Authors: Blush
The chuckle died in Gus's throat as she saw what Jack was doing. He'd pulled a couple of saddles and a horse blanket off the wall and laid them out on the floor in what looked suspiciously like pillows on a bed. "What's that for?"
He stood back when he was done and held out a hand as if to say, "You first." The slight tilt of his mouth indicated that Mr. Quiet-but-Deadly had something other than getting a good night's rest on his mind. Apparently she wasn't the only one affected by that little pat down he'd performed.
"I'm sure Bridget's going to come to her senses, " Gus said without a hint of conviction. "She'll let us out of here. "
He just smiled. "After all the trouble she's gone to? Not a chance. Besides, you're right about the pas de deux. She described it to me. Let's see, I think she said it was 'a dance people do like they're
married'
Yeah, those were her exact words as I remember. I wonder what she meant. "
Gus had no idea what Bridget meant, but she knew exactly what he did. She was still pinging in places she would rather not think about and suddenly not as sure of her theory about Bridget. He seemed altogether too willing to make the most of this predicament to suit her. It was probably too far-fetched to think that he and her niece were coconspirators, but she wouldn't have put it past either of them.
She understood Bridget's motives. He was the mystery. She'd been ejected from the shower and his bedroom, but he'd also carved her name in a tree and bandied the
L
word about. Either he was doing a masterful job of keeping her off balance, or their crazy relationship had deranged him as much as it had her. Whichever it was, she was playing it safe from here on out. He could have the deluxe accommodations all to himself. She wasn't getting anywhere near him tonight.
Chapter 22
Gus woke up stiff and shivering with cold. She was sitting with her knees drawn up tight to her body, and her head cradled between them. She'd fallen asleep that way, and it had kept her warm, except for the parts of her that were exposed. She'd kicked off her high heels, and her feet were aching. Her arms and shoulders and the ridges of her spine were icy, too.
Jack was lying on his back, his head resting in one of the saddles, an arm folded back to cradle his neck. His breathing was deep and rhythmic, and he might have been sleeping, except that his eyes were open. They were trained on her, and Gus had never seen such a flash of unguarded hunger as when she looked up at him. It nearly took her breath away. She wanted to think she'd imagined it, but he tilted his head, and in the dim light, she could see the glow of something fierce and beautiful. It wasn't so much that he desired her. That she could have resisted. It wasn't even the wanting. It was need in his eyes. He needed something... and it was her.
"You're cold," he said. He wasn't asking. He knew.
Her nod was punctuated by a shudder.
He sat up and rocked to his feet, bringing the blanket with him. "Here take this. " He knelt next to her, balanced on his toes, the blanket resting on his faded denim knees. The Good Samaritan, Gus thought, offering shelter from the storm.
"You're turning blue," he said. "I don't think that's what Bridget had in mind. "
Gus accepted the gesture with another deep shudder as he tucked the coverlet around her. His hands felt warm and sheltering, much better than she wanted them to. They held promises of solace and sweetness. Or was that simply what she longed for? "If this is about what Bridget had in mind, " she said softly, "the little swanlet is going to be disappointed. "
He knelt there for another moment, even after she'd curled back into herself. "I can stay here, " he said. "If that would help. "
There was a roughness in his voice that made the underlying traces of tenderness all the more irresistible to Gus. She could feel herself responding, her heart squeezing. Yes, that would help, she wanted to tell him. More than you could possibly know.
"I'm all right." She tucked her chin into her knees and hugged herself. "Thank you... for the blanket. "
The dim light above her was still burning when she woke a little later, only this time it was him sitting against the wall, trying to keep warm, his strong, corded arms crisscrossed against the chill. She watched him for a moment, his head tilted to one side, his eyes closed, dark lashes adrift, and for some reason she found herself wondering about that moment in the shower when he'd turned to her, his mouth taut and hungry, the stab of need in his eyes.
