Nevada Nights (6 page)

"Just a minute. We haven’t finished our hand yet. Besides, I might like some of that action myself."

Several men at the other tables looked up at the commanding tone. A quiet murmur of excitement rippled through the crowded saloon.

Alex scowled. He hadn’t counted on this.

Jarret returned to the table, hauling Cameron behind him.

"Now listen, Colt—"

"No. You listen. The hand was dealt. Each of you drew your cards." He nodded toward the pile of chips in the center of the table. "Now, unless you want to forfeit a whole lot of money to me, you’re going to finish out the game." He flashed a malicious smile in Jarret’s direction. "And just to sweeten the pot, I think we ought to add the lady to the stakes. That should make the game even more interesting."

Jarret appealed to Alex. "You promised, Alex. You said I could have her. Don’t let him get away with this." His voice whined like a pouting child.

"Shut up." Alex roughly thrust the saloon girl from him and studied the man who sat so calmly, one hand holding the cards, the other hand still out of sight beneath the table.

Like a mongrel, the saloon girl crept up behind Michael and began running her hand along his shoulder.

"Why fight over a skinny thing like her? Let him have her, Colt. You can have me instead."

One menacing look from him sent her scurrying away to join the others near the bar.

"What if we say no?" Alex began to rise from his chair.

The man they called Colt gave an icy smile, and Cameron felt her heart stop. How could she have ever believed this man was a hero? She had deluded herself into believing that he was a wealthy, cultured gentleman. Now she saw him for what he really was. The expensive saddle, the flashy clothes. He was a gunfighter, a card shark, and infinitely more dangerous than any of the others at this table. Their fear of him was obvious in their downcast eyes.

"You have no say in this. I’ve already decided." At the chilling words, Alex slumped back down in his chair. No one moved.

"Pick up your cards." Not once did Michael glance in Cameron’s direction.

Each man around the table nervously picked up the hand that had been dealt.

Cameron, still held fast by Jarret, watched in horror as he reached for his cards, spread each one carefully with his thumb, then set them back down. She didn’t understand the game.

Alex grinned at her, obviously pleased with the hand he had been dealt. "This is draw poker, little sister."

Every person in the room had crowded around to watch the outcome of the game. The piano player climbed on the piano stool for a better view. The room grew so silent, Cameron was afraid they could all hear the pounding of her heart.

"Let’s see them." Cameron was only dimly aware of Michael’s clipped words.

"It’s impossible to beat these." Alex tossed down his hand, revealing a king, queen, jack, ten, nine of diamonds.

"A straight flush," he said triumphantly.

Around the table, each man in turn spread his cards, then pushed them to one side, indicating they couldn’t even come close to Alex’s hand.

Alex turned to his brother. "Well, now, I give her to you, Jarret, with my compliments." He bowed grandly.

"Not so fast." Colt’s icy words brought Alex’s head around with a jerk.

"You can’t beat ’em, Colt!"

Casually tossing the cards in the center of the table, the gunfighter watched their faces.

"Colt drew a straight flush, too," one of the miners said with a trace of awe. "With ace high."

Cameron stared at the hand: ace, king, queen, jack, ten of hearts.

The murmur of excitement grew to a fever of cursed exclamations.

The gunman stood, scraping back his chair, and unwinding his frame with surprising, catlike grace. In his hand gleamed the Colt, reminding all of them of his claim to fame.

"Guess we’ll be going now, gentlemen. Got some rather—pressing business to attend to. But it’s been a real pleasure."

With a snap of his fingers he summoned the grizzled bartender, who scurried toward the table. Quickly he tallied the chips, counted out some bills, and handed them with a great show of deference to the man they called Colt.

He pocketed the money, nodded to them, then bowed solemnly before Cameron, whose hand clutched with unspoken dignity at the front of her gown.

"I believe you’ve just become my property, ma’am," he said.

The crowd erupted into laughter.

Taking her hand from Jarret’s grasp, he yanked her harshly away. The dress once again gaped open. Cameron’s face went scarlet in rage and humiliation.

