Capturing The Marshal's Heart (Escape From Texas) (7 page)

“Uh-huh.” His muscles tightened. “Part of the job.”

Businessmen get shot?
A terseness in his tone drew her gaze. She glanced at the blank expression he’d retreated behind—pinched nostrils, tense jaw, and narrowed gaze. “Did it hurt?”

“Mostly, it burned. Jazzy—”

“Aileana.” Her questing finger ran one last circle around the scar.

“Right…Aileana. I don’t want to talk about this now.”

“I know.” With one last glance at his glare, she leaned forward and kissed the uneven skin on his side, then dragged the tips of her hair along his belly. Planting kisses on his stomach and chest, she scooted up his legs until her nether lips pressed against his erection.

Strong hands clamped onto her hips and pulled her closer against him. “I don’t want to talk at all.”

Unable to hide her smile, she straightened her back. Her hands trailed along his sides, across his abdomen, and played with the springy curls in his groin. “I see that.”

Slowly, one hand closed around his shaft, tugging gently, and the other rubbed a circle around the ridge of its knob.

His hips surged and pushed against her movements. “That’s how I want to be touched.”

For an instant, she heard the echoes of many other voices and her movements faltered. This had to be different. She had to make this time unique. She didn’t know exactly why, but she knew her heart would break if this turned out to be just another routine encounter. “And that’s how I want to touch you, Mac.”

“I want to be inside you.”

Oooh, the man was direct. She laid her thumb at the base of his erection and pressed with short half-circles.

A low groan sounded and his hips flexed in response. “Um, I like that.”

With alternating hands, she stroked his length until it pointed almost straight up, its head becoming a deep red. A drop of pearly liquid oozed, and she rubbed it with a circling thumb.

“Ah. I like that too.” His voice was whisper soft and raspy.

At the sound, a shiver ran through her. Just watching her hands as they caressed his erection made her wet. No longer could she deny what her body ached for. She rose on her knees and hovered over his groin, waiting for him to look up. Once his gaze met hers, she slowly lowered herself, savoring the heat as she stretched to accommodate his girth.

“Finally. Damn, that feels good.”

She anchored her hands on his shoulders and rocked her hips, feeling his thighs below her bottom stiffen. “Is the bride tall enough for your satisfaction now, sir?”

His eyes widened and a corner of his mouth tilted up. “Aye, and she has all the right parts.”

Jazzy’s core tightened and her breasts ached to be stroked. Could she keep up the game and ask for what she needed? Or would her heart be put at risk?

Chapter Five

From outside the window came the raucous caw of a grackle. Jazzy groaned and inched open an eyelid. Gray light filtered through the dusty window. An unaccustomed weight around her middle had her trapped. She shoved at the tangled bedclothes and her hand touched warm skin.

Well-muscled skin. With a furring of hair.

Heart pounding, she yanked back her hand.

Slade!

Lordy be, she’d let him stay the night in her room. In her bed…the entire night.

In all her years of entertaining men, not once had she allowed herself to fall asleep while a customer was still in the room. Although, before last night, not on a single occasion had her body been satisfied enough to fall asleep. Still, Ben’s reminder knock would have come in handy last night. Slade wasn’t exactly a paying customer, but she chose to ignore that itty-bitty fact.

Her mind raced at how their playacting had disappeared into the hottest coupling she’d ever known. What excuse could she possibly give to explain her behavior? How could she salvage her reputation? At least, everyone’s idea of her good reputation. Could he still look on her kindly if he knew she’d only wanted a bit of fun on her own terms?

Images of the previous night’s romping entered her mind. Her core tingled with a pleasurable ache and she stifled a grin. Slade as the aggressor. Her straddled across his lap. The time he’d taken her hard, fast, and against the wall. Having his hand clamped over her mouth to muffle her cries had just added to the excitement. Sure as the morning dew, she’d shot to smithereens any thoughts he had of her as a genteel young lady.

Anxiety bit at her stomach. Had he taken her for the parlor lady she used to be? Or, judging by her wanton behavior, still was? At that unsettling thought, hot tears bit at the back of her eyes. Why should she care? So, this first attempt at independence hadn’t gone so well. Plenty of adventures awaited her ahead and far beyond this location.

The bird’s cry came again.

