Texas Hold Him (25 page)

A low growl rumbled from his chest. Scooping her into his arms, he carried her across the room to his bed, where he lay down
beside her on the quilt. He lightly stroked his hand down the column of her throat until it rested on her breast. He pressed
his palm against her soft mound.

“It’s not too late,” he said, running his thumb across the tip.

“Yes it is.” She pulled his head down for a kiss.

He sealed her lips with his own. “You’re right,” he muttered between caresses. “It’s too late.”

He swept his tongue into her mouth, teaching hers to dance with his as he stroked first her belly and then her breasts.

Each brush of his hands intensified the aching in her body and an impatience for something she didn’t understand. He pulled
his mouth away from hers to kiss a path to her shoulder and down to the top of her breasts.

One by one, he flicked open the buttons of her gown, kissing each inch of newly exposed flesh until he traveled to her navel,
where he darted his tongue into its recess. Her sighs quickly changed to a gasp when he suddenly shoved open her gown, exposing
her body to his gaze. Her hands darted to cover her breasts in an automatic gesture of modesty.

He shook his head. “No, my sweet,” he whispered, lifting one hand and then the other to pin them gently over her head. “You
must never hide from me.”

She wasn’t frightened. His hand barely held hers, and when he lowered his head to kiss her breast, he released her wrists
entirely, but the sensation of his tongue pinned her to the spot stronger than any binds ever could.

A tiny sound slipped with a wispy sigh from her mouth, and it fueled Dyer’s passion even more. In a sudden move, he sat her
up and dragged her gown off her shoulders to her hips. Another quick shift had her lying on the bed, totally nude except for
her stockings. He knelt on the floor beside her.

“You are so beautiful,” he muttered, burying his face into her belly to kiss her soft flesh.

His hand slid up her thigh, stopping only a moment
to run along her lace garter before stroking the silky skin at the top edge. He raked his lips up her body to her breasts,
where he kissed her before returning to claim her mouth.

She was only vaguely aware of him sliding onto the bed as she wrapped her arms eagerly across his shoulders to deepen the
kiss. She wanted to feel his body pressed against hers. She craved the strength and power of his bulging muscles as they flexed
beneath her hands.

He pulled away from her mouth and returned his attention to her breast just as he slid his hand to cup the juncture of her
thighs. She gasped and started to squirm away, but he grabbed her thigh to stop her.

“Shhh,” he cooed against her breast. “Let me love you, Lottie.”

He ended his plea by stroking her, and her body answered with shuddered spasms against his hand. She groaned and quivered
while he brought her to ecstasy with the skilled touch of tongue and fingers, and when her senses finally returned, she looked
up at the ceiling, satiated.

Unfortunately, she then made the mistake of looking down at her nude body. Dyer’s hand rested between her sprawled legs. His
head lay against her naked breasts, and she couldn’t have looked more wanton if she’d tried.

“Oh, my!” She scurried away from him, clutching the sheet up against her breasts.

He rolled onto his back and released an audible sigh. “You don’t need to run from me. I’m not going to force you to do anything
you don’t want to, but you sure picked a hell of a time to change your mind.”

He sat up on the side of the bed and switched off the
lamp. She could hear the rustle of fabric as he dropped his pants to the floor, and the lifting of the sheet told her he was
now under the covers with her. She held her breath, not sure what to do next. She wanted to make love to him, but she was
frightened, more by her body’s loss of control than by the act itself. She waited for him to move closer, then realized he
was leaving it up to her.

“I—I haven’t changed my mind,” she murmured.

“Prove it,” he said, still not moving.

She swallowed and scooted closer to him in the bed. Again, she waited, and again he didn’t move.

“Touch me, Lottie.” His throaty voice rolled over her. Slowly she laid her hand on his chest, allowing her fingers to enjoy
the warmth and hardness under their caresses.

And still he did not move.

She scooted even closer and stroked his chest and the flat muscles of his belly. He sucked in a breath when she brushed her
fingers across his nipple, causing it to pucker as hers had done.

“Kiss me,” he whispered in the darkness.

