Читать книгу Sam's Creed - Sarah McCarty - Страница 8

Bella forgot herself and pushed at Sam’s shoulder. It was like hitting a wall in every way except for the inclination her fingers had to linger against the surface, to explore the solid ledge of muscle and bone, to move the shirt aside and know the warmth of his skin intimately. She yanked her hand back. “A man does not ask this of a woman!”

“Seems to me to be a sensible question when a respectable woman propositions a disreputable man.”

He was not disreputable. She knew disreputable. He was not it. The heat of his flesh dallied on her palm, teasing the nerve endings into wanting. She closed her fingers around the need. “It is a very rude question. And the fact that I am sitting as I am is the proof that I am not respectable.”

“I notice you don’t argue my being disreputable.”

The sun was too bright. She could not see his face, but she had a suspicion he was laughing at her. “You had best not be smiling.”

She shaded her eyes. He was.

“You’re real fond of giving orders, aren’t you?”

He was very handsome when he smiled that way, one corner of his mouth a touch higher than the other, his blue eyes darkened with the emotion he usually kept contained. His hand squeezed her knee, reminding her how intimately placed his fingers were. She should have been shocked. Instead, she was taken with a strange breathlessness. “I have not thought about it.”

That was a lie. She tended to be too focused on what she wanted and grew impatient with politeness. Sometimes it was just easier to direct the person. “And you have not answered my question.”

His smile deepened at her pushing. “No. I haven’t.”

His control annoyed her. And excited her. A strange combination. “The question is simple and only requires a yes or no answer.”

Not a muscle on his face moved, but she had the impression he was delving deep into her mind, seeing beneath her skin to motives she didn’t want him to notice. Fear. Desperation. Desire. Finally he spoke.

“I think we’ve already established that I’m the contrary type.”

It was her turn to frown. Contrary was not good for what she had in mind. “This is not a recommendation for a lover.”

Sam’s smile softened as his hand slid higher, edging beneath the thin lawn of her pantaloons, finding excruciatingly sensitive flesh. Deep inside, her very womb spasmed in an ache so sharp she gasped. Sam’s eyes narrowed.

“Now, that’s where you’re wrong.” His fingers slid in the barest of touches, skimming up the inside of her thigh, raising goose bumps and anticipation for…more? Her breath caught and held. How far would he go?

“If I were of a mind to accept your offer, my being contrary could be a real benefit to you.”

She bit her lip as his fingers crossed the line between smooth flesh to chafed.

“And this would be one of them.”

Even the whisper-light touch of his hand burned. She cried out. The arm around her waist tightened. Sam’s mouth brushed her ear. “Anyone less contrary, duchess, would have you straddling his lap and his cock nice and snug in your body by now.”

Shock held her still. No one had ever talked to her as he did, touched her as he did. Always she had been sheltered, protected, pampered. Never had she heard the word cock, but she knew from his wording what it referred to. And she was reasonably sure it was not a polite word for that body part. If there was such a thing.

She wondered if this was the way men spoke to the woman they desired or if it was a sign of disrespect. She did not hear a sneer in Sam’s tone, but there was a richness to his drawl that had not been there before. His hand opened over the raw skin, sheltering it from the sting of the air, covering almost half her thigh with just the placement, reinforcing in her mind the difference in their sizes.

“But being contrary,” he continued, “I don’t like my pleasure to be a solitary thing.”

She had no idea what he meant by that. “This means you do not find me pretty enough for relations?”

He removed his hand. Her skin whimpered a protest at the loss of his touch, while her nerves retained the imprint of his hand long after the stinging stopped. It was a strange sensation, but not unpleasant.

Sam reached behind him. She was jostled around as he searched for something in the saddlebag. He brought out a tin. “It means I don’t find you in any condition to have relations.”

Small and gray with no markings, the tin was more suspicious than impressive. “What is that?”

He uncorked the lid. “Something to make you feel better.”

He tugged her skirt up until it bunched just below her hips. She was very aware of his gaze on her legs, of the breeze on her calves. Never in her life had she exposed even the hollow of her throat. And now this man had her out in the open displaying herself. She should be outraged. And maybe it was outrage bubbling along the nerve endings just under her skin, frothing like water at the peak of a rapid, but it felt an awful lot like excitement. He dipped his fingers into the sweetsmelling salve.

“Part your thighs.”

She gasped and jerked. She couldn’t help it. The man was shocking.

As he tilted his head, the last rays of the setting sun bounced off the conchos banding his hat, blinding her.

“For somebody in a hurry to have relations on horseback, you’re awfully jumpy.”

