by Debra Cowan
“My pleasure, Miz Kent.” In one fluid motion, he snagged her hand and pulled her to him, curling an arm around her waist.
His touch sent a shiver through her. Lydia knew she shouldn’t be dancing with Russ, but she couldn’t make herself pull away. The man smelled delicious, of spice and male.
She had been watching him all evening just as he’d been watching her. And drat it all, she’d dreamed about him the night before. About those big hands caressing her body.
He guided her smoothly around the kitchen, keeping perfect time with the song. Neither of them spoke. Russ’s gaze stayed on her face, but Lydia was suddenly aware of her very exposed cleavage and the brush of his white shirt against her skin. A muscle twitch in his jaw.
The touch of her skirts against his trousers, the steel-hard arms around her, the solid brawny chest had her wanting to melt into him. Which would be the worst thing she could do.
She was on edge. His heavy-lidded gaze made her want to confess everything to him—about her, about the operation. That was just silly. Her mind skipped around for something to say.
“Bram told me Catherine met Jericho when he showed up at her house shot and near dead.”
Russ stiffened. “Bram. You’ve danced half the night with him.”
She tilted her head. Russ sounded as though it bothered him. Well, he bothered her. Yes, she had spent a lot of time with Bram, mainly in an effort to keep her attention off the devil in front of her.
It hadn’t worked, regardless of whether she’d been with Bram or Matt or any other man. Lydia had been as aware of her business partner then as she was now. One of his hands huge and hot in hers, the other burning at her waist.
He pulled her closer, close enough that she could feel the hard muscle of his thigh through her skirts. It triggered another flurry of nerves.
“Bram said that after Catherine nursed Jericho back to health, she learned he’d really come there to arrest her brother. That he had been spying on Andrew the whole time he was recovering. Is that really what happened?”
“Yes,” Russ said tightly. “That’s all true.”
“Didn’t she feel betrayed?”
“I reckon so. Wouldn’t you? He lied to her for a long time.”
She considered the circumstances for a moment. “I guess it was lying.”
He snorted. “What would you call it?”
They were moving in smaller circles now. As they completed another turn, she said, “Since they’re married now, it appears she forgave him.”
“The woman’s a saint.” Russ eased Lydia an inch nearer, his hold firm. “Jericho was spying on her and her brother right under her nose. It would’ve taken me a while to forgive someone who was using me or my home to hide what they were really doing.”
The way Lydia was using the hotel for abuse victims. Russ had put his life on the line for her and other women he knew nothing about when he had killed Reggie Dawkins. Lydia wanted to tell him the truth, confess to him that she was using the hotel for a secret cause and tell him why. But she couldn’t.
Her hand tightened on the solid muscle of his shoulder. “Didn’t Jericho think Catherine’s brother was involved with an outlaw gang?”
“The McDougals, yes.”
With every sweep of her skirts against his legs, Lydia felt more helpless to keep her body from straining toward his. “So, he stayed quiet because he was trying to catch the outlaws. He didn’t want to tip his hand.”
“He lied.”
“You hold it against him even though he did it for a worthy cause?” She studied him carefully.
He had thought about Catherine and Jericho’s situation more than once. “He did save people’s lives. Some people, on the other hand, would lie because they were trying to hide the truth.”
She tilted her head. “That sounds like the voice of experience.”
Russ’s past with Amy sometimes reared up when he least expected it, but his reaction wasn’t a knee-jerk response. He splayed his hand wide on the small of Lydia’s back, drawing her in even more. “Maybe it’s just smarts.”
They were chest to chest now, her breasts plumping up between them. Too close for propriety, Lydia knew, but she couldn’t make herself step back. Even when he drew back and slowly ran a frank male look over her entire body.
“Beautiful.” He lifted a hand, touching her dangling diamond earrings, but he was looking at her face.
Lydia could barely breathe. “They were my sister’s.”
