Capture the Sun (Cheyenne Series) (46 page)

      
Carrie felt the trembling begin to build deep inside her as she drank in his compelling maleness. It had been a year and a half since the night he had lain with her, the first and only time she had ever known love and passion. Now she felt a wanton, shameful stab of desire that left her hollow and shaky.
I want him and he looks on me only as an encumbrance, a guilty reminder of things he would rather forget.

      
Proudly she raised her chin and forced back the gathering tears. She would never let him see her as a supplicant again. One time she had asked for his love. Never again.

      
Suddenly Hawk sensed her presence and turned to stare at the fiery golden vision before him. The faint essence of wildflowers tantalized his nostrils as he gazed on her. God in heaven, she was beautiful! Lest he lose control of his tightly reined emotions and reveal his naked lust to her, he assumed the old familiar pose of casual arrogance, raking her beauty with glowing black eyes.
      
“You'll dazzle all the men, especially Krueger.”

      
She smiled chillingly. “I suppose that's your version of a compliment. Shall we go?”

      
Karl Krueger had built K Bar's big house to approximate the baronial splendor he had left behind in his native Germany. No expense had been spared in its construction. It was made of stone, three stories tall with high, vaulted ceilings, gaudy even in an era of ostentation and vulgar displays of wealth. The grand ballroom was indeed splendid with imported French crystal chandeliers, gleaming parquet floors, and ivory stucco walls. An elaborate black walnut trestle table intricately carved with gargoyles sat along one wall, groaning with all manner of food: iced fresh oysters on the half shell, huge slabs of roast beef, new potatoes in delicate parsley sauce, and even a huge fountain of champagne. Whiskey was available for the hard-drinking men in the crowd.

      
Hawk was one of them. He stood to one side of the room, sipping a whiskey while he watched Carrie fend off amorous advances from several besotted cattlemen. She looked like an amber jewel, warm and golden and tantalizing.
I might as well rescue her from those drunks before Krueger gets his hooks into her creamy flesh,
he thought angrily as he strode across the floor, denying to himself that he simply wanted to dance with her.

      
Without even the courtesy of a request, he caught her up in his arms to the tempo of the music, sweeping her away from two adoring ranchers whose jaws dropped in surprise and chagrin at being so rudely deprived of their prey.

      
“You could have at least asked for the dance,” she spat as soon as she could catch her breath.

      
“You might have declined, Firehair.” His low, breathy murmur left her prey to that familiar weakness. Damn him, why could he do this to her? After the betrayal of Gerald Rawlins and the brutality of Noah Sinclair, she should know better than to ever again bare her heart and soul to a man. She held herself stiffly in his arms, rigid in anger and fear, willing to die rather than let him see her weakness, her want.

      
Hawk could sense her guarded, wooden manner. It cut him to his soul, although he could not say what he had expected when he so precipitously seized her for the dance. So, she was embarrassed to be seen dancing with her savage lover, was she? His face hardened into a cruel, barbaric mask. “Since you obviously detest my touch, Mrs. Sinclair, I'll leave you to your host's Continental charm.” With that he whirled her to the edge of the dance floor, nodded curtly, and stalked off.

      
Karl Krueger watched them dancing—both tall and slim, he so dark, she so fiery. Every eye in the ballroom was covertly on them, and Krueger was livid. When she had arrived on that elegantly dressed savage's arm he was taken completely by surprise. Surprise was immediately replaced by fury, although he hid it beneath a mask of Teutonic politeness.

      
When Hawk deserted her so abruptly, Krueger moved to her side, observing the transparent hunger in her eyes as she watched Hawk stalk across the crowded room. “You should not wear your heart on your sleeve,
Liebchen,
” he scolded gently.

      
Caught in such a blatant revelation, Carrie gasped and then attempted to disguise her feelings. She pasted a brittle smile on her lips that did not reach her emerald eyes, and said to the baron, “I'll recover, Karl. We American women are incredibly resilient.”

      
He nodded approvingly. “I am glad to hear it. Champagne?”

