“At the moment.” He kissed the inside of her wrist. “Until I do this . . .” He glided his teeth over her delicate tendons and she moaned.
“Wretch.” She blinked at him, her breasts rising and falling faster. “Have you done things like this before?”
“Frequently.”
“Ooh!” Her eyes sparkled. “Secrets to learn another day.”
She softly stroked his cheek and he leaned his head into the delicate caress.
“Such a close-cropped beard.” she whispered. “It’s very soft.”
“The barber enjoys my regular patronage.”
“I enjoy the results, even though they’re not fashionable.” Her husky voice hinted at a shared conspiracy. Her slender finger slipped inside his starched collar. “Do you shave here, too? Your skin is so smooth—but your chest felt prickly through your nightshirt.”
“Good Lord, didn’t that idiot Holbrook teach you anything?”
“We only had one night together. Besides, you’re much more enticing.” Color burned in her cheeks and lust flared in her eyes before she veiled them.
Justin’s pulse leaped. Sweet Lord, had she finally, completely forgotten her initial mistrust of him? Maybe he did stand a chance to win her.
“Well, now, I do feel the temperature rising in here.” He cupped her jaw and stroked the delicate pulse points at the back of her head. Her hands moved restlessly over his chest and arms, in the untutored, hungry pattern of an eager yet uncertain woman. He smiled privately and began to unbutton her jacket. He’d had a lifetime’s training for this.
“Take off yours first.” She caught his wrist. “I want to feel more of you.”
His eyes opened wide before he gave her a very predatory grin. “As my lady commands.”
Charlotte flushed but held her ground. She watched eagerly as he rapidly stripped off his coat and hung it on the coat tree. He turned to face her—and God help him, he paused nervously. His cock was thick and tense against his thigh.
Would she spook over his guns or his lust?
Her eyes darkened. “Take your vest off,” she whispered huskily.
His cock surged happily.
He removed the scrap of dark silk even faster than the heavy broadcloth. But he hung his weapons belt with his Navy Colts over the leather settee where they’d be within easy reach. Even if they frightened her, he had to protect her.
Now only fine linen hid his chest from her and his cock was shouting its eagerness to greet her.
She held out her hand to him.
“Nevermore!” shouted his damn customers, as if they were speaking about any future for him with Charlotte.
Even so, he kissed her again and her nails raked down his back as if she wanted to devour him. Slowly unbuttoning her fine wool jacket to further increase her excitement took an infinity of discipline.
Ah, but when he finally opened the dove grey cloth to bare her, it was like revealing a flower. Her breasts rose and fell rapidly above her chemise’s ruffled lace and ribbon. Her sweet curves blossomed above a blue satin corset which disappeared into her skirt.
His fingers itched to yank it open, peel everything else off, and bury himself within her. Impossible, no matter what the fire hurling through his blood screamed.
Wild and decadent, just as he’d always dreamed.
He kissed her breasts and traced every delectable salty trail of sweat and lust trickling across them. She moaned and pulled his head closer.
He rumbled agreement and strummed her nipples with his fingers until they became sensitive, aching peaks. Damn it, he wanted her to feel that her corset was just as much a prison as his damn trousers were for his cock.
She slid down the settee to lie half under him, flushed and panting, utterly desirable. Lust jolted through his veins, from his lungs to his balls. His chest was hot and tight, and even his shirt’s fine linen rasped his suddenly sensitive skin.
He tipped one of her breasts out of its silk and steel cage. She gasped but kneaded his shoulders more deeply, her hands now moving to the same steady beat as her writhing hips—and the blood pulsing in his cock.
“Hurry,” she whispered. Her sorceress’s voice was husky and irresistible.
It only took a moment for his hand to find its way under her skirts. She was wet, so wet, and her cream hot as the fires of life. She tightened her legs around his finger.
“More.” Her eyes met his under their heavy lids. She ran her tongue over her lips before she could force the remaining words out. “Not just your fingers.”
