A Promise of Roses (18 page)

"One of which is the ability to drive me completely mad,” he griped.

"Precisely,” she said. “But there are others. Yet the only one you seem to care about is that I'm not shy about letting you take me to bed."

"I seem to recall a time we didn't bother with a bed."

Her cheeks filled with color. “That is not the point I am trying to make here."

"There's one very specific point I'm trying to make, but it just seems to keep floating right over your head.” His tone had a sharp edge to it, his patience nearing an end.

"And what would that be?"

"Exactly what I said.
You're the most special woman I've ever met. You swore you were innocent of my accusations, and still you understood that I had to do my job. Except for that one time I secured you to the bathtub while you were asleep, you went along with me even when I had to handcuff you in a hotel room. And I don't know of another woman who would risk her life by openly defying a gang of armed bandits. Granted, most of them turned out to be harmless, but you didn't know that when you dared them to shoot you."

"I thought you believed I was in on it with them."

He blinked, as if he didn't understand what she meant. Then he stiffened. “I do."

"But you just said I couldn't have known the disposition of those outlaws. That means you don't think I knew them ahead of time."

"I didn't say that."

"Yes, you did."

"Look, I thought I told you already: It doesn't matter what I think. I'm doing a favor for Brandt Donovan. Once I turn you over to him, if he wants to let you go, that's fine. But if he wants to see you charged with robbery, that's his choice. Got it?"

Megan fought a grin.
“Got it.”
She didn't think Lucas believed her guilty anymore. Oh, he was loyal to a fault, so she would probably still go to jail if that's what his friend Brandt wanted, but it meant a lot to her to know Lucas was no longer convinced she'd orchestrated the entire string of holdups.

She stepped forward, looping her arms around his neck. “I seem to remember you saying something about making love until neither one of us can stand. Just so you know
,
my legs are feeling a bit weak already."

Lucas scooped Megan up in his arms and headed for the stairs. She ran her fingers through his hair, kissing his temple, cheekbones, eyelids, distracting him until he stumbled and could only pray they didn't fall down the steps in a tangle of legs and the soft lawn of her night-clothes. On the landing of the second floor, he groped for the knob to her room, kicking the door closed behind them. He hoped his memory of the house proved accurate and he hadn't just walked into the water closet instead of her bedroom.

When his knee hit the footboard of her bed, he gave a sigh of relief and let Megan slide down the length of his body. She sat on the mattress, moving so that her legs were on either side of him, never breaking the passionate
loveplay
of their lips. Her hands roamed over his back and buttocks, teasing with light strokes, kneading with strong motions.

Lucas groaned into her mouth, running his fingers through her untamed hair. He loosened the belt of her robe, pushing it over her shoulders and arms to
lay
in a heap on the bed. Then his hands went to the hem of her gown, tugging it up her slim legs to her hips. She shifted slightly, allowing him to hike the material to her waist. Her arms lifted, and he removed the nightdress completely, tossing it aside.

Megan sat on the edge of the mattress in naked splendor, her head tilted back to stare up at him, adoration shining in her eyes. The tip of her tongue darted out to moisten her dry lips. He watched her, wanting to wrap his arms about her and somehow absorb her into his very being. He wanted to carry her in his heart forever.

Eager for his touch, she reached up and brushed an errant lock of sandy-blond hair away from his face. “Lucas...” she whispered.

It was all the encouragement he needed. He ripped open his shirt, uncaring of the buttons that popped and flew in every direction. Before he could manage to remove his belt, Megan's soft touch stopped him. Her fingers deftly unbuckled the strip of leather, moving to the buttons of his trousers. She undid them with aggravating slowness, torturing him by letting her knuckles rub erotically over the hardened flesh trapped within the confines of his britches.

"Megan,” he growled, gripping her shoulders, sure he could stand no more.

She simply
smiled,
a smile that told him she knew exactly what she was doing—and didn't intend to stop.

Lucas closed his eyes, struggling for control of his raging senses. Not an easy task when his body screamed for release.

Megan seemed to surround him. The erratic beat pulsing through his fingertips was her heartbeat. The breathy, catlike purr that met his ears was her sigh. The sweet scent of roses that tickled his nostrils, the scent of warm, impassioned flesh and sunshine combined formed a fragrance completely feminine, uniquely Megan.

