His Most Wanted (10 page)

His eyes widened as if realizing what she meant. “Lady, you're a treasure. We could
both
use a bath.”

“I know.”

Moments later, with steaming pails of water in hand, they arrived at the barn where Ben had the tub nearly full. Seeing her, the old rancher ducked his head, avoiding eye contact, and murmured something about needing to saddle up and check the fence line as he skittered out of the building.

“You've got him quaking in his boots.” Kit bolted the barn door behind Ben and turned to Cora with raised eyebrows. “I'll bet you're a tougher commander than any he faced in the army.”

“He knows I mean business.” She emptied her pail in the large tub and stood back as Kit did the same. Ever since she'd first laid eyes on the copper tub early that morning, she'd wanted to share it with Kit. Big enough for two, it reminded her of the one a customer had described having seen in a California saloon.

“You and I have business of our own.” Kit set the empty pail aside and came to stand next to her. His fingers worked down the row of buttons on the front of her blouse as his smoky gaze held hers.

Twinges of uncertainty flittered through her, but when Kit leaned down to kiss her lips, her hesitancy evaporated, replaced by pure need. He helped her with her clothing, covering her exposed skin in kisses. Then he held her hand as she climbed up the step and into the deep, hot water. She turned to face him as she sat and found his avid stare on her breasts.

Her body heated from the steamy water and his frank admiration. “Your turn. You can join me if you like.”

Kit's gaze snapped to her face, and a sly smile stretched across his mouth. He removed his shirt and boots, slipped his hands inside his pants and pushed them down his taut hips, freeing his engorged organ.

His chest still bore the purple crescent-shaped bruise, but he climbed into the tub without any signs of difficulty or pain.

As he settled opposite from her, his long legs brushing hers in the water, she picked up the waiting wash towel and soap cake and lathered her neck and shoulders. Keeping her gaze down as she worked, she felt the keen interest of Kit's stare. Warmth spread through her veins.

“Ben and I would've brought the tub upstairs,” she said, sliding the soap over her breasts, “but I was afraid we would make too much noise and wake you.”

“I wouldn't have minded. You've no idea how flattered I am by all that you've accomplished this morning.” His movements caught her attention, and her gaze followed his hands as they spread water across his wide shoulders, making his flesh glisten.

“I didn't do these things to flatter you.” A cold wave of realization passed over her. “This isn't bribery either. Don't think I—” Flustered, she struggled to find the words. If he hadn't thought she was trying to get on his good side before, he would now. “I just…I wanted to…it's been so long…” She folded her lips together to stop the flow of nonsense coming out of her mouth.

Kit gently picked up one of her feet beneath the water and held it between two hands. He worked his fingers over her muscles and bones, adeptly massaging her so that the tension evaporated throughout her body. “Your thoughtfulness makes me feel unworthy. I've always been a selfish man. Sitting in this bath with you makes me think selfish thoughts. My wants. My needs.” He drew her foot, now tingling with pleasure, out of the water and brought it to his mouth. Holding her ankle, he kissed her toes, then the arch of her foot. His slippery hands glided up her bare leg as he moved between her thighs, kissing her along the way. He rose above her, resting between her bent legs and bracing his hands on the edges of the tub as he stared into her eyes. “You've had enough of men telling you what they want, and yet it shames me how similar I am to them…how much I want you now.”

His silver-blue eyes flared with heat. Consumed by the promise of fire she saw within their depths, she rose up and kissed his lips, wrapping her arms around his neck. “But you're nothing like them.”

He returned her kiss, sweeping his tongue inside when she opened for him, stroking her slowly. She felt him hovering above her in the water, his weight and his strength carefully kept from her, their bodies not touching as they kissed. His care and concern flooded her with desire, making her want his ardor all the more.

She broke the kiss and lifted the soapy cloth between them. “Wash me?”

Kit froze, doubting his ears, but the siren in front of him held a soapy cloth right before his eyes, half-obscuring her expression from him. Still, he recognized the playful twinkle in her eyes, revealing her true wishes.

Wishes he shared.

He took the cloth from her hand, sliding his fingers over hers in the exchange. Beneath the sudsy water, their bodies brushed as well, and it was almost his undoing. Her skin was as soft and smooth as kid leather. His gaze dropped to the swells of her breasts floating just at the water's surface. Moisture glistened across the full slopes, beckoning for his touch. He must be very careful, move very slowly, but that was nearly impossible when all he wanted to do was fill her, hard and fast until they both shattered.

