Lover's Gold (15 page)

He punched Chuck hard in the face, the muscles of his bare chest rippling with the effort. Elaina muffled a scream as Chuck toppled to the floor, knocking the blue porcelain pitcher from the bedside table. It shattered as it landed.

Snatching up a jagged shard, Chuck waved it menacingly. Morgan kicked the glass away and hauled Chuck to his feet, punching him again and again, but he only swayed and took a few steps back.

Chuck recovered quickly, dealt a solid blow to Morgan’s middle, and another to his jaw. Morgan went over backwards, landing heavily on his injured shoulder. He groaned, gritted his teeth against the pain, and struggled to his feet, pausing to regain his balance. Then he swung a right-handed punch that caught Chuck full on the chin and followed it with a left-right combination to the stomach, doubling him over. A hard right fist to Dawson’s face sent him sprawling. He crashed across a chair, splintering the wood, then pitched solidly onto the shard-covered floor. Blood spattered the wall and oozed from his nose, and his lip was cut and swollen.

When he hauled himself to his feet, he stared murderously at Elaina, then wiped at the blood on his face with the back of his hand. Tiny splinters of porcelain had left knicks and cuts on his arms and neck. Retreating toward the door, he pointed a shaky finger at Morgan.

“You’ll pay for this, Morgan.” His eyes bored into Elaina. “You’ll both pay.” His voice sounded brittle and ragged.

Self-consciously, Elaina pulled at her tom dress, wanting to hide her body from Chuck’s ugly gaze. As he slammed the door, she began to shiver uncontrollably, but relief that the danger had passed calmed her ragged spirit. After taking a steadying breath, she turned her attention to the man still poised for danger in the center of the room. He was breathing hard, his hands balled into fists.

Morgan ran his fingers through his dark, wavy hair, shoving several stray locks out of the way. He picked up his .45, reached behind him, and stuffed the weapon into the top of his breeches, but his eyes remained fixed on Elaina. Sitting down beside her, he smoothed several wild strands of hair from her bruised and battered face.

“Are you all right?” he asked gently.

She closed her eyes and leaned against him, reaching up to entwine her arms around his neck. It broke the dam of his resolve. He lifted her and with long strides carried her away from the painful memories in the room.

After nudging open the door to his own room with a booted foot, he strode to the bed, set her down carefully, then went back and locked his door. As he sat down on the bed beside her, he reached into his boot and slid a narrow-bladed knife from its hiding place. Her eyes widened, and he sensed her new alarm. Ignoring her tightening grip on his wrist, he sliced through the strings of her corset. With a sigh of relief, she sucked in deep breaths of air while he pulled the remnants of her tom dress up to its former position. Though it did little to hide her charms, she attempted a grateful smile.

He left her for a moment to pour some water into the basin from a pitcher on the washstand. After dipping a comer of a towel into the water, he gently wiped away the trickle of blood at the comer of her mouth, then placed the damp cloth on the bruise beside her eye. Though he tried to keep his attentions businesslike, a tremor shook his hand.

“Chuck said you wouldn’t help me,” she told him, fighting to hold back her tears. “He said you were too smart to interfere.” She noticed the bruise on his jaw, reached toward it, and touched him tenderly. “I should have known you would come.”

“God, Lainey.” He gathered her to him and held her close, burying his face in her thick hair, his cheek pressed against hers until her trembling subsided. When he pulled away to look at her, thankful to God for her safety, the crest of one rosy nipple escaped from the tom bodice of her gown.

It was more than he could stand.

With a groan of defeat, he laced his fingers in her hair and tilted her head back. Tenderly, aware of her battered condition, he covered her lips with his.

Chapter 10

E
LAINA WOULD HAVE
sworn she’d been through too much to respond. But at the touch of his kiss, her body stirred.

He nibbled gently at first, afraid of hurting her. But she felt no pain, only a fierce joy at being beside him, held in his strong arms. As if reading her thoughts, he deepened the kiss, and she opened her mouth to allow him entrance. His tongue tasted sweet and warm, and its probing created tingling sensations that surged and ebbed and surged again. He gathered her against him, kissed her brow, her cheeks, her nose. His masculine, musky scent inflamed her. His palms roamed across the bare flesh of her back, now exposed through the tears in her dress, and she gasped at the heat of his hands. Warm lips touched her shoulder, traveled with aching tenderness along her skin to the curve of her breast. She laced her fingers in his wavy dark hair.

