Her Forbidden Gunslinger (3 page)

Gray groaned softly. She fairly purred at the sound and her hands moved up his arms to his shoulders. His hands closed on her hips and pulled her against him causing her to gasp at the contact of her front to his. He pressed the advantage and the tip of his tongue gently pushed inside to brush hers. The foreign sensation of him, hot and moist in her mouth made her blood thicken and pool deep in that newly awakened part of her. He must have known, because his hands moved down below the bustle of her dress to cup her bottom where it met her thighs and pull her tight against him. Something hard pressed against her stomach.

It should have frightened her; she thought she knew what it was. But she didn’t want an inch of space between them, so her arms circled his shoulders and she pulled herself closer. His fingers tightened as a low and primitive sound came from his throat. And suddenly the kiss became something she never expected. It became the conversation that always existed hovering between them but could never be expressed in words.

It was hungry and unrestrained and so much more intimate than she had ever thought a kiss could be. And, all too soon, even that wasn’t enough. Gray moved her back until she felt the press of the dresser against her thighs and she knew what he wanted. Closer. Her hands blindly pushed the jewelry to the side, and he lifted her so she sat on the edge of the dresser, her thighs pushed apart so that he could settle between them.

He kissed her again before his fingers tangled in her hair to pull her head back. She was reluctant to lose his mouth until it began blazing a path of open-mouthed kisses down her neck. Then he settled on the swells of her breasts and breathed in deeply, inhaling her scent.

“Gray,” she whispered and curled her fingers around the warmth of his neck.

It was all the encouragement he needed. He tugged on the silk of her bodice and the cool night air touched a breast, only to be replaced by the wet heat of his mouth. Sophie gasped and held him to her as odd pulses of pleasure shot to her groin when he suckled her. She gave herself up to the decadence of his mouth feasting on her and dropped her head back against the cool mirror, eyes heavy-lidded with passion. It probably would have taken her a lot longer to notice it, except he paused and pulled back enough to drink in the sight of her exposed to him. The pause made her open her eyes and that’s when she saw the door.

It was still open.

His mouth settled on her again and suddenly she realized the picture they would present if someone should happen by. A small part of her wondered if the pleasure might be worth the inevitable punishment, but no. There was no telling what Jean would do to Gray.

“Gray.” It was a whisper, too soft to dispel his passion. Then more urgently. “Gray! The door is open.
Mon Dieu,
the door!”

Shit!

Gray pushed away from Sophie with such force he propelled himself backward several feet and made the dresser wobble precariously. What the hell had happened to him? He’d only meant to help her with her jewelry but her warmth, her scent, the sweet innocence in her eyes had been his undoing. And when she’d pressed her lips to his, he’d told himself one kiss wouldn’t hurt anything. He’d never meant for it to go further, never meant to put his mouth on her body. If anyone had seen them—he didn’t even want to think of that. Even now, chest heaving from lack of air and an excess of adrenaline, he couldn’t tear his eyes from the sight of her nipple, pink and glistening from his attention.

Thankfully, she became aware because she had the good grace to blush and pull up her gown. Then, more slowly, she pushed forward until she dropped down to stand on the thick carpet. Gray would have helped her but his hands shook and he wasn’t entirely sure what he would do if he touched her again.

“Why did you do that?” His voice was harsher than he intended.

She bit her bottom lip, clearly as confused as he was. “I…I’m sorry. I wanted to kiss you. I’ve wanted to kiss you for a long time.”

Gray might have laughed. Even he wasn’t sure what the harsh exhalation of air meant. She surprised him. But it wasn’t a subject he was willing to discuss. She was off limits and the sooner he put distance between them the better. The longer he stayed in her room, the more his good sense deserted him.

“Is that all the jewelry?” He took a step toward the pile on the dresser but waited for her to move out of the way before he approached it, still unable to trust himself with her.

“Yes.”

