With Just Cause (5 page)

“Wrong side of—oh. You’re illegitimate.”

He’d been wrong. What happened now was
definitely a flush. He flicked a glance to her eyes. She wasn’t
looking at anything but him. Grimm nodded and looked over her head.
At nothing but sky.

“You’re kidding, right? They still care about
that? Hasn’t the twenty-first century arrived here yet? I mean,
honestly. I thought it was something really bad.”

“There’s more,” he interrupted her.

“What could be worse?” She was amused. It
carried over in her voice. “I mean, honestly, Grimm... and you have
the most sexy name, by-the-way. It’s almost overkill. But really.
You’ve got me wondering here. If it’s so bad to be illegitimate,
why didn’t your parents wed?”

“C-C-Couldn’t.”

He stammered. For all the embarrassing things
to happen. Damn. Grimm shut his eyes. He couldn’t help it. It was
the way she’d said his name, and the description she’d put to it.
The zing of something electrical that snapped right through him had
affected his vocal chords. Or something along that line.

“You going to tell me why?”

He cleared his throat. “He... uh... died
before that could happen.”

“Oh man. I’m sorry. And they still hold it
against you?”

“My grandpa shot him.”

She went stiff. Or tried. The way he held her
stopped most of it. But a glance showed her open mouth. He went
back to watching the dark sky.

“Well, I hope he got a life sentence, then.
The bastard.”

Grimm let a small smile tip his lips. It was
amusing. The great Woodrow Bradley the Third paying for that? Maybe
now. Not then. In fact, they’d probably held a victory supper at
the large ranch house down there.

“Nope.”

“Why not? Huh? I don’t care how rich he is.
Money can’t protect against murder charges.”

“He was a breed. So am I. Well... half,
anyway.”

“Breed?”

“Yeah.”

He didn’t say a word as she pondered it. And
then she put her hand on his jaw and moved his head down, making
him look at her.

“You’re half American Indian? Is that what
you’re saying?”

He nodded.

“Hmm. No wonder you’re so damn sexy.”

Sexy?
Grimm pulled his head back,
surprised and titillated and something more. Intrigued. Fascinated.
Captivated.

This Deandra truly didn’t look as if anything
he’d said mattered. In the slightest. She’d narrowed her eyes
slightly and had the sweetest half-smile to her mouth. And then she
licked her lips.

Grimm rocked in place, enduring every bit of
the mixed sensations he’d been fighting as they slammed through
him. He locked every muscle against it, panting in little
increments of real air as he fought his own desire, and stood
shaking so violently, she jounced in his arms. She probably thought
him mad. It wasn’t far off. In fact, if she licked her lips like
that one more time he wasn’t sure he wouldn’t be. It was insanity.
And absolute nirvana.

“What?”

He thought that was the question coming out
of her mouth, but if he wanted to make an answer he had to look
away. And quickly. Grimm moved his entire head up to look out and
over the valley, even as it pulled against the restriction he’d put
on his shoulder muscles.

“You don’t... care?” he asked.

“Of course not. I just hope you live
somewhere close.”

Whoa.

His knees felt that reaction, going soft and
weak, as they sent a shudder through him again. Still.

“I’m a little annoyed at you because you
actually thought I’d care. And I got news for you, Grimm Bradley.
Man. You have a killer name. Really.
Grimm. Bradley
. You
don’t want to see me annoyed.”

Her voice had lowered and gone sensual on his
name. There wasn’t a description for the whoosh of fire that roared
through him, obliterating the earlier sensations. The dirt he stood
on was littered with pebbles. It wouldn’t be soft. Or romantic. But
he might not have the option. It was sensational. Mind-opening.
He’d run across many women over the years. Regardless of which
nightspot he visited, he wasn’t lonely for long. He’d be
approached. Accosted. Propositioned. They’d shamble over to him,
start up some double-meaning conversation, and if he failed to take
the bait, some of them got even more assertive. Aggressive.
Annoying. They were usually tipsy, too, making them even more
unpleasant. Women were trouble. Drunk women were worse trouble. How
different it was with this mate of his. Every word she said was
like blowing on an already raging flame.

“So... speak up. You do live close...
yes?”

He cleared his throat. “Yonder. See those
dark hills?”

