Reese (11 page)

She had never considered there might come a day, a place, or a situation she could not manage. As a result, her hands shook, and her knees as well. She'd told Reese that fear did her no good—but tell that to her wildly beating heart. She'd been trying to for hours now, and her heart wasn't listening to her well-touted common sense.

So she'd been naive in thinking rough riders could frighten away the banditos. Certainly that wasn't the dumbest mistake in the history of Texas.

So she'd hired men to murder other men. Someone had to.

Sighing, Mary leaned her head against the back of the couch, exhausted by the recriminations that went around and around in her mind. Thus far no one had knocked on her door to berate her, probably because everyone cowered inside their houses, terrified of the men she'd brought to Rock Creek.

This never would have happened if they'd known how to defend themselves, if one man had stepped forward and organized them into a community that could protect their own. Instead, the only person to step forward had been Mary.

But what if she'd done things differently?

Mary sat bolt upright as an idea blazed through her mind, quivering excitement erasing every vestige of fatigue. She jumped up and left the house, then hurried to the hotel. She had to talk to Reese, and she had to do so now.

Wind, shrieking like a banshee between empty buildings, whipped her skirts. The bodies were gone, the blood in the dust obliterated. Her proper upbringing told her that no ghosts walked here, but Mary had an Irish soul and knew better, so she walked a bit faster.

By the time she reached the hotel, she was running. Without knocking—it was a hotel, wasn't it?—she burst through the back door. And found herself face-to-face with a gun.

She was getting very sick of guns.

Mary kept still, forcing her gaze from the long black barrel of the rifle to the eyes of the man who held it. "Good evening, Mr. Rourke."

He flipped the rifle onto his shoulder, chomped the unlit cigar in his mouth, and nodded. "Ma'am."

"I'm looking for Reese."

"Why?"

She raised her eyebrows at his effrontery and ignored the question. "Is he upstairs?"

Rourke chomped a few more times, then sighed. "I know it's none of my business, but I feel sort of responsible, seeing as I told you where to find him when you asked."

"Responsible for what?"

He shrugged, but his gaze slid from hers. "Things."

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean."

"I'm sure you don't. And I'm just as sure Reese does. He has no business with you."

"But he does have business with me. That's why you're all here. That's why I need to see him."

He stared at her as if she were daft. "Reese is a good man. I've trusted him with my life more times than I can count, but he's got secrets none of us even know about."

How odd. His five closest friends didn't know what Reese was hiding. What on earth had he done? Who had he been before he became whatever he was? And did she care?

Not much.

"His past is of no concern to me."

Jed grunted. "It might be if his past shows up one day."

Mary stared at Jedidiah Rourke. He was trying to tell her something, though she wasn't sure what. A footfall from above made Mary glance up.

"Jed?" Reese called. "Who came in?"

That voice did funny things to Mary's insides. She lowered her gaze and discovered that Rourke's was full of resignation. "You're already too far gone, aren't you?"

Mary frowned. "Gone? I don't understand."

"Never mind." He turned. "Miss McKendrick wants to talk to you. Send her up?"

Reese didn't answer at first. Then a short, annoyed sigh, followed by "Yeah, go ahead," drifted downward.

Mary nodded her thanks to Rourke. As she picked up her skirt and climbed the stairs, she thought she heard him mumble, "Virgin Mary," but when she turned, Rourke was gone.

Reese was not at the top of the stairs or in the hallway, but a door halfway down spilled light across the floor. Hesitantly, Mary stepped into that beam.

"Come," he murmured, and she did.

He lay on the bed, just as he had the first time she'd seen him. But this time he wore a shirt, even though the buttons hung open to mid-chest, revealing bronzed skin and golden hair. His feet were bare again—pale, slim, and soft against the stark black of his pants. She swallowed the same heated lump in her throat that had appeared in another room, another town.

"Close the door, Miss McKendrick."

"I don't think that's a good idea."

"I have to agree, but do it, anyway. My men are loyal but nosy as hell."

"It's improper."