Stumbling, she finally had to resort to running to keep up with his long strides. She gasped as he shoved her ahead of him through the swinging doors of the saloon. The roar of jeering laughter trailed after them.

He untied the black stallion, then mounted before reaching down, lifting her easily in his arms, and planting her squarely in front of him.

She wanted to scream, to let the whole town know that she was being taken against her will. But the terror had risen like a great lump in her throat, threatening to choke her.

The horse’s hooves thundered along the dusty road of the town, then continued the driving pace into the hills that ringed Virginia City. Cameron held herself stiffly in the oversize leather saddle, achingly aware of every part of the body pressed tightly behind her. One hand encircled her waist, holding her firmly in place, while the other hand rested near her hip, loosely holding the reins.

The breeze created by the movement of the horse seeped through her open bodice, thoroughly chilling her. Her body, already battered from the torturous journey of the past weeks, protested every movement she was forced to endure.

The rich cloud of hair danced in the wind, flaying the cheeks of the man who held her against his length. Finally putting a safe distance between them and the town, he allowed his thoughts to return to her. Damn fool woman looking at him so helplessly, with her heart in her eyes! It nearly tore his guts out to watch this child-woman being pawed by that animal. It had taken every ounce of his willpower to keep from killing Jarret Bannion on the spot. His finger had actually trembled on the trigger. More than anything, he had wanted to squeeze, to watch the look of surprise on that brutish face gradually turn to horror as he realized he’d just been shot. He wanted to empty the gun into that lout until he lay lifeless on the floor for the whole town to see.

Luckily the cards had come up the way he had planned them. Of course, if they hadn’t he had been prepared to shoot his way out of that place and take her with him.

That knowledge rankled. The feelings that had nearly overpowered him tonight in the saloon were dangerous for a man in his position. The last thing he needed right now was to feel protective, to feel anything at all, toward one of the McCormicks.

McCormick. Who would have ever believed her name would be Cameron McCormick? He’d have to remember that, brand it into his brain, in order to fuel the hatred. Because it was absolutely necessary that he hate her. This was war. And you didn’t take the enemy into your camp.

She shivered, and the hand around her waist tightened its grip, drawing her even closer to him. His hand traveled upward, finding the torn, gaping bodice. He drew both arms tightly about her, hunching over her slightly to ward off the wind. His face was buried in her hair, inhaling the wonderful woman scent of her. He was drowning in the smell of her. He fought to steel himself against it.

On the crest of hill overlooking the McCormick house he halted his horse and dismounted. Reaching up, he hauled her roughly from the saddle and, without releasing her, stared down into her upturned face.

Rage glittered in her eyes, and he was reminded of the last time he tangled with her, on her island, where she attacked him. He could still recall the shock that had registered when the flying, flailing she-cat had finally been pinned beneath his body on the damp ground. She had been soft as only a woman can be.

"This morning you killed a man in the street."

If he was startled at her outburst it didn’t show. He remained silent.

"I saw you. Then you calmly walked to the saloon."

When he spoke, his voice was dangerously quiet. "Yes. He drew first. I had no choice. Kill or be killed. And the sheriff was in the saloon."

Her eyes blazed. "And of course, being a good citizen, you wanted to be sure you made a complete report to the sheriff."

"That’s right."

"Take your filthy hands off me, Michael Gray."

"Still the little wildcat, I see." His look hardened. "Lesson number one, Cameron McCormick. Don’t ever call me Michael again. Here in Virginia City, the name is Colt."

"Michael, I—"

He caught her roughly by the shoulders and nearly lifted her off the ground. Her hair fell forward, swirling about her cheeks.

Through clenched teeth, he snarled, "The name is Colt. Say it."

He watched her eyes narrow with hatred.

"Damn it, Cameron. Say it. My name is Colt."

He raised his hand as if to strike her. He saw her flinch. Still she kept her mouth firmly clamped shut. He recognized the tiny amber flames of defiance that leaped into her eyes.

