Riding West (2 page)

Catching her by the waist, he lifted her back on to the horse and swung up behind her. “Don‘t worry, sweetheart, we‘ll talk afterwards if that‘s what you want.”

———

The man had gone insane.

That‘s the only thing that could account for the transformation. Parker West was not a whiskey-drinking, high-handed wild cowboy. She‘d met plenty of those in her life. He was a hard-working, sober young man who helped run a very prosperous cattle business, respected his parents, and was kind to children and little old ladies. Around Tijeras and the entire area, he was considered, in short, a paragon. A saint. A gentleman.

Thank goodness Rose had seen him grab her, tie her hands and ride off with her. Otherwise no one would believe it. Celia was pretty sure she still couldn‘t believe it herself.

The cabin stood in a small clearing, the location away from any semblance to a path. The small structure wasn‘t recently built by any means but seemed well kept even in the gloom of descending dusk, and there was a neat stack of firewood by the front door. The roof looked solid and next to it there was a small corral and a lean-to big enough for one horse. When they rode up, Parker dismounted and reached for her, lifting her in his arms instead of setting her on her feet. Cradled against his broad chest, Celia felt a small thrill in the pit of her stomach she wasn‘t sure was alarmed panic or furtive excitement. He was strong—she‘d seen him work before and knew it, but he carried her as if she weighed nothing at all. Whatever his intentions might be, she needed to face the fact she was at a pretty severe disadvantage. Normally, Parker would do anything to please her, but in his current unprecedented mood, she just wasn‘t sure if he hadn‘t meant exactly what he‘d insinuated earlier.

Her face heated as she remembered how he‘d looked at her. There had been a dark sensual promise in his eyes she‘d never seen before.

Shouldering his way through the door, he effortlessly carried her inside. The interior was dark, but she got an impression of simplicity in the plain small table with two chairs, stone fireplace and of course the bed that took up one corner of the room. That was where he put her, setting her down and saying curtly, “Stay put. After I see to Diablo, I‘ll come back and untie you.” He pointed a finger at where she sat. “If you aren‘t right there, your hands stay tied, got it, Miss Evans?”

“I‘ve got it,” she said sarcastically, giving him a level stare. “And for God‘s sake, stop calling me Miss Evans. We‘ve only known each other for about twenty years and you‘ve never called me that before.”

There was a flicker of something in his light eyes. One ebony brow edged up. “I can do whatever I want,” he said pleasantly enough. “You might just keep it in mind.”

Celia watched him stalk off in his loose-limbed graceful stride, not certain if she wanted to laugh or scream in outrage. However, though she fibbed earlier about her arms being numb, they had begun to ache in earnest now. Both curious and apprehensive to see what happened next, she sat in uncharacteristic meekness on the edge of the bed and waited.

The slow, melodic jingle of a spur signaled his return in what seemed like forever, but was probably only a few minutes. Coming inside, he carried a load of firewood, which he took to the hearth and deposited. It had been hot down in the valley, but once the sun went down, the air began to cool rapidly. Deftly, he stacked the logs and used a bit of tinder to ignite a small flame, fanning the kindling. Celia watched the way the flickering light played over the planes and hollows of his handsome face and felt the same betraying thrill twist inside her.

“I thought you were going to untie me.”

He glanced up. “In a minute. Are you hungry?”

“No,” she said truthfully. The odd sensation in the pit of her stomach was definitely not hunger.

“Good,” he responded. He stood and came toward her, tall and seeming to fill the small space. When he was next to the bed, he bent and slipped a knife from his boot and with one quick movement, cut the bonds around her wrists.

“It‘s about time,” she muttered irritably, rubbing her wrists. “For future reference,
Mr. West
, having a man tie me up doesn‘t particularly endear him to me.”

“It‘s kind of hard to figure out just what does endear a man to you, so I guess I won‘t worry about it.” The corner of his mouth quirked and he moved to drop into one of the chairs at the table, facing her. As she watched, he pulled out the flask again and took a drink, stretching out his long legs. “Now then, since your hands are free, you can put them to good use. Take your clothes off.”

She stared, unable to believe he‘d actually just issued that instruction. Frostily, she said, “I beg your pardon?”