The sight of him had reduced her to a heartbeat, a single concussion so violent it had stormed in her ears, drowning out every other thought but him. From the first she had sensed something hidden in him, something haunted. Now, awash in the memory of that moment, she could feel it touching her from across the room. She had no idea what had triggered the awareness, except that he did look almost vulnerable with his head tilted and his arms folded.
She wanted to return the blanket to him, to share its warmth, but she knew what would happen if she did. If he woke up and their eyes met, if he looked at her that way again—needfully—she wouldn't be able to refuse him anything.
A sound rose up from somewhere inside her. The soft groan of desire was laced with despair, and she curled back into the blanket, suddenly freezing to the bone. She'd never been more aware of her frailties, of her inability to protect herself. Why was she such a sucker for dark wounded beauty in a man, for tragedy? He had
all
those qualities, despite his attempts to hide them. They were the parts of him that called to her. She was also virtually certain they would destroy her unless she could find a way to get free of him.
Rob was right. She was crazy to let herself get involved with someone like Culhane. He'd kidnapped her twice, both times at gunpoint, he was blackmailing her now, and he clearly had some sinister, ulterior motive for wanting access to her family. He was a threat to everything she wanted—
Another sound slipped out, a sigh. She'd thought it was indiscernible, but a darting glance told her that he'd opened his eyes and was watching her. He sat forward, rubbing his arms and staring at her as if he were bringing her into focus. She held her breath, waiting, waiting for the irresistible pull of his hunger. "Oh, no, " she murmured as his gaze drifted to her lips. Something dark and thrilling flared in his expression.
"Gus? Are you all right?"
"Don't be tragic," she implored, refusing to look at him. "I can't deal with it. "
"Okay..." He sounded thoughtful. "Can I be cold? It's freezing in here. "
Smartass, she thought. Damn smartass cowboy. There were tears in her eyes when she looked up at him and another defeated groan on her lips. Before she could wipe the dampness away, he was there, crouching next to her, scrutinizing her with great concern, his hands poised as if to take her in his arms.
"I was only kidding," he said, searching her despairing contours. "Gus, baby, what's wrong—"
"Nothing."
"Hey... don't do this to me. What is it?"
"I'm not doing anything to you." She tried to push him away. "You're doing it to me!"
"What? What am I doing?"
"I don't know, I don't know." She sighed. "But just don't touch me, okay? If you touch me, I'll—"
He rested his arms on his knees. "You'll what?" His smile was slow in coming and faintly ironic. "Make another attempt on my life? Maybe this time you could try something quicker and cleaner than snakepits or runaway horses?"
"Electrocution?" she muttered, shaking her head. "Death by cattle prod?" He didn't understand. Killing him would be easy. What she would have to do if he touched her was so much worse than that. "I'll want you, " she said in a tiny little voice.
A beat or two went by as he chewed on that one. "Let me see if I understand this, " he said. "All I have to do is touch you, and you'll want me?"
"I'm afraid so."
"Can we establish for the record that you're talking about my body and not my mind?" Her sigh was deep and resigned. "So this is the
S
word... sex?"
She nodded and tucked herself back into the warmth of her legs, a beached vessel, waiting for the tide to take her. Her fate was no longer in her hands. She had no idea why she was feeling this way except that she was a hopeless sucker for sensitive, wounded brutes, and despite everything else that he was—killer, kidnapper, blackmailer—he was also that. Sensitive. The image that crept into her thoughts as she hugged herself was of a heart roughly carved into a tree, a heart with her name in it. That was when things had changed, she realized, that was when she'd become vulnerable.
In the space of silence that followed, she was increasingly aware of her immediate environment, of the floor's stinging hardness against her bottom, of the cold draft that blew across the back of her neck, and the gamey smell of the heavy blanket that was tucked around her. Primitive and earthy signals abounded. The pungence of horse droppings wafted from the stable next door as the animals snorted and moved restlessly in their stalls. Odd that both times she'd been on the brink of sex with him, she'd been trapped in an alien environment. If a stable was less hostile than the desert, it was no less connected to the primal cycles of life.
She shifted her weight, wanting to squirm. "You're not going to do it?" she asked, looking up at him. "You're not going to touch me?"
