The Lady and the Lawman (7 page)

Beads
of sweat popped out on his forehead as he watched her deft fingers.
She’d only had the gun for a second, but it seemed time stood still
as he watched her. What would it feel like when she touched his rock
hard shaft?

His
brain was slow to clear from the fog her steamy actions had brought
about. “Give me that gun before you shoot yourself,” he all but
growled. He snagged it from her, ending her tantalizing show.

She
reached for the gun, looked at it in a way Grant considered
longingly, but switched tactics when it was beyond her reach. “Let
me get this off of you,” she murmured as her hand moved to his
waist, brushing the front of his pants—and his hard cock—in her
haste to remove his gun belt.

He
gritted his teeth. “Lord, woman, if you want in my pants so badly,
let me help you.”

He
moved his hands to his waist to remove his holster, but she
insistently pushed them back, looking him in the eye. “No, let me,”
she replied, serious now.

He
dropped his hands to his side and watched. If she wanted to undress
him, so be it. What man in his right mind would stop a woman from
doing that?

Remaining
silent, she undid the buckle, releasing the gun belt from around his
waist. Standing, she placed a hand on his chest to have him step
back. Completely under her spell, he gave her the space she needed.
This vixen was no virgin. She walked across the room and carefully
placed the belt on the nightstand next to the bed.

His
need became painful, his pants uncomfortably tight. Closing the small
distance between them, he eagerly brushed his fingers along her
cheek, knowing her skin would be soft and warm. He remembered how
supple and luscious her lips had been from the hot kiss they’d
shared downstairs. The desire to feel her mouth beneath his again was
too strong to resist. Tilting her chin up with his fingers, their
eyes met briefly before he leaned down and brushed his lips over
hers, a whisper of a kiss.

He
backed her up against the closed door and lifted his hands to caress
her face. His brain had been too addled to even realize he still held
his gun. With a loud
thunk,
he placed it next to his gun belt and hat without taking his gaze off
her, knocking his hat to the floor.

He
planted
his palms
against the wood door on either side of her head, pressing the full
length of his body into hers. He felt every inch of her soft curves.
Lush breasts, rounded hips, long legs. She fit against him perfectly,
his erection pressing squarely against her sex. She wasn't going
anywhere. All possibility for her to escape was gone. Dropping his
gaze to her face, he drank her in. She appeared overwhelmed, soft,
and damn kissable, her lips swollen from his aggressions.

“
God,
I don’t even know your name,” he said, stunned at his
ungentlemanly manners.

“
Margaret.”

He
whispered her name as he lowered his mouth to hers once again, more
urgently this time.
His
hands
snaked around to hold her head,
as
his fingertips caressed
the smooth nape of her neck, playing with the silky, loose curls.
His
thumbs brushed over her heated cheeks,
her heartbeat erratic against
his
palms
.
He teased her lower lip, nibbling and finally nipping on it, taking
the kiss even deeper. A quick gasp escaped her throat as his tongue
touched hers.

The
sound surged through him, and shot like a bolt of lightning to his
groin. He rocked his hips into her. His need, his intentions could
not be denied now.

Lifting
his head, he ran his thumb over her bottom lip and raked his eyes
over her, down to the creamy slope of her breasts rising and falling
as she tried to catch her breath. He once aga
in
leaned against
the
door to balance himself, leaned down and kissed a mound of smooth
skin at the top of her lacy corset.

His
mouth brushed shivering flesh, then air, when she pushed his head
back from her breast. She ducked under his arm, spun around and
stared at him from across the small room, silent except for her
breath escaping her lips in short pants. It was difficult to rein in
his growing anger. Playing the innocent was one thing, teasing a man
in his desperate state of need was another.

Her
lips were now red, not from coloring, but from his kisses. She was
flushed and her hair was wild about her face and down her back. Her
fists clenched and unclenched by her sides.

Then
he noticed the fright in her eyes. It was unmistakable.

“
What's
the matter, Maggie?” He raked his fingers through his hair,
frustrated as hell. If he didn't sink himself into her soon, his dick
was going to fall off. Somehow, with only just a kiss, she'd
practically crippled him. There was no way he'd be able to ride a
horse home in this condition.

He
dropped his large frame onto the bed with a bounce as the bed creaked
under his weight. Making himself comfortable, he leaned back against
the wall, a pillow behind his head. He tried to remain calm, but it
was hard—like some places on his body—to remain so without being
aggravated. Aggravated she still had her clothes on, aggravated he
hadn't already spread her thighs and buried himself in her.

“
Why
did you call me Maggie?”

She
was stalling. He sighed, trying to temper his desire and lessen the
pain building since he first saw her. “Because it's better than
Margaret,” he answered,
frustrated
as hell. “Is that what your other men call you?” Thinking about
her with other men, he frowned. “Never mind. Don't answer that.
Come back over here,” he commanded, patting the satin spread next
to him.