What was she supposed to say to that? She blinked against the brightness. “I am sorry.”

If Bella squinted, she could probably see his expression. She had no intention of squinting, for the simple reason that she had a feeling he was going to be a lot more shocking, and she needed some distance to handle it.

“No need to be sorry. I just need you to part your thighs so I can rub this cream on them.”

Maybe she should have squinted after all. At least with a little tension in her face she might have avoided her jaw dropping and in all likelihood looking like a landed fish struggling for breath.

“How can you say things like that?”

She felt his shrug all along her side. “I believe in plain speaking.”

Before she could suck in a fresh breath she discovered he also believed in plain touching. On the inside of her thighs. Where no one had ever touched her.

The dip of his head blocked the sun, and she could once again see his face, the tightness over his cheekbones, the darkness of his eyes. He wanted her. This, at least, was good.

The salve was cool on her skin as he applied it with methodical thoroughness. A soothing balm to the irritated nerve endings. It was too bad this magic could not be smoothed over her fractured composure. She told herself she had no need to be embarrassed—Sam was just treating her wounds. And even if he took liberties, she’d invited them. It didn’t help. She was embarrassed and unsure.

When his hand reached the softest part of her inner thigh, she couldn’t help herself. She grabbed his wrist, halting his progress. “I can do the rest.”

Instead of leaning back, he leaned in. His lips brushed her ear, sending hot tingles down her spine that leapt straight to her thighs, coaxing them to part. He hummed his approval at the slight movement. The ache between her legs spread right along with her thighs.

“You sure?”

Again she couldn’t see his expression, but she just knew he was looking at her with that half amused, half provoking smile on his mouth. And she wanted to slap him for having so much control when she had none.

But she couldn’t. Women that propositioned a man while on horseback really had nowhere to go with their expectations of respect.

“I am sure.” She held out her hand for the tin. For interminable seconds her hand lay between them, her request dangling with it, waiting on his decision. She suspected that he deliberately made her wait. Did he think she would give in? He had a lot to learn about her. She could sit there on his lap until hell froze over or morning came without surrendering. She was very good at stubborn.

Sam placed the tin in her hand. The other hand stayed on her thigh, the fingertips rubbing in tiny movements down low. She scooped up the salve and applied it to her other thigh, her knuckles occasionally brushing his. It seemed so intimate. So daring. And still he didn’t remove his hand from her thigh. The longer it sat there, the longer she got to think about it. The more she thought about it, the more aware of it she became. The more aware she became, the more her skin seemed to heat to the imprint of his fingers…

She cleared her throat. “We are wasting time.”

“Duchess, I never consider it a waste of time when I’ve got my hand between a woman’s legs.”

“You are outrageous.”

He took back the jar. “I’m not the one proposing relations on horseback with a stranger.”

“It is not like that.”

“Can’t see where I got it wrong.”

Feeling vulnerable, she rubbed the remnants of the cream between her fingers and tugged her skirt down with the other hand. She made it one inch before he was tucking it back up again. Higher than before. She shot him a glare and held tight, barely preventing full exposure. One corner of his mouth quirked up in a grin. If he had not been intent on exposing her privates, she would have found it very endearing. The man had charm when he wanted to use it.

“You forgot to do this side.”

She hadn’t forgotten a thing. “Your hand was in the way.”

“Then it’s only fair that I help.”

His hand engulfed hers, directing her salve-covered fingertip back to her flesh, guiding her as he eased the cream onto her other thigh, first down then up, higher each time on the up, coming closer and closer to her woman’s flesh. He wasn’t touching her, but it felt as if he was. So much so that she felt she needed only to let him go just a little bit farther and something important would be revealed. He brought her hand back down, and then up in a slow seduction that was sinfully decadent. Lushly erotic. And totally out of her control.

Isabella yanked her skirt out of his grip and her hand from under his.

Sam chuckled, but didn’t fight with her. It was a deeply inviting, highly sensual sound. It made her want to laugh, too, for no other reason than to join in. She frowned and concentrated on applying the salve. It was easy to get down by her knees, but higher up required her to lean back. Back was about a six-foot drop to the ground. She settled for rubbing more in where it was.

“Here.” Sam’s arm came behind her back. “Lean on me.”

“It is fine.” If he dropped her she would break her neck.

“I won’t drop you.”

“Do you read minds as well as everything else?”

“You’re not that hard to read. Lean back.”

She did tentatively. His arm was solid as a wall.

“I won’t let you fall.”

She glanced up at him. He was no longer smiling, and his expression was strangely soft.

“Why should I trust you?”

“I am a Texas Ranger. My job is to protect.”

“This does not reassure me.”

