Luke's Cut

by Sarah McCarty

  “Oh my God.” She fell back, bracing herself with her hands flat against the wall down by her hips. Her breasts beneath the thin muslin of her camisole jiggled with her erratic breaths.

  “Perfect.” Just perfect.

  In a coordinated move, he slid the sleeves off her shoulders, leaving them halfway down her arms, binding her lightly with the material, knowing the implication was more powerful than the reality.

  “Oh God.” A flush climbed up her chest to her cheeks.

  She reached for a sleeve.

  “No. Stay like that.”

  With a nervous glance at his groin and then another at his expression, she lowered her eyes and stood there as he’d asked, exposed and vulnerable to his pleasure.

  She had no idea what her trust did to him. It was like an aphrodisiac to his soul. He took a step closer, towering over her as he hooked a finger under the square neck of the camisole. She shifted uncomfortably as he ran his fingers along the upper edge.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Her hands clutched at her skirts. “I didn’t think we’d be doing this today.”

  It took a second to figure out what she meant. “You’re dressed perfectly.”

  And she was. The thin undergarment was semitransparent across the front, giving him a tantalizing glimpse of large pink aureoles topped by equally large nipples. A lush bounty for his lips and tongue. He wanted to rip the camisole from her voluptuous little body. He settled for untying the drawstring.

  Keeping his movements slow and deliberate, he placed his hands over her breasts, centering each one of those hard peaks in the middle of his palm, spreading his fingers over the full curves. He left them there, letting her get used to the feel. When she bit her lip and shifted, he eased his hands under the garment. Squeezing gently, he drew his fingers up in concert, elongating her breasts as he did until he reached the tips. Not every woman enjoyed this, but he could hope.

  Capturing her sensitive nipples in a firm grip, he drew her breast out farther, suspending the heavy weight from the plump tip, gauging the pleasure from her expression, seeing the wonder at the glide of his fingers, the confusion as he held them out, the pleasure as the nipple took the weight, the utter shock as he gave them a jiggle. Goddamn, he liked to watch them jiggle.

  Her head fell back. “Dear heavens.”

  Dear heavens indeed. The shock of the connection shot through him like a lightning bolt, shaking his conviction. He’d promised not to take her too far, but she hadn’t made the same promise back. His hands clenched around her breasts, shaping the mounds, lifting them, preparing them. He wanted to rip the camisole apart and bare her to his mouth. He wanted to taste her.

  “Did you like that?” he asked as she squirmed, his voice a hoarse husk of sound.

  She didn’t answer. He didn’t push, just milked her breasts in slow steady strokes that stopped short of the puckered aureole. Drawing a little harder each time, stretching a tiny bit farther, reminding while denying.

  “Did you like that?” he asked again. This time he let his pinky graze the tip. Her whole body jerked. So did his cock.

  “Yes. Yes! Dammit, yes!”

  “That’s my darling.”

  This time he finished the milking motion with a steady pinch, increasing the tension until her lips parted and her lids dropped. “Right there?”

  She nodded. He shook his head.

  “Don’t hold back. Let me hear it. Tell me what you like.”

  She licked her lips, leaving them moist and shining. “Yes. Like that.”

  He did it again. And again. Relishing in her response. Her pleasure fed his. Her desire spiked his. God damn, she was a dream come true, intelligent, curious, passionate, adventurous, with a body that could bring a man to his knees. Was on the verge of bringing him to his knees. She moaned and arched up. He reached for his belt.

  Why is it never friend?

  Damn. Damn. Damn. Grinding his teeth, he reluctantly removed his hands from temptation. They were in a shed. Anyone could walk in. She deserved better than this. Pulling her into his arms, he righted her dress.

  She pushed it right back off. “Luke.”

  Did she have to say his name like that? As if he were the ache in her soul?

  “Right here.”

  Burning up in the same fire consuming her, clinging to decency by a toehold while she cut the ledge out from under his feet.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Then why did you stop?” Another blush and then a whispered “I told you I liked it.”

