Читать книгу The Innocent And The Outlaw - Harper St. George - Страница 13

Chapter Five

Hunter allowed his gaze to linger on the swell of her breasts before bringing it upward to settle on her eyes. They held his attention just long enough to make her squirm as he pretended to weigh her request. He’d cut her down because what had begun as a game to expediently get information from her had turned into something more dangerous. There was something provocative about having her bound before him, but he’d never taken a woman by force and he wouldn’t start now. The same instinct that made him want to protect her made him want to make her his.

Despite her attractive face, he’d expected her to be different than she was. These past years, they’d traveled through many backwater hells avoiding the law, avoiding outlaw hunters, avoiding all the sons of bitches looking to make a name for themselves by taking one of them out, but all the women he’d ever come across in those dark places were just like their men. Uneducated, coarse and almost willfully ignorant in their spurning of the outside world.

She was different.

The way she spoke made him think that she’d had some education, but he didn’t know how that could be, considering what he’d seen of Whiskey Hollow and what he knew of her stepfather. Her deep blue eyes sparkled with an intelligence that was intriguing with the challenging way she looked at him, as if taunting him to figure out her secrets. Those eyes coupled with the unexpectedly soft curves that he’d felt as he’d searched her for weapons had been damned pleasing. The mere memory made blood rush to his groin. The firelight flickered, gave her skin a golden hue as she hung there, tied like an offering to him. Her unbound breasts begged for his palms, as they were all but revealed to him, the black lace at the edge of her bodice only just managing to keep the pink of her nipples hidden. The locket taunted him from its prized position nestled between them. It didn’t help that the looks she gave him said she was as attracted to him as he was to her. She tried to hide it, but she wasn’t as afraid of him as she should be, at least not afraid for her safety like a normal captive would be. Her fear stemmed from what crackled between them.

Pushing a hand through his hair, he forced a breath out and decided he’d been too long without a woman, a situation he’d have to wait until he got back home to Helena to rectify. Damn Campbell to hell! He’d happily kill the man with his bare hands once they recovered Miguel. She startled when he made a quick grab to pull his knife from its sheath strapped to his boot. He approached her more slowly so she knew his intention, the knife raised to the rope securing her to the wood beam above her head.

When her arms fell free she stumbled forward into him. “Whoa, I’ve got you.” He wrapped an arm around her small waist, his fingers noting each fragile bone as his hand rested along her rib cage, and a shard of anger tore through him. Campbell had done a piss-poor job of taking care of her. It was clear that she hadn’t had a decent meal in months. He could break her in two if he wasn’t careful. He gentled his hold as he half bent to sheathe his knife. She was trembling, but probably more from muscle fatigue than fear, or at least that’s what he wanted to believe.

Before he could suppress it, a wave of tenderness for her moved through him. She must lead a very lonely life with Campbell gone for months at a time. The thought brought back unwelcome memories of his own childhood. With his mother living so far away in Boston and his father working all hours of the day and night, he’d known what it meant to be lonely. His hands tightened on her waist as he straightened.

Nostrils flaring, he took in her scent, a faint undercurrent of wildflowers. The silken waves of her dark hair brushed against his knuckles, giving him the urge to tangle his fingers in it and pull her head back to taste her. He closed his eyes as he stifled the notion. She was his captive, not his woman. That line could not get blurred. What in hell was wrong with him?

Slipping a fingertip underneath the rope that still held her wrists tied together in front of her, he made sure that it was loose enough that it wouldn’t hinder circulation while still keeping her somewhat restrained. His palms settled on her hips, helping her to find her footing before moving on to her arms, stroking up and down her forearms in a massage to help get her blood flowing again.

“Thank you,” she murmured a few moments later, her voice slightly hoarse.

He stifled a twinge of guilt that she would thank him for cutting her loose, as the soft catch in her voice brought his eyes to hers. He saw reflected there the same awareness that thrummed through his body, that attraction that refused to be cowed whether it was appropriate or not. Like lightning drawn to iron, his gaze moved down to her small mouth and lush, red lips that made his breath quicken. As if readying themselves for him, they parted and it was all he could do not to take them.

But he wasn’t that man. He didn’t need to take advantage of a woman who was at his mercy.

Annoyed at his own response to her, he demanded in a low voice, “The farm. Where is it?”