"More improper than you being here in the first place?"

She flushed. "But I had no choice."

"We so rarely do. Shut the door."

She turned, put her palm against the wood, and slid the door across the floor, inch by inch, until the click of the latch echoed in the heated silence. She became aware of the line she'd crossed by coming here, and some of what Jed had said downstairs began to make sense.

Being in this room could ruin her reputation, and a teacher with a ruined reputation did not teach very long. Teaching was her livelihood; Rock Creek was her home. She could lose both if she continued to barge ahead, thinking like a woman with nothing to lose and nothing to fear. Each day she discovered there was more to fear and more to lose than she'd ever imagined.

The bed creaked, but Mary continued to face the closed door. When Reese placed his palm against the wood right next to hers, she started. He was nearly as sneaky as Rico.

"Hush," he murmured. "I won't hurt you."

"No?" She could feel his heat all along her back, and she resisted an insane urge to press against him, body to body. "Mr. Rourke seemed to think you might."

Reese snatched back his hand and moved away. Mary shivered at the sudden loss of heat, but at least she could think again. After a deep breath, which was filled with the scent of him, she turned. Reese paced the room like a caged cat. "What did he say to you?"

"That you have secrets."

"Doesn't everyone?"

"I don't."

His pacing brought him in her direction. She held her ground even when he stopped close enough she could feel his heat call to hers once more. "And that's what makes you nearly impossible to resist, Miss McKendrick. A woman without secrets doesn't come along every day."

"You need to stop teasing me."

His golden brow lifted toward his golden hair. "Who said I was teasing?"

She wasn't even going to answer that ridiculous question. Of course he was teasing. He might have kissed her once; after all, she'd
let
him. The sisters had told her what men were like. They would take advantage—whatever that meant—if given half the chance. But Reese would never kiss Mary because he wanted her lips against his more than he wanted life itself—no matter how much she might dream such things were possible.

"I want you to tell Mr. Rourke there's nothing but business between us," she said.

"Why would I lie?"

"Lie? That would be the truth."

He was so near that his bare foot rested between her boots, and when he spoke, low and soft, his breath brushed the top of her head.

"No. The truth would be that I can't stop thinking about you. I want to touch you every time you come near me. Even when you were spitting mad this afternoon, looking at me like I was evil come to life, I still wanted to kiss you again and again and again. Right now I want to do a whole lot more than kiss you."

"More?" The word whispered past Mary's lips, shocking her and, from the expression on his face, shocking him.

Then his mouth quirked in a self-derisive smile, and he shook his head. "Ah, Miss Mary, if I told you everything I'd do to you if you
let
me, I'd shock your virgin ears. I don't think you'd call that business, and neither would anyone else."

She stared into his face with wide eyes even as her body responded to his voice, his scent, his words. "You're crazy."

He shrugged, and his shirt shifted, giving Mary a hide-and-seek view of the chest she admired so much. "I've been called worse."

The way he said that made her heart ache. Slowly, she lifted her hand toward his stubbled jaw. He jerked away before she could touch him then stepped out of her reach. Slowly, her hand fell back to her side, feeling emptier than it had ever felt before.

He hovered there, close but still far away, and contemplated her with eyes that made her hurt and happy at the same time. "Tell me, why
did
you let me kiss you last night?"

Unreasonably annoyed at his withdrawal, she snapped, "I didn't
let
."

"All right, I took, but you gave back. You should have slapped me and thrown me from your house. Instead, you search me out at night, in my own room, and you stare at me as if you want me to kiss you again. Do you, Mary? Do you want me to kiss you again?"

"Yes."

He blinked. "You do?"

"Of course I do. What woman wouldn't?"

A shadow passed over his face. "I could name at least one."

She frowned. A woman had hurt him. Badly. But why? Another one of his secrets, she supposed.

Reese turned away, and the slump of his shoulders tugged at her heart. "You came here for something other than a kiss. Did you want to yell at me again?"