He’d have pointed, but the valley was backed
by large black hills. They couldn’t be mistaken for anything
else.

“You live there?”

“This side of.”

“You got a nice big bed?”

The instant reaction took them off the ground
several feet. She had her gaze locked with his and didn’t seem to
notice. He nodded. His voice wouldn’t work.

“That is what you had in mind, wasn’t
it?”

“Uh...”

“Well, don’t just stand here, get a move on.
Or we’re about to test this ground. You got it?”

His head spun as she put words to his
thoughts. Exactly.

“Then prove it, Cowboy.”

He reacted. Vividly. With primal intent.
Subconsciously. It was a reflexive action, lit off the ratcheting
of sensation within him. And it was massive. Grimm launched them
across the chasm, over the first KEEP OUT signs, leapt the “Beware
– Abandoned Mine” barricades. He didn’t even refasten the padlocks
on the two massive iron gates that blocked this entrance. He’d do
it later. If he remembered. Right now his entire focus was on
her.

They reached the old mine shaft, dropped two
hundred feet, while wisps of her hair slid across his face,
catching in his chin stubble. She didn’t act like it was of
consequence. He didn’t think she closed her eyes the entire time.
She didn’t move them from him, either. But he didn’t check. He
didn’t dare look at her again.

Not yet.

Deandra had never felt like this.
Disembodied. Acquiescent. Malleable. Easy. And actually requesting
that he find a bed? She should be embarrassed. Aghast. She’d never
believe herself capable of saying it if the words hadn’t come out
of her mouth. Without conscious volition and little thought. She
felt unfettered. Unrestricted. Free. And it was heady. It was also
amazing. Enthralling. She’d never tried being hypnotized, but this
might be what it felt like. Maybe.

As quickly as he moved, it should feel
chilly, cool air caressing all about where sleeves would protect.
It didn’t. It was like she was cocooned. Enveloped. And it was
dark. Not dark and gloomy, like when the power went out. Nor was it
dark like when she shut all the blinds in her condo for the night.
This dark was like ink. Black. Pitch black. It was impossible to
see anything. Including a path. How was it possible Grimm moved so
rapidly?

“Grimm?” Her voice didn’t sound much like
her. It didn’t portray one bit of what should be apprehension. Or
at least concern. Rather, the sound was sensual. Rapt. Throaty.
Maybe it was just saying his name. She hadn’t been mistaken. He had
a killer name.

“Yeah?”

Wow. He wasn’t talkative, but it could be a
self-defensive thing. The moment this guy was spotted, he probably
had a battle on his hands. He’d have been mobbed by the 2100
Radical Society if they’d seen him. That might explain his
reticence. That, and how amazing his voice resonated all
around.

They thudded to a stop on the ground. Or
floor. Or cave surface. His lower limbs flexed and then they were
moving again. This time horizontally.

“Where are... we going?” she asked.

“Does it matter?”

A shiver ran him when he said it, and it
transferred through her, ratcheting everything higher. It was
difficult to catch her breath. Her senses. Her thoughts.

“But... how can you see?”

He grunted. Turned a corner, or swerved
around an obstacle. Or something that shifted her weight in his
arms.

“Sorry. I forgot.”

“Forgot what?”

Light started permeating the corridor, coming
from some still-to-be-seen source. It got sucked into what looked
like stone, and that was then shadowed by interspersed wooden
beams.

“Human frailties.”

They entered an enormous chamber, negatively
cambered to form a dome at the top. Deandra craned her head to view
stalactites that hung like long icicles far above them. And
everywhere was light, as if someone had strung thousands of little
white Christmas lights throughout the ceiling. Or whatever you
called a cave roof. And somewhere deep in this place was a slight
hum noise. Mechanical. Technological. Real.

“What is this place?” she asked.

“Gold mine. Abandoned section.”

“You own a gold mine?”

He looked down at her and winked, stealing
her voice and her breath, and almost her wits.

“I just told you. It’s abandoned.”

Deandra lifted her eyebrows. “Then what’s
that humming noise?”

“Oh. Refinery. Down the shaft about mile.
Maybe more.”

“You struck oil. You have your own personal
oil supply.”

“Might, could be,” he answered.