Gray picked up the sapphires and diamonds and suddenly hated himself for having to take them away from her. He paused and looked at the pile in his hands. They must be worth a small fortune. Then he noticed her dresser held only a few bottles of perfume, a pot of skin cream and assorted cosmetics. It was devoid of the jewelry box he expected.

“He doesn’t let you keep any jewelry at all, does he?” Though he had on other occasions seen Sinclair escort Sophie to her room and return moments later with her jewelry in hand, Gray had managed to convince himself it was family heirloom jewelry or some such.

When she didn’t answer he pinned her with his gaze. “No,” she ground out.

“Why?”

No answer.

“You don’t want to marry that bastard, do you?”

She reluctantly shook her head and there was a suspicious sheen in her eyes.

Gray noticed it and detested the twin spasms of pain and anger that shot through his heart. “Dammit!” He didn’t want to care. He didn’t want to want her. He left her there before he could descend any further into madness.

Chapter Three

The days passed in slow agony for Sophie. A politician or corporate figure graced their table almost every night and she was forced to play hostess while Jean bribed his way to lower taxes or cheaper timber. Everything was a game with him as he looked for ways to turn his copper into gold. She had no choice but to don the facade she had become so adept at wearing and be a pretty fixture at the table.

It was a facade that had taken her many years and many punishments to cultivate. She’d been ten when her parents had died in the mine explosion. It had been a Sunday and Jean had invited them to go see the progress being made. No one was supposed to be working. But the dynamite had exploded anyway, leaving Jean unscathed. Three years passed before it even occurred to her that he might have had a hand in the accident. She only thought it then because she’d overheard him arguing with Alexandre, who was fifteen by then and too hotheaded to keep his opinions to himself.

The memory of how badly he’d been beaten still caused her to shudder. She’d begged him to leave and so he had, with a promise to come back for her. But ever since then she’d had trouble hiding her own suspicions and continuing to be the biddable niece. Her resentment was clear in every word, every action, and it hadn’t taken long for Jean to grow weary of it. She’d felt the wrath of his cane across her legs and back more times than she cared to remember.

Finally, she’d learned to control those rebellious impulses. As long as she played the role he wanted, nothing bad happened. Occasionally she’d still push too far and be struck for it or locked in her room, but nothing like before. It was livable. But with Anton she’d have to learn all over again. And what would be demanded of her would be so much more than she could give.

Whenever she thought of
those
demands, she thought of Gray. Often she would catch glimpses of him from her bedroom window and blush as she recalled their kiss. Even the memory of it had the power to awaken her senses. She’d thought about asking him to take her to Chicago, but something stayed the impulse. Maybe it was pride, maybe it was the realization that her feelings for him were childish and silly and he almost certainly didn’t return them. Or maybe it was simply that he might refuse and tell Jean. Trust was something she’d learned never to give easily.

So she stowed those feelings deep within her, alongside the future she had imagined for herself as a child on her family’s ranch. The plot of land she’d hoped to carve out on the far corner where she would marry and raise her children. The way that Gray would fit so well within that fantasy. And so instead she worked on devising an escape plan, while waiting for her uncle to leave on one of his many trips to his mines.

Escape was the only way to save herself. She’d run to her brother in Chicago, but she needed funds to do that.

On an evening exactly two weeks after the kiss, Sophie found herself awkwardly arched over a green felt-topped billiard table in the back of one of the less-respectable gaming halls in town. A bead of nervous sweat rolled down her back causing an itch between her shoulder blades that was destined to go unattended to. For the first time that night her scheme seemed like a bad idea. In the space of minutes, the mood of the crowd that had gathered to watch the spectacle had gone from revelry to something darker.

For the life of her, Sophie did not understand exactly what had precipitated the change. But her fingers twitched around her cue in awareness and she straightened, pretending to assess the shot from a different angle. The hum of conversation resumed somewhat.

She brushed past some of the crowd that pressed too close on her way around the table to take the shot from the other side. The wall on that side was much too close to afford many unhampered shots but she sought the sanctuary it offered more than anything else. Just on her way around the last corner, a large hand shot out from the crush and fitted itself to her hip. She was too shocked to protest and then she heard the voice behind her.

