Branded (30 page)

"God, Lacey," he said, his voice sounding raw.

Feeling even more daring, she tentatively tried to get her mouth around him and discovered to her satisfaction she could take more of him than she'd imagined. And then she sucked, her hands continuing to smooth over the velvet length of him her mouth couldn't hold. She braced her hand on his thigh and she could feel a slight tremor run through the muscles of his thigh.

"Enough." He tugged her head up. He looked down into her eyes. "You've never done that before," he stated. There was a certain smugness to the tilt of his lips.

She pouted. "I'm obviously a terrible failure at it."

"Woman, your mouth on me is the finest thing I've ever felt." He curled one of his big hands around the back of her neck and the other around her bottom. He scooted her toward the head of the bed and then lay heavily atop her.

Slade lowered his mouth over hers. She kissed him back. For the first time, she put her tongue in his mouth. It was a sweet, hesitant exploration. It did not strike him as the kiss of an experienced woman. And, yet, she was the sassiest handful he'd ever come across. It was purely wishful thinking taking hold again, he decided.

When he started to enter her, he did it in a slow, deliberate manner. It was torture for him to move with such restraint. But she was so tight.

Her eyes widened at his invasion. Her fingers bunched the fur throw. "That's it, then?" she asked in a weak hopeful voice.

"There's a bit more." Hell, there was barely any of him inside her yet.

She squirmed beneath him. "I fear we are not a good fit."

He tilted her bottom up to meet him. "We are a perfect fit," he insisted. No longer able to control himself, he drove himself deep.

"Christ." He stilled. He'd never bedded a virgin before. "What a mule-headed fool I am."

Her eyes were shut tight against the pain. When she lifted her lids and peered up at him her eyes glimmered with tears. He rested the length of his body atop her, his hands cradling her face. He stroked his thumbs along the curves of her face. He'd managed the whole thing badly. She probably wanted to kick him onto the floor. He shifted his weight and she did the most unpredictable thing, she lifted her bottom and squeezed, her hot, wet passage tightening even more around him. "This feels incredible," she said, her voice a throaty whisper.

Slade propped himself on his forearms and stared down at her, his face draped by his long brown hair. Lacey tucked his hair behind his ears so that she could see him better. An emotion flared in his eyes, unreadable and unsettling in its intensity. Timidly, she traced her finger along the arc of his scar, the scar he didn't let anyone touch. She was amazed to find he didn't even flinch.

"Well, I'll be damned. You are mine, and only mine." His mouth tilted into an oddly satisfied smile. "I'm going to make love to you in so many ways ... you're bound to like one of them."

She laughed and his lips rubbed tenderly over hers. He deepened the kiss, plundering her mouth with his tongue. He moved his hips, lancing her deeper. The man was huge and somehow she managed to take all of him inside her. She clutched at him, her fingernails biting into his shoulders.

She wriggled a bit under his weight. The instant he drew himself out she wanted him back. She linked her hands around his neck and pulled him down so she could kiss him. He entered her again with such exquisite slowness that a tremor of ecstasy coursed through her body.

She sucked his tongue as he continued to enter her with long, delicious strokes. She wrapped her legs around his waist and felt him go deeper. Then his hand lifted her bottom in rhythm to meet his thrusts. The sensation overwhelmed her. His mouth muffled her cries. Soon his movements became rougher, more reckless, until with a heavy shudder, he collapsed on top of her.

His breath was warm on her skin. She stroked his back and felt the muscles relax. "Christ, you're fine, Lacey," he said against her neck.

He rolled off her and tucked her against his side. "This settled it then. You tell Grady you're done with him, and you're staying on here, with me," he said in a languid drawl.

"Stay on and be what, Slade? Your whore?"

"Whoa, darlin'." His fingers caressed her arm. "Listen, if you need the blessing of a preacher, I'm not adverse to walking you down the aisle."

He was being so bloody offhand about it all, she had the sudden sinking sensation that she had placed herself in the position of pawn in the Dalton brothers' game of one upmanship. And Slade figured he'd just won the latest round.

