Sam’s Creed (5 page)

Those too-observant eyes of his touched on her face. She had not looked in a mirror lately, but she knew from how her face felt when she washed in the streams that she’d lost the plumpness in her cheeks. Her father would be horrified. She was unconcerned with that, but she wished she would lose a bit of the plumpness in her chest. The binding that kept her more-than-ample breasts from bouncing painfully was hot. And it made her break out in an irritation rash if she had to exert herself. As she had had to the past two days. Just thinking about the rash made her think of the itch, which immediately became in dire need of scratching. Of course, with Sam watching her so closely, she could not scratch a thing. She held out the biscuit. “You must hunger.”

His blue eyes went dark. His nostrils flared and his gaze traveled her figure. “I can wait.”

Her breath caught. He was not talking food, but because she could not think how to answer, she kept on with the pretense. “It is not possible I can eat all this.”

Sweet Pea stepped in a hole, jerking her thighs along the rough edge of the saddle. The pain was too much. Dropping the packet of food, she grabbed the pommel, a groan grating past her lips. Kell made short work of her dinner. A blur of gray, a snap of teeth and it was gone.

Strong hands cupped her waist. She squealed as Sweet Pea sidestepped, and suddenly she was falling. But only for a second. Then she was lifted and her rear connected with Sam’s hard thighs. His arm came around her stomach, securing her in place. Her hat fell back off her head, getting caught between his shoulder and her back. The string dug in like a noose around her neck. She grabbed for it, kicking with her feet, wrenching at the tie.

Sam’s hands replaced hers, working between the string and her neck. “Easy, now.”

She could not breathe. Harsh noises clogged her throat, struggling to get free. He was choking her. She clawed at his hands.

“Isabella!”

The call for attention slipped under her panic, giving her something to hold on to. She opened her eyes. Sam’s face was inches away. Sam. Not Tejala. His hand was on her shoulder. He was talking to her.

“The string’s gone. You can breathe, Isabella. Just open your mouth and suck in some of this nice cool evening air.”

He made it sound so simple. Just breathe in and out. No big deal for most people. But she had a horror of being choked. It came at the strangest times. And ususally in front of people she would prefer didn’t know. Like now. With Sam.

His thumb brushed her jaw. “Now, Isabella.”

She held his gaze and tried. The obstruction in her throat cleared. She took one breath, and then two. The night air was sweet. Then again, any air was sweet after choking almost to death. She touched her neck, tucked her fingers under the lax string of the hat and yanked it over her head.

“Yeah, I think we can do without that for a bit.” Sam took the hat and hooked it over the saddle horn. His fingertips replaced hers at her throat. Just the tips, tracing the spot where the sensation of a noose lingered. As if he knew. She went breathless again. He moved his hand to her shoulder, just under the collar of her shirt. For no reason she could discern, she apologized. “I’m sorry. I do not like my throat touched.”

His eyes lingered where his fingers had been.

“So I noticed. Any particular reason?”

She shrugged her shoulder, rubbing against his chest. It was a scandalous thing to feel his chest on her arm, his thighs under hers. “I just dislike it.”

The callus on his fingertips tickled her skin. She was almost grateful when his hand left her shoulder and moved to the fabric of her shirt. The rough callus caught on the fabric, dragging just a little as his fingers traced down her arm, over the bend of her elbow before arriving at her hand. For some silly reason she expected him to hold it. He didn’t, but his fingers did move from her hand to her skirt, opening and closing as they gathered up the material. His gaze was so intent, his eyes so beautiful, the tingles that stretched from her neck to her hand so fascinating, she didn’t realize what he was doing at first. But when cool air hit her knees, reality came crashing back.

“What do you do?”

“Well, I could be planning on tossing up your skirts.”

“We are on a horse.”

“I’m not getting your point.”

People could do that on horses? “You cannot be serious.”

It was hard to tell with her vision blocked by the setting sun as it was, but she was pretty sure the creases at the corners of his eyes deepened, which meant he was amused.

“Duchess, someone has sadly neglected your education.”

“Women are not educated in such things.”

“Uh-huh.” His response was low and deep, sensual nuance thickening his accent. She loved his accent. It was so different from her natural language, and different from the English spoken by the few white people she’d seen. His word choice was fuller, his grammar better. “Mine would be.”