Her fingers slid beneath the material of his trousers, covering him. His body jerked with the spark that ran through his veins. His hands clenched at his sides. “God, Megan,” he groaned. But he didn't touch her.

She wrapped her legs around his thighs, locking her feet together to bring him closer to the bed. Her fingers stroked the hard evidence of his desire, exploring, caressing. Then she kissed his chest, her tongue darting over a male nipple at the same time her hand squeezed his pulsing shaft.

He inhaled sharply, his eyes flying open. “Christ,” he swore.

"Do you like that?” she asked. Merriment danced in the ginger depths of her eyes.

"What do you think?” he countered raggedly.

She beamed up at him. “I think I like tormenting you."

A low growl emanated from his throat. With one lightning-quick movement, he pushed Megan on to her back on the mattress, her legs still looped around his hips.

"I think it's about time for the shoe to be on the other foot,” he said.

She glanced down the length of his body to where his legs dangled off the end of the bed. “Then shouldn't you take off your boots?” she questioned innocently.

"Don't worry about my boots, honey,” he drawled. “I have something much more interesting in mind."

She quirked an eyebrow.
“Really?
What?"

He dipped his head, taking the tip of one breast into his mouth while his hand trailed down her belly.

"Oh,” she said, arching toward the warm pleasure of his lips.

His fingers drew circles on her belly, hips, and legs. Then his hand roamed to her inner thigh, coming dangerously close to the triangle of curls that covered her feminine mound.

She expected him to touch her there next, lifted her hips in anticipation. But he only continued the tiny, fluttering strokes on her leg. His face lifted, and he grinned. Then he began to lap at her other breast, surrounding her nipple with the moist heat of his mouth.

"Lucas,” she moaned, her fingers clutching at fistfuls of his hair.

He paused, raising his eyes to hers. “Do you like that?"

"What do you think?” she asked, tossing his earlier words back at him.

One side of his mouth lifted in a grin. “I think you need to experience a little more torment.” With that, he ran his fingers over the dark curls at the apex of her thighs—lightly, almost imperceptibly. She gasped, wriggling on the bed.

He brought his hands to her waist, holding her in place while he kissed the smooth expanse of her stomach. Then his lips traveled lower.

Megan froze when she felt his hot breath between her legs. Surely he couldn't mean to...?

But he did. His fingers parted the feminine petals of flesh, and his tongue darted over the bud of desire hidden within.

Her eyes closed, and her legs tightened of their own accord about his upper body. His tender onslaught continued, driving her mad with wanting. He licked and nipped, circled and tugged until she thought she would explode. Her fingers dug into his scalp. A tortured moan caught low in her throat.

He gave her a moment's repose, sliding back up to lie at her side. “Had enough?” he taunted.

All she could manage was a strangled sigh.

He smiled, grabbing her up for another hard, mindless kiss. Then he positioned himself between her thighs and thrust deep. They both groaned at the exquisite pleasure of his entry.

Lucas held her close, keeping his lips locked with hers as he moved within her body. She writhed beneath him, reaching for that earth-shattering release she knew he could bring her.

His hands moved to her hips, anchoring her. He began to thrust faster, harder. All thoughts disappeared as he buried his face against her shoulder, anticipating the impending climax. Her nails dug into his back. She screamed above his ear, tensing in his arms. He withdrew,
then
thrust home, again and again until his body stiffened with an exultant cry.

He remained on top of her for what seemed like hours until he regained enough strength to roll aside. They lay there, staring up at the ceiling for several minutes, the room filled only with the ragged sounds of their shallow breathing.

"You okay?” Lucas finally managed.

"
Mmm
. Better than usual, I'd say,” she mumbled.

He hefted himself up on one elbow to look down at her. A satisfied smiled edged her mouth.
“Oh, really?"

"
Mmm
.”
She tilted her head in his direction. “But I thought you said you were going to make love to me until I didn't have the energy to stand."

"Did I say that?"

"Uh-huh."

"Think your legs will hold you?"

A devilish light twinkled in her eyes. “I think I could manage a few teetering steps."

He caught her lips, delving into the sweet honey of her mouth. Then he lifted his head and fixed her with a serious gaze. “Then I'd say I still have a job to do, huh?"

"I'd say,” she quipped.