No
, he reminded himself as he brought the cloth to her dewy shoulder. He must be patient. Yet when he drew the suds across the globes of her creamy breasts, her eyelashes drifted down with a sigh, and something inside him clicked—an itchy trigger finger too eager to release. He lowered his mouth to hers.

The instant their mouths touched, she slid her tongue between his lips and stroked him. Her sudden shamelessness set him on fire. As he deepened the kiss, his loins grew painfully hard, and each time he passed the cloth around her nipple, his solid flesh nudged her below the water. Pure torture. Pure heaven.

Kneeling between her open legs, he filled his hands with her breasts, perfectly round and budded at his touch. His mouth watered for a taste, so after rinsing her, he bent down and took one hard nipple. Cora threaded her hands in his hair, encouraging him, making his body strain harder. He licked the wet valley between her breasts and took the other waiting bud, swirling his tongue around it.

Just knowing he was surrounded by her on all sides made his head buzz, the blood running through his veins loud enough that he almost missed the sound of her moan.

His need intensified to a roar.

He lifted his head and kissed her lips, feeling her hands move to his shoulders. Her slick touch ran over his flesh, exploring him the way he was dying to do with her. Surely she wanted this as much as he. Her body said she was ready.

Between languid kisses, he slipped a hand down her supple skin, across her flat stomach and into the curls between her thighs. Her eyelashes fluttered, and she made a tiny coo of pleasure that brought a smile to his lips even while he ached for relief. Kissing her neck, he slid a finger inside her, found her nub with another and brushed his fingertip against it.

At first, she shook slightly, gripping his shoulders as if fearful. Then he swept his finger over her sensitive flesh, back and forth, and she gradually relaxed, whimpering and moving in counterpoint to his gentle strokes.

Cora's hips lifted, straining to reach his touch, neck arching in full commitment to the moment. He could fill her now, her walls were slick, her fears apparently slipping away as her need became complete. But no matter how much she appeared to yearn for him, he couldn't forget that beneath her sultry exterior was the soul of a girl who'd been mistreated.

Not until she says the words.

Keeping a rhythm between her thighs, he leaned down and kissed her neck, her moist skin too irresistible to ignore. Tracing her throat with the tip of his tongue, he slipped another finger inside her.

“Kit?” Her voice sounded as if her tongue could barely work.

Had he crossed her boundaries? He lifted his head. “Do you want me to stop, sweetheart?”

“No,” she croaked. When she opened her eyes, the black of her pupils nearly swallowed the green. “What I want is you. Now.”

He held himself in check, his touch still inside her as he studied her face, enrapt by what he saw written in her expression—the honest reflection of the needs he shared. “You said it's been a long time. Are you sure this is what you want?” He pressed his mouth to her neck and tasted her again, wanting to feel her answer as well as hear it.

“Yes.” As if to prove her point, she wrapped a hand around him.

Now it was his turn to groan as she moved her fingers over the tip, then down his turgid shaft. “Cora,” he murmured in warning, though it sounded like a plea to his ears.

His muscle and bone had gone to granite, refusing to budge as she held him, kept in check too long to respond.

“Yes. Right here and now.” Her determined gaze held his. She guided him beneath the water, stroking him in the same rhythm, and in those words, he heard the sound of her walls being dismantled. Her will had won. The triumph was hers.

He kissed her lips as he eased inside her slowly, letting her body adjust to his size. But damnation, she felt so tight and perfect around him. When her body accepted him, he pushed deeper, urged by her arms around him.

Go easy.
He thrust in gentle strokes, every fiber of his willpower controlling his muscles to keep from taking her too hard, too fast. But it had been a long time for him as well. Too long. And she was so damned pretty.

Her legs gripped him as he drove into her, the water sloshing over the edge of the tub. But the world around them rapidly vanished to the edges of his consciousness as the pressure within him built to a crescendo.

He erupted deep inside her with a gasp, dropping his face against her neck.

Over too soon. But in his bones he knew he couldn't let this be the last time. He wouldn't let it be. Cora deserved her turn—hell, as long and as often as she wanted.

Right now, she lay very still, so he kissed her cheek. “I didn't drown you, did I?”

She smiled. “No.”