“Take off your clothes.” Sprawled in the chair, his booted feet crossed at the ankle, he gave her a lazy smile. He had taken off his hat, and his glossy dark hair was disheveled attractively, unfairly long lashes veiling his blue eyes. “It‘s a pretty simple order as far as I can tell, sweetheart. And by the way, it
is
an order. In case you haven‘t noticed, I hold all the cards here.”

“If you think I‘m going to strip naked in front of you, Parker West, you‘re insane.” Celia took a trembling breath. It was hard to tell just how serious he was, but the way his gaze glittered, she was afraid he was dead serious.

“You
are
going to strip naked one way or the other, and if I‘m insane, you‘ve damn well made me that way. Now, are you going to do it yourself, or shall I help?” The question was spoken very softly, barely audible above the growing crackle of the fire.

The threat in his voice was real, even if the situation felt as if it were part of some bizarre dream. Her pulse beat rapidly, but she wasn‘t sure if it was fear or something else entirely. “I don‘t want your help, don‘t worry.” Her voice was embarrassingly unsteady. “Maybe you could tell me the purpose of your request.”

He laughed and it was a genuine sound of mirth. “Jesus, Celia, you must be joking. Surely you can‘t be that naïve. But if you‘d like, I‘ll spell it right out for you. I want you to take off all of your clothes. Then I am going to take off all of mine. Then the convenient bed you are sitting on is going to be put to good use.”

“What if I‘m not willing?” She simply couldn‘t believe her ears. Had Parker—staid, steady Parker West—actually just said that to her?

“That doesn‘t matter much to me right now.” The answer was swift and flat. He held the flask and gazed at her with no hint of remorse in his azure eyes as he lifted it to his lips.

Good God, had she done this to him? Celia knew she‘d teased and flirted with him unmercifully the past few years, ever since she realized the depth of his interest in her. Parker was not the kind of man to compromise a woman‘s reputation, so he‘d let her tantalize and string him along with his usual good-natured equanimity. Her family had scolded her over it often enough, and she had ignored their warnings that some day he might just get darned sick and tired of it.

Apparently that was exactly what had happened.

This was all her fault. She had two options. If he was serious, and he sure looked it, she could resist and make a decent, nice man into a rapist
and
a kidnapper.

Or she could give herself freely. Actually, she‘d always assumed one day she would marry Parker, and if he hadn‘t waited so long to ask and bungled his proposal so badly, she would have said yes. When she turned him down, it wasn‘t like she didn‘t expect him to ask again. She‘d counted on it, once he‘d thought it all over in his practical way and realized she needed a declaration of his feelings, not a stupid list of why they suited each other.

For most of her life, she‘d been more than a little bit in love with him. However, she had taken him for granted, that was for sure.

Maybe right now, she could make amends. In fact, the idea was intriguing down deep if she admitted it, because she‘d always wondered what it would be like when they finally did make love.

Celia stood and began to unbutton her gown. “All right, Parker, you win.”

The flask hung suspended in his fingers.

Parker watched, fascinated and incredulous, as the woman in front of him calmly let her dress slip off her creamy shoulders.

It worked
!

He wasn‘t good at bluffing, or at least he didn‘t think he was, but this outrageous gamble had actually paid off. The very idea Celia believed he‘d force himself on her was a little insulting, but then again, he‘d done his best to convince her he would. When her mother had come to visit his folks a few days ago and taken him aside, he‘d been a bit humiliated when she‘d brought up his ill-fated marriage proposal. Mrs. Evans had diplomatically discussed a more straightforward approach with her independent and headstrong daughter. He‘d listened, too, frustration, both emotional and sexual, making him open to any suggestion.

Even this drastic one.

If Celia ever discovered her own mother was the one who told him to just take her off somewhere and be a little more persuasive in a physical way, she would be livid.

On the other hand, he was grateful as hell.

In a few moments shoes, stockings and petticoats were also in a heap on the floor. A telltale flush of embarrassed pink in her smooth cheeks, Celia stood in her thin cotton shift and lifted her chin. Her long-lashed eyes, so lovely and blue, showed her usual challenge. “I thought you were going to undress.”

His mouth had gone entirely dry and Parker swallowed, remembering his role as forceful abductor with difficulty. When he spoke, his voice sounded hoarse. “You aren‘t finished. Take it all off.”