He smacked her lightly on the side of her bare bottom. “Watch your mouth, woman, or I'll withhold my ample talents."

She shrugged a petite shoulder. “I guess I'll just have to find someone else to warm my bed, then."

"Ah!” he gasped, clutching at his heart as though wounded by her words. “You injure me, my lady. What must I do to regain the honor of your favor?"

She wound her fingers in his hair, trying to stifle a grin. “Shut up and kiss me, you lout."

"Gladly.”
His head bent to hers, and he swept her up into yet another vortex of unbridled passion.

*
    
*
    
*

Many hours later, Megan stretched languidly. Her fingertips brushed the smooth breadth of Lucas's chest as they lay haphazardly across the feather-soft mattress.

"Are you awake?” she asked, wiggling her feet over the side of the bed.

Lucas groaned. “I don't think I'm alive."

She leaned over to pinch his inner thigh.

"Ouch!” he yelped, yanking his leg out of reach. “What was that for?"

"You thought you were dead,” she said. “I figured if you could feel that, you'd know you weren't."

He snorted. “Thanks."

She grinned and propped her arms on his chest, resting her chin on folded hands.

"Now what?” he asked warily, watching her through half-closed eyes.

"I'm hungry."

"Not again.” He let out a long-suffering groan. “Go easy on me this time, will you? I don't think men were built to endure this much punishment in one night."

She punched him in the shoulder, levering herself up to a sitting position. “I'm hungry for food, you dolt. I've had enough of you for one night.” With that, she hopped off the bed and began searching for her discarded nightclothes.

"Where did that stupid robe go?” she muttered to herself.

"Did you look under the bed?” he offered.

She got down on all fours, but her hair fell around her face, obstructing her view.

Lucas reached out, gathered the long strands in one hand, and held them out of her way.

"Thank you,” she said brusquely.
Then, “Aha!”
She crawled forward a few steps, stretching an arm under the bed and coming back with a handful of
very
wrinkled white lawn. Getting to her feet, she tossed aside the nightdress and wrapped the robe around her bare body.

"Where do you think you're going?” Lucas asked as she marched for the door.

"Downstairs. There's still half of Rebecca's pie left, remember? And I'm hungry enough to eat the whole thing.” She threw a look of challenge over her shoulder before leaving the room.

"Shit.” He leapt out of bed and ran after her, naked as the day he was born.

By the time he arrived at the kitchen doorway, Megan already had the pie in her hand. She moaned in delight over a mouthful of soft apples and cinnamon while readying another bite with her fork.

"Aren't you going to share?” Lucas asked.

She shook her head.

"Aw, come on, Megan. I'm hungry, too."

"Too bad,” she said, popping another forkful between her lips.

He stalked forward. She stepped away. He started opening and closing drawers, rooting around for a fork. Finally he found one.

He turned to her, holding the utensil as if wielding a mighty sword. “I want that pie, Megan."

She arched a delicate eyebrow. “Is that a request or an order?"

"An order."

She raised the other brow in disbelief. “Then come and get it."

He moved to her right. She twisted, keeping the pie out of reach. He moved left. She dodged his attack. He caught her around the waist with one arm, bringing his fork around with the other. She squealed, holding the prize as far away from him as she could manage.

He made a stab with the fork. It missed, sliding across her forearm. She gave a yelp of outrage,
then
wielded her own fork, grazing him in the upper thigh.

He yelled but kept his hold on her waist.

She struggled to break free without upending the pie. Switching hands, she brought the fork around, aiming for his other leg.

This time he let go, clutching his injury.

He looked down to see four beads of blood welling up in a straight line. “You stabbed me,” he said in an accusatory tone.

"You scratched me first,” she defended, holding up her slightly scraped arm as proof.

"But you stabbed me.” He leaned against the counter and slid to the floor. He sat there, staring at the wound, his face a mask of astonishment. “I can't believe you actually stabbed me.
With a fork."

"Oh, it isn't that bad,” she said, setting the pie on the counter above his head and kneeling next to him.

"It is,” he whined. “I could die."

He sounded like a spoiled child who hadn't gotten his own way. “Oh
, don't be such a crybaby
,” she scoffed.

"What if it gets infected?"

She rolled her eyes.
All this from a man with more scars on his body than she had hairs on her head.
And one, white and puckered high on his right shoulder, she was pretty sure came from a bullet.