Authors: Sarah McCarty
She bet he was a hell of a Ranger. He wasn’t doing anything more than staring at her, and she could feel the need to confess welling.
“There isn’t much west except Indian country.”
She shrugged, letting her body relax against his. The hilt of his knife dug into her side. The pain blended with the agony in her soul. The muscled planes of his body were an unyielding wall of power, the ridge of his cock comfortingly familiar in the face of so much intimidating strength, and for once she was glad of the experience she’d acquired in the last year. There was nothing more pliable than a man with rutting on his mind. She tilted her head back, letting her hair slide over her shoulders, knowing how the thick, silky length intrigued men, ignoring the cold and the agony of her torn feet as she stepped into his embrace. What was one more scream among the soundless ones she’d already uttered? She kept everything but soft invitation out of her tone as she pointed out, “And California.”
His eyes narrowed, but his arm came around her, his hand spreading on her spine, taking her weight. “You’ve got gold fever?”
He made it sound like a bad case of ague. “I don’t know anyone who doesn’t want to be rich.”
“You’d do better to find a husband.”
She was never going to be dependent on a man’s whims again. She shoved the anger down, hoping that flicker of his eyelids didn’t mean he’d spotted it. Right now she wanted him concentrating on sex and what he’d have to agree to do to get it. She shrugged, rubbing her breasts up and down his chest with the gesture, smiling internally as his cock leapt against her in response and added a bit more husk to her voice. “It’s as easy to love a rich man as a poor one.”
His other hand joined the first on her back. The warmth of his body encouraged her closer more persuasively than the press of his fingertips. “Money won’t keep a woman safe.”
“Now there, I disagree.” She opened her hand, holding his gaze as she placed her palm to the right of his shirt placket, running her tongue over her lips as her fingers teased between the buttons, catching on the tight curls covering the swell of hard muscle. “With enough money, a woman can buy all the protection she requires.”
That twitch of his eyebrows could have been amusement or disbelief. “You’re planning on buying a man?”
“I prefer to think of it as—” she flipped the button open and slid her hand all the way inside, her palm shaping naturally to the curve of his pectoral as she tilted her head to the side, raising her eyebrows suggestively “—renting his skills.”
“Skills?”
The quickened beat of his heart belied the flat neutrality of his question. He wanted her. The truth was in the hard gleam of his eyes and the sharp jerk of his cock. She lowered her lashes the way she’d been taught, letting her lips relax into a seductive pout, working a few more buttons open. “A woman often has needs only a man can fulfill.”
His hand dipped to the hollow of her spine while the other curled under her chin, bringing her gaze dead center to his. “And you intend to buy them as you need them?”
She nodded as she tugged his shirt free of his denims, reaching around him to work it loose at the back, using her eyes and expression to enhance the suggestion in her words. “I find it a more productive method.”
“And we’re in negotiations now?” His grip shifted off her chin, sliding across her neck, the rough calluses of his fingertips sending shivers of sensation blending into the shivers of cold as the wind blew. He didn’t stop until his hand cupped her skull. She gave him responsibility for supporting her as she cuddled into his heat. He took it easily, confirming her belief that he was a man used to being in control. She’d have to play this very carefully.
“Oh, definitely.”
The lines fanning out from the corners of his eyes deepened with amusement. “Sweetheart, I can see from here you don’t have any money.”
That hint of a smile took his face from harsh to sexy, sliding beneath her armor to find the woman she’d once been. The woman who’d believed in happily ever after. The woman who would have been instantly drawn to that mix of power and humor. The woman who would have given him the flick of her fan that would have encouraged him to come call. The woman she’d thought long dead and buried. The woman who thought all there was to seducing a man was a bat of an eyelash and a coquettish smile. That woman had learned a lot.
“But I do believe I have something you need.” Desi dropped one hand from Caine’s chest to his groin, following the bulge down his thigh, blinking when her hand traveled a lot farther than she’d anticipated before finding the fat head through the tight cotton. She gave it a squeeze, fascinated as the muscles in his throat worked as he swallowed. She’d never deliberately set out to seduce a man before. The thrill of power took her by surprise. “And I’ll trade it for what I want.”
“Which is?”
Confidence bubbled at the tension in his drawl. “Out of Los Santos.”
“Take off my shirt.”
The order landed wrong. She was the one in charge. “In a minute.”
His hand came back around her head, more imperative than seductive. “That wasn’t a request.”
As if she didn’t recognize an order when she heard one. Desi rubbed her palm lightly over the spongy head of Caine’s shaft, looking for and finding that response again in the shift of his hips and the rapid beat of his pulse. She was used to men who grabbed, crushed and thrust at the first hint of desire. Caine’s restraint was…fascinating. “I’m aware of that, but I want to play a bit first.”
“You can play as soon as you get warm.”
That pulled her up short. He wanted her comfortable? He hadn’t finished the sentence before he was shrugging out of his shirt, taking his support away as he removed his arms from the sleeves. She just stared at him as she pointed out the truth. “But you’ll be cold.”
He lifted his eyebrow at her as if she’d said something totally ludicrous. His “I’ve been cold before” wrapped around her along with the shirt, enfolding her in the soft, warm wool and the knowledge that he was worried about her comfort. He was a very strange man.
She caught the edges before it could slip from her shoulders. She took a cautious breath. Threading through the faint smell of sweat and horse came that uniquely intriguing scent she associated only with him. Beneath her determination, the girl she’d used to be struggled for attention.
She squashed her flat. She couldn’t afford to kill off this opportunity with idealistic moments. Caine was a man, and she was a woman. What was going on here was a bargain as old as time. Just because she wasn’t hating it didn’t change anything.