His stance cried out for comfort, and though she knew little of such things and even less about being comforted, she sensed despair as well as anyone. He had refused her touch before and no doubt would again. But before she could talk herself out of it, Mary crossed the small distance between them and put her hand on his shoulder, touching him, although she had been warned not to.

In one fluid movement he wrapped her in his arms, holding her tight, as a child might, then pressing his mouth to the curve of her neck.

She had thought he would push her away, snarl at her, even kiss her hard and long. She had not expected an embrace, and the sweetness of it tore at her soul.

Hugging was not part of her life, not now or ever before, and she hadn't realized how soothing a mere embrace could be. She relaxed in his arms, slipped her own about his waist, and pressed their bodies together. His heart beat fast against her breast, the only movement in a man gone as still as a wild thing when dawn broke through the trees.

Before she was ready to let him go, he pulled away. Trapped in feelings she had never experienced, she could no longer think about what was right and sane but could only behave the way those feelings demanded. Afraid he would escape her completely, she cupped her palms about his cheeks, lifted on tiptoe, and pressed her mouth to his.

He stiffened. He did not kiss her back. Panic lit inside her chest. He must not run. Not yet. She tangled her fingers in his hair, tasted his lips with her tongue, plunged past that barrier and licked his teeth.

He jumped as if she'd stuck him with a pin and yanked his mouth from hers. "Where did you learn that?" he whispered.

She tilted her head and told him the truth. "There's been only you, Reese. Just you."

His mouth tightened. "Don't say things like that."

"Why not?"

"This is why not."

He jerked her back into his arms, and whereas before they had shared a gentle, comforting embrace, this time they shared something else entirely. Neither gentleness nor comfort remained in him now. His hard body pressed against her softness. His mouth, which had been tender against her neck, now pressed firmly against her own in a heated kiss. His tongue plunged; his lips plundered; his teeth nibbled. Then his fingers plucked the pins from her hair, and the mass tumbled free. Whenever he came near her, it seemed, her hair ended up loose and flowing over them both.

He was a madman, his mouth everywhere. On her chin, her cheek, her eyelids. Lifting a handful of her hair, he crushed his face into the riotous curls.

Her hands tightened, needing to hold on to something as her body shuddered with unheard of sensations when his lips graced her ear, his breath brushed her neck, and his tongue lingered along her collarbone, tracing the skin above her bodice. Clever fingers tugged; her dress plunged low; his tongue dipped into the crevice between her breasts; then his lips pressed to the full swell, and her knees buckled.

How had her back come to be pressed against the door that should not be shut? When had his leg squeezed between hers? How had her fingers gone from the hair on his head to the hair on his chest? Why did the secret part of her throb for something she could not name?

Then his leg shifted, and the throb turned to a scream when he pressed into her just so. He swallowed her cry with his mouth. Her fingers clenched on his chest, nails scraping hardened nipples. He tore his mouth from hers with a curse.

"No!" she cried, not wanting him to stop.

He backed away, horrified, then rubbed a trembling hand over his mouth. "I'm sorry. God, Mary, I'm sorry."

"I kissed you, Reese."

"Why did you
do
that?"

He stared at her with wild eyes. Did she look as bad as he? His shirt hung open and crooked; his hair stood on end; his mouth was red and his face pale.

Then his gaze lowered to her bodice. Glancing down, she discovered that her breasts had almost popped free of every trapping; red scrapes from his beard laced across her white skin. She should be horrified at the evidence of what they'd done. But the sight made her body go hot and limp again.

"Why in hell did you come here?"

She raised her gaze, but he was busy buttoning his shirt and ignoring her. She adjusted her dress and smoothed her skirt, but she still couldn't seem to remember why she'd come to his room—except to kiss him.

No, that hadn't been why.

"You said there was no way to make El Diablo and his men stop raiding Rock Creek without killing them all."

Reese buttoned his shirt all the way up to his neck. His eyes were cool emerald again, though when they passed over her, a flash of heat lit their depths. "Are we back to that?"

"Yes," she said simply. "Is there any other way?"