His Most Wanted (9 page)

Her insides clenched in anticipation, and she gasped.

“See,” he teased, turning his mouth into her curls, “now isn't this polite of me?” His hands cupped her buttocks, and he sighed with satisfaction as he slid his tongue into her.

Sweet heaven!

She grabbed his shoulders and held on as he lapped at her. He flicked his tongue across her, kindling heat that had her leaning into him, needing to get closer and closer to the spectacular fire of frenzy he created. He loved her deeper and deeper, pushing his tongue farther inside, filling the aching void as she needed him most.

She groaned his name on a cascade of pleasure as she plummeted to her release.

He gathered her in his arms, allowing her to slump against his shoulders as he held her, his cheek pressed against her hip.

She played with his hair as she came back to herself, catching her breath at last as she enjoyed the feeling of euphoric bliss wrapped around them. Not even a thought of the troubles of her past had crossed her mind to destroy the moment. “Well, I can honestly say I like you better when you're sober.”

She felt him smile against her skin. “I aim to please.” After a moment, he tilted his head back and gazed up at her. “If I had my strength, I'd toss you over my shoulder right about now.”

“Oh!” Worry darted through her. She bent down, hooking her hands under his brawny arms. “Let me help you up.”

He frowned, waving her off. “I'm fine.” But as he rose his frown deepened. His arm settled around her shoulder as he reluctantly accepted her assistance. “You're too kind, sweetheart. One of these days, it's going to get you in trouble.”

She assumed his grumbled warning was meant to protect her out of some sense of chivalry, so she let it pass, ignoring her bristle of pride and the tart rebuff that sprang to her tongue. Instead, she guided him back to settle on the bed. “Would you like me to remove your pants now?”

His mouth lifted at the corner. “Yes, I'd love nothing better, but…and I already hate myself for saying this, but I think I've outdone myself.” His voice trickled away as his expression crumbled, and he covered his swollen rib with his hand.

She cringed with sympathy. “Is there anything I can do?”

His gaze trailed down her naked body with a look of pure longing. “Yes. I might need to get up in the middle of the night. Might need help. It sure would be easier if you weren't so far away.” He glanced over at her side of the bed beyond the blanket boundary.

She smiled and bent down, kissing his smug mouth. “I guess I'll have to sleep beside you then.”

Moving back the covers, she slid in beside him and arranged the blankets over their bodies. Kit lifted an arm, inviting her close. She settled against his better side, resting her head against his shoulder and an arm across his heart.

Encased in their blissful cocoon, her eyes drifted closed despite the light. Warmth surrounded her as she listened to the sound of his heart beating, feeling the soft brush of his fingertips caressing her arm. He pressed a tender kiss against her forehead, drawing her smile again.

Gracious.
The light was still on, there was no divider between them, and she was completely naked. Was there nothing he couldn't charm her into? Maybe it was just that he was incapacitated, but she'd never known a lover who'd put her needs first. Her soul brightened with gladness and hope for what the future might hold for more encounters.

“Don't get too comfortable. We could still have a visit from one of those raccoons,” he teased softly, though his close embrace told her he wasn't about to let her move.

“Ben said they're just babies. Besides, you're in no shape to chase after anything, and my aim's so bad I couldn't hit the broad side of a barn.”

His hand stilled mid-stroke on her arm. “Maybe I could teach you.” He kissed her forehead again, lingering a little longer. “But you'd have to promise to only use it to protect yourself.”

Her heart faltered.

Kit knew.
Dear God, he had to know.

And if he did, she was sleeping with her greatest enemy.

Chapter Nine

The next morning, Kit awoke from the sweetest rest he'd had in as long as he could remember. He pushed the covers back, but instead of warm, generous curves, there were just cold, empty sheets. He rolled over and groaned into his pillow. His last words to her before drifting off to sleep repeated in his mind.

He'd all but accused her of the sheriff's murder. No wonder she'd left. Guilty or not, who wouldn't?

You stupid, bastard.
When will you learn to hold your tongue?

Easing upright, he scanned the room for his clothes. His gun and holster sat on his neatly folded shirt on the end of the bed—right beside Cora's clothing.

If those were her clothes from yesterday, what the hell was she wearing? His pulse quickened as he pictured her naked, then…

Oh, Christ.
She might've been kidnapped or changed into different clothes to run away.

He got up, strapped the gun belt across his hips and shoved his feet into the boots. Wasting no time for buttoning the shirt, he threw the bedroom door open and started for the stairs. When he reached the kitchen, he skidded to a halt. The room they'd sat in the night before eating their stale bread and jam was unrecognizable.

The table was spread with a tablecloth where a tin plate of fried eggs awaited him. The cook stove held steaming pots of what looked like boiling water, and as he moved around the table inhaling the delightful aroma of the food, coffee and morning breeze drifting in the open windows, he spotted a maze of discarded containers that gave his fears of abduction new life.

Earthenware jugs, dusty jars, and boxes of spoiled goods were strewn all the way to the open doors of the pantry. A green skirt swished over a tempting upturned bottom in the doorway as the upper half of the lady in question disappeared inside the darkened space.
Cora.
Relief poured through him. She hadn't run away at all, a courageous lady.

