The Lady and the Lawman (18 page)

She
all but squeaked in surprise. “Um, what are you doing, Sheriff?”

He
turned back to her, standing there only in his drawers. “We need a
blanket to sleep beneath.” Looking down at his meager remains of
clothing, he continued, “Maggie, I’m not naked.”

“
I
can see that.” She knew her cheeks must be beet red, but couldn’t
help it.

“
There’s
really no other option but to share the bed. Even though it was hot
today, it’s still cold at night. I’m not interested in sleeping
on a hard floor, much less a cold one.”

She
was unsure. It must have shown because he continued, “Look, if I
promise to be a gentleman, will you concede?”

“
All
right, I guess.” Why was she so nervous? He’d been completely
honorable so far, and when they were at the saloon he’d stopped
kissing and touching her once he realized she was a virgin. An almost
virgin. Actually, he’d stopped when she held his gun to his head.

It
wasn’t his touch that bothered her. It was her reactions to his
touch. She warmed to her core as she remembered his kiss, his caress,
his burning gaze. The look he gave her now had that similar...need in
it. So, could she have been wrong? Did he actually desire her? What
would he think of her if he knew her wayward thoughts? Shamed with
her wanton desires, she climbed into bed, moving to the far side and
pulled the covers up around her chin and closed her eyes.

The
mattress sank with Grant’s weight, the wood frame creaking as he
laid down. Margaret rolled toward him because of the sloping
mattress, her arm landing on his chest. “Oh!”

Her
warm body pressed snugly up against his. She felt the heat of the
contact immediately and jumped away from him as if burned. One side
of her body was heated, the other chilled. She adjusted her head on
her pillow and tried to get comfortable.

“
Will
you lie still?” he asked. He rested on his back with his hands on
his chest, the sheet and blanket coming to his waist.

Lie
still?
She couldn’t stop fidgeting and settle down to sleep with him next
to her. How did one sleep with a man—a very big man—in their bed?
“Sorry,” she muttered. “There’s not much room.”

“
Room?
There’s at least a foot between us. If you move any further away
from me, you’ll fall off the bed.”

Was
that humor she heard in his voice? Angry, she shifted one last time
and settled in, squeezing her eyes shut and willing herself to
sleep—she h
eld
on to the ve
ry
edge of the bed.

***

Grant
knew sleep would not come. It would be impossible to get a moment’s
rest with Maggie next to him. The dampness of his drawers did nothing
to diminish his need. He was rock hard beneath the blanket and would
probably stay that way until he'd spent himself deep within Maggie's
lush thighs. Her shirt had been completely transparent when they'd
come into the cabin from the storm, and had offered him more than the
tempting outfit from Croft’s had.

He’d
seen her breasts in their full glory that night at Croft's, but
they'd been skillfully lifted in a corset meant to tempt and lure a
man in. Tonight, it was as if she had been stripped bare as nature
intended. Her breasts were full, round and high, with just the
transparent cotton covering them. Her nipples had been a dark rose,
hard from the rain and chill. It had been impossible to tear his eyes
from the sight. Desire shot through him, right to his cock, and
pained him like the bullet wound in his leg.

If
he didn't know any better, he'd think she was tempting him with her
wiggling and shifting, mere inches away. But regardless of what she'd
said, she was blatantly innocent. If she'd been out to seduce him,
she'd have climbed on top of him, not grab hold of the mattress for
dear life. She clung to the other side of the bed as if on a boat,
afraid to fall overboard.

After
what seemed like hours, she finally settled down completely, and he
heard the even breathing of her sleep. He stared at the tin roof, a
faint moon offering a bit of light from the small window. The rain
had stopped, the wind ceased. Now all he had to listen to were his
very carnal thoughts for this woman—
his
woman.

***

Margaret
burrowed under the covers, warm and cozy from sleep. Content,
comfortable and for once in a long, long time, felt safe. She rubbed
her cheek across her pillow. So warm and soft. And hairy. That jolted
her awake. Opening her eyes, she saw Grant’s solid chest, her head
nestled in the crook of his arm, her body pressed up against his
length. Her arm was thrown across his waist and her leg was entwined
between his. The man's shirt she wore rode up her body and was now
wrapped about her waist.

“
Good
morning.” His words tickled the hairs on her head.

She
was pressed from head to foot against a man. Not just any man, but
Grant. The only man her body seemed to respond to without a care for
what her brain said. And her body felt every nuance of his hard
planes, responding in a way it she’s started to recognize as
desire. Her nipples tightened against his hard chest. And lower, she
ached, pulsing with a need that was growing every day. But that would
make her a—

She
attempted to pull herself free but Grant held her tightly against
him. What would the man think of her? “No reason to move,” he
replied, his voice dark and rough like bark on a Cottonwood tree.

She
wanted to agree with him. She wanted it so desperately, her body
ached with it. But the new feelings scared her. Scared to be
attracted to him, scared of how easy it was to lose her control. Here
she was wrapped in Grant’s arms, an almost perfect stranger, and
she liked it!