“How about I take care of what’s mine?”

“I am not yours.”

“You will be if I take you up on your proposition.”

“You have not accepted.”

“I’m working up to it.”

That was not the only thing he was working up to. His hand guided hers higher, past the softest part of her thigh to the valley between, coming to rest against the center of her ache.

“You missed a spot.”

His fingers pressed hers against the hard point beneath the cotton. Fire shot through her body. She cried out. He held her through the shock, supporting her through the delicious trauma. Distantly she heard Kell whine.

“Easy, Bella. Don’t fight.”

He made her sound weak. “You will know when I fight,” she gasped.

His lips pressed her temple, and his finger slid between hers, finding the slit in her drawers and dipping beneath. “I bet.”

His finger was hot, intrusive, but oddly exciting as it tucked between her folds, forcing her own finger to slide against that erotic point as his found the hollow below.

She didn’t know whether to curl up in embarrassment or to drop backward in a full-out sprawl.

“There, that feels good, doesn’t it?”

Caught as she was between mortification and joy, she could only nod. He rocked his hand on hers, pleasuring her even as she pleasured herself.

“Don’t pull away. Just let yourself get used to the idea.”

Of what? Going up in flames at the direction of a man who was practically a stranger?

“It is a sin to touch oneself.”

“Why?”

She frowned. “I do not know.”

His hat brim brushed her head as he drawled in her ear, “Now, that is a sin. And one that should be rectified.”

She shivered as the dark promise of something wicked coming slid down her spine. She’d always been attracted to wicked. Always longed for the forbidden, and now, as if the devil had heard her thoughts, here was a man who seemed to understand the part of her she’d spent so many years on her knees burying in prayer. And she didn’t know what to do with him. She said so, bracing herself for ridicule. If anything, his expression grew softer, more sympathetic.

“Just follow my lead.”

The problem was he was not leading her anywhere. His hand just covered hers as it rested on her mound. She kept waiting for him to move, to attack, but he did not. He merely squeezed his knees and the horse began to walk, adding a light rocking shift of pressure to the contact.

“What do you want me to do?”

“You’re doing fine.”

She was not doing anything but feeling him, the strength in his arms, the power in his touch, the threat of his shaft pressing into her buttocks. She became vividly aware of all the places his body touched hers, the fragility of her hand blocking his from the ultimate intimacy. An intimacy she’d invited. Even reminding herself of that fact didn’t stop the tension within winding tighter, and while she felt distinctly threatened, her body continued to soften and flower outward as if in invitation. Her next breath came on a shaky realization. A woman didn’t have any control in a situation like this.

“Breathe, Bella.”

The amused reminder came in another deep drawl that slid like dark molasses over her nerves, soothing some, stimulating others. She loved his voice, the deep timbre rich with nuance that conveyed so much, but right now revealed nothing. She could not imagine what he thought of her. A woman who so boldly invited him to be her lover. His finger probed her tightness. She jumped, bumping his chin with her head. Instead of swearing, he pressed his lips against her temple.

“A bit nervous, are you?”

What harm was there in honesty when the truth was so evident? “A little.”

Sam’s hand left hers. It felt wrong to leave hers there without the guidance of his. He stopped her before she could take it away.

“No. Don’t.”

She froze. “Why?”

It just came out. Wishing it back didn’t do any more good than wishing Tejala didn’t want her. Sam responded with brutal honesty.

“Because I like the thought of your hand there ready to pleasure yourself if I tell you to.”

She couldn’t imagine doing that. Didn’t even know how to do that. “Touching oneself is a sin.”

“So you said, but for someone I doubt even has a kissingcousin relationship with the concept, you seem to have an awfully long list of things on your list that are sinful.”

“We are schooled in such things.”

Beneath her hip his shaft jerked.

“In sin?”

“Dios, no.” Too late she saw the teasing in his eyes. She shook her head at herself. “You are not serious.”

His smile was beautiful, making her forget for the moment the intimacy of their position and her discomfort with it.

“Not fully, no.”

Not fully implied he was partially serious. She shifted on his lap. His shaft jerked again, brushing her more intimately than his hand. She paused, absorbing the uniqueness of the sensation. It wasn’t unpleasant. That had to be a good thing in light of what she was planning.

“But you were a bit serious?”

“Just wondering what’s going on in that head of yours. Good women don’t just go throwing away their innocence.”

Ah, his conscience needed soothing.

“Maybe in my eyes it would not be a throwing away.”

“Uh-huh.” His lips grazed her again. She shivered from head to toe and the ache in her womb swelled.

