A Fire in the Blood Page 12

  The accusations made her face burn, but she refused to acknowledge their validity. "I brought Cormac along. He's more than equal to any man."

  His eyes blazed at her, filled with scorn. "For some things maybe, but not for all." He paused and then asked, "For instance, when's the last time you saw Cormac fire a Winchester?" He resumed unfastening his denims.

  She backed up a step, looking uncertainly over to the dog, who was standing, puzzled, in the shallow water with his tail beating a steady tattoo on the rippling surface of the pond. "Some watchdog you are," she whispered as her gaze once more was drawn to Jess.

  He kicked free of his denims and began to walk into the pool, slowly, deliberately, like a wild predator stalking his prey. Every hard, sinuous plane of his body was relentless, graceful, hungry. He was male, hot and hard and feverish to take her. She could see all of him this time as her eyes swept from his face down to that splendid chest, then over the faint reddish puckering where she had stitched the gunshot wound. When she looked below at the rampantly male part of him, standing stiffly, proudly erect, she stumbled backward another step, unwilling to protest, unable to run. This is what you wanted.

  As if echoing her very thought, Jess said, "You've hounded me since the day I set foot in Wyoming, Lissa. You've teased and taunted, flaunted that beautiful, untried little body until I lay awake nights burning. I'm burning now, Lissa. I can strangle you, or I can love you."

  As if to emphasize his words, he stepped deeper and deeper into the icy water, oblivious of the cold, until he stood directly in front of her. She could smell sweat and male musk, could feel the heat radiating from his flesh. Against her will, one hand reached out and touched his chest. His heart slammed against her palm so hard she tried to jerk away, but his hand came up and covered hers, pressing it back where it had been.

  Neither of them felt the blazing sun or the icy water as they stood gazing into each other's eyes. "See what you do to me?" he asked raggedly as he held her palm against his racing heart. "And what I do to you." His other hand grazed the curve of

  her breast, then touched the pale pink tip, which had hardened into a nubby point. "You ache, don't you?" he whispered seductively.

  Lissa gasped, feeling the tight, heavy throbbing gather in her breasts and pool low in her belly. Her other hand glided up his arm ever so softly, skittering over the curve of his shoulder, her fingers tangling in the long, straight hair at his nape. "Yes, Jess," she said simply.

  With a feral growl, he scooped her into his arms and splashed through the water to the shore where she had earlier spread a blanket on the soft grass. She buried her face against his shoulder and held tightly to him as he knelt. Cormac, bored with the humans who were so roundly ignoring him, caught the scent of a squirrel scampering down the trunk of a tree. With two huge bounds, he cleared the pool and vanished down the ravine after it.

  Jess laid Lissa down and covered her with his body, tangling his hand in her long, wet hair and tugging on it until she raised her face to his. His mouth came down, crushing hers, demanding entry. She acquiesced and his tongue met hers, gliding, twining, thrusting in sync with his hips as they rocked her rhythmically.

  Lissa could feel his breathing grow harsher, faster, as his hands found all the soft, shadowed curves and hollows, the wet, silky secrets of her untried body. Her own breath came in fierce pants while she held him tightly, lost in his rough, savage sensuality.

  Finally he broke off the kiss, leaving her dazed, and raised himself up on one elbow to look down at her flushed face and glistening white flesh. How dark his skin looked beside the milky pallor of hers. She was forbidden by every law and code of the west, and he would have her anyway.

  Lissa shivered as he suddenly shifted from wild passion to soft wandering caresses, letting his hands stroke gently, exploring her responses as much as fueling his own lust. "You are incredibly lovely," he breathed as he brushed the hard points of her breasts. When the flat of his hand slid down her belly to rest at the mound of dark red curls, her hips arched involuntarily. She stared up into his harsh, beautiful face, meeting those blazing silver eyes, seeing the fierce need, the desperation that drove him.