“Here? Are you sure?”
Her eyes had drifted shut again, but she nodded vehemently and clumsily tried to pull him closer.
Responsive as she was, what the hell would she be like with more experience? Was there anything she wouldn’t do? Better finish this before his cock tried to find out. He’d already dreamed about fucking from behind.
He fumbled for a condom among the shotgun shells in the table drawer. He was only slightly more steady when he unbuttoned his fly and sheathed himself.
“Beautiful,” Charlotte murmured and fondled his hip.
His heart stopped. All his blood rushed to the base of his spine, desperate to join her in the most primal manner possible.
An instant later, he knelt between her legs. Some faint vestiges of intelligence were thankful that this settee was damn sturdy and disinclined to creak.
He teased her and fondled her through the slit in her drawers until her pussy was ripe and wet and eager for him. He whispered to her about what he’d do with her pearl when they had more time, about how he’d eat her like the sweetest candy, and savor her juices like the greatest wine.
The scent of her musk rose around him, hot and sweet to match her lavender.
She slid her small hand down his belly and gently pumped his cock. “Justin.”
That guttural growl . . .
Why the hell was he waiting?
He gathered her hips in his hands and lifted her onto his cock. By some miracle, probably lust, he entered easily. He tried to pause, to give her time to stretch. But the little sorceress grabbed his shoulders, arched her back, and drove herself straight down onto his cock. Her silky intimate hair tickled his thighs and her cotton drawers rustled across his trousers. Her little white teeth were a sharp crescent on her lower lip.
His heart leaped into his throat. His balls were tucked high and tight, somewhere halfway up his cock. If he moved, he’d blow into orgasm like a sixteen-year-old kid.
She took a deep breath—and lace rustled across her unfettered breasts. He tried to close his eyes.
She took another—and those unskilled, inside muscles of hers shifted around him into a new pattern. This time, he did close his eyes.
She took another, then rose up—and he prayed. He honestly didn’t think anybody, even a gentleman, could let her go. She came down on him again with a happy sigh.
This time, he caught her by the waist and heaved himself upward to join her in the most primal stroke possible. She slammed herself back down on him—and climaxed on a long, rapturous sob.
The sound triggered his own rapture. He exploded into ecstasy as if an artillery barrage had erupted throughout his body. Long pulses drummed every last bit of seed down his spine, out of his balls, and into her. Stars burst behind his eyes and he shuddered over and over again.
He was vaguely glad afterward that the cancan’s dancers and wild music had hidden any noise they’d made. Of course, if anybody commented, he’d live up to his reputation and show them how unhealthy it was to hurt her feelings.
He was also happy that Charlotte’s complete relaxation allowed her to sleep in his arms without any uncomfortable questions or small talk.
Unfortunately, it also allowed him time to think about what he’d lose when she left.
He couldn’t keep her here, since Johnson would be coming after her. The stubborn bastard would probably send her on to Simmons even if the brute had already left town.
He
couldn’t court her for marriage, at least not yet. While she was trapped here in Wolf Laurel, he was the only man who would protect her. If she said yes to his proposal, he’d never be sure she hadn’t just been making the best of a bad situation. He didn’t want that uncertainty hanging over their heads in the future.
Marriage. Love. Yes.
He smiled faintly. He wanted both. Hell of a time to figure that out about himself.
Charlotte needed to be courted like any properly brought-up young lady he’d introduce to his mother. Pulling that off would be harder than getting her out of town alive.
Ike Johnson kicked his safe’s door shut behind him. Damn it, why did Talbot have to be right about how much promoting the poker tournament would cost? He’d lost money on the damn thing, especially after pampering the highfaluting players who were the so-called main attractions .
The floor creaked. Ike stiffened, then quickly smoothed on a hospitable smile.
“Evening, Seward.” The damn town councilman weighed more than a two-horse hitch—and his mind moved faster than one. He ran the biggest bank in town and held Ike’s loan.