# # #

It was near dawn when Slade woke. A thin light seeped in between the logs that made up the walls. He was curled around Lacey. He’d possessively secured her to him. One of his arms captured her waist, and he’d draped his leg over her thigh. He lifted his head to look down at her. Sensing he was awake, she turned in his arms so that her face was nestled against his throat. His fingers moved between her thighs. He stroked her gently, hoping she’d be ready for him again. She exhaled a shivering breath and then rolled atop him. She straddled him. He congratulated himself for a lucky man. She was daring and wild even in the bedroom, it seemed.

"Ohhh...." Her eyes shuttered on a look of bliss as she impaled herself on him. She braced her hands on his shoulders. Her silken black hair tickled his chest.

Her breasts filled his hands. "Look at me," he demanded.

She lifted her lids for an instant. It was long enough. The look in her eyes stole his breath away. With her eyes now closed to him again, she started trembling. As she rode him to a delirious climax, she repeated in a thready whisper something in French.

Long after she’d left him alone in the dugout, he repeated the foreign words she’d uttered. He was determined to commit them to memory. He was desperate to understand her reaction to him. Had it been his own need that had seen love in her eyes, where there had been only passion?

It more than troubled him that her only reaction to his marriage proposal had been heart-breaking silence. He winced remembering what he'd said. After all the times he'd rehearsed it in his head, it had come out so badly. He'd sounded like a plain-talking cowpuncher. I'm not adverse to walking you down the aisle. He groaned aloud. Had he really said that? To the woman he wanted more than anything in this world.

Lacey breathed another sigh, this one louder than the last. Dora continued her painstakingly slow circle around the hem of her gown. Lacey was starting to feel as if the dress were suffocating her. She slid her finger around the high collar hoping to loosen it. She attempted to take a deep breath without any luck. Dora looked up, her mouth full of pins, and shook her head at Lacey's fidgeting.

"Dora, this is far too much work for you. Let me buy shoes with a bit more heel."

"Child." Although the pins were clamped tight between her lips, Dora managed not only to speak out of the corner of her mouth, but, also, to make her frustration plain. "Having seen your fine wardrobe, I know you've gone through this plenty. Can't you show a tad more patience?"

"Yes, of course," Lacey muttered. She stood stiffly. She imagined herself porcelain and cold and empty-headed like a doll. She envisioned Grady kissing her cold, porcelain cheek. Today, the moment Grady arrived home, she would break off the engagement.

The door opened causing Lacey to twist around, which elicited a disgusted snort from Dora. Slade stopped on the threshold and stared at her, seemingly unaware that the door had blown wide and was repeatedly cracking against the wall with each gust of cold air.

"Slade! You're letting the leaves in," Dora admonished. She made a little groan as she got to her feet. She rubbed her neck. "I need to fetch my spectacles. This is all starting to look a blur. Stand tight, Lacey. And Slade, will you shut that already!"

He ignored the door as he stalked toward Lacey. The doll image was completely obliterated. Beneath his heated glare, she was all too human. She could feel the blood pulsing through her veins, thundering in her ears. She fidgeted again with the stiff collar.

"Woman, you just left my bed. And now you're parading around in this? What are you playing at?"

"You know how insistent Dora can be." She truly was a coward, not telling Dora the truth. She had all intentions of calling the marriage off. She’d discovered one definite thing about herself. She was not the kind of woman who could commit her heart to one man and marry another. She was steeling herself for the coming confrontation with Grady. Besides, Slade had no right to put any pressure on her. He'd offered her nothing. Nothing but a shared bed and a marriage without mention of love.

Dora strode back into the room and swept some of the leaves out with the sole of her shoe before shutting the door sharply.

"Sorry to disappoint you, Dora, but Lacey's had a change of heart."

Lacey was too shocked to say anything.

"Slade, can't you see we're finishin' the dress? You need to get it through your thick skull, there's going to be a wedding. Lacey's promised herself to Grady. Now I know you're fond of her. We all are. And we're all going to miss her when she moves to Boston. She and Grady."

"'S that right, Lacey? Are you still promised to Grady?" His voice sounded raw.

It was time to admit to the truth. Lacey took a deep breath. "Well, actually, Dora--"

"My brother and my bride together ... again. You have no idea, how this puts my mind at ease. I was so worried that you two wouldn't be friendly," Grady said in his most supercilious tone, as he entered from the kitchen. He stroked his mustache as he studied Lacey, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. Or was it anger?