She shoved away the sheet to allow her more room to explore his body. He gave her control, and the darkness gave her courage.
The combination was heady. She laid her hand on his cheek and turned his face toward her, drawing her thumb across his full
lower lip in the process. She leaned over and lightly slid her lips across his before she pulled back and waited.

Dyer knew she was testing him. Waiting to see if he would allow her to remain in control. What she didn’t know was that she
had been in control from the very
beginning. From the moment she had stepped aboard the
Magnolia Belle
, he’d been lost. It had just taken him a while to figure it out.

He clutched the sheet in his fist to keep from jerking her against his body.

“Is that all you want?” he whispered, praying she wouldn’t say yes.

She brushed her thumb against his lip again, and his erection throbbed in response. He hoped her naiveté would not notice
the tent over his groin as he forced himself to remain still.

Slowly, she lowered her mouth to his and nibbled. He bit back a groan when her tongue darted out to taste his lips, and still
he didn’t move. Well, parts of him did, but she still hadn’t noticed.

She kissed his mouth, his cheek, and his jaw. Then, suddenly, little Miss Innocence decided to get brazen. She left his face
to trail kisses down his chest, where she flicked her tongue across his nipple. He felt ready to explode.

She continued with her journey down his body, tasting, licking and nibbling any and everything she found. He had no idea making
love could be so painful and pleas ur able at the same time. His hand ached from clutching the sheet. His jaw hurt from clenching
his teeth, and as for the rest of him . . . something was going to have to give real soon.

“Lottie,” he whispered, groaning when her breath raked against the skin below his navel. “You’re killing me.”

“I am?” Her voice sounded tiny, and the hint of marvel in her tone made him glad he’d given her that control. He cradled her
head in his hands, pulling her back
up to his mouth for a much needed kiss. His hand glided down the silky skin of her back to her full hip and thigh while he
nibbled at her lips.

“Dyer?” she breathed against his mouth. “What do you want me to do?”

He looked deep into her eyes, marveling again at the beauty of this woman. “I want you to be sure.”

She touched his face with a tenderness he had thought he’d never feel again. “I’m sure.”

And he knew she was. He saw it in her eyes and felt it in her touch. “Then love me, Lottie.” The words surprised him even
as they came from his own mouth because he knew he meant them.

He wanted her to love him.

He needed her to love him, and not just to stop the ache in his body. He needed her to stop the ache inside of him.

“I do,” she whispered, pulling him toward her, offering her mouth and body to him in a way that left him awestruck.

The kiss was not enough. The crush of her body against his was not enough. He rolled with her until she lay under him, her
golden hair fanning out on the pillow beneath her head. The blood pounded in his veins, and every inch of his body cried out
for more of her, but she was a virgin. He couldn’t drive into her despite the way his body screamed.

He slid down her body to pull the tip of her breast into his mouth. She grabbed his shoulders and gasped.

“Take me, Dyer,” she pleaded, and he needed no more encouragement.

He quickly settled his hips into the juncture of her thighs, careful to just barely enter her. She was hot and
tight, and feeling her against him drove his control well past its limits.

“I’m sorry,” he ground out. “It’s going to hurt.”

She answered his apology by kissing him. He slid a little deeper until he felt the tight barrier of her maidenhead. Her wince
stopped him.

“Lottie, I—” He never finished what he’d meant to say. The sudden dig of her heels into his hips imbedded him inside her,
and from that point on all talking, thinking and most breathing ended.

He had intended to go slowly. He’d intended to give time for her to adjust to him, but all reason was gone when she wrapped
her legs tightly around his waist, leaving his body no choice but to pour into her. The anger and hatred and pain he had carried
left him in a flood, and when the surge abated, a true peace washed through him for the first time in years.

He slipped carefully out of her and rolled onto his back, bringing her with him to lie on his chest. They lay in silence for
several minutes before he finally said, “I’m sorry that I hurt you.”

She snuggled into his shoulder and yawned. “It only hurts the first time, right?”

He chuckled and hugged her closer. “So I’m told.”

“That’s good . . .” Her voice trailed off, and he knew from the softening of her body against his that she had fallen fast
asleep.

