The words formed on her tongue, then stubbornly refused to spill from her lips. Her gaze misted over, settling on the sensuous line of his lips, afraid to look higher. She couldn’t stand to see the recrimination that must be floating in his eyes.
She swallowed hard. Her heart told her it was time Drake knew the truth. She would have no more lies between them.
Chapter 8
Hope’s fingers flickered over the hand that caressed her cheek before she nudged Drake away. Thankfully, he eased back far enough for her to turn and sit cross-legged, her back facing him.
She took a deep breath, then pulled the ties beneath her chin. The cloak floated around her shoulders, landing atop the floor like a blanket. She barely noticed. She was too busy concentrating on her trembling fingers as she slipped free the line of tiny buttons holding the bodice of her dress in place. She could feel Drake’s gaze through the coarse blue homespun, grazing the flesh beneath. She was glad her back was to him. She had no desire to see the disgust in his eyes when she showed him in action what her voice refused to say.
With the last button free, she pushed the ivory lace collar down over her shoulders and freed her arms from the tight-fitting sleeves. The fabric sagged, wrinkling around her waist. Now the thick curtain of her hair and the nearly transparent cotton of her chemise were the only barriers between her naked back and Drake Frazier.
A hen squawked in the distance as she worked the laces of her chemise. The white cotton joined the dress, gathering in a belt-like circle of material around her waist. She closed her eyes tight, hating the salty tear that dropped over her cheek, splashing on her bare forearm. With the last of her energy, she reached up and swept the lush chestnut waves over her shoulder, exposing her back.
Drake squinted, at first thinking the rippled stretch of flesh a trick of light and shadows. He was wrong. The scar, as long as it was wide, ran from the left side of her waist, across the delicate spine, and disappeared just above her right shoulder blade. Thicker than the rest of her skin, it had the puckered appearance of water into which a stone had just been thrown, except there was no distinct pattern to these ripples. Leaning closer, he noticed the flesh edging the scar was faded pink that gradually shaded into a more healthy peach as it neared the middle.
His heart tightened as though clenched by an iron fist. She had been burned, and burned badly. She was lucky to be alive. He had seen men die of lesser burns, whether from the trauma itself or from infection settling in after the healing process had begun. There was no risk of that happening to Hope now. This was not a recent injury, and new flesh had grown to cover the sensitive tissue and muscle beneath.
Physically, she appeared to have survived the ordeal with few repercussions. What the scar had done to her mind and soul was another matter.
Instinctively, he reached out and caressed the scarred strip of flesh. Her back stiffened beneath his palm, every muscle growing rigid with morbid anticipation. A small gasp escaped her lips at the feel of his fingers, and the sound tugged at Drake’s heart with a force he would never have thought possible.
“No,” she cried, her voice a desperate, strangled whisper as strong hands tried to turn her around. “Let me go. You’ve seen why I can’t pay you. There’s no reason for you to stay.” She hugged her arms close to her chest, rocking back and forth as tears flowed freely down her cheeks. She hated those tears. She hated them almost as much as she hated the scar that crossed her back and the painful memories it accompanied.
“You’re wrong. There’s every reason for me to stay.” His voice came out as a growl filled with raw emotion, as he succeeded in turning her to face him. “You’ve avoided me long enough, Hope Bennett. I won’t let you push me away again.”
“But—” She lifted her tear-streaked face, letting his warm breath caress her moist cheeks as he captured her gaze. There was no disgust in those sea-green eyes, no repulsion, no glint of pity. Only compassion shimmered there, and—could it be? Yes. His eyes were aglow with deep, burning desire that mirrored in her soul.
Slipping a hand beneath her chin, Drake’s mouth captured her lips. The salty taste of her tears was strong on his tongue as he slowly lowered her atop the cloak blanketing the dirt.
“You should have told me sooner,” he whispered against her lips, as his hand slid down her side to the gentle indentation of her waist. Her skin felt like spun satin beneath his fingertips. “Do you know how badly I’ve wanted you?”
“No,” she confessed in a husky, awe-filled whisper as his lips trailed down the slender column of her throat. “But I know how much I’ve wanted you.”