“What a perfect place for a survival
stronghold. Wow. I mean, really, Grimm, this is amazing.” She
didn’t hide the awe in her voice. She didn’t care, either.

He grinned. “Hold tight.”

The jump he made spanned the cavern, made her
dizzy, and barely missed several stalactites before he landed
lithely on a platform carved into rock. The next moment he’d
pivoted, using his back to shove through double wooden doors that
swung inward. And then they were in the center of the room, and she
was on her own feet. Wobbling. Unsure. And open-mouthed with
amazement.

She’d landed in a large room, not big enough
to create a feeling of isolation, but enough to know space wasn’t
an economic consideration. Dressers and armoires and settees and
wardrobe cabinet were scattered about along the walls, creating
oases of mystery from candelabra atop them. The candlelight created
shadows everywhere, alive with the movement of flame. Soft light
filled the bed chamber, flickering off the warm glow of polished
wood. Expensive wood, none of that pine stuff. Deandra could tell
the interior designer had used real oak. Tons of it.

All of it surrounded and seemed to protect a
platform holding a bed. Her jaw slackened farther as she looked it
over, her entire frame running with shivers that wouldn’t stop.
That bed was constructed of more carved and polished oak. Craftsmen
had even carved into the solid wood of the base. She glimpsed
sections of it between lengths of the gauzy gold and red striped
material that floated down from the square canopy top. The color
scheme matched the coverlet, while tassels trimmed the edges,
fashioned of what could be real gold thread. There wasn’t a way to
gauge how big or how soft the mattress was, since it sat above her
line of sight. It was unlike anything she’d ever seen or imagined,
not even in those expensive travel brochures. And it was right
there. In front of her. Real.

“You said something about my bed?”

Holy smokes!

Deandra swiveled at Grimm’s question, her
entire body quaking as he’d already shed his leather vest and
almost finished unfastening his shirt, showing lots of skin and
tons of muscle. He hadn’t moved toward the bed, either. He stood
closer to the doors. And every bit of candlelight about him put him
on display. Deandra licked her lips.

“You can just hold on right there, Cowboy,”
she told him.

He looked up, slight creases touching his
forehead, as his black-shaded eyes snagged hers. Deandra’s heart
did that elevator drop thing, taking her breath with it. Several
seconds elapsed before she had enough air back to make words. He
didn’t help. He just stood there, waiting. And then her mouth
filled the gap with more words her mind wasn’t clearing.

“I get to do the unwrapping here. Get
it?”

His head pulled back, and what was probably
surprise flit across his features. And then he sucked in both
cheeks to give her a really slow smile, one that slipped sharp
canines into his lower lip. Deandra pulsed in place, a wellspring
tossed moisture through her, while spikes of heat hit her skin.
Everywhere. All at once. With vicious effect. She felt wicked.
Intensely stirred. Wanton. And the stranger she’d turned into
wanted more. Legions more.

“Oh, good. You
do
get it.”

She sauntered toward him, closing the
distance with a slowness that extended her pulse rate, making each
beat take longer. Thicker. Stronger. Deeper. Putting a drum cadence
through her ears and from there out into the chamber.

He hadn’t moved. He still watched her with
lowered chin, sending a shadow across his face from his hat brim.
Deandra stopped within embracing distance and lifted her finger to
his hat. He didn’t watch her movement. He stayed focused on her
eyes. She knew it. Sensed it. Reveled in it.

She pushed at the brim, and the hat slid. He
moved with a speed she couldn’t follow, catching a finger beneath
the chin strap so the hat didn’t fall. And then he reached up and
lifted it off with one arm. One very well-defined arm. She watched
him flick a glance to his hat as if checking for damage before
leaning past her to store it somewhere behind her, flexing all
sorts of muscle while he did so.

She didn’t check. She didn’t move her eyes
from really long, well-developed legs that were getting very well
defined by the move through the denims he wore. She almost purred
when he’d finished. Grimm Bradley. Hmm...

Deanne stepped a hairsbreadth closer. He
jerked slightly as she slipped a hand through the hair at his
forehead. He had coal black hair. Glossy. Straight. With a widow’s
peak at the top of his forehead. She wasn’t certain on the length
since it was behind his ears, but it didn’t look overly long, or
too short. Maybe collar length. It was thick. And dented slightly
from where his hat had creased it.