* * *

Caught in their dangerous spell, it took her a few seconds to realize what he had said. He was so close that his scent enveloped her. Leather, the subtle salt of perspiration, the spice of some long-ago applied aftershave—none of which were overpowering, but combined in a heady blend that was pure male and unexpectedly appealing. It was more than his scent and his handsome-as-sin looks that intrigued her. Though he was an outlaw and danger poured off him, she recognized gentleness beneath the harsh exterior. He’d not been rough with her at all, when any one of Ship’s men would have gloried in their power had they been in his position. And, though at first she hadn’t been sure of his intention, she knew he wouldn’t force himself on her.

A grudging respect for him had grown within her. True, she was his captive, though she didn’t really think that was a situation he had wanted. But she also knew that he was an outlaw, probably wanted from here to Texas, and she couldn’t forget that. And despite the fact that he had checked the bindings on her wrists to make sure they weren’t too tight, he had put them there.

Buying some time to get her thoughts in order, she pulled away from him and rubbed her hands together. “I’m cold.” It was true, but she said it more to stall because she had no idea what she planned to tell him about the farm.

His nostrils flared slightly as he took a deep breath and moved away, walking backward the few steps it took him to reach his saddlebags. When he stood back up, holding the winter dress that she was sure had been lost back when they’d taken her, she found herself smiling for the first time since she’d left the saloon. The brown wool was a welcome sight. It wasn’t the prettiest dress in her paltry wardrobe, but it was warmer than the dance-hall costume and much less revealing. “Here.” She automatically held up her wrists so that he could cut the rope free.

Except he didn’t move but to raise a brow at her.

“Well, how else am I to get that on?” she challenged and reached for the dress, but missed because he raised the wad of fabric higher.

“I’ll help.” The lazy, teasing smile had returned to his mouth now that the fire had been banked...slightly.

“Thank you, but, no.” Holding her hands out for him again, she nodded to the knife sheathed to his boot. “Just untie me. You can tie me back up after I’m done, if you think I’m such a threat to you. Please,” she added at the end when he just stared back at her.

Faster than she had imagined possible, even having seen him grab it before, he smoothly reached for the knife and stood with it in his fist. Slowly, not quite so certain now that he held the weapon, she offered him her wrists and he held them tight with his left hand, stuffing the dress beneath his arm, as he sawed at the rope with his right. The rope loosened and partly fell away, aided by her when she was finally able to get a hand loose. She threw the rope into the fire before he could stop her, but she needn’t have worried because he only smirked at her as he handed over the dress. “Change.”

“Turn around.”

The smirk didn’t leave his face as he half turned, facing the door and giving her his shoulder.

“All the way around.”

He only gave her a shake of his head and kept his eyes on the door. “You haven’t earned my trust yet, sweetheart. This will have to do.” Then he gave her a glance and a wink. “Unless you’ve reconsidered my help.”

When she only glared at him and began unbuttoning her costume, he gave a low laugh and looked back toward the door. Turning her back to him, she did her best to shield herself from him in case he dared to look back over at her. It wasn’t difficult, she left her drawers and camisole on while quickly stepping out of the costume and shimmying into her dress. She made quick work of the buttons up the front and turned back to him just as he turned to her, making her wonder if he’d been peeking. He wasn’t smirking anymore though. In fact, his brows were narrowed over his eyes, bringing to mind the fierce outlaw she’d seen walking into her saloon.

“The farm.”

Just like that, she missed him smirking and a little playful. She hadn’t realized he’d backed her across the tiny space until her spine touched the wall and she let out a little sound of surprise. Eyes wide, she took in the breadth of him as he loomed above her. Her heart pumped hard in her chest as he crowded her even more until her entire body was flush with the wall. His greenish eyes had darkened, with the fire at his back, making him appear almost otherworldly for one brief moment.

“You don’t scare me.” It was a brazen lie and they both knew it. Though she didn’t think he would physically hurt her, this man wielded too much power over her present and future, and inexplicably too much power over her body.

“Really? That’s interesting.” His hand came up out of the darkness, and she watched as his long, tapered fingers came toward her to reach for her locket. She grabbed his wrist before he reached it, but she couldn’t get his hand away no matter how hard she pushed. Before she realized it, he’d grabbed both of her wrists in one hand and pressed them flat to the wall above her head. All she could do then was watch as his palm closed around the only weapon she had, the backs of his fingers resting against her breasts. She was certain he could feel her heart threatening to pound out of her chest. Her eyes were glued to his fist, well aware that one tug was all it would take to break the slender chain so that it would fall away from her neck and he’d hold her only hope of escape. “Tell me again how I don’t scare you.”