The pad of his callused thumb grazed a sensitive spot below her ear as he moved his hand back to her waist. A delicious heat pooled low in her belly.
They had stopped moving. She didn’t know if she had done it or Russ. Feeling the pantry door at her back, Lydia tried to get past his hypnotizing effect on her. She suddenly felt light-headed. “My head is spinnin’.”
“Mine, too,” he murmured.
The dark predatory look on his face had her nipples tightening. This man was dangerous. She tugged at her hand and he let it slip free. “Are you satisfied now?”
“No.” His deep voice rumbled over her as his gaze lowered to her breasts. “I’m nowhere near having my fill.”
Oh, lands! “What more could you possibly want?”
It was the wrong thing to ask. She knew it as soon as the words left her mouth. She pressed back against the door, her pulse scrambling when he leaned slightly toward her.
His blue eyes glittered and the raw hunger on his face made it plain that he wanted her. He wanted to kiss her.
And she was afraid she couldn’t—wouldn’t—stop him. Her voice shook. “Don’t. Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?” His muscular chest was an inch from hers, his legs spread wide to cage her in.
She knew she should push him away, duck around him, but she was rooted to the spot, trapped between a hard man and a hard door.
She could barely hear over the thundering of her heart. “You’re looking at me like you want to—”
“Kiss you?”
Swallowing hard, she nodded.
His voice lowered as he slicked a thumb across her lower lip. “Afraid you’ll like it?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
Russ was done waiting. He settled his mouth on hers.
It was no soft exploratory kiss. It was hot and impatient and deep. He told himself to rein it in, but when she made a sound in the back of her throat, it kicked off something inside him.
His hands spread wide on her back and he pressed hard against her as need swirled savagely inside him. Her mouth opened and she let him in all the way, her tongue stroking his. Russ ached clear to his toes.
His thigh slipped between hers. He drew in a sharp breath, trying to control the desire raging through him. She tasted like hot sweet flowers. Her breasts flattened against him and Russ wanted to touch her there so badly his hands hurt.
She was gripping the lapels of his suit coat then it registered her hands were in his hair, fingers flexing against his scalp. He lifted his head. Breathing rough and fast, he realized he was holding her up off the ground.
Every inch of her clung to every inch of him. She sighed and opened her eyes. “Mercy.”
At the dazed look there, he kissed her again, slower this time, softer, savoring the heated honey of her mouth.
She melted into him, her body curving to his like a shadow. Hell, this woman went to his head faster than Amy ever had.
Dragging his lips from Lydia’s, he nuzzled her jaw, tipped her head back so he could kiss and lave his way down the elegant line of her throat. Her skin was as smooth as water under his tongue. He was headed for the deep fragrant valley between her breasts when she wiggled, pressing against his erection.
“Russ.”
The breathlessness of her voice had him pulling back. She trembled against him, flushed, her lips wet from his, her breasts quivering. With one nudge, he could move that red velvet and bare her sweet flesh, have her in his mouth.
“What
are you doing to me?” she asked shakily.
“What I’ve been wantin’ to do for a long time.”
She’d never been kissed like that in her life. And she didn’t care one whit about anything except doing it again.
Russ let her slide down his body until her feet touched the ground. His blue eyes blazed as he bent for her mouth again. Lydia tipped her face to his, operating now on sensation, not sense.
He brushed his lips against hers then froze, saying in a low husky voice, “We’ve got company. Ef.”
Completely absorbed in the man who held her, Lydia hadn’t heard a thing. The black man’s voice penetrated then. She stiffened, her hands sliding from Russ’s neck to his shoulders to push him away. She heard Ef and Naomi direct people away from the doorway.
Lydia’s face burned. Hopefully, the only witnesses to the liberties she’d allowed were her friend and a man who Lydia believed wouldn’t tell anyone. Still, she was mortified and shocked at herself. She had never lost herself in a kiss before, not even Wade’s.
Russ’s face was taut with desire, color streaking his cheekbones. “Sugar, that was worth at least five dances.”