“So.” He smiled against her temple before repeating the caress. “I take it you’d consider it too much of a sin to touch yourself like this for me?”

“This” was a slow draw of his finger upward from the well of her vagina to the hard point above, before wandering back down again.

Did she? Her face felt as if it were burning, the muscles so tight she couldn’t form the words. His finger pressed against her opening, gentle in its demand. She clutched at his shirt and nodded, as for the first time, her muscles parted to take a man. She cried out as the tip of his finger entered in a tiny consummation. Digging her nails into his shoulder, she arched, inviting more.

He froze. “Damn.”

The curse buffeted her temple. Heat transferred from his skin to hers, summoning an answering heat deep within her core. A heat that melted all that it touched. A foreign wetness invaded her flesh. He tested it with a light press. His finger slid deeper, easier.

“Maybe I should take over, then,” he rasped. “Just to spare you the burden of penance.”

Embarrassment twined further with desire, giving birth to doubt. “You are católico?”

For some reason it would feel better sinning with a member of her faith.

“No, but I’m familiar with the breed.”

The moisture spread as his fingers glided higher before slipping back down. Horror blended with an agony of embarrassment. Her time of the month had just finished. It could not be that. How did one ask if such a thing were normal? She stalled, searching for the way.

“You are a heathen?”

“Pretty much.”

A shiver went through her, and his smile grew. “You like the thought of that?”

How did he know the wildness in him attracted her? He couldn’t know. He was just guessing. She licked her lips again and clenched her fingers against the probe of his balm-covered ones. “Of course not. It is wrong to enjoy the misfortune of others.”

His fingertips worked between her legs in smooth glides, always ending at that shallow well, always ending in that erotic stretching as he forced her to take that first bit. Always her body welcomed the intrusion. Always her mind struggled with the reality.

Was she as swollen as she felt? Could he feel the unnatural wetness? O Dios, please do not let him mind.

“But maybe I’m happy being a heathen.” His drawl deepened until it was almost a growl. “Maybe you’re happy I’m a heathen, not bound by restraint and ‘must nots.’”

He removed her hand completely, placing it on her thigh while she was paralyzed with a dread that felt a lot like anticipation.

“Maybe,” he continued, “you like the thought that I’ll do what I like with you without one thought to proper.”

Maybe he was right.

The thrust of his finger was a shock, driving deep between her thighs when he’d trained her to expect a tease and withdrawal. The burning ache whipped along her nerve endings, flaying them with the rapture caught in the bit of pain. It was too much, but she didn’t fight, just accepted the burn and the pleasure. Accepted it because she’d asked for it. Accepted it because it felt right.

“Ah, duchess,” he growled in her ear before catching the lobe between his teeth, “I do think you like my heathen self.”

She did, and the proof was in the moan that accompanied the withdrawal of his finger.

“Now, that was a sweet sound.”

She thought it was a humiliating one. She wanted to be as in control as he was. Nothing made it clearer that that wasn’t going to happen than the slow reinsertion of his finger. Searing heat shot from her groin outward, jerking her muscles taut. She would have fallen off the horse if his arm hadn’t wrapped around her waist, trapping her arms at her sides, holding her for the pleasure he insisted she experience.

“Like that, sweetheart?” he asked as if he expected her to be able to answer. “Do you like it like that or do you prefer—” an equally slow retreat followed immediately by a shallow thrust “—that?”

The thrust was harder to take, but it delivered such sweet joy.

“Both,” she managed to gasp. “I prefer both.”

He chuckled. “Greedy, too.”

The urge to turn her mouth to his was almost irresistible. “You asked.”

“So I did. Hold on, now.”

She already clung to him as if the bottom was about to fall out of the world. His teeth nipped her ear. His fingertips grazed her hungry flesh. She thought the rough callus might hurt, but right now it merely provided an intriguing drag. A tingling ache followed in the wake of the caress. Instinct drove her hips up the fraction it took to renew the contact. It wasn’t the same, though. It wasn’t enough to get the goodness back.

Sam’s chuckle could have been mocking. She recognized his experience the same way he had to recognize her inexperience. But it wasn’t mocking. Neither was his tone as he circled the hard nub at the top. “So nice and wet for me. I like that.”

When Isabella opened her eyes and checked his expression, she found merely an openness that comforted. Sam was enjoying touching her. Enjoying the effect of his touch on her. It gave her the courage to ask, “The wetness is normal?”

“When you’re having a good time, yes.”

He made another pass with his finger. The tingles flared to fire. She caught his hand, stilling the caress. There was something she had to know. “It does not repulse you?”