  He lowered his head, and his hair shadowed his face as he teased her aching, sensitive nipples. His tongue circled one nubby peak and drew it into his mouth. She cried out wildly, almost flying up off the blanket with the raw pleasure of his assault. He switched to the other breast, and she sobbed his name as her fingers dug into the hard muscles ridging his back, leaving the imprint of her nails. His hot mouth trailed searing kisses over her quivering flesh. She writhed under him, unknowingly opening when his knee slid between her legs.

  Lissa could feel the insistent pressure of his erection as it pulsed against her belly, coming to rest at the juncture of her thighs. She had thought his staff was large and menacing when he strode into the water after her. Now the fear returned when he rocked his hips, prodding the portal to her body.

  Jess felt her tense and gritted his teeth, drawing a long, ragged breath, cursing himself for being seven times a fool. She was a virgin, and he had always forsworn them. He reached for her hand and guided it between them. "Touch me, Lissa. Feel me," he said hoarsely as his hand closed hers around his phallus.

  So hard yet so smooth, velvety, and hot. Her fingers tightened around the thick length. He showed her how to stroke him, then released her hand, growling deep in his throat as she pleasured him. The shuddering helplessness of his response thrilled her. He belonged to her from this moment on, this dark, dangerous stranger who had drawn her from the instant she first watched him ride into her life.

  When she whispered his name, he expelled the breath he had been holding for so long, trying desperately not to spill his seed before he completed the act. He rose over her, his hand on her slim wrist, guiding her hand as he positioned himself to enter her.

  Lissa felt the tip of his staff as he rubbed it over her wet, slick flesh. All this aching, throbbing want, the hot liquid craving that had invaded her dreams and tortured her since she met him centered now at the core of her body. It was unbearable. It was sweet heaven. "Please," she gasped brokenly, not fully knowing for what she begged, yet desperate to have it.

  He pulled her hand away and thrust slowly into her, testing her readiness to receive him. He moved from side to side with just the tip of his staff inside her. Her hips moved, trying to envelop him deeper, and he was lost. Jess plunged downward, feeling the tight, tearing pressure of her maidenhead, then drove far beyond the flimsy barrier, completely into the silky heat of her. He forced himself to hold still.

  She let out a low moan, partly pain but more than pain. So very much more—fullness, wholeness and yet an unbearable pressure that naturally urged her to move. His lips sought hers, muffling her cries with a hungry kiss, moving over her mouth, thrusting his tongue in rhythm with his phallus as he began to move deep inside her, raising himself, then stroking down, slowly, experimentally at first.

  In shuddering pleasure, he murmured against her mouth, "So tight, warm, beautiful," while his hips increased their tempo. "Come with me, Lissa. Ride with me," he commanded.

  And she obeyed, letting her hips thrust and fall in rhythm with him, aching and hungry, yet at the same time pleasured and filled. A frenzied, animal hunger grew from a small ripple, swelling to waves of spiraling, breathless pleasure. Every stroke increased it, until she thought she would go mad with it.

  Jess held on to sanity by a slim thread as he rode her savagely, thrilled by the pleasure of her sleek, virginal tightness, her splendid young body. Above all he was thrilled by the hot, eager way she responded to him, wanting this, wanting him. Then he felt her nails score his back and heard her whimpering cries of amazed pleasure. Her silken sheath tightened convulsively around him and he let go, pumping his life force deeply within her.

  Lissa felt the slick, glorious heat consume her, building to a pinpoint of light at the end of a long tunnel. Then suddenly she burst through from hot darkne
ss into hotter light, to the shattering, glorious end of the madness, appeasement of the hunger. When his wild thrusts increased until he stiffened and swelled within her, crying out, she held on tightly, knowing on some subliminal level that he had joined her in surfeit.

  Sweaty and exhausted, he collapsed on top of her, burying his face in shining curls that smelled of orange blossoms. "Now you are mine," she sighed.

  Chapter Ten

  Jess stiffened as her softly whispered words registered, breaking through his lethargy of satiation. He rolled away from her and sat up, then turned his back and reached for his discarded denims. Without saying a word, he pulled them on.

