And her orgasm was violent and swift. Her muffled cry echoed across the private field behind her little cottage. Wave after wave of sweet heat washed through her, and only then did her eyes flutter open to stare up into the emptiness of the sky.
She ignored the fleeting flash of loneliness as she gulped sweet air into her lungs.
And she never saw the figure hiding behind the massive oak in the meadow.
***
With a sigh, she righted her clothing and rose. She snatched up her small Stetson and planted it atop her head. Clay had called an hour ago to invite her over. The guys were meeting in the bunkhouse to watch the ball game and engage in some leisurely gambling.
And she was one of the guys.
Taking a run for the fence, she planted her palm on the top rung and swung her legs over, landing gracefully on the ground several feet below. Crossing to where Fury was tethered, she reached for the reins and leapt upon his bare back. In seconds, she was racing for the bunkhouse, the wind tossing her loose pale hair wildly.
Pulling in a ragged breath, she ignored the feel of the horses spine as it jolted against her sensitive crotch. There’d be time for that again later, she thought, looking forward to crawling between her sheets into her newly formed fantasy world. Her stomach fluttered, and she reached down and rubbed it to calm her nerves. Was it weird, was it completely sick to be fantasizing about a dead convict? She shook the thought from her mind as the bunkhouse came into view. It didn’t matter. No one knew. It was her own little secret, never to be revealed to anyone else, she assured herself.
When she entered the smoky, musty room, she heard the raised voices of her men. It was Sunday, and she always insisted that it be a day of rest and relaxation for the entire crew. Crossing through the long bunkroom with its many unmade cots, she entered the rear door, which led to a lounge area. A large television was droning off in the corner, a Texas Rangers baseball game on the screen. Worn sofas and chairs encircled it like a shrine. Two round wooden tables filled the opposite side of the room near a kitchenette area. A half dozen or so of her men were engaged in a high-stakes poker game, while the other table conducted a game of blackjack.
“Hey-ya, boss-woman” Cal Mueller, a baby-faced young man of about twenty, drawled as he dreamily watched his boss sashay in. “Wanna join the game?”
Tania scanned the wads of bills and stacks of coins in the center of the table, sorely tempted to join the fun. “Love to, but today, it’s just the ball game for me, Cal. Besides, you know I don’t take big risks like all you brave men do.” At least not anymore, she thought good-naturedly, relieved all over again that the marriage ordeal was behind her.
Cal grinned sheepishly, certain she was singling him out as the bravest of them all. “Nope. That, you don’t, ma’am.”
“I’ll raise ya’ ten,” Clay mumbled, sliding a stack of coins forward.
Pete Halloway, second under assistant foreman Clay Westly, spread his beautiful royal flush across the scarred table.
John Moll and Larry Spencer both groaned and slapped their loosing hands onto the table.
Pete chuckled gleefully and swiped the entire pot toward his territory. “Wanna go another hand?” he asked, his brown skin radiant with triumph.
Clay rose and pulled his empty pockets from his Levis, leaving them hanging to further prove his point. “And lose my ass next? I don’t think so.” Moving toward the kitchen where Tania was starting a fresh pot of coffee, he asked, “Got an advance in pay for a broke old man?”
Tania snorted. She placed the filter in the basket and scooped freshly ground coffee into it. “We don’t support illegal activities around here, Clay.” She sent him a wink. “You’re on your own, buddy.”
Nodding assent, he leaned against the counter at her right. He crossed his snakeskin boots at the ankles and adjusted his hat. “Hey, when you gonna drop the bomb on Mik?” Clay had been the only person Tania had confided in, though only after the fact.
Tania shot him a scolding glance as she poured the water into the top of the machine. “Soon,” she whispered, scanning the room where some of the men had begun to depart, while others remained locked in blackjack. “Now keep your mouth shut before someone hears and demands to know what the hell you’re yappin’ about.”
