RattlingtheCage (3 page)

Chapter Five

She waited until the crunch of gravel faded. An ear-piercing
scream wedged in her throat. Weak-kneed, she leaned against the wall outside
the bar, her pulse erratic. Montana sank down, her limbs loose, uncoordinated.
She hugged her knees and drew a ragged breath.

Beside her lay two bullets.

Her mind replayed the moments before her nerves exploded.

Concealed behind the dumpster, she’d been admiring Lawson’s
tight butt and sexy swagger. Until a rat appeared. With the toe of her boot,
she’d meant only to kick the rodent away, but instead she’d kicked the
dumpster.

Metal clanged and echoed. She’d stayed low, easing toward
the door. The rat scurried onto a woodpile, squealing in delight. A board had
slid and created a mini avalanche. Wincing, Montana had reached for the knob.
Pop
pop
went the gun. Above her head, two objects had ricocheted off the
building, followed by a sprinkling of neon green.

“Montana Lee. What the hell?”

A second scream stuck in her throat. She burst to her feet,
hands pressed into the wall for balance.

Chuck stood in the doorway, hands outstretched, brows
arched. “Were you asleep?”

Her lips wouldn’t pry apart. She shook her head.

“What the hell happened to the sign?” He volleyed his head
from the broken sign to the ground. “Damn vandals.” Gesturing to the door, he
said, “I need you back inside. I’ve gotta take off.”

Montana didn’t want to go inside. She wanted to go home,
curl her body into a ball and pretend she had a mother who’d once comforted her
with soothing words and lullabies.

Her gaze fell back to the bullets. Shot for snooping. What a
way to go.

“Montana?”

“Yeah, sure,” she mumbled and unsealed herself from the
wall.

“What were you doing out here?”

“I-I needed air,” she lied.

“So, everything’s good, you’re all under control, right? I
can leave?”

His words drifted out warbled. What control? She didn’t have
anything under control. Not her heart rate. Not her nerves. And even more apparent,
not her life.

“Montana!”

She cringed at Chuck’s impatient tone. “Go home,” she said,
her voice hoarse. “I deal with enough assholes inside. I don’t need to deal
with one outside, too.”

“Nice.” He slid past her. “Night, then. See ya tomorrow.”

“Yeah.”

Montana slunk inside and closed the door. She re-tied her
apron, the strings having come undone, and filled a pitcher of beer. Why the
hell had Lawson fired blindly into the night? Who did that? His short fuse
disturbed her. Bad enough that he’d left the bar like an ass—throwing money on
the table the same way men had tossed money at her mother on their way out. Did
she want to trust someone so impulsive?

She’d made a move. He didn’t bite. She refused to waste her
time.

Tears stung her eyes.

She was stuck in a dead-end town, and stuck on a man who
almost shot her dead.

* * * * *

Lawson stormed the motel room, adrenaline pumping. His
fingers opened and closed. What an idiot. He shouldn’t have fired into the
dark. What if he’d shot an innocent person? A drunk? What if he’d shot Montana?
He couldn’t go firing a gun whenever he got spooked. Most small towns kept him
on edge, but this town damn near made him mental. Too many memories. Too many
ghosts.

Pulse still racing, he worked to calm his breath. Put focus back
onto his plan. His reason for returning to this repulsive place. But he wanted
Montana. He burned for her. There’d be no rest tonight if he didn’t see her.
Taste her.

Lawson pictured the sensuous curve of her shoulder. Soft,
creamy skin that he ached to brush his lips against. And her legs. He wanted
them locked around his waist as he…ah hell. She was right about the pent-up
sexual need. He hadn’t counted on there being one good thing in Rattler City.
One pretty little thing he’d have a hard time leaving behind.

Frustrated, he stalked back to the bar, through the door and
straight to the counter, ignoring the hush that followed his arrival.

His breath hitched when she walked out from the back
carrying a pitcher of beer.

Without thinking, he slapped his hand on the counter and
demanded, “Get me a glass and a bottle of whiskey.” Screw the manners, she
hated him anyways.

Her lips thinned. “You again. I’ll deal with you in a
moment.”

Lawson beat his fingers against his jeans. Both knees
bobbed. He watched her in motion, the way she swiveled her body between tables,
gathering glasses, pouring beer, collecting plates in the provocative crook of
her arm. Graceful. Fluid. Moving like a panther.

Moments later she disappeared into the back. His patience
waned. Did she think he’d leave if she didn’t serve him?

