled soapy clean. She had flour dust on her dirty habit, he saw. He grinned, imagining her talking to her starter this morning and handing out batches of dough to the landlady.

  “You got flour all over you,” he told her, feeling shy. “The landlady said she can launder our clothes for a fee. If you don’t mind being out of the habit . . . I know it ain’t easy to wash.” He had a flash of the room back at de Gato, of her naked shadow on the filmy dressing screen as she soaked her clothes in tub.

  She flushed. She looked as bashful as he felt. “It is pretty dirty . . .” she admitted, brushing uselessly at the stains.

  “If you’re worried about being recognized,” he hazarded (because why else would she be disguised as a nun?), “you can always wear my old señora disguise.”

  She brightened at that. “I can, can’t I?” She grinned. “Forget asking the landlady to wash this, I might just toss it out! I’m pretty damn sick of being a nun. I ain’t any good at it anyway. I’d make a much better señora. Wait here and I’ll change.”

  Tom wasn’t complaining about that decision. When she reemerged in the black dress, she just about took his breath away. The dress, which had originally belonged to Doña Maria’s elderly mother, was terribly out of fashion. It had also been altered for Tom, so it wasn’t quite able to accommodate Emma’s
substantial curves. The bodice stretched almost to the breaking point over her chest. It made his knees weak. The shape of the dress drew attention to the dramatic nip of her waist beneath her full breasts. He didn’t imagine Doña Maria’s mother had looked anything like this in that stuffy old dress. Emma made the ugly gown look so alluring that Tom was getting up a cold sweat.

  She lifted the black lace veil and gave him a cheeky smile. “What do you think?”

  “I don’t think,” Tom admitted. “I can’t.”

  Her smile grew radiant. Goddamn, she was something. He’d not seen anyone so beautiful in all his life. When she smiled like that, she was like the sun breaking clear on a bleak January day.

  “You’ll have to call me Doña Elvira now,” she teased.

  “Why didn’t you get me a black dress too, when we were back at the hacienda,” Calla complained, yawning as she joined them in the yard behind the boardinghouse. “Now I’m the only one who has to wear one of these heavy things.”

  Emma cocked her head. “You know what, little Calida, why don’t you just wear one of your own dresses. Hec ain’t looking for you, and if there’s a posse from de Gato, they’ll be looking for nuns. So we probably shouldn’t be nuns anymore.” She looked down at herself. “Maybe I shouldn’t wear this either. Guess I should have taken better stock, huh?”

  Hec Boehm. Of course that’s why she was dressed as a nun. He remembered the gold nugget she’d kept trying to foist on him, and it all made sense. She must have a gold claim. Hec Boehm had harried Tom’s sister-in-law Georgiana out of a gold claim, and now he was trying to do the same to Emma. Tom felt a protective blaze of anger. He’d have to see what he could do about Boehm.

  “I don’t want to turn up in Magdalena as a nun anyway,” Calla said happily, beaming at the thought of shucking her habit. “That would ruin everything!” She disappeared back into the house.

  “I thought we’d take a couple of days here to rest,” he said, still feeling bashful. “If you’re interested, I thought I could take you to see the ocean today. The actual ocean, not the bay here. It’s only a few miles away, and we can be there in an hour.”

  She lit up at that, and he felt absurdly pleased with himself. So much so he started to blush. If this was what courting felt like, he’d been missing out all these years. But then, he didn’t think courting anyone else would be quite like courting Emma.

  “We could take a picnic,” he continued, feeling his blush deepen with every word, “and spend the day.”

  She let out a squeal and threw herself at him. She showered kisses on his face, eventually finding his lips and kissing him good and proper. His hands found her waist, and his eyes closed with pleasure as he pulled her in close. There was nothing but pure sensation. Warmth and pleasure flooded him. He could have stood there all day kissing her. And probably would have, if the landlady hadn’t taken that moment to throw out her wash water, muttering disapprovingly at the sight of them.

  “Go and get yourself ready,” Tom said huskily, reluctantly releasing his grip on her. “I’ll saddle the horses. Tell Calla and Anna not to wait up for us tonight.”

  She gave him a smile that made his toes curl and went skipping inside. He laughed. He felt rather like skipping himself.

  26

  EMMA WAS STUNNED. There wasn’t enough poetry in existence to describe the vision before her. A stretch of white sand led to a vast landscape of water in shades of blue she’d never seen before in her life. She didn’t even know what to call colors so pure. Foaming waves rolled in, breaking on the shore with a rushing sound that filled Emma with glee. The salty fresh breeze snapped at her veil, tearing it from her head and sending it sailing away down the beach. Emma laughed. The wind was welcome to the wretched thing!

  “It’s better than I ever could have imagined!” She turned to Tom, who was grinning at her pleasure. Lord, he looked fine when he smiled. The wind riffled his hair, making him seem even more boyish, and he was grinning ear to ear, showing off his heart-stopping dimples.