He gazed down at her, his facial muscles beautifully taut. He didn't answer her immediately, but the answer was there, smoldering in his features. It prowled through his eyes. It lurked in the hard, sensual lines of his mouth. He was already touching her, everywhere. The fact that his hands hadn't made contact meant nothing.
She closed her eyes, shaking inside. The sound of her own breathing was like the soft roar of a conch shell.
"Oh, yes," he said. "I'm going to do it. "
She couldn't help herself. She swayed toward his voice. Its harshness was thrilling. She felt as if the most tender, sensitive parts of her were reaching out to him, unable to wait. She almost wished she were naked, so that when he touched her he could do it in more intimate, forbidden ways.
Heat burned her cheek. His fingertips? They seared her lips next as he brushed fire over that sensitive surface. Her mouth fell open, hot with yearning.
The floor groaned softly as he bent to kiss her, and the sound was reminiscent of emotions Gus couldn't put into words. It made her think of life's sweetest sorrows and its wildest joys—the searching cry of human loneliness, the sweet shock of physical contact after being alone all your life. It was the echo of inexpressible needs.
God, what that groan didn't mean.
She shuddered as his lips touched hers. The shock of it was so unexpected it made her jaw sting and her throat thicken with longing. She wanted more instantly. More than a kiss. Instantly. Not that his mouth wasn't lovely. It was. Not that she wouldn't have wanted him to go right on kissing her indefinitely. She would have. The raging softness of him was so startling that she almost forgot how hard the floor was.
But more... she ached for it. More.
His mouth brushed over hers like a star shower, leaving a trail of sparks in its wake. It was a glancing kiss, but the mere touch of his lips had set her mind ablaze with expectation. She needed to be touched and fondled passionately. She needed to be quenched like a deep thirst.
His hand shook as it closed over her shoulder, and the power in his grip made her remember the hunger she'd seen. There'd been pain in his eyes, such amazing, naked, lustful pain it had made her hurt, too. Unbearably. She arched up to him now, raking her nails down his face, a movement fraught with wildness and so much crazy yearning that he captured her arms and lifted her to her knees and then right up off the floor.
"Don't make me lose it, Gus, " he breathed against her mouth. "I could hurt you, and I don't want to. "
The blanket fell away from her shoulders and so did whatever concerns Gus might have had about consummating their union. She had no idea what legal complications making love with him would pose, how binding it might be. She didn't care. She only cared that he didn't want to do anything to hurt her. And she wanted him to do everything,
even
that, in the way that only he could. She craved the mastery of his hands and the tender crush of his mouth, the sting of his teeth against her flesh. She craved the sweet clash of sex with this man who'd kidnapped her and forced his way into her life.
His arms had begun to tremble, and she thought it was from fatigue, that holding her had become difficult. But his hands were iron cuffs, which told her the perturbations were coming from somewhere inside him. It was something else making him shake, a passion so strong even he couldn't contain it. This was the physical need she'd seen in him, this was the soul hunger.
She wanted to touch the distended cords of his neck and smooth the knots from his jaw muscle. Her fingers curled with the urge. "Is this painful for you?" she asked, feeling foolish at the question. At least she hadn't stammered.
"Everything about you is painful for me... just looking at you. I can't even do that without aching. "
Gus wasn't cold anymore. She couldn't feel the draft. All of her energy was consumed with the idea of making love with a man who was this beautifully, painfully savage. How would it feel to be the recipient of all that tormented power?
She could barely breathe at the desire that rose up inside her as he backed her to the wall. Her stockings snagged on the rough wooden floor. The sheer silk caught and ripped, but she was barely aware of it. He was powerful in the way he took control, and it frightened her. She had never had anyone respond to her this way, never in her life. There'd been plenty of admiration and envy, lots of men who'd made passes, but no one had ever wanted her the way he did. Even as a child she hadn't felt wanted. The people who should have loved and cherished her had been far more interested in finding ways to be rid of her.
"I love it that you're in pain, " she said impulsively, her voice grainy and breathless. "In pain over me. "