  “I know you did. So did I.”

  She licked her lips, tempting him. He could kiss her. He could control a kiss. Maybe. Sinking his fingers into her hair, he growled, “Come here.”

  The joy with which she welcomed his kiss undid his good intentions. In minutes he had her squirming and moaning his name. When her hand brushed his aching cock, the shock jerked him out of the haze.

  “Son of a bitch.”

  “What?” she asked, leaning back in his arms, hair tumbling around her face in complete disarray. Her dress gaped, revealing a seductive amount of cleavage. His hands shook as he tugged the edges back together. His cock ached at the insanity. She was ripe for the plucking and he was covering her up. He should be nominated for sainthood after this.

  “That shouldn’t have happened.”

  Clutching the front of her dress together, she whispered, “I don’t understand.”

  But she did. He could see the understanding creeping past the passion. Her chin came up. “You don’t want me.”

  It wasn’t the question it should have been.

  He drew the back of his fingers down her cheek. “I want you like hell on fire.”

  She blinked rapidly. “Then why?”

  Dammit. Were those tears? He couldn’t take tears. Tears tore him up and if he had to comfort her, he’d take her, and that wasn’t what she wanted. “It’s not right.”

  On an “I’m a big girl, Luke,” she pushed her dress and camisole off her right shoulder, exposing her full white breast to his hungry eyes. She had beautiful breasts with big nipples that begged to be teased and suckled. He’d like to make her come that way, to feel her pussy convulse around his fingers as he drove her over the edge with his lips and teeth. He ached to rub his cock over her tits, to sprinkle them with love bites before he fucked them. He wanted to brand them with his touch and his come until she couldn’t see him without remembering the pleasure and wanting more.

  “Luke?”

  Lust drove him a step forward before he caught himself. He was losing the battle. “Fuck.”

  She blinked at the expletive.

  He clenched his fists. “Cover up.” It came out harsher than he intended.

  A tear slipped down her cheek as she yanked her dress up and haphazardly buttoned it. Catching her chin on the ledge of his hand, he tilted her face to his. Wiping the tear away, he swore.

  “Goddammit, Josie, I’m trying to be your friend.”

  Swatting his hand aside, she glared at him. “Well, who the heck asked you to do that?”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  IT WAS TOO much to hope he’d be able to enjoy some peace and quiet. The front door opened. Light spilled onto the porch. Sitting in a shadowed corner, watching the stars populate the sky, Luke silently willed whomever it was to move on. Luck was not with him.

  Sam paused in the doorway, a bottle and glasses in his hand. He looked left and then right. There was no hope he wouldn’t spot him. The man was like a bloodhound. Sure enough, Sam headed straight for him.

  “That’s an awfully long face for someone who was sparking out behind the barn earlier.”

  Luke stroked the cigarette he’d pulled from his pocket. It would taste damn good right about now. “A little quiet seemed right.”

  Sam set the whiskey decanter and glasses down on the floor. Grabbing one of the wooden chairs, he tugged it around and sat down. Stretching his arms above his head and yawning,
he asked, “You going to smoke that?”

  “I’m thinking about it.”

  Sam leaned over and snatched it out of his hand. “Hey.”

  “I didn’t promise to quit.”

  Pulling a sulfur out of his pocket, Sam struck it on the side of the table. Before he could set it to the smoke, Luke snatched it back.

  At Sam’s inquiring look, Luke pointed out the obvious. “Doesn’t make it any less mine.”

  “You always were a possessive son of a bitch.”

  “Said the pot to the kettle.”

  Sam smiled. “Only about a few things.”

  That was true. There never really was any telling what Sam would care about, but when he cared, God help the one who threatened it.

  “So what has you sitting out here rather than sparking with your lady? Besides a bad case of frustration.”

  Luke grunted and put the unlit cigarette between his lips. “The fact that women have no idea what they want.”

  Sam picked up the glasses and passed one over. “Have a drink.”