She gasped, and not because it was such a forbidden thing to say, but because it found such a home inside her. She could imagine this man doing wild things with his woman. She could imagine his woman enjoying it. She could imagine being his woman.

Just the imagining sent the tingles in her arms leaping to her thighs, sensitizing the skin that seemed to swell into the curve of his palm. Between her legs her private parts swelled, too, and her heartbeat picked up the pace. This was desire, she realized. The evil thing that kept her on her knees in church. The downfall of mankind. This was the reason Tejala chased her. To feel this with her. To be the only one to feel this with her. It would not happen.

She closed her eyes as Sam’s hand continued to pull up her skirt, drawing courage from her purpose, but not brazenness. She could not just smile and make nice while Sam exposed her legs. There was enough of her upbringing still healthy to make that impossible.

“What’s going on in your head, Isabella?”

“Is it really possible to have relations on a horse?”

His hand stopped moving. Against her side, his chest expanded on an indrawn breath and then stopped. She had actually shocked him. She had the feeling not many people did that.

He let the breath out on a slow, even expulsion. “Feeling adventurous?”

Adventure implied risk. “Are having relations on a horse more difficult than relations elsewhere?”

His eyes narrowed and his head canted to the side. “I’d feel a whole lot better about answering that question if you didn’t keep referring to things as ‘relations.’”

“My grasp of your language is not that good. I do not know another word.”

“I’ve picked up a bit of Spanish here and there—why don’t you run the words you do know by me?”

And admit she did not know any words at all? She did not think so. “I do know one word in English, but I do not think it is one a lady uses in front of a gentleman.”

His eyebrows rose. “You don’t say?”

“Do not look so eager. It is not a word I will say.”

He grinned. A real one. “Chicken.”

Yes, she was. In many ways.

She caught her lip between her teeth. This was a big step she was taking, probably one she shouldn’t be taking without a lot of thought—one that would have her forever banished from her family, ruined in society’s eyes, fallen in God’s. But Tejala’s men were close, and tomorrow might be too late. She was not foolish enough to think she could win in this game with the outlaw forever. Someday she would be outmaneuvered and her innocence would be taken from her. And she would still be banished from her family, ruined in society’s eyes, still be fallen in God’s eyes. So either way there were consequences, but one way she made the choice. The other, the choice was made for her.

She licked her lips again. Sam’s eyes dropped to her mouth. There was a tension in his muscles that hadn’t been there before. A hardness under her buttock that hadn’t been there before. In contrast, everything in her body softened.

This man who’d risked his life for her interested her. She did not fool herself that Sam was a gentle man. There was a razor edge to his personality, a coldness to his expression that spoke of purpose, but there were also those flashes of humor, and moments of softness. But what she noticed most about him was the lack of cruelty. He was kind to his horse, kind to his dog. Kind to her. Taking him as a lover might not be her worst choice.

She closed her eyes, daring and apprehension rippling through her at the same time, riding the same thought. A lover. She shivered. She was considering taking a lover. And not just any lover, but the infamous Sam MacGregor.

It seemed so much more brazen when she thought in specifics. But the alternative was losing her virginity to rape and becoming the trophy of a man she hated. That was by far more horrifying. She didn’t want the only things she knew of relations between a man and a woman to be taught to her at Tejala’s hands. She didn’t want to hand him one single victory, especially the prize of her virgin’s blood. Taking a lover accomplished many goals. Taking a lover was practical. Her mother had raised her to be very practical.

She opened her eyes. Sam was still watching her mouth. In an experiment, she ran her tongue over her lips again. His gaze followed every movement. Taking a lover was also going to be very fun.

“Do you find me pretty, Sam?”

“Anyone would find you pretty.”

He was still watching her mouth. The dying scream of her mother’s lectures on the dangers of being promiscuous echoed in her mind as she placed her hand over his on her thigh. “That was not what I asked. Do you find me pretty?”

“You’re beautiful.”