Her arms wrapped around the thick cord of his neck as she pulled his lips to hers. She kissed him deeply, clinging to his warmth like a drowning woman clutches her rescuer. His hair was silken beneath her fingertips, the curls at his nape, still damp with rain, tickled her palms. She was lost, lost to everything except the feel of his lips, the smell of his skin, and the gentle rush of his breath in her ear. Any protest she might have made withered like a desert rose beneath the hot magic of his kiss.
A throaty moan echoed in her ears as she tipped her chin, allowing him better access to the sensitive hollow of her throat. His tongue flickered over the soft skin, a moist caress against her hot flesh. Her fingers entwined themselves in the thick golden mane, but she neither pulled him away nor guided him as his kisses trailed lower.
With feather-light fingers, he pushed away the chestnut waves hiding her beauty from view. His gaze feasted on flawless perfection before his lips lowered to tease the shell-pink nipple.
Hope sighed and instinctively arched into his long, hard length. He felt wonderful, more wonderful than she had imagined in her dreams. She could feel his need pulsing against her thigh, and she shyly launched an investigation.
Delicate fingers slipped beneath the collar of his shirt, and Hope savored the feel of him as her hands slipped over his shoulders and back. His flesh was hard, firm, deliciously enticing, every muscle she encountered alive with motion.
The buttons of his shirt slipped free with amazing ease, and soon she found more pleasures to be explored. The taut stomach tightened then relaxed as she let her hands rove over that sun-kissed stretch of flesh. The back of her fingers strayed over the side of his ribs, slipping beneath his arms until she was again free to explore the sinewy back.
And that neck! How could she resist such an inviting cord of flesh? His skin was deliciously warm beneath her lips, and tasted of fresh rainwater. Her tongue flickered over the sensitive ear, playfully nibbling on the soft lobe before shifting her exploration to its inner recesses.
Drake moaned softly and buried his face in the luxurious blanket of her hair. No sooner had his lips left her than his hand took up the investigation, his palm cupping a delicate mound of flesh. Sparks of delight twisted up Hope’s spine as she arched against him. Her fingers clung to the sun-kissed back as she tried to melt her body into his.
The rock-solid weight of him covered half her body, pushing her against the hard earth. The sensation ignited new sparks of awareness. A tug at the clothes around her waist made her lift her hips enough for the dress and chemise to be peeled away. In a matter of seconds, he had stripped away their clothes and tossed them into a crumpled heap by her feet.
The cool afternoon air washed over her body. Shivering, she curled into Drake, seeking and receiving his warmth.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispered into her hair, as he pulled her close against his side.
For the first time in her life, Hope believed it. In his arms, she felt beautiful.
His hand slipped down her back, over the scarred flesh, settling on her hip. He let his tongue slide in a hot, moist path down the column of her throat, hesitating on the hollow where her pulse beat out a frantic tempo, then slipping lower. The soft curves pressing against him were enough to drive Drake to distraction, but he held his fervent passion in check, slow and steady, as his lips settled on a rosy bud.
Hope tangled
her fingers in his hair. A throaty moan escaped her softly parted lips as she closed her eyes and surrendered herself fully to the warm, throbbing need that pooled in her stomach and spread lower at an alarming rate.
One foot slipped up the back his calf. The coarse golden curls that clung to the skin there tickled the delicate arch of her sole. Her foot rose higher, gliding over a firm thigh before she wrapped her leg around the lean hips. A tremor passed through him, and she savored the provocative realization that her effect on him was equal to the tantalizing effect he had on her. The knowledge was heady. It fed her determination to return the pleasure his caresses brought, tenfold.
Coyly at first, she extended her range of exploration. The feel of his skin gliding beneath her palm brought forth a tingling sensation all its own. It was enough encouragement for her timid strokes to grow bolder. The firm path of his side passed beneath her hand, as did a sinewy hip and the back of an upper thigh.
She gloried in the feel of his weathered flesh, the clean rainwater scent of him. His fingers forged a trail of their own, and she quivered wherever he touched her. His strokes seared a torrid path between the sensitive flesh of her inner thighs. She opened to him without restraint, arching against his hand.