Her knees bent with the security she found in this up-front, honest negotiation. “Then I guess it will be up to me to warm
you
up.”
On the way down, she couldn’t help but admire his form. She’d never seen a naked man on this side of forty, and Caine was a very well-made man. The bulge of his pectorals curved to the broad ridges of his abdominal muscles. His shirt hem brushed her calves, sending a shiver of unfamiliar sensation up her spine as she followed that thin valley between his stomach muscles with her lips counting the hills on either side as she went. One, two, three. The well of his navel tempted her tongue to linger, and flick. The inhalation of his breath proved an incentive to tease.
The gap that spread between the waistband of his pants and his flesh became an invite to explore. She caught the faint line of hair that started below, trapping a strand in her teeth, tugging it instinctively, smiling when he sucked in a harsh breath. He wasn’t so different after all.
Caine’s hand cupped her skull, once again applying that subtle direction she was coming to expect. She opened her mouth, pressing a hot kiss to the hard flesh of his abdomen, tracing a scar with her tongue until the smooth center ended just to the left of his navel in a rough pucker of healed flesh.
Thumbs under her chin pressed back, putting an inch between her mouth and his stomach, but never surrendering control, holding her in place for his pleasure. “Unbutton my pants.”
She reached for the gun belt, flicking her tongue over her lips as she did, feeling his gaze as intently as a touch, the ache in her nipples a foreign, distracting sensation she pushed aside. “Leave the guns,” he said, surprising her. She glanced up. He was staring at her with eyes gone dark with passion and something else she couldn’t define. “They might come in handy.”
She didn’t know whether to be comforted or dismayed he was still so aware of their location and the risk.
It was harder to get his pants undone with the heavy weight of the guns dragging on the belt, but he didn’t fuss or swear, just waited patiently, his thumbs stroking her cheeks as she wrestled with the task. Around them the grass rustled with the passing breeze and birds chirped in a soothing melody she clung to, not understanding nor trusting the undercurrents that made this time feel so different.
She finally got the top two buttons undone. The next three relinquished the battle with an eagerness that reflected the increase in Caine’s respiration, the only indication beyond his engorged cock she had that he was aroused. His stoicism annoyed her on some deeply feminine level she didn’t begin to understand.
His hands left her cheeks just long enough to lower his pants the inches she needed to free his cock. And they definitely needed to lower. The thick shaft was too hard and too long just to pull out. A minute of expectant silence surrounded them as inch after inch appeared until finally, the broad head fell into her hand, swollen with passion, rigid with need, too heavy to stand upright. Dear God, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to make him fit. She gave him a tentative squeeze, running her tongue over her lip.
His hand dropped to her shoulder while the other curved under her jaw, steadying her through the awkward moment.
“Hungry, baby?”
She shook her head on an instinctive “no.”
His weight shifted and the whole atmosphere of the moment shifted right along with it. Desi’s sense of power blinked out as if it’d never existed, and she was, once again, just a pathetically weak woman on her knees before a man who held all the cards.
“That’s what I thought.” The hand under her chin turned her face up to his, and she knew what that something else was she’d seen in his gaze. Pity. Her nails dug into Caine’s thighs as he said, “Seems to me a woman must be pretty damned desperate to be willing to freeze her ass off bargaining with a stranger this way.”
She closed her eyes as emotion washed over her in a sick wave. She didn’t know what was stronger, despair or horror, just that both were potent contributors to the humiliation that had a stranglehold on her voice. “Maybe I’m just a natural born whore.”
The statement she wanted to sound cold and matter-of-fact came out high and strained. Caine cocked his head to the side. His thumb stroked the corner of her mouth. “It’s been my experience there’s no such thing. Just women who’ve run out of options.”
The downward tug on her arm was order enough. He didn’t need to add the “Stay put.”
He made himself decent with that efficiency of motion she was beginning to associate with him. His hand came back under her chin. She followed the silent direction. She had the sense he saw in her eyes everything she tried to hide—the pain, the despair, the stupid endless hope.
“Tell me why.”
She couldn’t. He wouldn’t believe her and even if he did, he wouldn’t be able to help. He would be honor bound to uphold the law once he knew the truth. “You don’t need to know why.”
If his frown was any indication, he wasn’t used to being denied.
“I’m a Texas Ranger. If you need help, I’m here to provide it.”
She looked past him to the horizon. “We’ve already settled what I need.”
“Indian country is no place for a woman.”
But it was the only chance she had. She licked her lips. “You promised you’d let me go.”
“No. I promised I’d get you out of Los Santos.”
“But it was a trick.” Acceptance flowed from her in a shuddering sigh. Just another trick.
Caine didn’t hide from the truth. “Yes.”
He’d needed to know what he was walking into. Desi’s desperation combined with the padre’s told him all he needed to know. The woman needed help. Badly. “But it’s leading to a promise.”
“What kind of promise?”
There was no challenge in the question, no hellfire and brimstone defiance, just more of that damn hopeless acceptance. The merciless sunlight reflected off the moisture gathering in her eyes, tears he knew she’d rather die than have him see…. Ah, hell. There was no going back for either of them.
He rubbed his thumb across her lips. “A Hell’s Eight promise. One you can believe in. From here on out, Desi, you’ve no need to run. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”
She shook her head, her big blue eyes begging his. “Just let me go.”
“No.” Sending her off into Indian country with no protection would be tantamount to murder. Caine helped Desi to her feet, steadying her as she swayed. He jerked his chin to the west. “Whatever you’re running from, it’s not worse than what you’ll find out there.”
“You don’t know anything.”
“I know you belong with people who care for you.”
“My people are dead.”
“Your guardian, then.”