It was so hard to be brazen with the sun shining in her eyes, exposing her to every nuance of Sam’s expression. So hard to be confident with Sam watching her as if she were a prisoner intent on escape, his hand on her knee a vivid distraction. Her diaphragm constricted. She took a careful breath and asked, “Beautiful enough to have relations with?”

“Why?”

She was prepared for a simple yes, had her next line rehearsed. She was not ready for “why.” Men did not ask why. They just leapt on the opportunity. Asking why was an insult.

“What do you mean,
why?”

B
ella forgot herself and pushed at Sam’s shoulder. It was like hitting a wall in every way except for the inclination her fingers had to linger against the surface, to explore the solid ledge of muscle and bone, to move the shirt aside and know the warmth of his skin intimately. She yanked her hand back. “A man does not ask this of a woman!”

“Seems to me to be a sensible question when a respectable woman propositions a disreputable man.”

He was not disreputable. She knew disreputable. He was not it. The heat of his flesh dallied on her palm, teasing the nerve endings into wanting. She closed her fingers around the need. “It is a very rude question. And the fact that I am sitting as I am is the proof that I am not respectable.”

“I notice you don’t argue my being disreputable.”

The sun was too bright. She could not see his face, but she had a suspicion he was laughing at her. “You had best not be smiling.”

She shaded her eyes. He was.

“You’re real fond of giving orders, aren’t you?”

He was very handsome when he smiled that way, one corner of his mouth a touch higher than the other, his blue eyes darkened with the emotion he usually kept contained. His hand squeezed her knee, reminding her how intimately placed his fingers were. She should have been shocked. Instead, she was taken with a strange breathlessness. “I have not thought about it.”

That was a lie. She tended to be too focused on what she wanted and grew impatient with politeness. Sometimes it was just easier to direct the person. “And you have not answered my question.”

His smile deepened at her pushing. “No. I haven’t.”

His control annoyed her. And excited her. A strange combination. “The question is simple and only requires a yes or no answer.”

Not a muscle on his face moved, but she had the impression he was delving deep into her mind, seeing beneath her skin to motives she didn’t want him to notice. Fear. Desperation. Desire. Finally he spoke.

“I think we’ve already established that I’m the contrary type.”

It was her turn to frown. Contrary was not good for what she had in mind. “This is not a recommendation for a lover.”

Sam’s smile softened as his hand slid higher, edging beneath the thin lawn of her pantaloons, finding excruciatingly sensitive flesh. Deep inside, her very womb spasmed in an ache so sharp she gasped. Sam’s eyes narrowed.

“Now, that’s where you’re wrong.” His fingers slid in the barest of touches, skimming up the inside of her thigh, raising goose bumps and anticipation for…more? Her breath caught and held. How far would he go?

“If I were of a mind to accept your offer, my being contrary could be a real benefit to you.”

She bit her lip as his fingers crossed the line between smooth flesh to chafed.

“And this would be one of them.”

Even the whisper-light touch of his hand burned. She cried out. The arm around her waist tightened. Sam’s mouth brushed her ear. “Anyone less contrary, duchess, would have you straddling his lap and his cock nice and snug in your body by now.”

Shock held her still. No one had ever talked to her as he did, touched her as he did. Always she had been sheltered, protected, pampered. Never had she heard the word
cock,
but she knew from his wording what it referred to. And she was reasonably sure it was not a polite word for that body part. If there was such a thing.

She wondered if this was the way men spoke to the woman they desired or if it was a sign of disrespect. She did not hear a sneer in Sam’s tone, but there was a richness to his drawl that had not been there before. His hand opened over the raw skin, sheltering it from the sting of the air, covering almost half her thigh with just the placement, reinforcing in her mind the difference in their sizes.

“But being contrary,” he continued, “I don’t like my pleasure to be a solitary thing.”

She had no idea what he meant by that. “This means you do not find me pretty enough for relations?”

He removed his hand. Her skin whimpered a protest at the loss of his touch, while her nerves retained the imprint of his hand long after the stinging stopped. It was a strange sensation, but not unpleasant.

Sam reached behind him. She was jostled around as he searched for something in the saddlebag. He brought out a tin. “It means I don’t find you in any condition to have relations.”

Small and gray with no markings, the tin was more suspicious than impressive. “What is that?”

He uncorked the lid. “Something to make you feel better.”

