Mallory Rush - [Outlawsand Heroes 02] (6 page)

"But of course you are," he assured her with such sincerity that she had no doubt he meant it. "Whatever fate brought you to ever question it is no less than a travesty. I, too, have been the victim of circumstances beyond my control. And so we do what demands to be done."

He kissed her softly, much too briefly, but it was a potent kiss just the same. The hint of tobacco was on his breath; it fanned her parted lips, which yearned for a deeper mating. "I make no demands on you," he said quietly. "My only wish is that you might need something of me. Do you?"

"I..." She did need something from him. The passion, the fire, the sheer joy of being held and touched by a man who made her feel again. She needed reality to slip away, to be foolish and give in to this reckless abandon. "I do," she answered.

"Then by all means, tell me."

Unable to speak aloud what she couldn't admit to herself any more than she could deny it, she delved lower, wrapped her shaking palm around his length. A faraway voice called to her, warning her with a single word,
insane.

But what a fine madness it was. Waves of sensation rippled from her hand and spread like a match put to dry grass after years of a drought.

"Dear God," she breathed out in a broken whisper. Her belly clutched; her womb reached for what she held.

She began to shake, shake all over, and Lori was suddenly frightened by the quaking of her body. It was making demands, urgent, uncompromising demands that trampled her search for a fragment of lost reason.
What was happening to her?

She didn't know, but something was taking her over and she was desperate to regain some sense of control.

She heard a distant sound and she thought he must be groaning. And perhaps he was, but the pitch she heard was too high, a whimper that went on and on and became an endless moan. And then she knew it was her, moaning and choking on sobs while her thighs jerked open. And she was frantically rubbing against his palm, trying to push him in and starting to cry because something was in the way, something besides his petting hand.

Her panty hose, she thought it was her panty hose. She couldn't release him long enough to do it herself and so she pleaded, "take them off. Tear them, rip them, I don't care. Just please, get the damn things off!"

Her head fell back and she rocked faster, harder, while his own hips were too still and his hands stroked her too softly. One in her hair and the other palming her through the hose, he made no effort to remove.

Why was he taunting her this way? Why was he murmuring quiet, comforting words while she wanted to scream her frustration at him?

And then her body was screaming for release, for an end to the pain. She was racked with it, her hollow womb pleading to be touched and filled. And then something broke, shattered within. It was tearing her apart, turning her inside out, then leaving her to crumple with nothing to hold on to. Nothing to feel except the release of an inner fist quivering in exquisite sensation.

But the rest of her felt bruised, battered from the assault of a ferocious inner storm that had taken her over, used her, then flung her carelessly aside.

She was left in pieces, her pride thrown away.

Lori was desperate to find it. She was desperate to crawl into a dark corner and hide. Far, far away from here, where she lay sprawled in a messy, sobbing heap on top of a near stranger who was soothing her with a tender, consuming embrace. His hand stroked her hair. He pressed his lips to her temple and made a "shhhh, shhhh" sound of comfort.

All of her clothes were on, even her boots, and yet never had Lori felt so naked, so rawly exposed.

"My lady," he whispered. She turned her face as far away as she could, only for him to grip her jaw insistently and turn her to face him. "Look at me," he firmly demanded.

"No. I—I'm sorry, but I just can't."

"But, why? Are you angry with me because I didn't—"

"Please, don't remind me. I feel humiliated enough as it is. But no, I'm not angry with you. Just with myself."

Even breathing seemed to take all the energy she had, but she felt for the tub's edge and tried to crawl out.

His hard clamp on her wrist coincided with the grip of his thighs, the tug of his hand in her hair. Forcing her eyes open, she winced at the concern in his gaze. "Please, Noble, let me go. I need to be alone."

He shook his head slowly, irrevocably. "You are not a harlot, are you?"

Chapter 4

A harlot?
Struggling to remain calm, she said, "no, I am not a harlot. Even if I acted like one."

He laughed softly at that. "My dear, please rest assured that in no way did you conduct yourself as a harlot—even one with rudimentary experience. I hope you will forgive me."

"Forgive you?" she repeated, dumbfounded. "For what?"

"For mistaking your occupation as one you couldn't possibly fulfill," he said. "After all, you can't touch and not feel, can you?" When she didn't answer, he continued. "Please know, had I sooner realized you were a woman of virtue, I never would have attempted to compromise you."

Lori was no less than amazed that he considered her a woman of virtue—which she was—after she'd all but forced herself on him. Unable to bear the lengthening silence further, she asked unevenly, "Anything else?"

"I regret my refusal to compromise your virtue." He brushed his fingers against the nylon from her thighs to her hips. "When you demanded me to remove your pantalets, honor demanded that I not. And now my body demands to know what stupidity possessed me to refuse you, much to the detriment of us both."

Lori's cheeks flared hot, scalding hot, and more than anything she wanted to go under the water and never come up. But instead she forced herself to meet his probing gaze and remain still as he fingered the elastic at her waist.

Noble's brow gathered into a network of fine lines.

"Never have I encountered such a clever work of underclothing before. Are they some new invention imported from France, perhaps?"

Had panty hose originated in France? Lori had no idea, but for now, she decided, panty hose had most definitely come from France, not from the clearance rack at her local department store.