Tension trickled into his neck and shoulders. She took too
long. His urgency to see her turned obsessive. At least everyone had quit
staring.

To his relief, she returned with a glass and bottle of
whiskey in hand.

“Here.” She slammed the bottle down hard enough to shatter.

“Thanks.”

“Don’t talk to me,” she snapped.

He didn’t recognize the hardened look on her face.

She walked away and damn if she didn’t put an extra swish in
her sway.

Montana. He’d never been to Montana, but suddenly he wanted
to visit. Explore the beautiful open range. Sink his teeth into the fine
foundation and tease his fingers through the dewy grass.

Lawson poured another glass of whiskey. And another after
the second one slid down too easy. Tension drained from his muscles and he
nodded to the music. His intent to stay sharp dulled with each drink. He
drafted a new plan in his head. One he found feasible.

Tonight he aimed to get Montana alone.

Chapter Six

Montana bit back a string of harsh words. What did he want?
He’d stormed out, almost killed her and then returned to what, finish the job?
She hated the way he sat on the stool, gawking at her like a dog itching to
play ball. Now that she didn’t want to play, he did. Bastard.

At midnight she ushered the locals out the door. Lawson
remained at the bar, smug and defiant.

Irritated, she threw down the washcloth and stomped over.

“I guess you didn’t hear. It’s closing time. That means
leave.”

He smirked and pointed at his half-filled glass. “I’ll go
when I’m done with my drink.”

She snatched the glass from his hands and splashed the
remaining whiskey in his face.

“You’re finished.”

His grin lessened. He grabbed hold of her wrist and pulled
her from around the bar into him. Montana sputtered words even she didn’t
understand. Pressed close to his chest, she didn’t know whether to be scared,
mad or privileged.

“You’ve got a lot of sass for something so petite,” he
growled.

A drop of whiskey slid down his cheek. She ached to catch it
with her tongue. With minimal effort, she half-struggled to get out of his
stronghold, more for show than want. She couldn’t deny the excitement of his
body, or seeing her reflection in his silvery eyes. Still, she didn’t want him
to know her level of enthusiasm.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he rasped.

His potent aura of danger filled her senses.

Montana worried her lip and wondered when she’d stopped
being mad at him.

Heart racing, she asked, “Why did you come back?”

“Couldn’t sleep.” He flashed a wry grin. “Not without knowing
how you taste.”

“Words meant to flatter, I suppose.”

“Honest words.”

“Ha,” she scoffed.

His voice lowered. “I believe me.”

She groaned. “That’s because you’re a self-centered ass.”

One thick brow rose, but he didn’t dispute her words.

Chin high, she continued, “I won’t let you have your way.”

“No?”

Her pulse elevated. “I need you to go so I can close the
bar.”

Lawson released her and walked with purpose toward the door.
Regret sank in. She stared after him, her arm extended, wishing she had a rod
to reel him back.

At the door, he twisted the sign to read closed and flipped
the lock. “The bar is officially closed,” he announced.

He strutted by her and kept going. With a wicked gleam, he
reached behind the bar and topped his glass from a new bottle of whiskey.

Montana jerked her gaze away. Arms crossed, she circled the
bar. A sultry jazz song played on the jukebox. A song about a very hot, very
sticky need between two people. The singer crooned with a passion she longed to
know.

With forced sweetness, she asked, “Would you mind leaving? I
have to finish cleaning up so I can go home.”

“Then finish.” An arrogant smile tainted his handsome
features. “I’m not stopping you.”

Her sweetness dissolved. What a piece of work. “You think
you’re a badass but you’re nothing but a whiskey-drinking snake with too much
time on your hands, and a bad habit of picking on people you deem weak.”

He rounded the bar, ferocious eyes ablaze. “I’ve heard
enough lip from you.”

Startled, Montana hustled back until she bumped into the pool
table. Trapped, she shielded herself.

He wrapped his hands around her arms and pulled her in, his
eyes shadowed by his hat. “You think I’m a snake?”

Her lips quivered. His warm, smoky breath fanned her face.

She ran her tongue along her lower lip. “A no good, rotten,
dirty snake.”

Lawson pushed her into the pool table with his upper thighs,
his cock firm. Her jaw went lax.

“Are you afraid of snakes?”

Her throat thickened. She nodded.

“If I let you go, will you run?”

His grip loosened, as if to test her. Montana studied the
intensity in his face, the angle of his brows, the perfect slope of his nose. A
man with brains and brawn. A man she didn’t have any business trying to tame.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she confessed.