The arm supporting her back shifted, sliding up her back until his big hand cupped her shoulder. Her torso naturally shifted into the hollow created by the curve of his arm. She might be innocent, but she recognized desire when it stared at her, and Sam desired her.

“If you weren’t such an innocent, I’d show you just how much I’m not repulsed.”

She didn’t know if she could survive it. Sam clearly came from a different world than she. She’d always been pampered and sheltered from the coarser side of life, tucked away from reality, whereas Sam clearly kept his boots firmly planted in daily life. He was as earthy as he was dangerous, and, madre de Dios, he appealed to her.

Sam changed the angle, forcing her to lean back. Off balance, she felt her thighs splay farther, his hand cupping her more fully.

It was as if another person possessed her. A wanton woman who burned for the stroke of his fingers, who lived to see the satisfaction in his face when she pleased him. A woman who yearned to burn at his command.

She just didn’t know how to burn, but looking up into Sam’s face with his sensual mouth set above that square jaw and strong neck, she bet he knew how to set the fire. She licked her lips. If she was brave enough to hand him the sulphur.

His hand cupped her cheek. He held her now cradled against him, anchored at her most vulnerable points—her face and her groin. Again, she should feel threatened, and yet again she just felt…cherished. His thumb tilted her chin up.

“Tell me something.”

“What?”

“Are you giving yourself to me because you think it’ll guarantee you protection?”

She had to think about it.

“Would this matter if it were true? You would still have a willing woman in your bed.”

His thumb stroked her lips, pausing in the dent in the middle. “You hinting I’ve been hitting a dry spell?”

She couldn’t even find the coordination to swallow. She wrinkled her nose. “Probably not.”

“So what would be the draw?”

“I am a virgin.” Everyone knew men lusted after virgins.

“That means you lack experience.”

Shaking her head, she twisted her hand until she could grab his wrist. “Even I know that is not a negative to a man.”

“It is if you’ve reached a point where you’re not wanting to do all the work.”

“You are telling me you are lazy?”

“Laziness is a highly underappreciated quality.”

The man had not stopped moving since she had met him. He must be teasing her. She could tease, too. “But just think about it—you could train me to what you liked.”

He canted his head to the side, his gaze still on the point where his thumb touched her lip. “That would take a long time.”

“I could be a woman who learns fast.”

He pulled her lip down, seemingly fascinated with her mouth. “You have the look of a woman who’d be a lot of work.”

“I might be worth your while.”

“Keeping you around could get me killed.”

She caught his finger between her teeth. “Letting me go without teaching me will definitely get you killed.”

“By who?”

Nipping his thumb, she answered, “By me.”

Some of the seriousness slipped from his expression. “Is that a fact?”

She nodded, looking as mean as she could. “A rocksolid one.”

The smile she suspected was lurking just out of sight teased the corners of his eyes. “You think a little bit of a thing like you could make me shake in my shoes?”

She scooted down into his embrace, clutching like a talisman the inner conviction that said she fascinated him the way he fascinated her. “I think if you taught me right, I could make you quake.”

“Hell.”

He was imagining. So was she, but she did not think her images were as clear as the ones putting the heat in his eyes.

“So that is a yes?”

“Not yet.”

She liked the fact that he did not prevaricate. “But you will think about it?”

“I doubt I’ll be thinking of anything else.”

Neither would she. Her whole body was a restless ache for the satisfaction he withheld. She ran her fingernail down the placket of his shirt. “Maybe you would like me to convince you to a yes?”

His nostrils flared. Oh yes, he would like that.

“What I’d like is for you to think over the invitation while I consider it.”

Watching him watch her, seeing the goodness in him that he hid behind a cold exterior, she realized why he was hesitating. He worried she had not thought this through. He was wrong.

She knew what she was doing. Her mother had warned her that there would come a time when she would not be able to run anymore. She had finally reached it with this man, in this wild place. And it felt right. “You think I’m running away.”

“Yes.”

“I am not.”

“Then what are you doing?”

She curled her fingers over the hand that cupped her cheek, holding on. “For once, I am taking what I want.”

“And you want me?”

She had never been more sure of anything in her life. “Very much.”

His eyes narrowed. “For how long?”

She would not ask him for more than he could give, and he was not a man who gave a woman promises. “As long as it lasts.”

His big hand settled on her thigh, weighing heavily. The utter stillness with which he touched her implied more significance than a caress. She sorted through the notion, trying to understand what it meant, but came up with no answers. Just more questions. Finally he gave her thigh a squeeze and pulled her skirt down over her legs, causing her to look at him again. Did he want her or not?

“Hold on.”

As the horse broke into a canter, only one thought perked through the conflicting messages he sent her. To what?