She was beyond caring about promises. Chuck had made it all too clear it could never work between them. Still, she had given her word. Tomorrow. She’d think about broken promises and family honor tomorrow. For tonight her life was her own. Her passion, her love, was hers alone to give. She’d take tonight for herself—and God help her tomorrow.

Morgan had intended only to comfort her, care for her, but his desire, his wanting, was too strong. He’d promised himself he’d take her, seduce her at the first opportunity. Now was the chance he’d been seeking, and yet—

With a shaky hand, he freed himself from her tender embrace. “I leave on the morning train. I’ve received a wire from my brother. I have to find him.” He searched her tawny eyes. “Stop me now,” he whispered, his voice rough, “or it will be too late.”

She placed gentle fingers over his lips to silence him. “Who knows what the morrow will bring? If tonight is all we have, then let us not waste it.”

Morgan groaned. Hungrily he captured her lips, claiming her, possessing her. The fire in his loins burned bright. He pulled the shredded lavender silk from between them, and her breasts felt hot against the prickly hairs of his chest.

Her mouth felt warm and pliant beneath his, her lips delectably curved.

Lightning flashed, followed by the roar of thunder. Elaina felt Morgan’s hand travel along her flesh to cup the fullness of her breast, but unlike the cruelty of Dawson’s touch, the warmth of his gentle fingers brought a tiny moan of pleasure. Her nipple hardened, and she heard his breathing quicken. Her own breath was coming in ragged gasps, an ache building in her secret, womanly place. Caught up in a flood of swirling sensations that matched the fury of the storm outside, she felt her heart beating crazily, fluttering against his touch like an injured bird. His lips left her mouth to trace a line of fire from her ear down the side of her neck to her shoulders. He paused, lifted his head as if in silent debate, then began to strip off the rest of her tom garments.

First the gown and then the corset fell away, then her petticoats and pantalets. Bare to his gaze and feeling suddenly shy, she turned away. Cupping her chin with his hand, he turned her face toward his.

“Don’t,” he whispered. “You’re breathtaking.” He claimed her lips in a long, deep kiss that sent a gush of warmth to the place between her legs. Then he broke the contact to pull off his boots and shed his breeches. Lightning flashed, providing a glimpse of his hard male torso. As he sat back down, she ran a hand along the rippling muscles of his stomach, fascinated by his taut, feral beauty.

The storm raging outside matched her emotions, and the downpour began in earnest. For a moment, before his body covered hers, she could hear the thunderous pounding of the rain on the rooftop; then the pounding of her heart blocked out all other sounds. She could feel his male hardness pressing intimately between her legs, seeking entrance, as if seeking shelter from the storm. He parted her thighs a little more with his knee and positioned himself above her.

“Only a moment of pain, pretty lady, then pleasure like nothing you’ve dreamed.”

She tensed, afraid for the first time. He stroked her breasts, kissed each peak, then ran his hands lightly over her quaking flesh to the triangle of darkness that marked her womanhood. When his finger slid inside, he found her moist and ready, but he didn’t stop his ministrations until she writhed against his hand and he knew she wanted more. He kissed her passionately, forcefully, thrusting his tongue into her mouth while his shaft found entrance and slid inside her. Meeting the last barrier of resistance, he surged gently—once, twice. Then he plunged against her. Pain seared the place between her legs. She struggled, pushing her hands against the hard muscles of his chest, her eyes brimming with tears, but he held her fast.

“It’s all right, Lainey,” he soothed. “Trust me.” He kissed away a tear from beneath her lashes, holding himself in check, waiting for the pain to subside. She could see the hunger—and concern—in his eyes, and relaxed a little, her faith in him restored.

When he moved this time, there was no pain, only a pulsing, warm, filling sensation like nothing she’d known. As he glided in and out rhythmically, she felt a momentum building, a craving for more and still more of something mysterious, something that lured her, yet lingered just beyond her reach. He thrust faster, deeper, harder, and her body arched to meet each thrust. Her hands roamed the length of his taut, hard body, feeling the sinewy muscles ripple and bunch.