Clay had been at Paradice Ranch for more than half his fifty-seven years. He wasn’t the least bit concerned that anyone would demand anything out of him—except Tania and Mikhail. Lifting a flannel shoulder, he easily slid into another topic. “Yeah, right. Well, hey, I’m told the north gate is nearly off its hinges. I’m gonna ride on up there and fix ‘er. Wanna come along?”
“Really? Hadn’t heard that,” Tania mused as she lifted the coffeepot off the warmer and held her mug under the dark brown stream, inhaling the rich aroma as it dribbled into the cup. “Hmm, well, why don’t you just stay here, watch the game. I was itchin’ for a ride anyway. I’ll go on up and do it myself.”
Clay shrugged. “Suit yerself, girl.”
“Don’t I always,” she mumbled, replacing the pot and pouring a lengthy stream of cream into her cup as she gave him a sidelong glance. My, but he’d relinquished his duty to her rather easily, she noted with a vague wariness.
“That you do, Tania.” Clay chuckled softly. “That you do.” And with that, he moseyed toward the worn sofa and collapsed in front of the TV, tipping his hat over his eyes.
Tania’s lips curved as she watched him go. He deserved a nap in front of the screen. He was her hardest worker. She depended on him like no other, and cherished the years they’d spent together. He’d been a good teacher, a wonderful friend, and the father figure that fulfilled that void, that terrible loneliness deep in her heart. And Clay had been the one who’d hovered at her bedside when she’d been brought to the ranch all those years ago.
Downing the creamy, scalding liquid, Tania left the bunkhouse and led Fury to the stables. Swiftly plaiting her hair and saddling her prized mare, she tossed the saddlebags to the rear. Taking off at breakneck speed toward the far north perimeter of the thousand-acre property, she dug her spurs deep into Fury’s flanks. Leaning low with the steed, she reveled in the feel of the wind slapping her braid upon her back, the clomp of the hooves below her, the robust aroma and breathtaking sights of the rugged Texas land that she called home.
Yes, it was home. Her home, her ranch! And no one would ever be able to try and take it from her again.
Minutes later, she dismounted and examined the gate that Clay had informed her of. It bordered the Bellows’ property to the north, a tract of land about half the size of Paradice Ranch. Often in the past, they’d used the gate to relinquish temporary pastures during cattle branding, or as a route to intermingle studs on one property with mares on the other for breeding.
Strange, she thought as she bent to examine it, but it was in perfect condition. Brows drawn together, she wondered how she could have heard Clay incorrectly. Had she gone to the wrong pasture entirely? No, she was certain he’d said the north gate. And this was the only north gate.
Hands on hips, she spun and surveyed the land about her. But there was nothing out of the ordinary. Well, she would just have to ride back and find out what this was all about.
Just as she turned to retrace her steps, Fury began to prance, tossing his head in warning. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled instantly. Scanning the perimeter again, she saw nothing. Yet…she sensed something.
Survival mode clicked in. Her pistol! She had to get to the pistol she kept in her saddlebag. Heart thudding painfully against her breastbone, Tania raced toward Fury.
As she fumbled to release the strap on the bag, a twig snapped behind her.
“Hello, honey,” came the deep, scathing, familiar tone of her dreams. “I’m home!”
Chapter Three
Tania’s eyes snapped upward as she stood frozen, her hand halted on the saddlebag, her feet planted like tree roots. Slowly, she turned to face…her husband?
With a
wailing gasp, she lifted a trembling hand to her open mouth, eyes so wide, they shoved her brows deep into the brim of her Stetson.
“W-what are you doing here?” she croaked. Tears of fear glistened in her eyes.
“What’s the matter, wife?” Sam asked, taunting her as he ambled forward from his place in the nearby copse of trees. “Aren’t you glad your husband’s finally come home to you to consummate the marriage?”
“B-but—” She swallowed a huge, dusty lump in her throat. “But y-your—dead!” she insisted, backing up, only to find herself planted against Fury’s shoulder.