  Lissa, too, sat up when he turned away from her. Sensing his tense withdrawal, she felt confused and uncertain of what to say. "You're angry with me. Why, Jess?" she asked softly.

  He gave his boot a fierce yank to force it on, then looked down at her. She sat huddled with her arms wrapped around her knees and all that glorious hair spilling in burnished curls around her shoulders. The blanket was stained with her virgin's blood. He felt guilty—and angry. "What do you want me to say, Lissa? That I love you? That I want to marry you? You know better."

  His voice was low and tight. The words stung like a slap. What had she expected? In truth, she had not thought through what would happen after they made love. She only knew that she was obsessed with him, could think of nothing but him. Was that love? Surely it must be, for the very thought of doing with Lemuel or Yancy what she had just done with Jess filled her with revulsion. But Jess obviously did not feel the same about her. "I didn't lure you here, Jess. You came after me," she stated matter-of-factly.

  He laughed. "You are a piece of work, Princess, you know that? The bored little rich girl, wanting a dangerous new toy that everyone says she can't have. You've been throwing yourself at me since the day we met. I'm only a man, Lissa, with a man's needs. When I saw you alone and naked in that water, I did what any other man would've done."

  She scrambled to her feet, wrapping the blanket about herself. "You vain, arrogant, crude . . ." Words failed her as she battled the acid burning of tears threatening to overflow.

  She started to walk away with as much dignity as she could muster, but Jess stopped her. With a muttered imprecation, he had her in his arms, turning her to face him. "Lissa, I'm sorry. I didn't mean that to come out the way it sounded."

  "What exactly did you mean, Jess? Do you think I'd do this with any man who happened along— just because I was bored?" She fought to keep her voice steady and would not meet his eyes.

  He sighed but did not relinquish his hold on her. "No, you wouldn't. I know there's been something between us since the first time we met. . . but, dammit, it just won't work."

  The anguish in his voice communicated itself to her, and she looked up into his face. "Why not?" She raised one hand and touched his cheek with a butterfly-soft, experimental caress.

  "You know why not. What do you think your pa'd say if you told him you wanted to many me?"

  "He'd be furious. He wants me to marry Lemuel Mathis, but I could bring him around, Jess. We could—"

  "No, Lissa. It's more than just Mathis. I'm a gunman and a breed. Either one by itself is enough to get me strung up for even looking at a woman like you."

  "I don't care about any of that. And don't lie. You aren't afraid of a rope. You could hang up your guns and become a peaceful rancher."

  "Marry the boss's daughter and inherit all of this." He gestured to the rich land surrounding them.

  "That's really it, isn't it? No matter about your Indian blood or your reputation as a gunman—your pride wouldn't let you accept J Bar. You're really afraid of being accused of marrying for money."

  "No one's offering J Bar," he said savagely, fighting the urge to shake her.

  "Then forget the ranch. I'll go away with you. We don't need my father's money," she replied stubbornly.

  "Lissa, Lissa. You live in luxury and think you could give it up, but you have no idea what your life would be like without money." He took one of her small, soft hands and turned it palm up. "Your hands would grow red and callused from scrubbing your own clothes. You'd never have another fancy ball gown—or any more of that incredible lacy underwear."

  "I could live without ball gowns and lacy underwear." A blush heated her cheeks, but she met his eyes.

  "No, you couldn't. You're not used to the kind of grinding hard work it would take to survive—and I’ll never ask you to live that way."

  Lissa sensed the finality in his voice, and panic welled up inside her. He'll leave me. Ill never see him again. Never feel his touch again. She smiled and forced a lightness into her voice that she did not feel. "All right, you won't ask me. So I'll just have to settle for the time we have together... now." She rose on her toes to place a light kiss on his lips, then tried to turn away before he could protest.

  "We can't keep on this way. Brewster suspects. It won't be long before word gets back to your father."

  She said solemnly, "Then we'll just have to be more careful." Until I can convince you to give us a chance.