  A drink didn’t sound bad, but a smoke sounded better. “Why?”

  Picking up the decanter, he motioned to the cigarette. “I can’t sit by and watch you break a promise for the first time in your life.”

  With a cock of his brow, Luke held out his glass. Sam filled it. “So we’re drinking to preserve my honor?”

  Sam leaned back in the chair and took a sip and closed his eyes. “It’s as good a reason as any.”

  He had him there. Sighing, Luke tucked the cigarette back into his pocket. “It was probably too stale to enjoy anyway.”

  Without opening his eyes, Sam asked, “How old is it?”

  “Three months, two weeks, four days and about six hours.”

  That got a crack of an eyelid and a sideways glance. “Not that you’re counting.”

  “Nope.” The first sip of whiskey burned in a good way. He remembered back to the first time he’d tasted it. That had been with Sam, too. But then he’d coughed and choked and, in effort to pretend it wasn’t burning a hole in his throat, taken another sip, only that one went down the wrong hole. The man they’d bought the whiskey from had had a good laugh. Until Sam knocked his teeth down his throat. Luke remembered the all-out brawl that ensued afterward and took another sip. That had been a good evening.

  “Now what are you smiling at?”

  “I was just remembering that night you introduced me to the joys of whiskey.”

  Sam smiled. “That was a fun night.” He finished his whiskey in one swallow. “Right now, I’m missing those days. A good fight takes the edge off.”

  Luke touched his glass to Sam’s. “Bella will be fine. Tia will take care of her.”

  “That’s what they say.”

  But Sam didn’t fully believe it. Luke understood that. He probably wouldn’t, either, if he had so much on the line. He also understood that Sam needed something else to think about right now. “Now, if Tia and Bella can just poke some sense into Josie.”

  Sitting up, Sam poured another drink. “What’s the problem?”

  “Either the woman doesn’t know what she wants, or I don’t know fiddly-squat about women.”

  Sam shrugged. “I’ve found if you pretend they’re horses, they’re not quite so confusing.”

  Horses? “Somehow I don’t think you’ve shared this theory with Bella.”

  “I phrase it differently with her.”

  “I bet.”

  Settling back into the chair, Sam cradled the glass in his hands. “It’s like that smoke you’re saving. Sometimes what you want just isn’t good for you.”

  “Josie’s good for me.”

  “There’s always the possibility that you’re not good for her.”

  It was Luke’s turn to toss back his drink and let it burn. “The damn woman doesn’t know what she wants.”

  “Yeah, that’s what Bella said.”

  “You’ve been talking about this with Bella?” He didn’t know how he felt about that.

  “I talk about everything with Bella.”

  “Everything?”

  Tapping his fingers on his glass, he confessed, “No, not everything. Not lately. I don’t want her to worry.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “You remember Tejala.”

  It wasn’t really a question. Who could forget? The bandit had ruthlessly ruled this area for years. Somewhere along the line he’d decided the crowning feather in his cap would be to own Rancho Montoya. To do that, he needed Bella as his wife, something he figured he’d accomplish by kidnapping her.

  But no one took what was Sam’s or Zach’s. Hell’s Eight and the Lopez men had ridden to get her back. The battle had been vicious and ugly, but in the end, Bella returned to her home. And Sam stopped resisting the best thing in his life and married the woman.

  There’d been relative peace for the last year or so, but from Sam’s expression, the peace was over. “I know damn well Tejala hasn’t come back. When you kill a man, he stays dead.”

  “Yeah, he’s dead, but killing him created a hole and now someone new has come to fill his place.”

  “That’s usually the way it goes. Does this one want Bella, too?”

  Sam shook his head. “No. He doesn’t think he needs Bella to take Rancho Montoya.”

  That sounded ominous. “Is that a relief?”

  “Not in the least. Bella is safer when she has value.”

  He had a point. “So what is it about this new bandito that’s got you worried?”