Sam halted mere inches from her. Looking down into the pale aqua of her eyes, he sneered, “Do I look dead to you, wife?” Lifting a hand, he tilted her chin upward so that the shadow of her hat rose to aid in better studying her shocked expression. He paused for a moment, blinked mockingly. “My, but you appear to have seen a ghost,” he further tormented her.
Tania was forced to look into the angry mint green of his disdainful stare. No, he obviously wasn’t dead, for she nearly burned alive with the heat that suffused from his tall, massive body. He wore a cowboy hat as well, though it was spiffy-clean and obviously new. Below the rim, she took in the devastatingly roguish dark looks, the superior expression, the snarl of his lips. And now, now that she was this near and being held merely by her own shocked eyes, she could see the small cleft in his chin, smell the scent of leather and man, hear the thud of his heart as he struggled to control himself.
Alive! her mind panicked. Her husband had escaped prison, and she was alone with him, miles from safety!
Whirling, she side-stepped and bolted in the general direction of the house. Sam was on her in seconds, clearly enjoying the chase like a wolf on the trail of a rabbit. He tackled her, gently rolling her to the dusty ground as her hat went flying, her braid coming loose in the struggle.
“Get off me, you beast!” she screeched, pounding her fists against his wide chest. “Let me alone!” Double fence and barbed wire, indeed, she thought. Amazed, recalling the immense structure designed to hold creatures within at the prison, she wondered how she could ever have felt that the poor excuse for safety could protect the law-abiding citizens beyond it.
What was she to do, for pity sake?
Sam’s body went rigged. Jesus, but he hadn’t expected the way she’d fit perfectly under him, all soft and pliant and…kissable. He got a glimpse of the terror in her extraordinary eyes as his lips descended upon hers. Christ, he didn’t want to scare her, but he was starving, utterly famished for want of her. Having been plagued by dreams of her tender lips on his, he took swiftly and without mercy. Her muffled cry of protest died in his mouth as he slowly slid his tongue between her lips, injecting shards of tingling heat into her system. He released a cry of his own when her hands came up to thread in the hair under his hat, and a faint moan escaped her.
He heard her breathe in and out raggedly. Like a medication he wasn’t able to metabolize quickly enough, Sam was drugged by her, tantalized by the feel of her small body beneath his. His lips did their very best to tempt her, like nectar to a starving insect. As if she’d given in to his tender ministrations and suddenly needed him like oxygen, she gripped his thick hair in her hands and held him to her.
Tania was lost. She wanted…what, she didn’t know. Reaching for him frantically, aching sweetly between her legs, she felt her hips rise instinctively upward.
When her apex contacted a rock-hard shaft in the crotch of his jeans, her eyes flew wide. God, what was she doing? He was an escaped felon! She was rolling on the dusty ground out in the middle of a field with a criminal of the most vulgar kind! Suddenly disgusted with herself, she clamped her teeth down sharply on his tongue.
“What the hell…?” Sam reared up as his hand slapped his gawking mouth. Tania took advantage of the distraction and scrambled free.
She sprang toward Fury, reaching for the stirrup that was so near, so near she could nearly wrap her fingers around it. But Sam was quicker, despite his sudden ailment. His hand snaked out for her ankle. In a split second, she was face down in the dirt.
Effortlessly, he dragged her toward him until he had her pinned in a prone position, her ample breasts pressed into the warm ground. Sprawled atop her back, he threaded his arms under her armpits. “Don’t you ever,” he growled softly in her ear, “do that again.”
“Get off me,” Tania cried weakly, panting with her dying efforts to escape the brute.
She knew by the intimate manner in which he held her that he was loathe to do so—and damn her vicious libido, but she was loathe for him to release her, as well! Her round buttocks were pressed against his hardness, and he held his hands, palms up, between her chest and the ground. Flames scorched her from her abraded nipples to her soaked V. If he were to explore her private area as he had in the prison room, he’d know she was a slave to her own carnality.