“Evening, Johnson.” He probably thought his flat Ohio accent sounded powerful. “Do you have the charter yet?”
“No, but I expect to have it before Simmons leaves.” Ike ground his teeth. His father always said not to yell when stating the obvious but sometimes that was fucking hard. “If he gave it to us before he makes a thorough inspection, the rest of the committee might suspect something, even though his is the only vote that counts.”
“True.” Seward picked up an inkwell from Ike’s desk and turned it around in his hand. “What will happen if he doesn’t receive the right bribe?”
Ike stiffened. “He’ll have it.”
“Are you certain?”
“Completely.” Ike spread his hands. He’d deliver the bitch if he had to burn down the Hair Trigger Palace to find her.
“If Wolf Laurel doesn’t become the county seat, it’s hard to see how you’ll make the payments on your loan.”
“There’s no due date on the loan.” Ike’s throat was suddenly very dry.
The Northerner’s narrow eyes stared at him like a wolf eyeing a scrawny deer. “No, the date is blank because the bank gets to fill it in.”
“You conniving bastard.”
“Not at all. You received an extremely advantageous deal.” He tossed the inkwell into the air.
Red filmed Ike’s vision but he beat it back. Seward had a partner here in town, plus another in Denver. Killing him would solve nothing.
“Who will you find to deliver the bribe to Simmons?” The banker replaced the inkwell on the table, clearly satisfied with the conversation. “Word on the street is that Nine-Fingers’ death has scared everybody else off. It’ll cost four times as much or more to stage another attack on Talbot.”
Shit. The only way he’d found anybody before was to use Nine-Fingers Isham. That piece of jailbait had owed him too much to even think about asking for money.
“You don’t know everything I’ve got up my sleeve,” Ike said gruffly. “The bribe will reach Simmons in time.”
He’d grab the girl by himself. Talbot would never shoot him.
Chapter 9
“You should stay inside,” Justin said again.
“I’m following you,” Charlotte repeated for at least the third time in the last ten minutes. “Who would possibly try to kidnap me on a sunny morning? All we’ll do is walk across the street to the telegraph office, check for news, and come back.”
“If anything happens—” He didn’t look happy. But who would dare attack them when Justin was carrying two Navy Colts at his belt, plus another at his back? Not to mention all those knives secreted in various intriguing places.
“I promise you, I’ll duck.” She gave him a hopeful smile, while Garland glared beside her. Unfortunately he hadn’t redeemed his reputation in Justin’s eyes after not preventing yesterday’s attack. So he couldn’t argue that he alone could protect her. She wouldn’t refer to that, but she wasn’t above ignoring him in favor of clinging to every possible minute with Justin.
“Very well.”
They stepped out of the Hair Trigger Palace’s front door and onto the boardwalk. Its roof had sheltered it from the worst snow and allowed Justin and Charlotte a brief pause to adjust their eyes to the morning’s brilliant sunshine.
The last snow had fallen after midnight and the winds had died shortly thereafter. Brilliant sunshine turned the crisp, cold air into knife blades. Glistening spears of ice dangled from every roof. Gangs of men, paid by the saloons, had attacked the snowdrifts at first light. The alleys and streets were now hard-packed, slippery paths.
Saloons and shopkeepers had thrown open their establishments to welcome miners and townspeople. Pedestrians bustled along the boardwalk or picked their way cautiously across the street.
Simmons drank coffee and scratched his belly on the Silver King Hotel’s front porch, next door to the Palace. His hot eyes tracked her like a rabid dog.
Charlotte followed Justin into the open, grateful for the sawdust somebody had spread to provide better footing.
“Talbot!” Johnson yelled from the Crystal Saloon two doors away.
Justin turned slowly and Charlotte kept pace.
“Good morning, mayor,” Justin acknowledged, his response far more civil than the look on Johnson’s face.
“I need to speak to your companion. She owes me her entry fee for the poker tournament.”
“What? I never signed an agreement to play in that tournament.”