***

It
was now or never for Margaret. She could tell from the seriousness of
his look and his gruff tone she’d pushed him far enough.
Innocent—reasonably so—as she was, she knew every man had a
breaking point. And she’d crossed past his. The sheriff wasn’t
going to let her back out of the foreplay she’d initiated. She'd
felt that when he'd pressed himself into her. She felt him—it—brush
against her, pressing against something, some spot between her legs
that shot lightning from her core to the tips of her fingers, the
roots of her hair. She wanted to find that spot again, to have him
rub against her just so she could feel that immense pleasure one more
time.
To
reach for some indescribable sensation. She had no choice but to
continue, if not for her own m
orbid
curiosity, but also because the only alternative was to anger him.
She was in no rush to see Croft again.

Oh,
she’d had the frustrating opportunity to turn his gun on him, but
he took it from her before she could figure out how to use it. If
only she’d had more time to fiddle with the weapon. Her mind was
not clear. Somehow, his touch, his kiss, the very rocking of hips
into her had turned her brain to mush like oatmeal. To get to the
weapon now, which was right next to him on the nightstand, she had to
continue her passionate charade to get to it. Although if she was
willing to admit it to herself, the more he touched her, the less of
a charade it became.

Surprisingly,
it wasn't too hard to pretend. She felt the warmth in her cheeks and
knew they were flushed. Her breathing was erratic and her skin
tingled in very special places from their kiss. Margaret had no idea
kissing would be so...incredible. William had mashed his mouth
against hers, but she hadn't responded, hadn't felt tiny flames lick
at her skin.

When
the sheriff's tongue had slipped into her mouth, at first she'd been
stunned. Never knowing that was even done, she'd stood motionless,
but the explorations of his mouth on hers had cleared her mind like
cleaning a slate of chalk. His thumbs had brushed her cheeks and
she'd been lost, overwhelmed by the new sensations, the new feelings
coursing through her veins.
But
he was the enemy
!
An enemy who could kiss the very thoughts from her head.

It
wasn’t just the kisses that muddled her brain. It was his presence,
his sheer size that overwhelmed her. He practically sucked all the
air from the room, leaving her gasping for breath. His intensity, his
domination of all her senses, made her mind and body burn.

It
was difficult, to say the least, to stay focused on her plan. She
wasn’t
that
type of woman. Of course the sheriff thought she was, and she was
supposed to act like one. When she was in the sheriff’s arms
however, she felt wanton, desirable, desperate. Maybe she was that
type of woman and just never knew it.

With
William using her as he had, she definitely would be considered a
whore. They hadn't been married when he'd taken her. Thank God they
weren't man and wife. But it didn't matter. In the eyes of society,
she was a soiled dove. She either needed to marry William or she
would be labeled a whore. No man in his right mind, unless in Croft's
saloon for a quick romp, wanted a whore in their bed.

No
matter what she would be called from now on, she needed to escape.
The only way to do that was through the sheriff. Taking a deep
breath, she walked over to the bed, lifted her petticoats—exposed
more leg than she’d ever shown a man before—and crawled on hands
and knees to reach his side. Hopefully the sheriff couldn’t hear
her hammering heart. If she could just seduce him a bit more, she
could get the gun and get away. How was she supposed to do that?

***

Grant
groaned deep in his throat as he stared at the stunning view Maggie
offered. Not only did her hips sway as she crawled on hands and knees
up to him, the expanse of cleavage she exposed to his gaze was
tantalizing. He’d never been an advocate of corsets, detesting
their suffocating qualities, but the view in front of him changed his
mind. She was good, really good at her job.

No
matter how much he felt lured into her whore’s trap, there was this
niggling feeling something was wrong. When she noticed where his gaze
was focused, she stopped short, coming up on her knees in front of
him. Her hands covered her creamy expanse of cleavage. She looked at
him through lowered lashes, bit her lower lip.

He
watched her innocent display. Her skills as an actress were
impressive, and he had to hand it to Croft at his adeptness for
getting out of a sticky card game. Damn him, but it worked. She was
the best cock tease he’d been with. He, nor his cock and balls,
could stand the torment no longer.

He
yanked one of her hands away from her breast. In one motion, he had
her tucked in at his side so snugly she couldn’t move, but he could
feel her every curve along his length. He wedged one thigh between
hers, feeling her shape, even between the thick layers of petticoats.
One hand tangled in her hair at the back of her neck, the other on
top of a breast she’d so seductively shown him. He stroked the
white roundness as his mouth devoured hers. He felt her nipple
tighten in response beneath the lacy fabric.

The
fabric was a damn impediment. He tucked his fingers into the corset
and lifted her plump flesh up and out of its confines so her nipple
was exposed to the air, his gaze, his mouth. It was as he'd imagined.
Large, a beautiful blush color, and erect. He stared at the pink tip
for a moment or two, then he brushed
his
fingers over,
then caressed the small peak into an even tighter bud.

She
cried out, her eyes falling closed, which made her press more fully
into his palm. “Oh!”

He
groaned then returned his mouth to hers, plunging his tongue inside
to tangle with hers. Through his haze of lust, he heard her soft moan
of pleasure, and that pushed him on. She felt the heat of their
attraction as much as he did. He had no doubt.

So
intent on her mouth and her pebble hard nipple, he didn’t notice
the cold metal pressed firmly against his temple, which was like a
splash of cold water on his libido.