At her nod, he said, "you intrigue me. Everything about you seems so honest, and yet you're a mire of contradictions. For a truth, I cannot understand why such a clearly decent woman would allow me the liberties reserved for a husband. And
why
would you paint your face?"

Paint her face? Lori decided he meant what little was left of the makeup she'd applied hours ago, thinking she'd meet the gang at the Kick and Kaboodle. But thank heavens she hadn't been able to bring herself to leave Noble; and thank heavens she'd dressed in her country-and-western dancing clothes. Between her long denim skirt, simple white blouse, and boots, she could pass for a woman from Noble's time—except for her makeup.

"I paint my face because I think it makes me look better. And you didn't take any more liberties than I did. I'm a widow, Noble. And I guess you could say I was very much in need of a reminder that I'm still alive even if my husband isn't."

"I see." The look he gave her was accepting, but dissatisfied, as if he were playing second lead and was accustomed to commanding the stage.

"Next question," she prompted.

"Not a question, an observation. You're wealthy."

"I am?" When he frowned, she quickly amended, "well, yes, I am. How did you know?"

"How could I not know? You have a fine porcelain tub, running water, the most modern of fixtures." He gestured to her antiquated bathroom. It complemented the furnishings throughout her house—secondhand vintage, re-upholstered in jeweled tones. The hardwood floors with scattered tapestry rugs lent warmth—and contributed to the appearance of a bygone era.

"I live comfortably," she hedged, wondering how long the surroundings would fool Noble. Not nearly long enough, that was for sure. One look at her kitchen and he'd freak. For that matter, all he had to do was get a gander at her TV and be plunged into his own personal episode of
The Twilight Zone.

Exhausting and mind-blowing as the night had already been, it was sure to be a walk in the park compared with the dreaded inevitable. She wasn't ready to handle this any more than Noble could be. But she had to say something, do something, to ease him into it before she dropped the bomb.

An idea came to her. "If you'll give me a minute to change, I'll bring you some dry clothes." Contemporary fashion, a good place to start.

"It's rather dubious that I can fit into any of yours." His gaze dropped to her soaked blouse and lingered.

Lori could feel her nipples tauten. She had forgotten her shame, her distress for having come so completely undone. Confronted with both, she wanted none of either. Noble was a special man and he created some very special reactions in her. What he had given her, what she had greedily taken, was a part of her life back. There was no shame in that.

"I have a few things that belonged to my husband. He was a good man, a very generous man. If he were here, he'd be the first to insist on sharing what he had with you."

"Even his wife?" At her stricken expression, Noble quickly said, "that was unpardonable. Forgive me."

"But you said it. I want to know why."

"A fair demand," he conceded. "Though I have no right, I'm rather jealous. And it grieves me to think you might still regret the pleasure you found with me. I suppose I was simply asking aloud what I believed you were asking yourself in silence."

"You must have excellent hearing," she admitted. "I did, and still do, love my husband. But Mick is dead and he's not coming back. What happened tonight happened—and I'm not sorry for it." She summoned up a tentative smile. "Now that we've got that settled, let's get out of this tub and pick up our conversation over a bowl of homemade chicken soup." Uh-oh. Where would they eat it?

The dining room was safe. But she had to keep him out of the kitchen. And the living room. And her bedroom—-and not just because she had an electric clock and a phone in there.

"Homemade soup? But what other kind would you have?"

"Uh... There's good homemade and there's bad homemade. Mine's good. And only the best for you."

"So it would seem, given the luxury of your company." He allowed her to gain her footing on the floor, then took the hand she extended.

Though she tried not to look, she found herself staring at the considerable evidence of his unsated arousal as he hoisted himself up. Standing, he seemed even more powerful. Almost a head taller, his great, brawny chest filled her vision. She wanted to pull off his open, soaked shirt for a better view but knew that would be courting trouble. Let it drip on the already wet floor, she decided.

Refusing herself the temptation to stroke his chest— or the greater temptation that resided lower—Lori quickly handed him a nearby towel.

"What in the bloody blazes is this?" he asked, staring at the big pink flamingo printed in the center of the terry cloth.

Tell him, dammit, just tell him the year 2000 is just around the bend and neon's in
. "It's—it came from France with my pantalets."

Brrinng. Brrrinng.

"That sound, what is it?"

"It's, uh..." The phone quit ringing. Cursing herself for a coward, Lori said in a rush, "my clock chiming. It came from France, too."

Noble's brow furrowed. "It would seem that you have an uncommon number of imported possessions. Was your husband a smuggler, perchance?"

"No, he was—"
A policeman.
What did they call policemen in Noble's day? Since she had no idea, Lori ad-libbed. "Like you, he was involved with the law." Good, she thought. Lawyers and policemen had plenty of contact with each other.

"Ah, now I begin to understand why you so generously took me in. However, I'm greatly puzzled why Attu failed to mention your acquaintance to me. Were you just recently introduced?" At her quick nod, he said, "that is my good fortune," and turned his attention to the task of drying off, briskly, as if he were in a hurry.

Lori told herself to go change, but she remained rooted in place, watching him sweep the cloth over his magnificent chest. Noble looked up. An intimate smile framed his lips as he caught her artlessly gawking.