Or an innocent one
, his conscience argued.

His body would know that shapely backside anywhere and stiffened with appreciation for her side-to-side movements.

Coming up behind her, his loins took control of his brain, and he reached for her, unmindful of her present position. She jumped the moment his hands touched the small of her back.
Thump!
She hit something within, and the small space muffled an unladylike word, followed by rattles of the closet's contents.

“I'm sorry.” Guilt stabbed at him, but he couldn't help the grin that spread on his lips as she backed up, right into his arms and against his hardened member.

He felt her tremor of anger as she straightened. She turned around holding the crown of her head. Then her eyes darkened at the sight of his smiling face. “Were you trying to scare me?”

“Certainly not. I beg your pardon.” He forced his expression into a frown, but keeping his smile away was nearly impossible. Her hands flattened against his chest in resistance, but her eyes flashed with something warmer. Putting apology in his own look, he attempted to soothe her, caressing her arms. “Did you bump your head?”

Her hair was swept up in pins again, though a few errant waves caressed her cheek as she slanted her head coquettishly. “Of course I did. I thought you…” Her lips sealed together, and her gaze cut away.

With her creamy skin and long neck beckoning him, his mind clouded with thoughts of burying his face against her and kissing her until she lifted her petticoats to take him right there on the table. But her unspoken words reminded him of why he could not, would not. No, he wanted her and he
would
join with her, but not until the walls she'd erected came down.

He kissed the top of her head and eased back. “I see you've found some clothes.” His voice came out rough.

“Yes.” She smiled and hugged her stomach in the familiar mannerism he now recognized as a sign of her distress. “And there's clean men's clothing for you, as well. I found them in an old hope chest.”

“The day dress you're wearing might be made of sea-island cotton. The former owners were originally from Georgia. They eventually gave up cattle farming here to move back east.” He couldn't resist another caress, running his hand down her curvy side. The corset was conspicuously absent, which meant only a thin layer of fabric lay between him and her bare skin, those full breasts and succulent nipples just waiting for his touch. He shoved his hand into his pants' pocket to keep from reaching for her again, then allowed himself another chance to admire her. He found her beautiful in anything she wore, even when standing knee deep in clutter and cleaning.

Only his uncle's housemaids had cleaned for him before. Indeed, Cora intrigued him most perplexingly. How was it that she hadn't been snatched up by some lonely homesteader out here? Maybe she'd never wanted to be a wife. He'd seen less suitable spouses—his aunt, for one, whom he recalled always complaining about something in her marriage that wasn't up to her standards.

Cora wasn't passive either. Not with that independence and intelligence. She'd bring one fight after another, but he admired that spirit of hers, which had probably caused her to carry a loaded pistol in the first place.

Suddenly, he wished to experience some of that fight.

Full of warring emotions and a blazing need that made him reckless, his gaze climbed back up her curves to meet her sultry green eyes, and before he could stop himself, he muttered, “It's a shame the former ranchers didn't have any velvet.”

Cora's breath hitched.

She'd spent an hour before the sun had even come up making the house more hospitable, intending to make things right for Kit. It didn't seem fair that he'd been tricked into purchasing the place while still in mourning. It wasn't right that Ben, the man he'd entrusted to maintain his property, had turned out to be a drunken ne'er-do-well.

Now she stood immobile, paralyzed as Kit's eyes blazed a path down her again. She could've sworn he was undressing her in his mind, stripping her as bare as she'd been last night, knowing more about her today than any man, even though they'd never made love. He knew her body as well as her darkest secrets. Hell, he'd all but said aloud she was the woman in the wanted posters.

Instead of asking her about it though, he thought he would play with her?
“You're too kind,”
he'd told her the night before.
“One of these days it's going to get you in trouble.”
No doubt because she'd been so easily tricked into thinking he liked her.

He thought he could taunt her? Well, how
dare
he.

She'd done Kit the favor of coming on this trip to provide him companionship, leaving behind her own responsibilities at the social club. All the while, he must've been toying with her emotions. Well, she'd be damned if she let him play with her any longer.

“If you're going to arrest me, do it already.” She planted her fists on her waist and lifted her chin, sending him a glare that said he could go straight to hell. “Our horses wandered up an hour ago. They're hitched right out front. So go on, escort me back to town and put me in jail. I won't even put up a fight.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Don't tempt me. I could've brought you in two nights ago, but I didn't.” His expression shifted, his brows lowering as if the idea had only just occurred to him. “I've been waiting for you to explain yourself. I wondered how long it would take.” He stroked his chest beneath his shirt as if he'd begun hurting.

She closed her eyes briefly, unwilling to feel sympathy for him. “I don't have to explain myself to you or anyone.” She'd had every intention of surrendering once the club was safe from trouble. Apparently, she'd waited too long. “Why does every male think I owe him something?” Heart hammering, she shoved past him, circling the kitchen table as she headed for the front door.