With one hand behind her head and his other arm anchored around her trembling thighs, he brought her over him to lie on top of his chest in the tub. She snuggled against his good side, resting her cheek against his heart while he smoothed back damp strands of hair from her face. Her lovely blonde coiffure was now messy, though still caught up in her pins. Funny, he hadn't seen it down yet. Since the moment he'd met her, she'd been all businesslike and serious, allowing herself little pleasure in life. He longed to make her laugh, to show her a rollicking good time, free of cares or responsibility. Uncle Bart had always said he was good at dodging responsibility. He might as well make use of the skill.

Cora sighed, settling deeper in the crook of his arm. Her skin looked translucent in the steamy water, reminding him again of a siren of ancient lore. She'd definitely lured him to her, and now he was hooked.

But was Cora a killer?

He studied her face and found it angelic—her pale lashes lowered, her sweet nose slightly upturned at the end and her slender fingers caressing his chest carefully around his bruised rib.

No. At least she wasn't a cold-blooded, calculating one.

When they returned to Fort McNamara, things would be as they were, with Cora taking tokens and her bed vacant, the way she'd promised her ladies. Then he'd have to look for someone else to take over as sheriff. He needed to come back and stay at his ranch permanently to oversee these extensive repairs and to salvage his investment.

Somehow, both chosen lives seemed less appealing. Maybe his uncle was correct. Maybe he wasn't good for anything.

The only thing that felt right about his new life was the sensual lady outlaw currently resting in his arms, and even that was as wrong as could be.

Chapter Ten

Leaving the house after dusting most of the day, Cora crossed the lawn to search for the men. Late afternoon sunshine beat down on her head as she admired the fencerow and spotted Kit and Ben straightening the last new cedar post. Their work formed a proud line along the pasture, effectively protecting the cattle from the steep bluffs downriver.

As she joined the pair, both men let a satisfied sigh at completing the task after hours of backbreaking labor.

Ben took Kit's offered handkerchief and wiped his brow. “I reckon I'll take a look at the house next. See if I can fix that porch.” His voice was uneven.

She felt the pang of guilt. “I think you've both earned some rest.”

The ranch hand glanced at his employer, and Kit nodded. “She's right. The porch can wait another day.”

Ben pushed his hat back and glanced at the sky. “The sun will be setting soon. Do you want me to saddle your horses?”

She looked at Kit and found him watching her. Neither of them had spoken of returning to town since earlier that morning when they'd shared a bath. Just thinking about it caused a chill to wrap around her heart. Their short time of intimacy had her longing for more, not wanting it to end so soon, and she dreaded to think the worst—that she might never have such enjoyment again. For the first time in her life, the Willows faded to the back of her interests.

Kit seemed to find his answer in her expression. “No. I think we'll stay here again tonight, Ben. Neither of us are up to the ride, I don't imagine.” His stare continued, making her feel as if their staying had nothing to do with any lack of energy or stamina on his part.

She ought to argue that the ladies at the club will worry why she hadn't returned, but she didn't. Not while Kit stood there looking at her like he'd like to reel her in for another long, slow kiss, which she would welcome wholeheartedly.

Ben glanced at something over her shoulder, then back at her for an answer rather than Kit. “Would it be all right if I went and took a nap under those shade trees beside the house?”

Ever since that morning, the older man had been simpering, as if trying to get on her good side. He was considerate when he was sober, acting more like the kindly gent she remembered assisting customers in the feed store.

She shielded her eyes from the sun. “That's a good idea. After you've rested, you can help yourself to the food left over from lunch if you'd like. I made you a blackberry pie too, for all you two have done.” She avoided Kit's gaze now, fearing her face would betray her delight at being alone with him again.

Ben's expression nearly cracked a smile as he turned away and headed toward the shady grove.

Without a word to her, Kit walked away, picked up a weathered post from the ground and leaned it against the fence wire. His shoulders stretched his sweaty shirt, muscles rippling beneath the fabric. When he straightened and came back to where she stood, she noted the way his hair stuck to his temples and perspiration glistened along his collarbone.

“You've got a lot to learn, Sheriff. You should've worn your hat.”

A serious line formed on his brow. “Isn't that the truth? Even Ben's a better rancher. I'm definitely the greenhorn my uncle always abhorred.”

His self-critical tone made her look at him askance. He'd only been a rancher one day now, for goodness sake. “Everyone's a greenhorn at one time or another. Your ranch has a lot of potential. It's a good investment, in my opinion. I think your uncle would've been proud.”

He crossed his arms over his chest, his interest sharpening. “You really think it'll amount to something?” His eyes lit, but his voice held a note of skepticism.