He tugged her skirt up until it bunched just below her hips. She was very aware of his gaze on her legs, of the breeze on her calves. Never in her life had she exposed even the hollow of her throat. And now this man had her out in the open displaying herself. She should be outraged. And maybe it was outrage bubbling along the nerve endings just under her skin, frothing like water at the peak of a rapid, but it felt an awful lot like excitement. He dipped his fingers into the sweet-smelling salve.

“Part your thighs.”

She gasped and jerked. She couldn’t help it. The man was shocking.

As he tilted his head, the last rays of the setting sun bounced off the conchos banding his hat, blinding her.

“For somebody in a hurry to have relations on horseback, you’re awfully jumpy.”

What was she supposed to say to that? She blinked against the brightness. “I am sorry.”

If Bella squinted, she could probably see his expression. She had no intention of squinting, for the simple reason that she had a feeling he was going to be a lot more shocking, and she needed some distance to handle it.

“No need to be sorry. I just need you to part your thighs so I can rub this cream on them.”

Maybe she should have squinted after all. At least with a little tension in her face she might have avoided her jaw dropping and in all likelihood looking like a landed fish struggling for breath.

“How can you say things like that?”

She felt his shrug all along her side. “I believe in plain speaking.”

Before she could suck in a fresh breath she discovered he also believed in plain touching. On the inside of her thighs. Where no one had ever touched her.

The dip of his head blocked the sun, and she could once again see his face, the tightness over his cheekbones, the darkness of his eyes. He wanted her. This, at least, was good.

The salve was cool on her skin as he applied it with methodical thoroughness. A soothing balm to the irritated nerve endings. It was too bad this magic could not be smoothed over her fractured composure. She told herself she had no need to be embarrassed—Sam was just treating her wounds. And even if he took liberties, she’d invited them. It didn’t help. She was embarrassed and unsure.

When his hand reached the softest part of her inner thigh, she couldn’t help herself. She grabbed his wrist, halting his progress. “I can do the rest.”

Instead of leaning back, he leaned in. His lips brushed her ear, sending hot tingles down her spine that leapt straight to her thighs, coaxing them to part. He hummed his approval at the slight movement. The ache between her legs spread right along with her thighs.

“You sure?”

Again she couldn’t see his expression, but she just knew he was looking at her with that half amused, half provoking smile on his mouth. And she wanted to slap him for having so much control when she had none.

But she couldn’t. Women that propositioned a man while on horseback really had nowhere to go with their expectations of respect.

“I am sure.” She held out her hand for the tin. For interminable seconds her hand lay between them, her request dangling with it, waiting on his decision. She suspected that he deliberately made her wait. Did he think she would give in? He had a lot to learn about her. She could sit there on his lap until hell froze over or morning came without surrendering. She was very good at stubborn.

Sam placed the tin in her hand. The other hand stayed on her thigh, the fingertips rubbing in tiny movements down low. She scooped up the salve and applied it to her other thigh, her knuckles occasionally brushing his. It seemed so intimate. So daring. And still he didn’t remove his hand from her thigh. The longer it sat there, the longer she got to think about it. The more she thought about it, the more aware of it she became. The more aware she became, the more her skin seemed to heat to the imprint of his fingers….

She cleared her throat. “We are wasting time.”

“Duchess, I never consider it a waste of time when I’ve got my hand between a woman’s legs.”

“You are outrageous.”

He took back the jar. “I’m not the one proposing relations on horseback with a stranger.”

“It is not like that.”

“Can’t see where I got it wrong.”

Feeling vulnerable, she rubbed the remnants of the cream between her fingers and tugged her skirt down with the other hand. She made it one inch before he was tucking it back up again. Higher than before. She shot him a glare and held tight, barely preventing full exposure. One corner of his mouth quirked up in a grin. If he had not been intent on exposing her privates, she would have found it very endearing. The man had charm when he wanted to use it.

“You forgot to do this side.”

She hadn’t forgotten a thing. “Your hand was in the way.”

“Then it’s only fair that I help.”