“Cora, wait.” He followed her and grabbed her arm. She whirled around to confront him, knocking over one of the kitchen's ladder-back chairs, but his serious expression caused her breath to catch. “I'm not turning you in. Not until I hear why you did it.”

“Why do you care? You want me to confess so you'll have more to hold against me. You want money? Or my body? Well, I'm not giving you either!”

He tugged her closer and glared down at her, red collecting in his cheeks. Then he lowered his voice. “I know what sort of men you're used to dealin' with. Yes, I came to the Willows just as they did, looking for a night of debauchery, but I assure you, I possess
some
redeeming qualities. One is that I don't deal in blackmail. Another, I'm told, is that I'm pleasing to ladies. But most importantly, I'm a Wainwright, honorable to my word, and I'll fight to the last for what I believe is right. Of course I want you—” his gaze raked her and then paused on her mouth before he continued, “—but I want you even more because you haven't tried to bribe me.”

She frowned and took a deep breath, trying to restore her composure, but the smell of him, all leather and musk, clouded her mind. His angry breath stirred her hair, made her look at his mouth too, and want another taste of him. By sheer force of will, she made herself focus on his words. “You…don't want me to pay you?”

“I'm only askin' for your version of what happened. Then I'll decide for myself what I should do.” He leaned in as if to kiss her, and she waited, welcoming it, longing to end this argument. But just when his lips floated above hers, he moved aside, his cheek brushing against her hair. “We'll go back whenever you're ready, but we both know you're not.”

“Oh, we do?” She lifted an eyebrow, trying to remain cool and unaffected, though he stood so close. “What makes you think that?”

“Last night.” He settled his hands on her waist, and their weight, along with his whispered words against her ear, made her shiver with delight. “I told you before, we're not done by a long shot. Certainly not after what we started upstairs. Give me another chance today, and I'll do my best to make you forget any man who came before me.”

“That confident in yourself, are you?” She rested her hands on his shoulders and leaned back to look into his eyes.

His mouth curved with amusement. “I am.”

He's right.
She wasn't ready to go back and face whatever might come, and it was all because of him.

She returned his stare, but his blue eyes dazzled her, made her crackle with excitement. That, added to his wild, bed-mussed hair, scruffy face and unbuttoned shirt, made him more irresistible than ever, and proved that he'd come down without a thought of anything except of finding her.

Heat ran through her. She lifted his shirt away from his chest, meaning to look at his bruise. “But your ribs? I don't think you've got the strength—”

Kit's expression darkened. As if accepting her words as a challenge, he picked her up by the waist and sat her on the table, rattling the breakfast plate she'd left for him. He leaned closer. His hard length strained against her knees, and in that moment, she'd never felt more powerful. His mouth crashed on hers, raw with need. He took her hands and flattened her palms over his flesh, encouraging her to examine his chest and rippling abdomen further. His tongue swept against her closed lips, and she opened for him. Wicked and brazen, his touch ran down her arms and across her breasts, while his tongue glided along hers.

Returning his kiss with fervor of her own, she groped and caressed his powerful muscles as he moved over her. Air touched her bare legs as he pulled her skirt up, exposing her to him. He nudged her knees apart, sliding his hands along the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. He applied a gentle pressure, and she spread her legs, welcoming him into the space. Her muscles tightened with desire, and she dug her fingers into his shoulders, pulling him closer. She needed to fill every sliver of space separating their bodies.

He lifted his head, his breath fanning her in rhythmic beats, and his eyes reflected his struggle for control.
Did he have a change of heart?
His lips parted to speak, but she didn't want to hear it. What could either of them say that would make this right, a sheriff and his wanted criminal? No, it was better just to act and feel.

She covered his mouth with hers, cutting him off.

Slowly, he leaned into her, their breath mingling with his delicious consent.
Victory.
She put a hand behind his neck, tunneled her fingers in his hair and kissed him more deeply.

While nibbling at her bottom lip, he trailed his fingers down the arch of her back to her waist. Then she felt his work-roughed fingers beneath her dress, sliding up to cup her buttocks. “Cora, I want you so,” he murmured.

The husky timbre of his voice vibrated a string deep within her. The hard bulge in his britches brushed against her, and an intense current of need took hold of her there. Over Kit's shoulder, water sputtered on the cook stove, causing a cloud of steam as the water pots started to boil over. She was so tempted to let them boil dry, but she had important plans for that water, even if everything within her was telling her to forget it—that things were perfect just as they were.

“Grab a pan and come with me.” She kissed his cheek.

Kit groaned. “I'll eat later.”

He leaned for her mouth, but she pulled back. “The water's for cleaning.”

“Can't Ben clean?” he groused. “I'm paying him to do these things.”

She smiled and massaged the back of his neck. “Oh, he's working, all right. I'm a firm believer in the ability of a man to rehabilitate. After all, look at you—from gunslinger to sheriff.”

“I'm less hopeful, but I'd like to be proven wrong.” He reluctantly picked her up and set her on her feet.

She took Kit's hand and tugged him in the direction of the stove. “If it makes you feel better, I've asked him to draw you a bath.”