      
At her nod of acquiescence, he ushered her toward the huge crystal fountain with its circle of ice swans. With a slight nod he had a servant draw two goblets of the bubbling wine and handed one glass to her. “To your beauty, Carrie, the loveliest woman in the territory.”

      
She bestowed a brilliant smile on him. The flattery and attention of an attractive and powerful man was balm to her spirit, never more so than when she saw Lola placing one possessive hand on Hawk's arm. The voluptuous blond was dressed in ice-blue silk and looked cool and sophisticated.

      
“Darling, you are wickedly handsome tonight.” She reached up and grazed his cheek with her lips, then wet them again with a flick of her tongue.

      
He looked down at her.
Persistent bitch.
Then he caught sight of Carrie dancing with Krueger and smiling at him. Just how far would Lola go? Hawk decided to find out. He owed himself some divertissement tonight, all things considered. He pulled her to him, then swung them into the waltz.

      
He was holding her much more closely than propriety allowed, but if she didn't care, neither did he. After a few passes across the polished width of the floor, they neared a set of leaded glass doors leading to the garden. “Let's cool off, Lola.”

      
She swished her skirts in front of him and glided into the night with a seductive chuckle. “If you insist, although I don't think we'll be cooler alone in the dark...”

      
Krueger watched Carrie's reaction to Hawk and Lola.
Besotted young fool. Superbly beautiful, poised, educated, you could have the world, and what do you languish for—a savage!
Tightening his grip on her waist, he said, “Your lover is as fickle as my dear Lola. Why do you waste your passion on that gunman?” His heavy, dark brows arched up, giving his face a satanic caste.

      
She laughed, but it sounded forced, even to her own ears. “I'm learning the rules the hard way, I suppose, Baron.”

      
When he had asked her to dance, she felt compelled to do so, if for no better reason than to show Hawk and Lola that she and Krueger could get on famously without them.

      
“If you held yourself so stiffly in his arms, it is no wonder he deserted you for Lola's voluptuous charms,
Liebchen.
”

      
Her eyes betrayed a flicker of pain, but then she forced herself to relax, concentrating on the music, the champagne, the glittering elegant room and all its people. She would enjoy herself if it killed her!

      
He led her to the edge of the crowd, past several frankly admiring men and the veiled hostility of their wives, then ushered her down a thickly carpeted hallway. “Where are you taking me?”

      
“Are you afraid to come with me?” He dared her, pausing in the middle of the long, darkened corridor. The walls were paneled in rich walnut and ornate brass sconces were recessed every few feet, set with flickering candles giving off uncertain light.

      
The champagne was going to her head.
Hawk, where are you? You said you’d protect me.
“No, Baron, I'm not afraid. Lead on.”

      
He ushered her into his study at the end of the hall. It was a large, dark room, imbued with an aura of mystery and brooding, like its owner. He motioned for her to have a seat on an opulent sofa of purple velvet while he walked to the liquor cabinet across the room. “More champagne? There is a special bottle chilled right here.” Without waiting for her to reply, he expertly removed the cork and poured two glasses.

      
Carrie was becoming increasingly nervous, and regretted her decision to come with him into his lair. The massive walnut desk in the center of the room was strewn with ledgers, legal documents, and newspapers. Baron von Krueger was obviously a very busy man. She itched to know what his private correspondence and pay vouchers might tell her about his designs on Circle S, and especially about his new foreman, Caleb Rider.

      
He handed her the stem crystal and clinked their glasses together in a silent toast. Over the rim he watched her as she sipped resignedly at the bubbling liquid.
      
“Regretting your decision?” He arched one brow in that characteristic way, unnerving her. Could he read minds at times?

      
“Yes, a bit. When I arrived with Hawk I'm sure enough tongues wagged. Now I disappear with you. I'm afraid my reputation's beyond redemption.” She attempted to keep a light quality in her voice.

      
“Only if you care what the petty bourgeois women around here say. Ignore them.”