Slade’s arm around her waist tightened, pulling her against his warm chest.

The heat of his body invaded hers, as if trying to bend her to his will. A heady thrumming beat along her skin. Lordy, she wanted him again. If she wasn’t careful, she’d turn her body into the warm embrace of his strong arms and beg him to take her. Right here, right now.

But Slade didn’t fit into her plan. Jessimay Morgan was starting a new life, one where
she
made all the choices. She inhaled a quick breath, leaned against his hold, and tried to ease toward the edge of the mattress.

His splayed hand clamped onto her hip. “’Morning, Jessimay.” His raspy words tickled her neck. “Is that the nightingale on yon pomegranate tree?”

“Yon pome what? What are you talking about?” She stiffened and whispered over a suddenly dry tongue. “Are you even awake? It’s just a plain ole grackle.”

Slade rolled her flat on her back, gave her a sleepy-eyed grin, and then nuzzled her neck with his warm lips. “I was quoting from Shakespeare.”

To give him better access to the sensitive skin on her neck, she angled her head. “Huh?”

“A play. Young lovers argue over a bird call that reveals their time together is nearly over.”

“Oh.”
A play?
That meant he was high-brow educated. Regret at not finishing her time in Miss Cavendar’s schoolroom flooded her. “Fancy words from a play won’t stop dawn from comin’.” No doubt about it. They wouldn’t go together any better than burlap and silk. “Best hotfoot over to your own room before anyone catches sight of you sneaking out of mine.”

He rose up on an elbow and gazed openly at her exposed skin, a gleam heating his gaze.

Oh!
Self-preservation took over and she grabbed at the sheet, yanking it up to her chin. Only her highest paying customers saw her totally naked. As she winced at her instinctive reaction, she relaxed her grip. Slade was not a customer.

Rosy-tinted light streamed through the window. He lifted his head and squinted at the brightening room. “Jeez, it was a lark. Morning’s almost here.” He threw back the sheet and pushed himself off the bed.

The mattress dipped and bounced with his shifting weight. Jazzy turned on her side and snuggled a crooked arm into the pillows. Toned muscles flexed as he stooped to collect his union suit and trousers. The view was irresistible.

As he buttoned the trousers’ fly, he looked around the room for the rest of his clothes, a frown wrinkling his brow. His gaze met hers and quickly slid away. “I’m sorry, Jazzy.”

Breath caught in her chest and burned. Their night together had been so fine, wild, and, at the same time, the most tender encounter she’d ever had. They would not have another, but she couldn’t bear to hear his apology. She struggled to harden her heart and told herself to stop caring about this man’s every word.

His gaze connected with hers and softened. “I never meant to stay this late. I promise not to make a sound on the way out.” He scooped up his socks, stuffed them into his trouser pockets, and whispered, “Where’s my shirt?”

Wanting him gone as quickly as possible, she thrust out a stiff arm and pointed. “On the chair.” Why she was getting so mad? She’d never felt like this when others gathered their clothes before skedaddlin’ out the door.

“Thanks.” With rapid movements, he shoved his arms into the sleeves then sat on the chair to pull on his boots. “Where’d my jacket get to?”

“I don’t know.”
Did the man go blind during the night?
“Maybe it slipped off the post.”

Two strides brought him to the foot of the bed. With a hand on the mattress, he leaned down and swung his jacket upwards. It hit the bed rail with a dull, metallic clunk.

The handcuffs.

Jazzy’s eyes widened and her gaze sought Slade’s. Although she’d heard plenty of stories from the other ladies at Miss Veronica’s, using those silver bracelets had been a first for her. Since he owned the restraints, she doubted the same could be said for Slade.

His eyes had darkened to the shade of chocolate and a grin played at the corner of his mouth. He stepped to the bed, leaned close, and brushed his lips on her cheek. “See you later, darlin’.” In an instant, he’d disappeared through the door and out into the hallway.

Darlin’?
Confusion hit hard and Jazzy flopped back onto the mattress, a hand touching the spot on her cheek he’d kissed. He’d called her by a sweetheart’s name. What had he meant? That’s what her papa had called her mama when he had that certain gleam in his eye. She blew out an exasperated breath.