Lacey dreaded to think he'd overheard the entire conversation.

He turned his gaze on his brother. "I think you might want to prepare yourself for a guest, Slade." A rather pleased smile tipped the corners of his lips. "Stevenson, at the livery stables, told me there was a man looking for you. Said he fit the description you'd given him. Ugly son-of-a-bitch, according to Stevenson. Said he had a scar 'round his neck that resembled a noose's mark. A friend of yours, I wager."

"Wouldn't happen to know whether his name was Purdy?"

"Sounds as good as any." Grady shrugged. "Stevenson had the sense not to give him directions to the ranch, but, you can be sure, someone else will."

"I don't suppose you're going to tell me what time it was he spoke to Stevenson?"

Grady shrugged. "Around noon, I'd guess. That's when I arrived in town yesterday."

"Yesterday? My lord, Grady, why didn't you alert him sooner?"

Dora looked at Slade, her brow wrinkled with worry. "That's the man that killed your partner, isn't it?"

Slade acknowledged her question with a nod. He seemed completely undisturbed. As though the news hadn't come as a surprise. "Dora, Lacey, get up to the attic."

"Don't worry about Tait. He's pounding posts in the south field with the others," Slade said anticipating Dora's next question.

Lacey took a stumbling step off the table and caught her foot in the hem of her dress. There was a loud ripping sound. She bunched the skirt up in her hands and hurried over to Grady. She placed her hands on his arms and looked him straight in the eye. "You are going to help your brother, aren't you? Certainly, two men have a better chance than one."

"Hell no, I'm not helping him. He brought this trouble here. Let him take care of it." He addressed Slade over the top of her head. "What's that Pa always said to us?"

"A man fixes his own problems," Slade recited without emotion. He rebuckled his belt so it hung lower on his hips and tested his reach.

"Exactly," Grady said looking more than satisfied with himself. Lacey stared at Grady intently. There really was nothing beneath the arrogant veneer but a cold, empty heart. She could never marry a man like this. He was Widstaff without the horsewhip.

"Dix, then," Lacey said, grabbing up her skirt again and hurrying toward the door. She could get a horse and hurry out to the fields.

Slade moved to bar her exit just as the window imploded. The bullet ricocheted off the wall. "Drop!" he yelled and tackled Lacey hard to the ground. She could feel his heart pounding against her back. "Everyone all right?"

"Y-yes," Dora stammered.

"You bastard, you brought this home with you." Grady's voice shook with anger. "Get off her, before I drag you off."

Slade did not shift his weight. He whispered harshly in her ear. "Stay low and get yourself up to the attic. Now. Take Dora with you."

With wobbly legs, Lacey climbed up to the attic room, snagging her dress on the wooden ladder. She hoisted herself through the hole in the ceiling and lent a hand to help pull Dora up.

She'd envisioned a room with a low ceiling, one where Slade could at least walk around if he stooped. Lacey found that even in a crawling position, the rafters barely cleared her head. How, she marveled, had he been able to bear sleeping up here?

The smell of his tobacco lingered. How would she ever survive, if he were to die?

Dora sat in a corner, tucking her feet beneath her skirt. Suddenly, she looked very small and fragile. "Lacey, honey, you don't want to watch," she warned as Lacey approached the oval pane set in the wall. But she did. It seemed both his fate and hers would be decided today.

She scrutinized the drive through the wavy glass and could see nothing until she pressed her cheek against the cold pane. Near the shed, lurking in the shadows, hulked a man. She could make out the man's floppy hat, his sloping shoulders, and a black bandanna tied around his arm. The thing that took her breath away was the rifle he held at his side.

Lacey found she didn't have the stomach to watch, after all. She slumped down and covered her ears hard with her hands, hoping to shut out the sound of gunfire. But she heard it. With each shot, she felt as if her heart would stop.

# # #

The silence was almost worse than the gunfire. It had been a good twenty minutes. Lacey couldn't stand waiting anymore.

Ignoring Dora's protests, she clambered down the ladder, doing even more damage to her dress. She raced through to the dogtrot and almost collided with a very alive Slade Dalton. He didn't acknowledge her. Yet she followed him like a loyal puppy as he picked up one of the oilcloth tarps.