Did
men like women who liked it? Who gave in to their wanton desires? Of
course they did, or they wouldn't frequent places like Croft's
Saloon. But she was not that kind of woman, and no man knew that
better than him. She wasn't desirous, alluring or whatever it was
that those ladies-of-the-night did to ensnare a man.

She
was unappealing, and in her current state, dirty, a complete mess and
most of all, spoiled. Used and left out like a bottle of milk. What
man would want that?

She
pulled herself away. He released her. Sitting up, her shirt drooped
off of one shoulder. “We should be on our way, don’t you think,
Sheriff?” She tucked her unruly hair behind an ear.

He
yanked her wrist and she collapsed on top of him with an
oomph
,
her breasts pressed into his solid expanse. His face was so close to
hers, she could see the dark flecks in his eyes and feel his warm
breath on her face.

“
Let’s
not think,” he replied.

She
noticed nothing more except for the hot press of his lips against
hers. It was gentle at first, a brushing, but quickly turned into
more. He pulled her closer from the nape, his lips melding with hers
in an onslaught to her senses. Weak from surprise, her defenses were
down. The passion seeped in behind the wall she'd put up around her
emotions, her feelings, into her very essence. The barrier she’d
raised to protect herself all but crumbled like a sandcastle against
the tide.

She
gave in to the kiss, sensations washing over her like the pouring
rain the night before. Her bare legs brushed against his, strong
against soft, smooth against rough. His lips moved lower from her
lips to her jaw, lower still to her bare shoulder. Unconsciously, she
tilted her head back to give him better access to her warmed skin, to
her desires.

A
calloused hand swept up and down her leg, caressing a calf, tickling
the back of her knee, grazing the inside of a thigh. She was shocked
at being touched so intimately, but secretly desired for him to
continue, to reach higher. But he taunted her instead, sliding his
hand up to cup her bottom. Her exposed, bare bottom. She heard him
groan and swallowed the sound with a deep kiss, their tongues meeting
for the first time.

“
Maggie,”
he whispered against her lips.

She
ran her hands through his hair, her leg moving up and down over his,
savoring the feel of skin on skin. The sensation to crave another was
strange, yet incredible. Intoxicating. It was as if she’d been
dunked into the sea and was drowning. Her last thought before she
succumbed was that he did desire her after all.

CHAPTER
EIGHT

Grant
couldn't get enough of Maggie, her lush form cradled beneath him. He
could feel every soft curve, every tantalizing inch of her. The man's
shirt she wore had worked its way up about her waist, and now he was
able to cup her bottom, pull her up against him. She would have no
doubt of his need for her.

Her
mouth was like a deep cavern. At the first tentative touch of her
tongue against his, she'd moaned and that had been it for him. She
was his, whether there was a ring on her finger or not. No other man
would wring those sighs of pleasure from her, no other man would have
her beneath him.

And
these possessive, protective instincts had risen just from kissing
and touching. He knew he could go no further, could not take her as
his as he so desperately wanted. Yet.

If
he took her the way he wanted, he'd be no better than Hunt or Dalton.
She despised them both, and why not? They both wanted to take from
her without giving anything in return. At least he would give her the
woman's pleasure his touch, his body could give her. But this
morning, he would give her nothing more. After her needs were slaked
and the lusty haze cleared her mind, she'd lump him in with all the
other men in her life who'd used her for their own gain.

He
didn't want that. He wanted her beneath him, calling out his name
with those breathy little pants, to know he was the only man for her.
The man who would take her body in all kinds of delightful ways—and
her soul.

With
much difficulty, he lifted his head, tucked a stray curl behind her
ear, and said, “Maggie, love, we have to stop.”

Slowly,
her lashes fluttered up. The passionate gaze she sent him was
something he'd never forget. He made her this way, made her forget
everything and think only about the pleasure they could find in each
other's bodies.

“
Oh,”
she said breathlessly.

“
I
want you, Maggie. I think you can feel how much.”

Her
cheeks flushed even brighter. It was the prettiest sight to see.

“
But
now's not the time or place.”

“
Oh!”
she said again, her mind finally clearing.

He
let her get up, climb clumsily over him to escape the close confines
of the bed to hastily retrieve her clothes from the floor. She
wouldn't look him in the eye. It was obvious she was embarrassed by
her own passion.

Swinging
his legs over the bed, Grant sat up, made sure the proof of his
desire was covered by the blanket, and held out his hand. “Maggie.”

She
darted a glance at him.

“
Maggie,
come here,” he said, this time in a tone that left no room for
argument.

Slowly,
she made her way over to him, clutching her clothes in front of her.
He took her hand and held it, again amazed by how small she was. Her
fingers were long and dainty, her skin was soft as silk.

“
You're
Tom's fiancé.”

Her
eyes flared at the forgotten agreement.

“
But
your body says you're mine.”

Her
mouth fell open, closed for once without a retort.

“
It's
only a matter of time before your body and brain are aligned.”

***

Riding
through town, Margaret was able to get her first glimpse of its
rustic buildings. There were at least fifteen businesses flanking the
wide thoroughfare, with the inhabitants living in small houses on the
outskirts. No trees, only bright sunshine and open prairie. The
mountains met the sky in the distance, crisp and clear.