For too many ticks of the clock, he held her captive, his
towering form exuding heady waves of heat. Her body sagged from her weighted
breath. She didn’t think she’d last another moment under his dark gaze.

The suggestive lyrics of the music filled the silence. Words
about need. Words about want. Words about filling that need, and how nothing
else mattered.

Montana dipped her head, but he captured her chin.

His thumb stroked her bottom lip. “That mouth will get you
into trouble.”

He removed his hat and tossed it onto the next table. An
inky black strand of hair fell across his brow. Her fingers twitched. Half a
heartbeat later he sliced his tongue between her lips. Currants, peach and a
hint of vanilla exploded inside her mouth. Heat rippled beneath her skin. The
final tendrils of resistance softened.

She slipped her arms around his neck and welcomed the fiery
kisses. Inexperienced, she followed his lead. Matched the stroke of his tongue.
Returned the hard, fast rhythm of his desire.

When he broke away, she released a stifled moan.

Montana searched his eyes and recognized the burning hunger
behind them. “I didn’t say you could kiss me,” she mumbled.

His thumb outlined her lips and caressed the rise of her
cheek. “Tell me you don’t want more, and I’ll stop.”

“I’m not easy,” she countered. “I don’t sleep around.”

Crinkles bracketed his eyes. “Listen, beautiful, I won’t be
here long enough to take you out and date you proper. Unless you say otherwise,
I’m going for it.”

Montana smirked. Like the song from the jukebox repeated, it
was about filling a need. A hot, sticky need. She wanted to fill that need with
him.

He smiled. “Are you done talking?”

“Maybe.”

“About damn time.”

“Bastard,” she hissed.

Humor creased his brows. He traced his fingers over her
collarbone. Inside her core, an inferno raged. There’d be no more silly
fantasies playing in her head. She had a hard-bodied reality standing before
her eyes.

Lawson pulled her close and sealed his mouth over hers. Heat
seared her throat. Dizzy and feverish, she anchored herself to his body,
melting further with each generous kiss. His hands dragged through her hair and
swept up along her face. Her lungs begged for air, but she didn’t stop. Too
caught up in his whiskey-laced taste. Too caught up in him.

At the parting of his lips, she gulped air.

“I can’t get enough,” he said gruffly.

He brought her in tight and rested his chin on her head. She
wilted. The scent of danger and his raw masculinity ringed her body. His heart
raced against her ear, a quick-paced staccato. Eyes closed, she imagined all
her nights this way.

He pulled back a fraction and held her face in his hands.
Gently, he kissed the corners of her mouth and brushed his lips along the side
of her neck. Arousal blossomed low in her belly. His hands slid to her waist,
sending goose bumps along her skin. He gathered the end of her shirt in his
fists and pulled the thin layer of material over her head.

His dark lashes lowered and she straightened, basking in his
smoldering gaze. She’d never felt more brazen.

“No bra?”

“Hate them,” she said. “Don’t like being tied down by
anything.”

“Bet you’d like it if I tied you up.”

The deep resonance of his voice tripped her pulse.

Lawson cupped her breasts. His tongue draped a blanket of
warmth around each nipple, taking care to bring each one to full peak. She trembled.
Her body alive and awakened by his touch. The jukebox switched to a sensual
rhapsody.

He flicked his thumbs along her nipples and took one between
his teeth. She lashed beneath him, unprepared for the exquisite rush.

Head raised, he pinched a nipple. “You’re quite the little
charmer.”

“What do you mean?” Her words came out breathy, labored.

“Bet you get all the boys riled up, and then just when their
dicks are about to pop, you walk away and never look back.”

Desire pooled between her thighs. Her only thoughts on what
he’d do to her next. “I’m not like that.”

He pinched her other nipple and pulled it taut. “I think you
like to play hard to get.”

Montana shook her head.

“Or do you just like it hard?”

She rested her hand on the bulge of his jeans. “I like it
hard as I can get it.”

“Thought so.”

With an impressive swiftness, he reached under her skirt and
caught hold of the sides of her panties. The damp silk slid down the length of
her legs. She toed them to the side. He hiked up her skirt around her waist and
lifted her onto the edge of the pool table.

Montana worked the buttons of his denim apart and eased them
over his briefs. She freed his erection and stroked him from base to tip. In
urgency he yanked off his shirt. She weakened and ran her hands along the
scarred planes.

“I swear you put a spell on me,” he rasped. “I had no
intention of touching you.”