“Everybody knows that’s why you’re here in Wolf Laurel.”
People were disappearing into buildings like rats seeking their burrows.
“I won’t pay you a nickel.” Not for the privilege of nearly being kidnapped and raped.
His expression turned ugly and cold as a gallows. “Are you telling me you welsh on a debt?”
Shopkeepers now slammed shutters into place. A few men, including Simmons, moved onto the boardwalk steps leading onto the street where they could see better.
“Johnson, you know those are fighting words. Why are you trying to pick a duel with a woman?” Justin’s rich drawl held all the civilized memories of a long-dead world.
“Because she’s a cheat and a coward. Any man who protects her—”
“Johnson, we’ve been saddle-partners too long for me to listen to this nonsense.”
“Talbot, for Christ’s sake . . .”
“Miss Moreland and I are heading for the telegraph office, after which you’re welcome to join us for coffee. You have been, and will always be my friend—not my enemy. Good day.” Justin ostentatiously turned his back on the town’s mayor and started walking again.
Charlotte tagged unhappily along behind him. Fine words from Justin, but what if Johnson placed money ahead of friendship? Somebody would have to take action.
“Why, you son of a bitch—”
Charlotte jumped at Justin’s back and knocked him aside.
BAM!
The bullet blasted across her arm as if a fiery train had hit her and she fell down, skidding into a water trough.
BAM! BAM! Oh, dear Lord, Johnson was still shooting.
BOOM! Justin fired his Colt over her head.
A man screamed and somebody was running toward them.
Charlotte cautiously lifted her head. Her sleeve was scorched. Crimson started to blur its edges.
“Darling!” Justin dropped to his knees beside her. “Are you all right?”
“I think the bullet grazed my arm.”
He started to examine it. His dark eyes met hers for a moment. “You saved my life.”
“Of course.”
Justin shook his head and compressed his lips even tighter. He was very white.
“Where’s Johnson?” she asked.
“Dead. His last shot went wild and took out Simmons.”
“They can share the same grave,” she
muttered.
Justin choked in unwilling laughter, then lifted her up. “Can you stand? We need to bandage this.”
“Yes, of course.” Her feet wobbled underneath her but everything was easier with his arm around her.
“Charlotte?” Another man forced his way through the ever increasing crowd.
The well-remembered voice made her head come up from Justin’s shoulder. They turned back from the Hair Trigger Palace to face the newcomer.
“Charlotte, my dear?” Her filthy, bedraggled father swung down off his exhausted horse and leaped onto the boardwalk. Behind him, two sage mountain men in fringed leathers and buffalo skins folded their hands on their saddle horns and grinned proudly. He couldn’t have arrived with more unusual attire and companions if Elijah’s chariot of fire had deposited him. He’d lowered himself to perform this hunt on his own, rather than send Pinkerton’s agents.
The shock was enough to deaden even her arm’s increasing anguish.
“Father,” Charlotte acknowledged cautiously. If he was about to demand she return to the same prison as before, overseen by her stepmother . . . “How did you get here?”
“My friends brought me to Wolf Laurel. I was afraid you’d slip through my fingers again so we rode through the night.” He’d lost weight and his clothing was made for mining country, not Boston.
“Through the storm—for me?” She couldn’t imagine how he’d traveled without his private railway car. “How did you find me?”
“A Denver gunsmith told me you’d come to Wolf Laurel.” The Moreland patriarch cast a suspicious eye at Justin. “He warned me to hurry because he wasn’t sure you’d stick around long.”
“He loves you,” whispered Justin in her ear.
“I came alone, since I’m now a divorced man.”
She gaped at her father. The head of the Moreland family divorced? That scandal would match or possibly outweigh anything she’d done. “I’m not sure I believe you.”
“I bought that woman off with ten thousand dollars and Putnam’s old Beacon Hill townhouse, one of the few to survive the fire.”
Improper Gentlemen Bundle with Touch of a Thief & Mistress By Mistake Page 64