Oh, lands. He turned and strolled out as if they hadn’t just…just devoured each other. The only way she was able to stand without his support was by flattening her hands against the door behind her.
As he disappeared from sight, Ef and Naomi glanced at her over their shoulders, both looking concerned. Lydia stood there, her face burning, unable to make her legs work for a long moment.
Overwhelmed, startled by her reaction to Russ, she opened the pantry door with shaking hands and stepped inside as if looking for something.
She could still feel the press of his mouth against hers, faintly taste the champagne from his tongue. Why had she kissed him? Why had she let him kiss her? There was no hiding now that she wanted him.
He had put an ache inside her no other man ever had. If he kissed her again, Lydia didn’t think she could resist him. And she had to.
She had a purpose here, one that had nothing to do with Russ Baldwin. Getting involved with him was too risky to the operation, especially since he lived at the hotel. She had to think about the women she was trying to help. It didn’t matter that she wanted him. She couldn’t let her guard down again.
Russ had thought he’d gotten what he wanted from Lydia, but it turned out that one taste of her was not going to be enough. The next day as he helped his father and brother move cattle to the east pasture, he thought about that kiss. All damn day.
The fact that he couldn’t get her out of his mind told Russ he shouldn’t have kissed her, but the night before he’d been bested by an urgent driving need to feel her mouth against his.
There had been no thought, just keen thundering want. He might as well have been hobbled in place, because his legs wouldn’t move.
The taste of her had spread through his system like slow, dark honey. If they hadn’t been interrupted by Ef and Naomi, Russ wouldn’t have stopped. And Lydia hadn’t appeared to be of a mind to stop him. She had been enjoying it just as much as he had.
But the appearance of their friends had been a good thing. Russ had snapped to that realization once his body cooled down and his brain had reloaded.
Yes, he wanted Lydia—that kiss had practically singed his boots—but he was going to take his time over it.
He’d ridden out to the ranch today, not only to help with the cattle, but because he needed some space from her. Needed to be someplace where he didn’t have to smell her stirring floral scent. Didn’t have to see or talk to her.
Trying to get her out of his head had been as successful as covering a mare with a gelding. Lydia was still in his thoughts early that evening when he let himself in the hotel’s side door close to his office. Cold air followed him inside.
Thinking about her was one thing. What mattered was that he did the smart thing. And smart meant not letting Miz Lydia Kent pull his trigger and tempt him into doing something stupid like kissing her again.
As he walked to his office door, he saw her in the lobby with Ef and Mitchell Orr. Lydia was telling the blacksmith and store clerk she wanted the old rug returned to the store and replaced with the one she had ordered.
Even in that plain blue day dress, she looked beautiful. Her hair was up, drawing his eye to the elegant line of her neck and making Russ want to press his mouth to a silky patch right below her ear. Or, well, anywhere. His body was just as primed as it had been last night.
Ef looked across the lobby and saw him, lifting a hand in greeting.
Lydia turned, a polite mask slipping over her face when she saw Russ walking toward her. “The new rug is here. Mitchell brought it over as soon as his uncle’s store received it.”
Russ nodded at the slender blond-haired man who worked for Charlie Haskell.
“Miss Lydia,” Mitchell said. “Now that Russ is here, you let us take care of this rug.”
“Oh, nonsense.” She pushed back a loose strand of hair. “If we each take a corner, we’ll have the old one rolled up and the new one down lickety-split.”
Stubborn woman. It hadn’t been two days ago that she’d reopened her gunshot wound. Dammit. He frowned at her. “What did I tell you about that arm?”
Her lips flattened and her eyes went as cool as black marble. “I hardly think—”
“Your arm is only one reason why you shouldn’t be wrangling this carpet around,” Mitchell said. “The other is you’re a lady and we can’t let you.”
“All right then.” She smiled sweetly at the young man.