His hand engulfed hers, directing her salve-covered fingertip back to her flesh, guiding her as he eased the cream onto her other thigh, first down then up, higher each time on the up, coming closer and closer to her woman’s flesh. He wasn’t touching her, but it felt as if he was. So much so that she felt she needed only to let him go just a little bit farther and something important would be revealed. He brought her hand back down, and then up in a slow seduction that was sinfully decadent. Lushly erotic. And totally out of her control.

Isabella yanked her skirt out of his grip and her hand from under his.

Sam chuckled, but didn’t fight with her. It was a deeply inviting, highly sensual sound. It made her want to laugh, too, for no other reason than to join in. She frowned and concentrated on applying the salve. It was easy to get down by her knees, but higher up required her to lean back. Back was about a six-foot drop to the ground. She settled for rubbing more in where it was.

“Here.” Sam’s arm came behind her back. “Lean on me.”

“It is fine.” If he dropped her she would break her neck.

“I won’t drop you.”

“Do you read minds as well as everything else?”

“You’re not that hard to read. Lean back.”

She did tentatively. His arm was solid as a wall.

“I won’t let you fall.”

She glanced up at him. He was no longer smiling, and his expression was strangely soft.

“Why should I trust you?”

“I am a Texas Ranger. My job is to protect.”

“This does not reassure me.”

“How about I take care of what’s mine?”

“I am not yours.”

“You will be if I take you up on your proposition.”

“You have not accepted.”

“I’m working up to it.”

That was not the only thing he was working up to. His hand guided hers higher, past the softest part of her thigh to the valley between, coming to rest against the center of her ache.

“You missed a spot.”

His fingers pressed hers against the hard point beneath the cotton. Fire shot through her body. She cried out. He held her through the shock, supporting her through the delicious trauma. Distantly she heard Kell whine.

“Easy, Bella. Don’t fight.”

He made her sound weak. “You will know when I fight,” she gasped.

His lips pressed her temple, and his finger slid between hers, finding the slit in her drawers and dipping beneath. “I bet.”

His finger was hot, intrusive, but oddly exciting as it tucked between her folds, forcing her own finger to slide against that erotic point as his found the hollow below.

She didn’t know whether to curl up in embarrassment or to drop backward in a full-out sprawl.

“There, that feels good, doesn’t it?”

Caught as she was between mortification and joy, she could only nod. He rocked his hand on hers, pleasuring her even as she pleasured herself.

“Don’t pull away. Just let yourself get used to the idea.”

Of what? Going up in flames at the direction of a man who was practically a stranger?

“It is a sin to touch oneself.”

“Why?”

She frowned. “I do not know.”

His hat brim brushed her head as he drawled in her ear, “Now, that
is
a sin. And one that should be rectified.”

She shivered as the dark promise of something wicked coming slid down her spine. She’d always been attracted to wicked. Always longed for the forbidden, and now, as if the devil had heard her thoughts, here was a man who seemed to understand the part of her she’d spent so many years on her knees burying in prayer. And she didn’t know what to do with him. She said so, bracing herself for ridicule. If anything, his expression grew softer, more sympathetic.

“Just follow my lead.”

The problem was he was not leading her anywhere. His hand just covered hers as it rested on her mound. She kept waiting for him to move, to attack, but he did not. He merely squeezed his knees and the horse began to walk, adding a light rocking shift of pressure to the contact.

“What do you want me to do?”

“You’re doing fine.”

She was not doing anything but feeling him, the strength in his arms, the power in his touch, the threat of his shaft pressing into her buttocks. She became vividly aware of all the places his body touched hers, the fragility of her hand blocking his from the ultimate intimacy. An intimacy she’d invited. Even reminding herself of that fact didn’t stop the tension within winding tighter, and while she felt distinctly threatened, her body continued to soften and flower outward as if in invitation. Her next breath came on a shaky realization. A woman didn’t have any control in a situation like this.

“Breathe, Bella.”

The amused reminder came in another deep drawl that slid like dark molasses over her nerves, soothing some, stimulating others. She loved his voice, the deep timbre rich with nuance that conveyed so much, but right now revealed nothing. She could not imagine what he thought of her. A woman who so boldly invited him to be her lover. His finger probed her tightness. She jumped, bumping his chin with her head. Instead of swearing, he pressed his lips against her temple.