The Lady and the Lawman (6 page)

He
tasted whiskey-laden, dark and mysterious, and his scent was manly. A
hint of sweat, horses and something unfamiliar. It was very potent
combination. His kiss had heated her skin, sent licks of flames to
places on her body she had no idea could feel this way. Her nipples
were tight against the confines of her corset. And lower, she felt
achy, needy and wet. She rubbed her body shamefully against the
sheriff's lap as if it had a mind of its own, as if it was trying to
get closer, impossibly closer to what her body needed. What it
craved. And it seemed to be the very large—and getting larger—thing
in the man's pants.

“
I’ll
take care of her myself,” the sheriff said, his voice cool.

Margaret
couldn’t help but gulp at what the he'd said.
I’ll
take care of her.
What
kind of lawman beat women as punishment? How could her body have
these new and unusual feelings for a man who was planning to hurt
her? She was betrayed by her own flesh.

The
sheriff gathered up his cash from the table and downed the last of
his whiskey as if it were water. “I think I'll be taking my
winnings now. Thanks for the game.” He tipped his hat at Croft,
although it was clear it was done more out of cockiness than anything
else.

Margaret
was pushed off his lap as he stood up. She tugged at the top of her
corset to prevent her breasts from spilling out. Before she could
adjust her attire to her liking, and if possible, preserve a modicum
of mo
desty,
the sheriff snagged her arm and pulled not-so-gently toward the
stairs as if she weighed nothing. He sure w
as
eager.

***

Grant
tugged her to the base of the stairs leading to the whores' rooms
above. There, he held out his arm, signaling for her to lead the way.
Being behind her, he was able to assess his prize, enjoying the sway
of her full hips and round backside on the way up the stairs. The
view was incredible, and he wasn’t sure what part of her he wanted
to sample first. Luscious lips, curvy hips, long legs, ample breasts.

Strange,
her slapping him. It had felt like an impulsive move, he thought
while absently rubbing his face. Spontaneous. She didn’t appear to
be the type to strike someone, especially the town lawman. He
couldn’t remember the last time someone had struck him. A first for
a woman. Hell, he probably deserved it. He’d used her to rile
Dalton. Looking back, he chuckled to himself. The stinging cheek had
been damn worth it.

His
mirth continued, impressed with himself for beating Dalton and for
winning such a remarkable prize in the bargain. His steps slowed as
his eyes moved from her trim ankles upward, past pretty knees to
smooth thighs. Bright red ribbons tied with little bows held up her
stockings and just begged to be undone. The swish of her skirts
revealed a quick glimpse of the whitest skin above the stockings. His
fingers itched to caress those creamy thighs to discover how soft her
skin would be.

She
looked over her shoulder as they reached the landing. He’d been
right, she had a perfect mouth. Full, round, luscious. The red
staining her lips needed to be kissed off, something he intended to
do as soon as they were alone. His jaw became set, his pants even
more snug, and his patience thin thinking about getting her beneath
him in a bed—and then some.

“
Well?”
he asked as they stood at the top of the steps.

“
Well
what?” she questioned, confusion knitting her perfect brow.

As
a lawman, he possessed a fair amount of patience. Now, however, he
was grasping for the last bits his desire hadn’t shredded.
Frustrated, in more ways than one, he replied, “Your room. Which
one is it?”

“
Oh.”
Her mouth formed a perfect circle.

He
didn’t think it was possible for someone to blush so deeply. It
looked as if she’d been out in the bright Colorado sun all day
without a bonnet.

The
woman tilted her head toward the door on his right and preceded him
into the room. She turned to face him and took a deep breath. “Your
name is Masterson?”

He
forgot her question as he watched her cleavage press against the
confines of the corset. “What? Uh, yes...Grant Masterson, sheriff
here in Cranston.”

Her
eyes moved to the badge pinned to his chest. “Yes, I surmised.”
She laced her fingers together in front of her. “So Sheriff, are
you going to ‘take care of me’ now like you said?” She lifted
her chin, her back straightened as if her corset had metal stays
instead of bone.

He
grinned at her boldness. Hell, yes, he was going to take care of her.
Very good care of her. She was going to enjoy herself immensely. In
fact, he figured she’d be screaming her pleasure before too long.
He was going to—

Wait!
Desire had fogged his brain like a windowpane in the winter. What was
she talking about? After a moment of reflection, he finally
remembered the confrontation with Croft.

He
was the sheriff. What on earth did she expect him to do, slap her
around? The very thought wiped the grin from his face. “I don’t
hit women, if that’s what you’re asking. I thought I’d take
care of you in other ways. Ways that are immensely pleasurable for
both of us.”

“
Oh...”
she whispered, flustered as she caught his meaning. Her tongue darted
out to lick her lips and Grant's cock jumped at the thought of what
that tongue could do. “Well, Mr. Masterson, or should I say
Sheriff, are you going to tell me how you won the game?”

Was
she asking because she was glad he’d won her, or was she stalling?
Small talk wasn’t something he was used to with the women at
Croft’s. The other women would have had their hands in his pants by
now. Or they’d be on their knees. Or both. But hell, it didn’t
matter. She was his for the night. There was plenty of time for her
to take care of his needs, although his hard length, pressed
uncomfortably against the front of his pants, was in much more of a
hurry.

