Promises Keep (The Promise Series) (4 page)

When the gown caught between her thighs on the next step, he knew he was a goner. He couldn’t concentrate on anything beyond wanting to free it from between her soft pussy lips, and replace it with his fingers. He crossed the distance between them with two strides. He tipped his head and caught a whiff of her flesh. She smelled sweet and clean, when he’d been expecting something exotic and spicy. She smelled of innocence. And cinnamon.

The discrepancy between what he expected and what his senses were telling him tugged at his suspicions. He frowned and studied her closer.

The woman frowned back. Her foot caught on the uneven floor. She stumbled into his chest. He grabbed her. His hand skimmed her breast on the way to her shoulder. Her soft nipple grazed his wrist. The more he thought on it, the more the spot burned.

She twisted in his arms. He let her go. She spun away. Her gown floated up, revealing shapely calves and delicate ankles before swinging back down.

His wrist burned, his groin ached and he was confused as all get out. What the hell was she doing? What was he supposed to be doing? Dammit, he’d had about enough of this.

“Madame Cecile said you’d let me know what you needed—”

She stumbled and almost fell. He caught her before she hit the floor. What the hell was she doing? Sliding his hand down to her waist, the heat of her skin seared his palm. She was tiny and petite with fine bones. His hand spanned from her hip halfway up the delicate ladder of her ribs, his thumb a hairsbreadth from the undercurve of her breast.

He’d never been so acutely aware of a woman before. The scent of her skin. The feel of her flesh through the sheer nightgown, the silken glide of her hair through his fingers as he caught the ends and tugged her head back.

This was desire, he realized, as her body rested against him. The real thing. Not something manufactured by manipulation of his flesh, but a bone-deep, genuine desire. Like he’d never felt before. Like he’d dreamed. Like Doc and Dorothy spun fairy tales about.

When the woman finally responded to his demand and tilted her face to him, his breath caught in his throat.

Her face was all gentle angles, blended with smooth skin, and touched with a hint of rose. Her lips were full, the upper one plumper than the bottom. Her nose was small and straight, her chin pointed beneath her high cheekbones. But it was those eyes that captured his attention. Wide-set and tilted at the corners, they screamed seduction.

And innocence. In one of the most disreputable cathouses in the territory. The woman was one hell of an actress.

Actress or not, he wanted to taste those lips. He turned her chest into his. His bigger body easily absorbed her weight as she followed his lead. As he bent toward her, she shook her head.

He frowned, not sure whether she was negating speech or his hold. He shifted his grip, but all she did was shake her head again and jerk her chin in the direction of the bed. She had to do it twice more before it finally sunk into his thick skull that she wanted the comfort of the mattress.

“Sorry.” No doubt she’d taken him for a saddle bum fresh off the trail. She had to if she thought he meant to take her right there in the middle of the room. He let her go long enough to drop his gun belt and knife sheath on the chair beside his shirt. He left the knife in the top of his right moccasin.

She took a step back. The motion took her into the pool of light and sent her hair swinging about her face. She had beautiful brown hair, sun-streaked and reflecting the reds and golds of autumn. His fingers itched to skim through its length on the way to her face, a face so daintily formed as to appear ethereal. There was something about her face with its wide-spaced eyes that appealed to him. A fragility that brought to the fore all his protective instincts while inspiring wild images of lust.

He sucked in a long, slow breath as the miracle continued below his belt. He prayed for it to keep on happening and focused on the “something” in those flashing cinnamon colored eyes that teased and taunted a response from deep within. A wild response that he’d never experienced before.

“You’re a beautiful woman, Angel.” His compliment sent her feet inching along the floor. Unfortunately, she was heading in the wrong direction. He set his course to intercept her. He couldn’t wait any longer. He had to get her in his arms before the feeling had a chance to disintegrate like snow in summer.