  "Dammit, Lissa, this isn't a fairy tale. Your reputation would be ruined if anyone knew about this. And that's real." He looked down at the blanket she clutched around her breasts. Several faint smears of blood were visible. "You're going to be sore tomorrow, and you can't let that housekeeper guess why."

  She blushed furiously as she followed his eyes to the telltale stains. "I’ll be all right. She won't notice."

  "The man you marry will." She looked as if he had struck her. Why did I say that? "Look, I'm sorry, Lissa. I'm just no good for you. You have to stay away from me. All I'll ever do is hurt you more." He paused thoughtfully for a moment. "And all you'll ever do is hurt me."

  Suddenly she realized that he was taking a far greater emotional risk than she. "I'll never hurt you, Jess."

  He ignored the rejoinder. "You'll feel better if you go back in the water for a few moments before you dress. I'll wait up on the rise, then follow you and that hound back to the ranch."

  As if summoned, Cormac trotted tardily up to them and sat down to await his mistress's pleasure.

  She gave Jess what she hoped was a teasing smile. "As long as you're here, I'll be safe."

  "Safe from everyone but me," he muttered.

  Lissa dropped the blanket at the edge of the pool and waded into the water with Cormac splashing alongside her. She did not turn when she heard Jess riding up the trail out of the ravine.

  * * * *

  After a restless night, Jess saddled up to ride into Cheyenne. Maybe Pardee had wired him back about the job offer. The sooner the hired guns arrived, the sooner he could deal with the J Bar rustlers, collect his money, and shake the dust of Wyoming off his boots.

  "Yesterday couldn't be soon enough," he said aloud to Blaze.

  As he rode past the big house, Jacobson's French housekeeper stopped pruning her rosebushes and glared at him with her glittering dark eyes. He wondered if she suspected anything. Lissa had not exactly been subtle in front of the old crone. "Bonjour, madame." He smiled evilly. She clutched

  her rose shears and backed up a step.

  Damn, but he had bought into a gallon jug of trouble. A man like Marcus Jacobson was a law unto himself in Wyoming Territory. If the old man even suspected that a half-breed gunman had touched his princess, Jess would have to kill the bastard or Jacobson would have him strung up to the nearest tree. If he had a lick of sense, he would ride south to Denver right now, the hell with the five thousand dollars.

  But Jonah needed the money to buy those new stud bulls and prove up the ranch. Although Jess's reputation was well known, he had never gotten the kind of money Tom Horn did—until this time. If he handled it well, the money for future jobs would only get better. He simply had to stay clear of Lissa.

  Easier said than done. When he had seen her naked in that water, he had been like a man possessed, beyond thought, beyond reason. She fancied herself in love
with him. Avoiding her would be next to impossible since she had already demonstrated her persistence and ingenuity—and that was before he had lain with her.

  Sweet lord, just thinking about her slender, delicate body made him hard all over again. He had never taken a virgin before. Her very innocence had fueled his passion. Lissa was not the only one thrilled by the forbidden. Jess could see them again, entwined, with his dark hands on her pale flesh.

  Strange, he had made love to many white women over the years and felt no different about them than he had about those with Indian blood. All of them had been experienced. Some were plain whores who charged for their favors; the rest were faithless wives cheating on their husbands. He had always felt contempt for the double standard that made him at once an enticement and a pariah from civilized society. That would never change. His relationship with Lissa Jacobson was impossible. What did she really feel for him? He had accused her of the sins committed by so many of his women over the years, but now he had doubts.

  The pain in her wide gold eyes had been real. The answering pain that tightened his chest was just as real. He would not call it love, but he feared that Lissa might.

  "I should be thinking about how I'm going to finish the job, not about her." A man in his business could snag some lead if his mind was not focused on survival every minute. In more ways than one, Lissa was a luxury he could not afford.

  * * * *

  Marcus looked up as Germaine entered his library with a tray in her hand. She placed it on the desk and handed him a cup of coffee, saying, "Black with extra sugar, just the way you like it, Cheri."

  A frown creased his face. "I've told you, don't call me that. Someone might overhear."