"Say it, Cammy, or I’ll have to hurt you."

He watched the tears well up, then spill over, coursing down her face. He swore viciously. He wanted to kiss them away. He wanted to fold her in his arms, to murmur into a tangle of hair that he was sorry. He wanted to rock her in his arms like a child. He wiped away her tears, cursing himself with a fury that astounded him. Catching her by the shoulders, he wasn’t even aware that he had tightened his grip on her until she cried out in pain.

She shuddered, then looked down at her feet, feeling the tension within them both about to erupt.

"All right. Why not? Maybe Michael Gray never existed at all. Maybe he was just someone I made up, someone I dreamed of on long, winter nights."

His voice softened. "That’s right. Now you keep on thinking that way." He tipped up her chin. "Say my name."

He watched her eyes narrow. "Say it!"

She could no longer fight the demand in his voice. "Your name is Colt." She spit each word with venom.

"Don’t you ever forget it. If you ever slip and call me Michael . . ." He paused for emphasis. "I’ll have to kill you."

"Why, Michael?"

It seemed a reflex. He shook her almost violently. For one shocked moment, they simply stared at each other, too stunned to react.

Suddenly, it was all too much for Cameron. Tears of pain and rage spilled over, staining her cheeks.

"I can’t take any more. I can’t. Don’t you understand? My father has just died. I’ve traveled clear across the country to be with him, and he’s dead. And the family I’ve always dreamed of has become a nightmare. And now you’re not Michael anymore. You’re a—a gunfighter named Colt. Look at you, in your fancy clothes and shiny gun." She laughed contemptuously. "And I once thought you were some noble gentleman. I’ll never trust another man. Never! They let you down. They lie and cheat and take from you. Liars! All of you. Liars!"

Without thinking, Michael let his hand drop lightly to her shoulder. "Don’t judge all men by your father. Or me, little Cammy."

With an anguished cry, she tried to push away from him.

"Don’t touch me. You have no right to touch me."

"I won that right, remember ma’am?" A bleak smile curved his lips as he reached up to brush away her tears with his thumbs. The touch was gentle, a reminder of another time, another place. Both of them seemed to sense a subtle change. Suddenly afraid, aware of her vulnerability, Cameron clutched at the gaping bodice of her dress with both hands, anxious to keep a barrier between them.

Michael caught her hands. His voice was a raw whisper. "Don’t. Please. At least let me look at you."

A shaft of moonlight spilled through the leaves of a tree, showering them in golden light. Her cloud of hair shimmered in the haze. Her breasts were nearly exposed beneath the open dress. Defiantly she tossed her head, causing her hair to drift like a halo, before fluttering down around her cheeks and shoulders.

She was so lovely, she took his breath away. Clean, untouched, a breath of air in this hellhole. Desire ripped through him, and he fought the growing need.

"Please, Michael. Don’t—look at me like that."

He froze. "What did you call me?"

"Colt." She licked her dry lips. "Colt, please."

"Please what?"

"Please, just let me go."

He could sense, knew instinctively, what she was fearing. She had the look of a mustang that had been run to ground and held fast by a dozen ropes. A wild thing cornered. He knew he must never let himself spoil what she was. Still . . .

Reluctantly, his hands dropped to his sides. She felt a sudden chill. They stood, almost touching, staring into each other’s eyes.

"Cammy, little Cammy," he murmured.

He paused for long moments, watching the heaving of her shoulders as she fought to calm herself. His eyes narrowed. "Promise me something." His voice dropped to nearly a whisper. "Promise me you’ll go back to your convent."

She blinked in surprise.

"You don’t belong here, Cammy. This town teems with the scum that has been forced to leave other towns. This is a place for drifters and cons. And your family is a pack of curs. They’ll rip you apart. A girl like you doesn’t stand a chance."

He studied her face. Slowly, that look was returning. He could see the growing anger, as she prepared to fight back. Forgotten now was the fear and frustration of a few minutes ago. As much as he admired her spirit, he was honestly worried about her. She didn’t stand a chance against these odds.