Skillfully, he kindled her passion until Hope thought she would go crazy with want. Shifting his weight, his hands retreated, gripping the sides of her hips. His mouth caught her gasp of surprised ecstasy as he slipped between her thighs, plunging into the warm, moist recess of her soul.
Hope stiffened. Bitter disappointment formed crystal tears in her eyes, as the sharp pain pierced her. What cruel trick of nature was this?
Drake shifted so his weight was supported by the elbows flanking her shoulders. He lifted his head and lost himself to the tear-filled, brown velvet gaze. Once he was sure the pain had subsided, he began carefully moving inside her. His heart plunged, then rose to the highest peak when he saw the betrayal leave her eyes, replaced by a hooded passion that made her gaze come alive once more.
A tempo older than time was struck, and she met each thrust with a frantic desire. Every beat of his heart led her higher, pulling her into a spiral of ecstasy that promised eternal gratification with each glorious thrust and retreat.
They topped the clouds as one, soaring together, their passion simultaneously exploding into pulsating bursts of rapture.
Hope clung to the wondrous sensations as long as she could, reluctant to abandon the waves of satisfaction that washed over her body. Her body basked in the aftermath of the deliciously erotic sensations, and when Drake groaned and collapsed atop her, spent, she accepted his weight without complaint. Never in her life had she felt anything as wonderful as the male hardness pressing against her.
Wrapping her arms around his back, she hugged him close. She was afraid to let go, afraid she would wake to find their love had been nothing more than a dream.
“No,” she cried when he started to pull away. Her voice was still low, still husky from newly quenched passion. “Please, don’t leave me. Not yet.”
Every muscle in his body tightened as he withdrew from her softness. Relaxation returned only after he had stretched out on the cloak of black wool and pulled to his side the soft body that glowed with the contentment of their lovemaking.
“I’m not going anywhere, sunshine,” he whispered, his breath in her ear as he nuzzled her neck.
Hope snuggled against him, provocatively draping a leg over his thighs as she pulled the edge of her cloak over the lower half of their bodies. There wasn’t enough free material to cover them completely. It didn’t matter. The feel of his warm arms around her, and the drumming of his heart beneath her ear was all she needed. The air around them could have registered thirty degrees below zero, and still Hope doubted the blood pumping through her veins would have acknowledged the cold.
“Keep wiggling around like that and Luke will have to build another shed. We won’t be leaving,” he teased his voice thick with passion.
Hope grinned. Her teeth nipped playfully at a hard male nipple as she reached across him and plucked up a stalk of hay. Slowly, she ran it over the rich pelt of hair lining his chest.
Drake closed his eyes and sucked in a ragged breath, groaning as the piece of hay traveled the taut line of his stomach; and lower still.
Her wrist was snatched in a steely grip. In one lithe motion she was tossed onto her back, with Drake’s eagle sharp face looming above.
Instead of fear, her gaze twinkled with mischief. “Why, Mistah Fraziah, whatever are ya doin’?” She batted the thick fringe of lashes as her dark brows rose in feigned innocence. “Surely y’all wouldn’t think a takin’ advantage of a sweet little gal like mahself?”
“That’s exactly what I’m thinking. Come here,” he growled, snatching the stalk of hay from her fingers and lowering his lips to hers.
She giggled as she surrendered herself to the searing demand of his kiss, and his own sensuous form of revenge.
Sitting with his back propped against the sturdy trunk of a maple, Tyrone Tubbs pulled one knee up and rested his elbow atop it. A half-smoked cigar dangled from his fingers and a cloud of smoke poured from his lips, floating up to join the gray thunderclouds marring the sky.
An occasional drop of rain threaded its way through the branches overhead, but for the most part the lush ceiling of leaves kept him dry, if not warm. It didn’t matter. Wet or dry, warm or cold, his job was almost at an end. By tomorrow he’d be aboard a ship set for Boston, eager to claim the second portion of his fee, money for a job well done. And by tomorrow, his job would be done.