Her upper teeth sank into the softness of her lower lip, but she didn‘t look away as she pulled free the ribbon at her bodice. The material gaped open, exposing the tantalizing swell of high, full breasts. Celia eased the garment down her arms and over the curve of her slim hips until it pooled at her feet and she was completely naked.

All he could think was that in his entirely male fantasies about this particular moment—and he‘d had plenty—he hadn‘t done her justice. Her skin was flawless ivory, her limbs long and supple, and her firm breasts had a lush ripeness in comparison to the slender dip of her waist and length of her legs. He couldn‘t help but stare, his heated gaze examining the soft rose of perfectly shaped nipples and then slipping lower, to the small dark gold triangle at the juncture of her thighs. “Oh my God,” he said involuntarily.

Her blush intensified, turning her cheeks scarlet. “I‘ll take that as a compliment,” she said tartly.

“So you should, sweetheart.” With effort, he lifted his gaze back to her face and repeated, “So you should. You are more than beautiful, Celia.”

“Thank you.” Her slim throat rippled as she swallowed. “But quite frankly, Parker, I‘ve never stood in front of anyone in my life without a stitch on and it isn‘t exactly fair you‘re still fully dressed.”

He was rock hard already, his cock so stiff it felt like he was going to burst out of his jeans. Considering her innocence, she was about to get an eyeful, but he was more than happy to oblige. Her easy acquiescence was a little unexpected, for he‘d thought she would be more resistant, but who was he to argue. He stood and swiftly unfastened the gun belt around his waist, setting it on the table before he went to work on his shirt. “Let your hair loose.”

There was a brief flare of irritation in her gaze over the autocratic tone of his voice, but she complied. When she lifted her arms to untie the ribbon, her lush breasts rose and quivered slightly in provocative invitation.

He tossed his shirt on the floor and fairly jerked off his boots. Stifling a groan when he opened his jeans, he pulled them down his hips and stepped free. Celia made a small noise—a swift inhale of breath—and she stared at the rampant length of his erection, swollen and high against his stomach.

“My enthusiasm over being here with you is darned obvious, isn‘t it?” He moved toward her in a long, slow step, not wanting to scare her to death. “I‘m pretty much this way every time I‘m around you and it isn‘t the least bit comfortable, I promise you.”

She looked startled, her gaze traveling from his stiff penis up to his face. “You are? Why didn‘t you tell me?”

That question was so illogical, he had to laugh. “What exactly was I supposed to say?”

“You never even
tried
to do more than kiss me once or twice.” She actually sounded a little miffed over it.

“Of course not. A decent man isn‘t supposed to take advantage of a woman who isn‘t his wife.”

Her hair was a curtain of shimmering gold down her back, the tumbled curls reflecting the firelight and framing the delicate features of her face. Dark blond brows rose but she didn‘t step away when he reached for her. “Then perhaps you‘d better put your pants back on, Parker West, for in case you‘ve forgotten, we‘re not married.”

“We will be.”

He pulled her close and cut off her undoubtedly caustic reply by lowering his head and capturing her mouth. The sensation of her nude body pressed against his was more intoxicating than anything he‘d ever experienced, her lips warm and soft. She was right, he hadn‘t done more than attempt a few chaste embraces, mostly because he wanted her so damned bad he didn‘t trust himself to stop when he should. When he exerted gentle pressure and she complied and parted her lips, his tongue slipped between and he felt the jerk of her surprise as he began to explore her mouth.

He was both relieved and pleased she‘d obviously never been kissed so intimately, for he certainly wasn‘t the only man dangling after the gorgeous Miss Evans by a long shot. She was generally considered the most beautiful girl for hundreds of miles in this section of Colorado, and her three brothers and formidable father kept a pretty close eye on any man that came sniffing around. Luckily, Parker was good friends with the whole family, otherwise he could count on them wanting his blood for what he was doing right at this very minute. When he‘d talked to Celia‘s father before his doomed proposal, Gerald Evans had welcomed the idea of him as a future son-in-law.

Her tongue tentatively touched his as she responded, and the palms of her hands slid over his bare chest upward, so she could clasp her arms around his neck and press against him tighter.