And he’d know he had not only a physical advantage over her, but a magical one as well. She couldn’t let that happen, not with an escaped felon!
He seemed to have to take a deep breath just to verbally respond. “Promise me you won’t bolt when I release you,” he demanded.
When she only continued to pant and struggle, he shook her. “Promise me!” he barked.
“You don’t have to break my eardrums,” Tania accused, grappling to remove his hands from her breasts.
“Then give me your word,” he commanded.
“Okay,” she relented, then gasp as she felt his thumbs brush her nipples through the thin fabric of her tank top. Humiliatingly, they sprang embarrassingly into taut buds.
Her body’s reaction did not go unnoticed by Sam. As she squirmed, further inflaming him, he slid his hand between her belly and the hard earth. He could hear her ragged breathing, or was it his own? He’d longed to touch her again, and he was going to do it right now. After all, she was his wife, wasn’t she?
Her whimper as his hand found entry into her jeans was more than he could bear. He was getting so hard, he’d soon have to release his zipper. She bucked against him, albeit more weakly now as his hand went lower still, and the softness of her buttocks rubbed erotically against him. Then, his finger found the treasure. She sobbed as he dipped into her swollen lips, then returned to the little throbbing bud. His other hand now cupped one breast, and he rolled the nipple between his fingers, pinching, pulling, flickering his fingertip over it.
“You’re wet, hard, ready for me. I just bet you’ve been dreaming about me, haven’t you, Tatiana?” he whispered hoarsely in her ear.
She tossed her head from side to side. But he wasn’t taking no for an answer.
“Haven’t you?” he demanded to know, never releasing the rhythmical assault on her engorged button.
Finally, as she forced a growl from deep within her throat, he found her mouth, and was delighted that she now strained to twist her head around so that she could meet his lips. Her panting breath was alternating with quick little bits of moisture coming from her tongue as she reached it toward him, clearly driven mad by the fact that her front side was pressed firmly to the ground, and she was unable to fully reach him with her mouth.
“I saw you on your picnic table,” he groaned as he rocked his stiffness against her rear. She cried softly, whether from humiliation or ecstasy, he didn’t know. “I saw you pleasure yourself. And I’ve stayed rock-hard ever since.”
The song of her orgasm filled his ears. He reined in his own, abhorrent to soil his pants, for there would be plenty of time for his own pleasure later. For now, he wanted to show her that he had the power to bring her to heaven. He wanted to prove to her that he was her man, and that she could not do without him.
When she went limp and he heard the soft gulp of mortification, guilt assailed him. Self-loathing set in like a wild Texas storm. Her suppressed sobs tore at his heart. He was a sonofabitch, he decided. Far worse than the felon she’d thought she’d married.
***
He suddenly
released her and rose to tower over her. Tania rolled onto her back and looked up into the calculating eyes of an angered, escaped prisoner. He stood staring down at her, thumbs hooked into the front pockets of his jeans, his hat still atop his dark head.
He then bent and offered her a hand. Tania took it cautiously and felt herself being jolted to her feet. Her legs were like rubber, weak and quivering. And her crotch burned with a renewed ache at the sight of him standing before her, an obvious hardened mass in his jeans.
“Why aren’t you in prison?” she demanded, backing away from him.
He stepped closer, making up for her gain. “I got out,” he said with a shrug.
“Got out?” she shrieked incredulously. “How can anyone get out when they’re set to die by lethal injection for…for…”
“For murder?” he supplied, his eyes gleaming with a related glow.
Murder! Oh, God. Was she an idiot, or what? But of course it was something as vicious as murder. Why else would they have been putting him to death? Why hadn’t she asked the details of his incarceration? And she’d married him? She was married to a murderer?
Her heart fluttered, sputtered into overdrive. She glanced around and, for miles, there was nothing but distant estates and prairie land; not a soul was within shouting-distance.
Carnal Games Page 4