  Picking up the decanter, Sam refilled Luke’s glass. His chair creaked as he sat back. “He’s organized, Luke. Tejala, to put it bluntly, was loonier than a rabid coyote, so I could almost count on him going crazy now and then, but this one?” Sam shook his head. “This one is methodical. He plans everything out and sticks to his plan. His band is loyal. And while he’s not a sadistic asshole like Tejala, he’s ruthless in going after what he wants. He’s even picked off a couple of my vaqueros.”

  Luke knew Sam well enough to know what that meant. “So now it’s personal.”

  “It’s always personal when somebody touches what’s mine.”

  Kel came from around the house, strolled up the steps to sit before Sam. They looked at each other as if they spoke a language only they could comprehend before Kel lay down by the chair.

  “I swear that dog can read minds.”

  “Bella says so.”

  A second later, Luke became aware of another scent blending with the aroma of his whiskey. He sniffed. Cedar mixed with…lavender? It didn’t take a genius to find the culprit. “Did that dog get a bath?”

  Sam nodded. “Yup.”

  “Who the hell is brave enough to do that?”

  “Surprisingly enough, Bettina. She’s very meticulous about what comes into her house. A couple months after she realized he wasn’t going anywhere, she relented, under the condition he be brought up to her standards. And that meant flea baths.”

  Luke looked at Kel. “Poor bastard.” Kel licked his paw and flopped on his side. Luke swirled the liquor in his glass. He really didn’t want any more, but wasting good whiskey was a crime. “Was Kel agreeable?”

  Sam chuckled. “Not at first. I wasn’t sure whether Bettina was going to lose an arm or Kel was going lose a leg, but in the end, they worked it out.”

  The scent was building. He waved his hand in front of his face to dispel it. “Is that camphor?”

  “I don’t know what she puts in the shampoo, but it does the job. He doesn’t scratch and Bettina doesn’t gripe.”

  There could be beauty in compromise, but Luke wasn’t sure he could handle any more of Hell’s Eight changing. His world was already tilting on its axis.

  “Is that what you’re going to do with the bandits? Find a compromise?”

  Sam set his glass of whiskey on the floor. Kel lifted his head, snorted to clear his nostrils after getting a whiff of the spirits and flopped back down. “I’m going to find them
. And then I’m going to kill them and their damn leader. What else you do with that kind of folk?”

  It was a relief to hear. Sam was still Sam. “Not a damn thing.”

  Sam sighed. Luke could feel his frustration. “But it’s going to have to wait until Bella has the babies. I can’t risk leaving them here alone.”

  “Do you honestly think a few bandits are going to be able to defeat the great Sam MacGregor?”

  Sam snorted. “You might’ve made me out to be real fancy in those books of yours, but I’m human like anyone else. There’s always a chance the bad guy will win. You know that. I know that.”

  Yes, he did, but it was shocking to hear Sam “Wildcard” MacGregor say it. “Since when did you start admitting it?”

  “I always knew it to be true. I just didn’t care. But now I have Bella.”

  “And you care.”

  “More than is healthy.”

  “I’m not sure about that.” Luke had always thought Sam needed a healthier sense of self-preservation, and if Bella was what it took to for him to finally get it, Luke was all for it. That wasn’t change. That was common sense. “Well—” he set his glass on the floor, too “—we’re glad you’re still around.”

  Sam chuckled and propped his feet up on the railing. “Thank you, I think. Time for a change of subject. How are the Eight doing?”

  How best to answer that? “They’re…stabilizing. The Comanche have been pushed West. San Antonio is growing like a weed and life has become more…settled.”

  “That must be driving you crazy.”

  How had he known? “What makes you say that?”

  “You’ve always been there, Luke. For every one of us, you’ve been there. But I’ve noticed where you really like to be is where the excitement is.”

  “True. There isn’t a lot of excitement around Hell’s Eight anymore. We’re chasing horses instead of bandits, exploring our options in cattle rather than exploring new frontiers…”

  “You ought to join me at Rancho Montoya. Plenty of excitement for a man out here.”