  He dismounted and held his arms out to help her down. She almost giggled. Would have, if she didn’t consider herself too old for giggling. She slid out of the saddle and into his arms. He lowered her slowly down his body, his green eyes growing hazy.

  “Well,” she prodded, “what are you waiting for? Ain’t you going to kiss me?”

  He was. And he did.

  And then he led her down the beach. Emma threw out her arms and laughed out loud at the joy of it. Today might be her best day ever. Save up the good times. Oh, she would. She was squirreling away each little shining moment, packing them away for when times weren’t so good. One day she’d look back on today and remember how it felt to be sun warmed and well kissed and happier than a body had any right to be.

  By some unspoken agreement, they avoided talking about anything of consequence. Instead, they traded funny stories and teased and spoke of nothing much at all. They took their boots off and walked more than a mile on the beach, chasing each other through the tongues of water bubbling up the sand; they collected shells and skimmed stones, and ambled back to spread a rug and have a lazy picnic. There was a lot of kissing, and Emma smiled so much her cheeks were twitching. After lunch, Emma stretched out with her head on Tom’s lap. She closed her eyes to the hard sparkle of the sun and almost purred as he stroked her head. Her hair was still just fuzz but it was better than being completely bald.

  “Your hair’s red in the sunlight,” he observed, as he traced her hairline.

  She smiled. Good. She liked being a redhead. She’d been worried it had darkened out to more of a brown, like her eyebrows.

  He didn’t ask why she’d shaved it. She would have told him, but she was glad to keep from solemn talk today. She rubbed her cheek against his thigh and enjoyed the heat of the sun and the feel of his touch. Enjoyed it rather a lot, enough to make her loose limbed and floaty in the stomach. Her nipples tightened as she felt that old lightning charge of theirs flicker to life. The air seemed to thicken around them. Emma heard his breath catch. And if she wasn’t mistaken, something was stiffening up rather nicely under her ear.

  She opened her eyes. Oh yes. He had that look. Like a lazy cat watching a bird. He wanted to pounce but hadn’t quite made up his mind to do it. This kissing was all very well, Emma thought, cheekily rubbing the back of her head against his stiffening cock, but, despite feeling like a green girl, she wasn’t one. She was a full-grown woman, who had the measure of her own body, and more than the measure of his. She was wet with wanting him and had been since their first kiss last night.

  She gave him a sly look. She didn’t want to play for pennies anymore. She wanted all in.

  “Do you know how to swim?” she asked. Her question came out like a purr.

  His hand shook, coming to rest mid-stroke on her forehead. “I do,” he said thickly.

  She sat up. “Shall we?”

  That old cat was just about ready to pounce.

  Not yet, cat. Emma planned to get the most out of this moment. After all, a girl could only experience it the first time with a man once. She might as well make a lasting impression.

  He sat frozen, his burning green eyes trained on her. “What are you doing?”

  She gave him a teasing smile. “Why, honey, I’m getting ready to swim.” She stretched, giving him the chance to anticipate what she meant. Then she lifted her hands to the high neck of the ugly black dress. There was a line of buttons, which ran from her neck all the way down to her waist.

  “Emma . . .”

  He was worried. He thought she didn’t know what she was doing. But, oh honey, she sure did.

  “Hush,” she told him firmly. One by one she undid those little black buttons. His gaze was riveted to her fingers. His color was high and his eyes glittered. He barely seemed to breathe as she peeled off the black dress. The wind whipped at her petticoats and threatened
to blow the black dress clear away. Emma tossed it to him. He caught it and gripped it with white-knuckled hands.

  “Wait,” he said, when she went to undo the corset. “You can swim in that.”

  She laughed. “I can,” she agreed. “But I won’t.” She unhooked the corset, taking her time. That always drove men wild. And this man looked no different. He was mesmerized. She dropped the corset to the sand.

  “Don’t forget to breathe, honey,” she counseled. Startled, he glanced up at her face. When he saw her smile, he relaxed, all at once, and the smile he gave her in return made her stomach do a slow somersault. He looked wolfish. And sexy as all hell.

  She fought the urge to rush. This was utter torture. But worth every slow, hellish minute.

  His gaze had dropped to her chest. Her nipples were too pale for the color to show through the white cotton, but their shape was clearly visible. Her aureoles were large and swollen, her nipples pushing at the thin cotton. Emma slowly undid the ribbon that held her chemise together and pulled the garment open and down over her shoulders, revealing her breasts. She heard him groan. She peeled her undergarments off inch by tantalizing inch, tossing each item to him as she was free of it. When she was buck-naked, she gave him a wicked grin. “Last one in loses!” she sang, turning and dashing for the waves.

  “That’s cheating!”