“I do. Your hiring Ben will work out too. He seems eager to please.”

“Eager to please you.” He winked. “I'm glad you came outside. I was just about to come looking for you. Whatcha got on under that dress?”

“Kit!” Her face heated. He knew exactly what she had on underneath, as he'd watched her dress after their bath.

His grin broadened. “What I meant to ask was are you wearing your gun?”

“I am. What of it?”

“Let's practice a few shots.”

Her skin chilled at the thought of firing a weapon again. “I've only got a handful of bullets.”

“Fine. Don't miss your target.”

She laughed. “Is that your best advice as a marksman, Sheriff?” When he stepped toward her, reaching for her skirt, she backed away and painted on a scowl of admonishment. “Why do I feel no confidence for your teaching abilities?”

Kit tsked, dropping his hands. “Lady, you have no idea what I'm capable of. But I'll show you if you let me.”

His steady stare sent a thrill through her. Unable to resist the challenge, she lifted her petticoat and withdrew her pistol.

Kit took the weapon from her hands, his mouth twisted in a self-satisfied grin. He checked the barrel. “This fence post's our target. Come with me.”

She followed him several yards away until they stood in the lane, looking back at the fence and empty pasture beyond.

It suddenly occurred to her that he must trust her. Why else would he wish to teach her how to handle her gun properly?

Her heart squeezed as she admired his face, hands and stance as he aimed and fired with grace. The target shuddered from the impact of the bullet but remained upright.

“Your turn.” Kit offered her the gun handle with a slight bow.

His eyes twinkled with pleasure, making her wonder at his purpose for this little lesson. She took the gun tentatively. “You seem pleased with yourself. It was a good shot, but I'm not sure I'm as impressed as I was when you shot the thief from the club.”

His smile slipped. “I had good reason to make that shot, as you well know. Growing up alone and abundantly privileged, I had a lot of time on my hands. Over the years, I taught myself how to aim. When it really matters, I make sure I get the job done.”

“You've killed men intentionally?” She cringed with a dose of guilt. “You don't have to answer that.”

He glanced down, grinding his boot into the rocky soil. “I've been challenged to duels, confronted by men who wished to kill me because they didn't like the hand of cards they'd been dealt…or the fact that I'd slept with their women. Men like McGruder who've tried to murder me first. I've never set out to kill anyone, but when my back's been against a wall, I've tried my damnedest to be the one walking away after the smoke clears.”

Knowing exactly how it felt to be cornered and have to defend herself, she nodded. The gun was suddenly heavy in her hands.

Wishing to change the subject, she forced a smile. “I haven't seen the Mississippi since I was a child. I'll bet you've enjoyed riding those steamboats and seein' all the sights on your voyages.”

Kit's face relaxed. “I'll take you on one someday, and you can meet some of my friends. I know a card-playing lady you'd probably like. Name's Philadelphia Campbell, one of the finest players I've ever faced and the wife of my captain friend, Rory.”

She let her arm hang, hiding the gun in her skirt. Maybe he would forget the lesson if she kept him talking. “Really? A lady gambler? How extraordinary. If they're friends of yours, I'd like to meet them both.”

“They run the
Athena
now. It's quite the palace. There's a fine piano on their steamboat too, and lots of dancing.”

“Oh, I wish my ladies could visit too. Millie would like seeing another piano. The one she plays in the Willows was her mother's. She's inseparable from the instrument, even though she never knew the lady who played it first.” She glanced in the direction of Fort McNamara, feeling the tug at her heart for her
family
. “Millie's mother died giving birth to her. She was a prostitute too. Worked with my mother. Some rich benefactor gave her the piano in lieu of money for her services.”

Wistfulness filled her soul. Both she and Millie had been born into their trade and had done nothing to change their stars. Millie kept hoping someone would come along some day to rescue her from her condition, but at least Cora had made the best of her situation, taking control of the club, managing it, making it safe for the others to work there. No more babies had been born under their roof since she'd taken the reins and enforced the use of preventative measures.

Kit moved close to her and reached out, cupping her cheek in his gentle hand. “Let's see how you shoot, sweetheart. Then we'll go rest a spell too.” He traced his thumb over her lip and her stomach quivered with delicious anticipation.

Finding no way to avoid his persistence, she sighed. “Okay. You win.”