Russ’s jaw tightened. He palmed off his hat and laid his rifle on the registration desk. As he shrugged out of his duster, her gaze slid over him with the same heat he’d seen last night just before he kissed her. Tension coiled inside him. “Let’s get this done.”
She moved out of the way, standing between the sofa and registration desk. In short order, the men had the original rug bundled up and the new one unrolled.
As they arranged and placed and moved and rearranged according to her directions, Lydia and Mitchell kept up a steady dialogue.
About nothing, to Russ’s way of thinking. More than once, he saw the way the blond man’s gaze went over Lydia. As though she were his favorite sweet and he was trying to decide where to start nibbling. Judging from her unwavering smile, she either didn’t notice or care how partial Mitchell seemed to her breasts. At least the woman was covered up today.
Hell. Russ forced himself to relax the knotted muscles in his shoulders. What Lydia did and with whom was none of his concern.
She was none of his concern.
Even so, he ground his teeth at how easy she seemed with Orr. Russ hadn’t found one damn thing with her easy. Except maybe last night, which wasn’t going to happen again.
Finally, the new carpet was arranged to her liking in front of the registration desk. Russ and Ef helped Orr load the old one into his wagon. When they came back inside, Lydia’s gaze encompassed them all. “Thank you all.”
Russ and Ef nodded, then the blacksmith took his leave.
Since Mitchell was still there, Russ didn’t see any reason to stay. He excused himself and picked up his gun and coat then went to his office. Mitchell’s voice reached him.
“You take care of that arm, Miss Lydia. If I can be of any service around the hotel or for anything, let me know.”
Russ quashed the urge to say that the lady had him and didn’t need any help. But he had no claim on her and he wasn’t staking one.
“That’s very kind,” Lydia said. “I appreciate it.”
“Well, I mean it. For any reason. Any reason at all.”
“All right.”
Her soft laugh had Russ tossing his hat onto the desk hard enough that it slid to the opposite corner. That woman could drive him plumb crazy.
“Do you have a minute?”
Surprised to hear her so close, he looked over his shoulder to find her in his doorway. He hung his d
uster on the wall adjacent to his desk. “Yeah.”
When she stepped inside, he turned toward her, reaching down the inside of his leg to untie the leather thong of his gun belt. Her gaze followed his hands and the hungry way she watched had him clenching his muscles. He wanted to back her into the wall and kiss her silly.
He had no idea if she was aware of the invitation on her face, but he was aware enough for both of them. Dammit, if she didn’t stop looking at him like that…
“You needed something?” he asked brusquely as he laid his gun and holster on his desk then opened the cupboard to his left for a bottle of brandy. Something told him he was going to need it.
“I wanted to talk to you about last night.”
“What about it?” After she declined his silent offer for a drink, he took a slow sip. “I thought it went real well. You told Orr you thought it did, too.”
“Not the party.” She looked everywhere except at him. “I meant about what happened in the kitchen. With us.”
Taken aback, Russ swallowed wrong. He barely managed to keep from coughing as the liquor seared a trail down his throat. Well, well.
Her mouth tightened. “The…kiss.”
“Kisses, actually.”
She flushed. “It can’t happen again.”
Yes, he’d decided the same thing. He wondered what had made Lydia’s decision. The out-of-control feeling he had experienced after kissing her had brought his past flooding back. With Amy, he’d let his body do the leading and that had been a big mistake.
Setting his glass down, he came around the desk and eased his backside against the edge. “You liked it.”
“That isn’t the point. I can’t get involved with you.”
Now this was an interesting turn of events. He hadn’t counted on anything like this. Folding his arms, Russ crossed his feet at the ankles. He remembered how she had melted into him, how she had kissed him back just as ravenously as he had kissed her.
As he studied her, she edged sideways, putting herself behind one of his leather visitor’s chairs. “We crossed a line last night I’m not comfortable crossing.”
She’d felt pretty damn comfortable to him. He wondered what she would do if he up and kissed her right now. Not that he would.