Her pulse pounded in her ears. “I did.”

She chuckled at the surprise on his face.

“You put a spell on me, or you intended for me to touch
you?”

Mischief tugged her lips. “Both.”

He pushed her back so her hands rested along the green felt
of the table, and savored each nipple. Montana arched. A slow building pressure
within her core intensified. She wanted him with a ferocity that frightened
her. But tiny threads of doubt consumed her. Here was a man who’d had plenty of
women. Sophisticated, beautiful, adventurous women. A man of his caliber didn’t
want the daughter of a whore. He deserved better.

Before she had a chance to voice her second thoughts, Lawson
rested his palm between her thighs. “You’ve got something here that I want.”

Her lashes fluttered. The heavy-with-need tone coupled with
his tormented gaze stripped away all doubts. “Then take it. What are you
waiting for?”

He opened her with two fingers. A cry escaped her throat. He
grazed his thumb along her moist slit. “So soft. So wet.”

Her pulse throbbed in her ears, her neck, her chest.

“Please, take me,” she sobbed.

“On. My. Time.”

“I want it hard and fast,” she said, her voice sharp.
“Remember?”

“If I slide my cock inside you right now, I’m done for.”

Montana bit her lip at the blunt admission. “Oh.”

“Like I said. On my time.”

He lowered his chin between her thighs, his breath warm
against her dampness. She shifted beneath him, half out of her mind with
longing. Lips pressed tight, she forced back words meant to hurry him. She
didn’t want to anger him. Or worse, give him reason to leave.

He worked one finger around her moist folds and teased his
tongue along her hardened clit. He hummed in pleasure, the vibrations making
her even more receptive. She watched the way he coaxed her open with two
fingers, three fingers. Parting her. Readying her. His magnificent mouth sealed
over her clit and her nipples beaded painfully.

“Lawson,” she whispered, loving the feel of her tongue
against her teeth as she pronounced his name. “You make me feel so good.”

She loved the ticklish delight of his stubble against her
mound. And his tufts of hair that brushed her belly. So sensitive, she felt
even the most featherweight of touches.

In a sudden turn he ravished her clit, his fingers driving
deeper. Faster.

He raised his head, replacing his mouth with his other
fingers, the sheen of her juices apparent in the dim light. “Let go, Montana.
Let yourself fall.”

She nodded and rocked her body against his fingers, the felt
of the pool table soft against her back. A smile tipped his full masculine lips
and he returned them to her clit, stroking his tongue just enough to help her
reach the peak.

Her fingers raked behind her as she cried out, falling over
the edge and allowing the black velvet sea to catch her. She floated for mere
moments before a surge of desire knocked her back to reality. And the reality
was that she wanted more.

Montana reached forward, tugging his black briefs farther
down, and wrapped her hand around his cock.

With force, he turned her around and leaned her over the
table. The sound of a foil wrapper followed.

Montana stared at the green felt, seeing where she’d raked
her nails. Bigsby would flip.

“You ready for more of a hard time?”

She swallowed down a knot of need in her throat. “Oh god,
yes.”

Her thighs trembled with impatience. The tip of his cock
teased her longer than she cared for. She considered slamming back into him
when he entered her, clean and fast. Filling her in length and width. He needed
only to thrust once and pleasure exploded to every fiber of her being. Breasts
heavy, her nipples scraped along the pool table, heightening all her senses.

“You’re a tight little thing.”

She widened her thighs and stuck her butt out to
accommodate. He drove deeper.

Montana snuck a look over her shoulder, marveling at the
intensity in his eyes, the tensing of his jaw. He had a handsome face she could
stare at forever. She caught the dark, dangerous gleam in his eyes. Lust-filled
liquid pools that made her breath hitch.

“Ready to take it harder?”

Her jaw slackened at his words. She gripped the sides of the
pool table. Lawson drove into her again and again, his cock thick and hot. Legs
tense for full impact, she clung to the table. He showed no mercy. He’d
penetrate deep and withdraw long enough to elicit a sob, only to fill her
completely again. His hand moved to the juncture between her thighs and rubbed
her clit. Her body bucked against the dual stimulation. She didn’t care that
the front of her thighs would sport bruises by morning. She didn’t care that
her nipples were raw from the friction against the felt. And she didn’t care
that she was going to have a difficult time carrying trays of beer and food
with her sore arms from clenching so hard. This was the kind of scintillating,
rough-and-tumble, thigh-numbing, full-out, high-octane sex she’d pined for.