He wrapped her in his arms. She felt surprisingly good. Tiny, fragile, and hotter than Texas in July. Too damned good. His jaw braced against the need to take her up on her invitation. He had other needs he wanted assuaged before he spilled his seed deep inside that tender flesh. A year full of wasted daydreams he wanted fulfilled. She flashed those eyes at him and his cock jerked against his belly.

He had to hurry or it would be all over before it even began. He urged the woman down to her knees, not understanding her resistance.

“Free me.” His voice sounded low and guttural under the blow to his senses. “For God’s sake, free me.”

He eased the woman back when she didn’t reach for his body. He could tell from her intense expression that she was still lost in her scheming. He should tell her it wasn’t necessary, he thought, as he reached for the ties on his pants. He didn’t need any additional enticement to spur him on, but he was too afraid of losing the momentum to waste time on words.

His fingers tangled in the fastenings, and he gritted his teeth to control his impatience. With his free hand, he anchored the woman to his side. The laces finally gave way. Urgency made checking his impulses impossible. He released the woman to yank off his moccasins. As soon as the first one hit the floor, she was off. He easily caught her darting form as she made a blind, uncoordinated rush to the bed.

“Don’t worry,” he groaned. “I can make it to the bed.”

Her low voiced “no” prompted him to repeat the reassurance. He bent to sweep her up in his arms and stepped on the edge of the gown. He winced as he heard the fragile material tear.

There was nothing fragile about her response. His Angel could out-swear a sailor. His “I’ll buy you a new one” didn’t halt her muttered curses. A couple of the more imaginative ones caused him to smile. He swung back toward the bed, being careful to keep his path clear of tables or chairs so she didn’t rap her hand or foot.

No need for restraint, he reminded himself as he set her on the sagging mattress. This woman was a professional, used to taking men on a nightly basis. He pulled her gown up so her bare thighs collided with his buckskin-clad ones.

Thank the good Lord he’d come to an expert for this moment, because he knew there was no way anyone else could handle the madness that possessed him. It was as if he’d die if he didn’t have her as hard and as fast as he could manage. He sat beside her. He placed his knife between the mattress and the platform, hilt out, before yanking off his other moccasin. A hand on her midsection kept her still as he stepped clear of his buckskins. His hand dwarfed her midriff, looking dark and alien against the frothy nightgown.

He breathed a sigh of relief as his cock sprang free. He thought he mumbled an apology for his lack of gentleness as he sank down upon her body, using his weight to restrain her movements. The one thing he didn’t need was any more stimulation.

He leaned over her, held both of her hands over her head with one of his, and looked down. Her nipple peeked out from the bunched neckline of her nightgown. His breath caught in his throat. For such a small-breasted woman, she had damn tempting nipples. Plump as berries, and as pink as roses. He curved his spine until he could take the nubbin between his lips. His hair swung forward to brush her breast, obscuring all outside distractions so that nothing existed except the two of them in this moment. He needed to be gentle. He struggled to be gentle. She tasted so good, he wanted to devour her whole.

Her gasp whispered past his ear as he tested her textures. Beneath his tongue, her areola puckered and the tip elongated. It suddenly wasn’t enough that he get what he wanted. Not if it meant leaving her behind. He wanted her with him. All the way. He needed to slow down, but she made it damned hard.

“That’s right, Angel,” he murmured as she arched up beneath him. “Show me what you like.”

He laved the hardening nubbin again. It stretched against his tongue. He nibbled it, wrapped his lips around it, suckled it. She moaned beneath him. Her back arched. Her wrists tugged at his grip. He opened his mouth, accepting all of the breast she offered. Her gasps were sweet torture, unraveling his plan to go slow.

He pulled back slightly, dragging his lips over her flesh as he retreated. Her nipple glistened in the low light.

“Damn! You’re beautiful.”

And she was. Whereas he had always preferred big breasted women in the past, he couldn’t imagine anything more beautiful than his angel’s breasts. Small, perfect mounds topped with the longest nipples he’d ever seen. He rested his pinkie against her wet nipple, measuring its length. Aroused, it was as long as the tip of his little finger.