Sighing, Tubbs took another drag off the cigar. It was a cheap brand of tobacco that left a bitter taste on his tongue. Today it was all he could afford, but tomorrow would be different. Tomorrow he’d have the money to indulge in a box of the richest cigars San Francisco had to offer. It would be his first order of business, after he’d booked passage on the elegant clipper ship slotted to set sail at noon.
Tomorrow, Tubbs thought. Exhaling, he tossed the distasteful cigar into a puddle. He watched as the glowing tip sizzled out.
Glancing over his shoulder, his gaze narrowed on the largest in the long row of grubby cabins. Smoke curled in wisps from the stone chimney, carrying with it the tangy scent of baking pie. A rare delicacy, to be sure. Too bad they wouldn’t have the chance to enjoy it. An evil smile curled over his lips as he tapped a finger against the jug by his side.
As on the nights before, Frazier had returned with the rest of the men; they’d come home earlier tonight because of the foul weather. He’d been in there almost half an hour now. These days the gunslinger took the majority of his meals with the Bennetts. Chances were, he wouldn’t be out soon. But Tubbs wasn’t a man who took chances. Especially life-threatening ones. He’d learned that lesson weeks ago.
Taking potshots at the gunslinger from a hotel window as the man was riding out to the mines hadn’t been one of Tubbs’ most brilliant ideas. At the time, it had been an opportunity too good to pass up. Now he could see it for the stupid move it was. Luck was the only thing that had kept Frazier from seeing and recognizing him—luck and distance. Tubbs wouldn’t stretch his luck a second time.
Two weeks, that mistake had cost him. Two weeks of lying low, waiting for Frazier to make a mistake. Two weeks of skulking in alleys and spending his money gaming and whoring in The Brass Button Tavern while he marked Frazier’s comings and goings. Looking back, he had to admit the time had paid off. He now knew Drake Frazier’s schedule better than the gunslinger knew it himself. And he knew Frazier’s weakness.
His eyes glistened when he thought of the arrogant woman who’d gypped him out of four hundred bucks worth of nuggets. His fingers itched over the cloth he’d stuck in the glass jug’s neck. He wouldn’t be sorry to see the last of that little bitch. His only regret was that he wouldn’t get the payment he deserved for getting rid of her as well.
Tubbs chuckled as he stuck a piece of grass between his teeth. A dro
p of rain fell off a leaf, splashing on the worn leather of his hat. No, he wouldn’t get a thing for taking her out. He’d just have to drown his regret at that slight with the money he’d earn for ridding the world of Drake Frazier.
Fifteen minutes. He’d give the gunslinger fifteen minutes to show his ugly face. If he wasn’t out by then, it was a safe enough bet the guy wouldn’t leave the cabin until well into the night.
Again, Tubbs chuckled. The ominous sound rivaled the nervous whicker of the horses he’d tethered behind the granite boulder. They were workhorses, each one as poor an excuse for horseflesh as ever he’d seen. But they had been cheap, he reminded himself as he spit out the grass. They might be old nags ready for slaughter, but they’d do the job just fine.
He pulled another stale cigar from his pocket and stuck it in his mouth, rolling it over his tongue before clamping it between his teeth. Yup, fifteen minutes and Drake Frazier wouldn’t be going anywhere.
“I didn’t bring you out here for this,” Hope said, her voice a tentative whisper, as she let her fingers trace a path down his breastbone. Her fingertips stopped just short of his navel and she chanced a glance at him from beneath hooded lashes.
“You brought me out here to show off those wretched hens,” he reminded her lightly. Snatching up her hand, he brought the fingers to his lips. Their gazes met, and when Drake saw the serious glint in her dark eyes, his expression sobered. “Why did you bring me out here, sunshine?”
The newborn honesty between them felt right, too fragile to tamper with. She rested her chin atop the hand pillowed on his chest as she sent him a small half-smile. “I wanted to tell you I planned to welch on the rest of our deal.”
One golden eyebrow cocked high in that broad forehead and she couldn’t resist the temptation to reach up and brush the tousled hair from his brow. “Our deal,” he said, his tone low and guarded. “It always comes back to that, doesn’t it?”
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