She turned her shoulders toward the target, feeling Kit standing close behind her. Then she lifted her right arm, extended the pistol and took aim. Looking at her hand gripping the weapon, her thoughts wheeled back to the boarding house room, to the bloodstained floor and the sound of her own heartbeat when she realized Sidlow wasn't breathing.

Her hand shook. She gritted her teeth, putting all her effort into making her wrist and hand steady. It was no use. If she pulled the trigger now, there was no telling where the bullet would wind up.

She exhaled and took her finger off the trigger. “I can't. It's too hot today, and I've been cleaning up the house. I'm tired—” She turned around.

Kit frowned, watching her with concern in his eyes. “Ready to talk about it?”

Ah, so that was what this was about. He wanted her to tell him about the night she shot the lawman.

“No.” Reaching deep within for strength, she wheeled back and took aim again.

“Pretend you're angry, if it helps.” He moved closer. She felt the heat of his body at her back. “The target is one of the men who hurt you.” His voice was hard, pressuring her, perhaps intentionally.

“No,” she ground out. “You're not helping.” Her hand shook harder. She tried a two-handed grip. Now the tremors ran up her arms to settle in her bent elbows.

“Don't you want to put a bullet in the eye of McGruder? You aimed your gun at him steady enough while we were on the trail.” He closed his hands around her waist, his taunting voice right behind her ear.

Did he think she was a murderer after all? Was he trying to provoke her? Did he think if she got scared, she'd turn the gun on him too? She
wouldn't
. Why would he think such a thing?

Nothing in her miserable life had prepared her for the loss of respect from someone she liked and…maybe even cared for. “That's because I was protecting us, Kit. I didn't want to kill him.” Desperation engulfed her now so that she could hardly keep the pistol aloft. If she did nothing else, she had to explain. “I didn't want to kill Sidlow either.” Her eyes filled with hot, stinging tears.

Kit took the gun from her and pulled her into his arms, holding her against his chest. “You're no murderer. I've known enough killers in my days to recognize the difference between good and evil.”

His embrace offered the strength she needed. She pressed her cheek to his heart and breathed deeply, closing her eyes, letting his touch comfort her as he stroked her back. He'd only been goading her to make her open up, and now she felt safe, comforted and something she'd never experienced in her life…

Cherished.

Kit kissed her forehead. “It's okay, Cora. You can tell me as little or as much as you want. But trust me, you'll never put your first killing behind you if you don't talk about it. I'm trying to help you, I promise. What happened in that room?”

Kit was right. There wasn't anyone else she could tell about the horrible night, no one else safe to unburden her soul to. Only Kit. And strangely enough, even though she shouldn't, she sensed she could trust him with her dark secret.

She took a deep breath, released it and began recounting the events. “I'd been paying Sidlow for years so he and his deputy would watch over the Willows and the other houses on the Row. I'd never had any trouble before. But one day he sent word he wanted to talk to me in private, said he had business to discuss. I figured he wanted to raise the payments. He'd done it in the past.” She rolled one shoulder. “Instead, when I arrived at his room, he asked for a partnership with me and the Willows. I couldn't believe my ears. I mean…why would I give up that kind of control? He said he had something I'd be interested to know, something that would make the Willows a wealthy establishment. I said I wasn't interested. He'd been drinking. I'd never seen him that way before. The liquor and whatever he wanted to tell me had him excited, arrogant.”

She closed her eyes, putting herself in the room again, making sure she told it right. “He forced me against a wall, wouldn't let me loose. He had my skirt pulled up, his hands in my drawers. I'd always known he wanted me, but he'd never touched me before. I pulled the gun out of my jacket and held it between us. I told him to stop, that he didn't know what he was doing. But he refused, said I was a whore and he was sheriff.” Tears choked her. She held Kit tighter, fearing to look into his face, that she might see his doubt. “He told me he was entitled to me for all he'd done for me in the past, and that I couldn't shoot him. I swore I would. Then he unfastened his belt. I couldn't get loose no matter how hard I pushed and struggled, so I pulled the trigger.”

Kit was silent and still as he listened. Then he caressed her shoulders. “I guess you showed him.” His voice was light and warm. “I've always believed if you have the last word, you should at least be correct.”

She blinked, uncertain if she'd heard him right. Then, leaning back, she found his expression was blank, dead serious. “I killed him, you understand? He tried to rape me, and I shot him dead. I'm Velvet Grace. I wear the hood to hide my identity and scare the daylights out of men who trouble the women around here.”