Every time she’d seen his intention to kiss her mouth, she’d turned away, sometimes only at the last second. What if she’d let him kiss her lips? Saints alive, her mind was sorely muddled around this man.

Thirty minutes later, Jazzy hesitated in the doorway of the boardinghouse dining room and braced herself for what might come. Her kind of luck would never let their glorious night go undetected. She scanned the room and spotted Slade standing at the window with a cup of coffee in his hand. Her heartbeat kicked up and she touched the top button on her shirtwaist, making sure it was still closed. No open collars today or someone would surely notice the love bite Slade had given her. Another first.

Miss Whitfield looked up from the table and then quickly away, her fingers toying with the edge of the tablecloth.

Pete nodded. “’Morning, Miss Morgan. Did you sleep all right?”

Jazzy balled her hands into fists and scanned his face, checking to see if he held back a grin. His expression seemed straightforward enough. She forced a smile before answering in a cheery voice, “Right as rain, Pete.”

Slade turned and connected with her gaze, his brows pulled down over his eyes. He took one step toward the table, then stopped, and turned his attention back to the window.

Ella breezed in from the kitchen. “’Morning, miss. Here’s hot biscuits. Coffee’s in the middle of the table. Fried ham and eggs will be out in two minutes.”

Jazzy slid into a chair opposite the blue-speckled coffee pot and poured some of the steaming liquid into a crockery mug. Sipping the rich brew, she relaxed. No one had found them out. She reached for a biscuit and bit into its fluffy warmth, savoring the buttery goodness.

Trying not to be obvious, she allowed her gaze to move around the room. Blue-and-white gingham curtains accented walls painted a cheery yellow. The navy tablecloth was faded at the edges, but clean. As much as she hated to admit the fact, she’d hoped to talk with Slade. Although what she would say to the man in the presence of others was still a mystery.

Ella set platters of sizzling ham and fried eggs in the middle of the table. Jazzy inhaled the savory aromas and sighed. Her appetite was as big as the Texas sky after last night’s gyrations. The roomers reached to serve food onto their plates, but Slade didn’t join them. Subdued conversation buzzed around her.

The front door opened, jingling the small bell overhead. The thud of heavy footsteps preceded a tall man into the room. “Good morning, folks.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Jazzy saw Slade straighten, take a step closer to the table, and set down his mug. She glanced at the newcomer and her breath caught in her throat. The confident stance of a lawman—shoulders thrown back, shiny star on his vest, feet spread wide—always affected her. Worry settled in her stomach, but she fought to keep her expression blank.

Ella walked into the room, wiping her hands on her apron. “Why, Sheriff Simmons, I’m surprised to see you. Is Cathleen ill? Are you here to eat?”

“’Morning, Ella.” The sheriff lifted his hat from his head and held it in his hand. “She’s fine, thank you. I’m here on other business.”

Jazzy shot a look across the room, but Slade’s attention was focused on the sheriff. A rustling of petticoats sounded from beside her, but she ignored everything except what the sheriff would say next.

“Folks,” the sheriff started, then reached into his jacket pocket for a piece of paper, “I’ve got something here that I want to talk—”

Her mouth gone dry, Jazzy gripped the edge of the table.
Oh no, did Tucker wire ahead to get this sheriff to detain her?
She couldn’t bear
Slade seeing the wire first.

With long strides, Slade crossed the floor and stuck out his right hand. “Sheriff Simmons, the name’s Slade Thomas. I wonder if we might have a word in private.”

The sheriff’s forehead wrinkled with his frown. “Sir, I’ve got business with these passengers.”

Slade nodded and swept his hand to include the group. “Their meal has just been served. Why not talk with me first? They’ll be finished eating and ready to hear you out when we’re done.”

A tense moment passed as two strong-minded men exchanged narrowed stares.

Jazzy couldn’t figure out what Slade was doing. What did a proper businessman need with a lawman?

Ella crossed to the men. “Sheriff, go ahead and take Mr. Thomas into the front parlor. Let my customers eat their meal while it’s still hot.” She waved them into the hallway and turned to the table with a wide smile. “Eat up, y’all. I want my cooking enjoyed like it’s meant to be eaten.”

The others around the table spoke in hushed whispers as they worked on their meals. “Do you think they found the horse thieves?” “Wonder what was on that paper in the sheriff’s hands?”