"Will you go back?"

Her chin lifted. "My father sent for me. I’m staying, and no—gunfighter named Colt can change my mind." She spit his name from between clenched teeth.

He expelled a savage breath. "You damn little fool!"

Without thinking, he caught her roughly by the shoulders. He was shaking from wanting her. The seething drive he fought to control was fighting to control him, longing for release. If he had half a brain he would take her here and now. It was what everyone back at the saloon expected. And from her trembling response he knew it was within his grasp. God, how he wanted her.

Desire was shattering his cool control. Desire made his body ache for hers. He knew he should be tender with her. This innocent deserved a gentle lover. But his control had slipped completely. There was no time to think, to be slow, to be easy. There was only this driving need that grew and grew.

His mouth covered hers savagely. The kiss was hot, hungry.

He felt her stiffen in his arms, holding herself rigidly in control. He had no way of knowing how devastating the kiss was for Cameron.

She was losing herself. Her world was rocking, teetering on an abyss. And then she was slipping, drowning in waves of feelings she never even knew lay within her.

Something hot flamed deep within her, coursing through her veins, searing even her skin.

Struggling with his own raging passion, Colt moved his lips over hers, until, ever so slowly, he felt her resolve begin to slip. Now, lightly, his mouth moved over hers, tasting, allowing her time to taste him as well.

"I knew your skin would be creamy," he breathed against her mouth. "And I knew it would be like the underside of a rose petal to the touch." Gently he ran his fingertips along the smooth, velvet skin of her throat and shoulders. "And I knew you would taste like this," he muttered thickly, letting his lips follow the trail of his fingertips.

She trembled violently. Both of them sensed the primitive stirrings of passion taking over their control.

For a man who had known many different women, the depth of the emotion that suddenly gripped him was a puzzle. He wanted her. God, how he wanted her. But despite the passions that surged through him, he couldn’t bear the thought of hurting her. He felt a raging need to protect her, while at the same time he longed to lay in the grass with her, to feed on her sweetness, the warmth of her.

For Cameron, this kiss was cataclysmic. It was the very first time she had ever known such feelings. Dazed, confused, she tried to push away from his embrace. With her palms against his chest, she pushed with all her might. Colt’s strength was too overpowering. He simply tightened his grasp on her, thrilling to the provocative movement in his arms. Cameron was stunned to feel the drumming of his heartbeat. It was as thunderous as her own.

Now his lips moved gently over hers, with the barest whisper of a touch. He inhaled the scent of bayberry soap and knew that for the rest of his life he would never be able to smell that delicate fragrance without thinking of her. Caught up in the sweetness of her, the kiss gentled like a fine mist after a summer storm.

For Cameron, shock soon turned to pleasure. Her lips parted slightly, allowing his tongue to invade the sweet, intimate recesses of her mouth. Tiny curls of pleasure skittered along her spine, making her knees weak. Almost with a will of their own, her hands crawled up his chest, then moved along his muscled shoulders, clinging to his strength.

She felt a core of heat and weakness from deep within her begin to radiate all the way to her fingertips. It was unlike anything she had ever experienced.

For a moment, Colt stopped and held her a little away from him, needing to see her face, needing to confirm what they had both felt. Wide, luminous eyes stared back at him. Her lips, moist and swollen from his kiss, pursed into a rounded mew of surprise. With a sudden intake of breath, he cupped her face between his hands, then buried his fingers in her mane of honey hair. Pulling her firmly against him, his lips took hers again, this time with a fierce longing that rocked her. She was instantly caught up in the kiss. His hands trailed down her body to her hips, drawing her tightly to him, making her aware of how perfectly they fit together. She wrapped her arms around his waist, needing to cling to him. Her knees were growing weak, her limbs heavy. His arousal made her achingly aware of her own sudden, shocking desire.

Pressed to him, she was no longer cold. Not only the heat of his body but his very being seemed to merge with hers, demanding that she give as well as take. There was hunger in his kiss, and possession.