“
Are
you suggesting that a man of the law cheats?”

She
remained silent. Pushing precariously out of the top of her corset,
her breasts were half globes of creamy flesh. He could only imagine
how close her nipples were to popping free, hoping o
ne
deep breath w
ould
offer up their freedom. He gulped.

Naked.
He wanted her naked and in his bed. Hell, he wasn’t picky. Any bed
would do. He imagined she would look even more beautiful, gaudy
frills ripped off and thrown aside, then kissed. Kissed everywhere.

She
stared directly at him. Not at his face, but much lower. It was
impossible not to grin and become impossibly harder under her close
scrutiny.

“
Like
what you see?”

Hell,
maybe she’d have her hands on him sooner than he thought.

***

Margaret
felt like a complete imbecile. And utterly, morbidly embarrassed. Her
attentions focused solely on escaping, her mind honed in on the gun
resting against his hip. She’d been staring at his weapon and he
thought she was staring at his...oh God! She felt the heat in her
cheeks, sure she was bright as a beet. Were his pants tighter than
they’d been seconds before?

He
was the town sheriff. She should just tell him her predicament and he
would help her. He was supposed to, that was his job. But he’d bet
on her just like that awful man Dalton, and made his intentions as
clear as crystal when he’d hauled her onto his lap and kissed her
silly.

Even
now, his...growing...desire was blatantly evident.
If his
flushed skin and smoky gaze were any indication, she’d gotten the
man interested without even trying. It was a
talent
she wasn’t aware she even possessed. A jolt of thrill shot through
her at her new power, although she wasn't exactly sure how to wield
it. He had some control over her, as well. If the tingling in her
nipples and the achy feeling between her legs were any indications,
he had some
skills
of his own. But until she was out of this stinking, dirty mousetrap
of a building and heading West on her own, she wouldn't be safe. It
was mandatory she get the gun away from him, and fast.
Now
what? Think, Margaret, think!

Hiding
her apprehension and her
naiveté
as best as she could, she slowly closed the distance between them and
took his hand. It felt warm, calloused, and strong, as she led him
into the room Croft had given her.
She peered at him
through dark lashes, and offered what she hoped was her best—though
first—sensuous smile.

She
took another good look at the man who’d won her for the night. He
was big, so tall the top of her head only reached his nose. Broad
shoulders and a solid chest beneath his soft shirt reminded her of a
tree trunk. She could see the glint of gold mixed with the brown of
his hair as he removed his hat, tossing it onto the bedside table.
His locks were longer than Eastern
de rigueur
,
allowing it to curl naturally over his ears and at the nape of his
neck. The length made Margaret itch to run her fingers through it,
learn its texture, its softness. He wore a thick blue chambray shirt
beneath his vest, tucked into snug pants that showed off slim hips
and long, solid legs. Manly didn’t describe his presence, more like
rugged. Virile.

Attraction
was something new to her. Feelings of warmth and a strange longing
coursed through her veins, pooled between her thighs making all her
secret places swell and become wet. Squeezing her thighs together,
she tried to dull the ache that throbbed there, but it didn't work.
In fact, it had an opposite effect. A shiver ran up her spine as the
intense need for...something...bu
ilt.
But the attraction, this unrecognizable need, was tempered with a
dash of innocence and
a large portion of fear.

“
Shall
we move to the bed?” she asked, her throat dry. She couldn’t
believe those explicit words came from her mouth. She was a
teetotaler, but longed for a shot of whiskey to whet her thirst and
loosen her tangled knot of nerves, to relax. She’d never been alone
with a man in a room with the door closed before, let alone in the
same bed.

Mortification
swept through her at the memory of William taking her with the parlor
door open, free for exposure to servants or anyone else who had been
walking by. With the door shut, she would have been ruined just by
the pretense, regardless of whether something inappropriate had
happene
d
or not. Now, though, ruination was the least of her concerns. She was
already soiled, worthless i
n
the eyes of men. Freedom was something else entirely. Somehow, she
had to lure the sheriff, to entice, to separate him from his gun.

He
walked her backward until
she found herself up against the bed, calves pressed firmly into the
wooden frame. One small push with his large hands against her bare
shoulders had her seated on the lumpy mattress. She found herself
looking directly at the front of his pants. Wonderful! There was the
gun holstered around his slim waist. She had him just where she
wanted him.

***

Grant
had her just where he wanted her. She’d been looking at the front
of his pants, and what wasn't so hidden beneath, since they came
upstairs. Now he was offering her an close up look. And she took it.

“
Is
this thing loaded?” Her voice was laced with anticipation as she
pulled the gun from its holster.

She
certainly knew how to taunt a man. He looked down and watched her
hand stroke up and down the butt of his weapon, her pink tongue
darting out to lick her lower lip. Her small hand actually caressed
it, then moved up to the barrel and grabbed it in her palm. She
squeezed it, her knuckles turning white. One finger returned to
stroking the barrel. If she fondled his other “weapon” the same
way she fondled his gun, he’d have fired his load by now. A groan
escaped his throat in answer.