He smiled and stared up at the ceiling, his mind whirling in thought. There were several churches in St. Louis, and he figured
they could be married within a couple of days. Of course, there was the small matter of her not agreeing to marry him just
yet, but that was irrelevant.
He had taken her virginity and as a gentleman, he had no choice but to marry her.

Hell.

The truth of it was he loved her, and she wasn’t getting away from him. And if she thought she’d talk her way out of it with
that sassy little mouth of hers, he’d have to teach her some better uses for it than talking. He smiled again. The thought
of her sassy mouth caused some stirrings that were too soon to deal with, but come morning . . . that was another story. He
would make sure her second time didn’t hurt.

A pounding on his door brought him back to Earth. “Mr. Straights?”

Dyer rolled his head on the pillow and glared at the door, attempting to will to death the son of a bitch that had the nerve
to invade his solitude. “Go away.”

“Mr. Straights? It’s Wayne Dawson.”

Lottie lifted her head from his shoulder. “What does he want?”

Dyer removed his arm from around her and sat up to leave the bed. “Hell if I know, but it better be important.”

He dug around in the dark to find his pants and quickly stepped into them. “What do you want, Dawson?” he yelled, reaching
for his shirt.

“I’m sorry to disturb you so late, but I have some information I think you’d be interested in.” He hesitated only slightly
before he delivered his shocking news. “I know who killed your family and for a cut of your winnings, I’ll tell you where
to find him.”

Even in the darkness, Lottie could see Dyer clearly enough to know the statement froze him to the spot.

“My wife and son—” he whispered to her, unable to finish his explanation.

“I know,” she said. “Why don’t you talk to Mr. Dawson and find out what he knows?”

Dyer nodded, but the wariness in his stance spoke volumes. He walked closer to the door, still not opening it to speak to
Dawson. “How do I know you’re not just lying to get my money?”

“In July of 1863, your wife and son were burned alive by a lone Confederate soldier. He carved the word ‘traitor’ on a tree
in the yard outside the house before he rode away and left them to die.”

From the look on Dyer’s face, Lottie knew that Mr. Dawson’s information was accurate.

“I’ve never told anyone about the tree,” he said to Lottie. “I have to talk to him.”

“Of course,” she whispered, not sure whether she should be frightened or relieved.

“I’ll take him down the hallway so he won’t know you’re in here.”

She nodded silently and watched Dyer quickly don his clothes and run his hands back through his hair. He took a deep breath
and opened the door but didn’t manage
to close it completely before Lottie heard Dawson say, “His name is Harold Mason, and for fifteen thousand dollars of your
winnings, I’ll tell you where the son of a bitch lives.”

Lottie covered her gasp with her hand, her mind reeling with what she’d heard.

Harold Mason?
Her own father?

It wasn’t possible. Lottie knew her father had been accused of a murder, but she had no idea whom he had supposedly killed.
Surely her father wouldn’t have killed an innocent woman and child. She racked her brain, trying to remember if her father
had ever talked about being in Texas, but he had refused to discuss the war.

The only time Lottie had asked him about it, he’d said it made men do things they would normally never do.
Was this what he was talking about?
Had her father, in a fit of war-born insanity, sought revenge on an innocent family?

She scurried from the bed and into her clothes while her mind darted through any and all possible explanations. In a normal
state of mind, her father would never have done anything so horrible. But it had been during the war, and maybe he hadn’t
known anyone was inside the home. Maybe he’d just meant to destroy the property of an enemy, and the deaths were accidental.

What ever the explanation, she had to get her father away from New Orleans and Dyer’s wrath before it was too late. She picked
up the valise of money and peeked into the hallway. Dyer and Dawson were nowhere to be seen, but she could hear their voices
around the corner in a lounge area. If she hurried, she could escape to the stairs and out of the hotel before he knew she
was gone.

She felt guilty for taking the money, especially since
she hadn’t truly earned it, but Dawson wanted fifteen thousand dollars for his information, and leaving Dyer to earn the money
gave her more time to secure her father safely in another town and with another name.