Wrapping her slender legs around his long corded ones, she pulled him closer, wanting to absorb every inch of him, wanting to possess him in a way she hadn’t before. Torrents of emotion swirled around her. Lightning flashed, thunder rolled. She could no longer separate the fury outside from the storm within.

He stroked her breasts, spoke jumbled words of passion, all the while driving himself wildly inside her. Just when she felt unable to endure the exquisite torture a moment more, limitless waves of pleasure washed over her. Tiny pinpricks of light like miniature stars burst, blinding her, filling her with such rapture she cried out Morgan’s name. Consumed by the power of her pleasure, she shuddered uncontrollably, the taste and feel of Morgan blotting out all other thought. As she gave herself up to the surging delights, she heard Morgan call out to her. Then he reached his own release.

In the minutes that followed, she felt a glowing happiness unlike anything she’d known. A closeness, a oneness. For the first time she understood about the wolves and the eagles, animals who mated for life. She felt as if she’d discovered the other half of her soul. And yet, how could that be? He was a gunman. A man on the move. Doubts crept in. Uncertainties.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow. She’d think about her feelings tomorrow.

He enclosed her within the circle of his arms and pulled her against him, fitting their bodies together perfectly. His breathing leveled off, and she thought he must be sleeping. She ran her hand lightly along the corded muscles of his side, his narrow, muscular buttocks, appreciating his taut, masculine grace. How could such a hard man be so tender, so gentle?

As she thought of him leaving on the morrow a hard lump swelled in her throat. She brushed the thought aside and lingered instead on the tender feelings he stirred. Feelings she thought she would never know. The warm embrace of a man she desired, the gentle touch of his lips. She gasped as she felt a demanding stiffness that pushed her thoughts in another direction.

Turning toward the tall man beside her, she found his blue eyes dark and smoldering again. He slipped a bronzed hand behind her neck and pulled her mouth toward his. As she tasted the warm fullness of his lips, her doubts lifted on the winds of the raging storm outside. Returning his kiss, she gave herself up to his passionate ministrations.

Chapter 11

F
AINT GRAY LIGHT
, a milk wagon rambling, bottles clanking together, the horses whinnying, their hooves plodding against the dirt streets below.

Morgan shook his head to clear what little sleep he’d had and slid from beneath the covers. The floor felt cold against his bare feet. Elaina was still sleeping. The bruise near her eye had darkened even further, and he cursed Chuck Dawson for the hundredth time.

After pulling on his breeches and boots, he drew a clean white shirt over his naked chest and fastened the buttons. This morning his mind was a maze of fuzzy images: delicious memories of the last few hours, of the woman with the red-brown hair and the warm, sensuous body. Other thoughts were not so clear: golden fields and rolling hills, crowded buildings overlooking a broad blue ocean, stiff breezes, and sunny days. And darker images: deep, dank mine shafts, fistfights, guns, bullets.

None of the memories seemed to fit together.

Not even the name that now came sharply to mind. Daniels. Ren Daniels. Somehow it felt right to him, unlike the name he’d been using. But if his real name was Daniels, why was he in Keyserville calling himself Dan Morgan? For that matter, why was he in Keyserville at all? The answers lay in California. And he intended to have those answers by the end of next week.

He glanced at the woman still sleeping in his bed. Her glossy sable hair spilled softly around her face and onto her creamy shoulders. The crest of one pink nipple peeked from beneath the sheets. He felt himself harden and smiled to himself. She was some woman, all right.

The thought gave him a sudden twinge of conscience. It seemed every time he thought of making love to her, he felt rotten, as if he’d taken someone’s special gift, all brightly wrapped in colored paper and glittering bows, and smashed it into a thousand pieces. He couldn’t understand the feeling. If he was Dan Morgan, he was a hired gun. The kind of man who took what he wanted. He was certain even Daniels, if that was his name, was not the kind of man to stand on principle where bedding a woman was concerned.

The face of a petite blonde came to mind. Melissa. Yes, that was her name. Was she a wife? A girlfriend? Was she the reason for his guilt? Somehow he didn’t think being faithful to a woman had caused him much concern before.