He glanced at her other breast. It shivered with her erratic breathing, but the nipple slept, undisturbed by his desire. He touched it lightly with the tip of his finger. Little by little, he applied pressure until her nipple formed a well in the center of her breast. When he pulled his finger away, her breast regained its shape, and her nipple saluted his efforts. He tweaked it for its impudence, smiling when the woman turned toward his hand.

He opened his fingers and accepted the slight weight. His hand was very dark against the pink and cream of her skin.

She was his complete opposite. Small where he was large. Soft where he was hard. Smooth where he was callused. Light where he was dark. He found every difference intriguing, deserving of exploration. Especially one place in particular.

He splayed his hand over her belly, spreading his fingers wide, absorbing the quiver of her skin beneath his hand. Letting his fingers drag against her stomach, he pulled his hand closed, gathering up her gown as he did so. Over and over he repeated the procedure. It wasn’t until her gown was bunched at her waist, leaving her lower body exposed, that he looked down.

He couldn’t look away. His hand clenched above her hips and his breath caught in his throat. A surge of lust hit him in the gut, so strong it almost doubled him over.

He hadn’t been mistaken. Her pussy was bare of hair. Naked. Her woman’s flesh was the same creamy white, flushed with rose as the rest of her body. Between the thick outer lips, he could just make out the hint of pink of her inner folds. Delicate and sweet, they called to him. He released the gown from his death grip, and slid his hand down, more than happy to accept their invite.

The only sound in the room as he inched toward that intimate playground was the hiss of the oil lamp, his Angel’s soft gasps of surprise, and the harsh rasp of his own labored breathing.

It seemed an eternity until his fingers reached their destination. When they did, he couldn’t suppress a groan. The skin was soft, incredibly smooth. Like the finest of silk. Against her thigh, his cock jerked and strained, wanting release. Wanting its home.

He wasn’t going to last much longer. Not this time. Not with her.

He slid his fingers along the crease of her lips, dipping between, finding her heat. Her hips jerked, spearing his fingers deeper into her folds. She was slick. Unnaturally so. She’d used some sort of oil to ease his way. He tested her readiness. When he probed the entrance to her vagina, she tossed her head and moaned. He kissed her cheek and whispered a sincere “thank you” as her muscles gave way to his probing. When his finger entered the first tiny bit, her inner muscles clenched, clamping down like a vise.

He dropped his forehead to her collarbone, then kissed the hollow beneath. Her hushed moans echoed in his ears as he struggled for control. The woman was offering heaven to a dying man. She was very small. Tight. Just imagining her pussy’s grip on his cock had his balls pulling up tight and tremors of release starting at the base of his spine. If he didn’t want to come like a greenhorn on the bed sheets, he needed to be in her. Now.

She started getting restless as soon as he released her hands and settled between her thighs. He stilled her movements with his hand on her hip. His cock found its home with unerring accuracy, sliding through the outer lips as if guided by instinct to settle in the valley immediately below. He held himself there, relishing her heat, enjoying the caress of inner muscles, anticipating the moment they’d part and he’d be held tightly in their grasp.

He braced himself with a hand on either side of her hips and slowly walked them up her body, letting her get used to his weight as he did. The bed sagged as he rested his elbows on either side of her head. His hair slid over his shoulders, over hers, brushing her cheek before dropping to tangle possessively with her red-brown strands on the coverlet beneath.

He kissed the corner of her mouth and then slid his tongue along the lush fullness of her upper lip. It felt so good, he did it again. She gave another one of those sexy gasps that seemed to go straight to his cock. He took advantage of her parted lips to kiss her deeply. Her tongue pushed against his. There was shyness to the gesture that had him wondering if she’d been doing this long.

He brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes. The sensation of looking at innocence struck him again.

He made a decision then and there.