      
“Easily enough said, but wasn't it you who asked me if I missed social occasions—dressing up and going dancing? Tonight I found I do miss these things.”

      
“And other things.” His voice held a magnetic, suggestive quality as he stood beside the small sofa she was seated on. “So foolish, Carrie. First you marry a man three times your age, then take an Indian for a lover. A woman of your beauty, your fire, needs a man worthy of her.”

      
“A man like you, Baron?” Her voice had a ring of challenge in it that kept him at bay, at least for a moment.

      
“Yes, exactly like me. I'm forty-two years old, wealthy, from a noble lineage, not unattractive to women. You could do far worse. You have done far worse.”

      
Before she could reply he pulled her up and into an embrace, his brooding, hooded eyes locked with hers. “You are like a Val Kyrie, with long legs and flaming hair.” With that he grabbed the cluster of curls on one golden shoulder and pulled her head back for a devouring kiss.

      
She let him kiss her out of perverse curiosity, both to see what he would do and to gauge her own reaction. In truth, he was an attractive man, considered by many women to be the most eligible bachelor in the territory. Yet to her he was simply a different incarnation of Noah: cold, ruthless, vindictive. He continued grinding his mouth over hers until she felt suffocated.
What ever possessed me to let it go this far?
she thought frantically, breaking free of his bruising embrace at last.

      
He watched her straighten her dress and fuss with the` welter of curls now fallen about her shoulders. Cold bitch! “Why do you play with me,
Liebchen
? Surely you know I can be a very lethal opponent. I play to win.”

      
“I know,” she said levelly, looking him boldly in the eye, her composure regained in the heat of anger. “And winner takes the prize—Circle S. You don't want me, Karl. You just can't see any other way to get my ranch.”

      
“Oh, there are other ways, just not so pleasant,” he said silkily.

      
“I don't find it pleasant being used, either.” Her voice was crackling with anger now.

      
“You had been much used before I ever touched you, I believe. Your half-breed's bastard is proof of that!” All pretense at civility was dropped now. She actually dared to reject him and moon over a savage!

      
Carrie struck him hard in pure reflex. “Bastards are made, not born, Baron! Don't smear my son with your slime!”

      
He rubbed the reddening mark on his jaw and looked at her critically. “I once considered making you my mistress. Now I find even that casual a liaison distasteful.”

      
They stood glaring at one another, both of them furious and flushed. It was at that precise moment Hawk opened the door and stepped inside.

      
Taking in Carrie's disheveled appearance and the angry red mark on Krueger's face, he could guess what had just transpired between them. A slow smile spread across his face, not reaching the black depths of his eyes. Disgust and fury warred within his breast. “I thought to rescue the lady in distress, but I should have realized you could take care of yourself, Firehair.”
 

      
Without taking his eyes off her, he addressed himself to Krueger. “She only gives in when she wants to, Baron.”

      
The blatant implication of what he said pierced her heart, causing her to emit a wounded gasp that she quickly covered up by turning to the livid German. “I regret spoiling your party, Karl. We both should have realized it's better to have an honest truce than a feigned friendship.” Not waiting for him to react, she swept out of the room without looking at Hawk.

      
The two men stared at one another in undisguised hatred now. “I am through playing games, red mongrel,” Krueger ground out in a low, vibrating voice. “When I finish with you and your fire-haired whore, you will not own a square foot of this territory.”

      
Hawk's face remained impassive but for the clenching of his jaw muscles. Wordlessly he advanced on Krueger, who realized his vulnerability, alone and unarmed with this lean, powerful barbarian. He took a few steps backward, saying nothing, hoping to reach the bellpull in the corner and summon help.

      
Just as Krueger’s large, meaty hand grasped the cord and yanked, Hawk grabbed his starched shirtfront. One blow quickly landed in the baron's soft belly, and he doubled over. Sinclair pulled Krueger upright and delivered a punishing blow to his face. Nose and jaw both cracked with sickening force before he let the German's inert form slide to the carpeted floor and turned to stride from the room.