She couldn’t help but to raise her chin, refusing to be cowed by him, even though it was a different experience entirely to be totally restrained by him rather than the rope. It gave the situation an intimacy that the binding hadn’t. While fear pounded through her, it was tempered with something else that she wouldn’t dare to allow herself to think about. “As I said, I’m used to dealing with men like you.”

“Sweetheart, I seriously doubt you’ve met anyone like me.”

“All men of your ilk seem to think that they’re an original.”

A quick breath tickled the hair at her temple, a laugh. “Men of my ilk,” he repeated. “You talk like a schoolmarm, not a saloon girl. Who are you, Emmy?” His voice lowered a bit on this last question, so that it was soft, but still so deep that the vibrations rumbled through her.

Emmy? A name that he’d made up. Something about the way he whispered it made it more of an endearment. The notion was ridiculous, but it wasn’t the outlaw looking back at her anymore. She saw him. Time stood still as he stared right back at her, his greenish eyes locked to hers, seemingly caught up in the same realization eating away at her rationality. That, maybe, this was someone she’d like to know better. That maybe there was more to him than his good looks and dangerous exterior. Slowly, his gaze moved down to her lips, touching her with the sudden heat that flared in their depths before moving back up to her eyes again. Attraction arced between them. When he licked his lips, her own lips tingled as if he had touched them. His heavy gaze fell to her mouth again. That look was so hooded and dark, she was sure that he was going to kiss her. He moved forward so slowly that she was certain he was giving her time to object. There was no chance of that, because she was caught and couldn’t even breathe.

His breath brushed across her lips, tinged with the whiskey he’d drunk back at the saloon. He didn’t kiss her though, leaving her bereft for that touch when he simply stopped and let his breath touch the sensitive flesh just below her bottom lip. It wasn’t a kiss. It was too soft to be a kiss. It was more like a restrained exploration, an acknowledgment of want. When he moved along her jawline, still not kissing, still just that gentle almost-there touch, she turned her head to allow him access, eyes falling half-shut as the flicker of warmth that had begun deep in her belly began to flare higher. The stubble on his jaw rasped pleasantly against the softer skin of her cheek. He stopped when he reached the sensitive shell of her ear, his breath hot and somehow loud in the quiet space of the room. Chills of excitement ran through her body. Not even realizing she had moved until it had happened, her back arched, pushing her breasts into him. Immediately, his fist unclasped, settling his palm against her chest over her pounding heart. He still covered the locket, but his fingertips were so close to the tip of her breast that her nipples beaded, begging for his touch.

“Still not afraid of me?” His words were a hot whisper, followed by a gentle scrape of the stubble near his mouth against the tender lobe of her ear.

Her heart plummeted and she wanted to whimper, but was too proud to utter a sound that would give her secret pleasure away, although she was fairly certain it wasn’t so secret. He was so confident it must be plain for him to see. Or maybe she was simply that easy to read. Maybe he didn’t feel anything that she did and had been playing her the entire time. This was her greatest fear come to life. That she would fall for someone like him, only to be used and discarded, exactly as her mother had been by Ship. Emmaline had spent her entire life being guarded. Why had this one man been able to sneak right past her defenses and make her want something more? Her mother had been a whore who had lost herself to exactly this type of man. Maybe Emmaline’s fate had been sealed the moment she was born in the brothel.

“Please...don’t take my locket.” She kept her eyes closed and said the only thing she could think of that wouldn’t give herself away.

He took a deep, ragged breath, not immune to her after all. His breath shifted, hot against her throat now. The back of his fingers gently stroked a circle around the smooth metal and faux gemstone of her locket, teasing her skin through the material of her dress and drawing a shiver from her though she tried to hide it.

“You lied to me. This is your last chance to tell me the truth.”

Whatever he might have done to make good on his promise, the knock that shook the thin door in its frame cinched her decision. A firm, single knock that made her imagine the giant or the angry Spaniard standing out there waiting to interrogate her. “It’s two miles northeast of where you found me,” she blurted out.

Just that quickly, he released her from his hold and turned just as the door was opening. She didn’t miss that the smirk was back on his face, but sagged with relief that his attention was away from her, however briefly. What was happening to her?