“Throw the shot.”

Gray!

She froze. Then she frowned because it meant they—the gunmen—knew she was there and if they did, so would her uncle. Her gaze flicked to the two piles of cash resting under a heavy marker on the table’s bank at the other end. Her contribution had been desperately hidden away one dollar at a time over the years.

It represented freedom and it was hers if she sank the shot.

She moved to continue but the hand grabbed her wrist in a grip that refused to be ignored. “We’ll never make it out of here if you don’t.”

That made her look back at him over her shoulder. He wasn’t looking at her. He merely nodded with his head tipped forward. She followed his gaze to the group situated behind the cash. There stood the man she was competing against, Jeb, she thought someone had called him, cue in hand, in deep discussion with a few rather unfriendly looking characters. Those men had not been there earlier. Not when she’d beaten Jeb in the first game and certainly not when he had so graciously proposed a double or nothing scenario.

Then the man looked at her and her heart sank. He was angry. And then the group around him looked at her and she actually blanched. Something dark and menacing gleamed deep in their eyes.

“The lady forfeits.” Gray’s voice carried loud and strong across the table and over the din of the crowd.

Sophie immediately took exception to his interference and opened her mouth to say so but then closed it, mentally evaluating the possible outcomes. If she sank the shot would she be allowed to walk away unscathed? The looks the men gave her suggested not.

“Does she know that?” The idiot with the cue laughed.

Gray came around her then and she found herself pushed behind his shoulder and her hat shoved onto her head. Black with a short veil, it had been borrowed from Martine as a means of escaping from the dress shop undetected. And then discarded as too cumbersome the moment she had stepped inside the hall. Even now she pushed the stiff lace veil up so she could see.

“Doesn’t matter. She forfeits.”

Sophie had grudgingly accepted that Gray’s assistance was needed to get her out of the situation, but hearing herself relegated to an insignificant detail was more than she could take.

“Now—” She started to interject but his hand pressed lightly against her stomach and halted anything she might have said.

“Just who are you?” The idiot persisted.

Sophie noticed a movement and when she saw the men as a group look down she realized Gray must have pushed his coat back so they could see his gun. How had it come to this so fast?

One of the men muttered something to the others. It was too low for her to hear but created a rumble in the folks gathered round. Surely they must have noticed he was something of a professional.

“You her husband?” It was a peace offering and when she heard it Sophie grasped Gray’s forearm where it still rested against her.

Gray’s head lowered slightly in a move that could have been considered affirmation if the receiver was so inclined.

“Well, I accept her forfeit,” the man said. “But on the condition that you tan her arse when you get her home. A lady,” he snickered when he said the word as if that did not describe her in the least, “should know to mind her menfolk.”

Sophie cringed with anger. Was it her fault he was a sore loser? Was it her fault he had assumed she didn’t know how to play? Well, maybe she
had
played up that part a bit.

Without responding to the man, Gray grabbed her elbow and began to steer them away from the table. Sophie’s gaze fell on the cash and she realized it was more than she could walk away from. “Wait! I want my money back.” She could accept forfeiting her winnings but she should at least walk away with the amount she had brought to the table.

“Sophie!” Gray breathed angrily near her ear, while staying focused on the men and the potential danger.

Jeb was already busy thumbing through the bills, but he heard her. “Get that bitch out of here.” One of the men in the group palmed the butt of the gun strapped to his hip.

She didn’t see Gray move but the next sound she heard was the resonant gasp of the crowd as they stared at him, his gun poised to be released from its holster. It was received with identical movements from Jeb’s companions.

“Just the lady’s portion.” Gray offered reasonably. “Else…” He let the word hang in the air, allowing the men to decide if the amount was worth the bullet at least one of them would sport otherwise.

Jeb seriously seemed to consider the alternative. After all, he wasn’t holding a gun. Chances were good he would avoid a bullet in the first round. But then he pulled out some bills and slid them across the table.