Jessie's War (Civil War Steam) (24 page)

“I thought you said you wanted me to hate you.”

The smile he’d been suppressing broke free. “Sweet Jessie. I
only offer because I know you’ll refuse, and it’s fun to tease you.”

“What are we, five? You gonna pull my hair, too?”

His grin widened, a bright flash of white against the shadow
of his whiskers. “Only if you want me to.”

“You’re incorrigible.” She rolled her eyes, but laughed all
the same.

“So I’ve been told.” He tucked her hand back under his arm
and leading her down the hall to the washrooms. He secured the room, and turned
back to her. “You lock this door behind me. Don’t come out until I come for
you.”

“Of course.”

“I’m serious, Jess.” He shoved a gun into her hands. “Take
this. But I mean it. Don’t open this door for any reason. I don’t care if the
building is on fire, I don’t care if there’s a little kid screaming out here,
you don’t open this door. I will come for you.”

“I got it.”

“Promise me.”

“I promise.”

“Good.” He kissed her on the forehead. “Be safe.” And with
that, he closed the door. For a change, Jessie followed orders and did as he
asked.

* * * *

By the time he’d returned
forty-five minutes later, she had bathed, washed her hair, put new bandages on
her wound, and dressed in her small clothes. Wrapping a thick, cotton robe
around her body, she pocketed the pistol and gathered up her clothes to meet
Luke at the door.

His hair was wet and curled
around his ears. He’d shaved off the stubble on his jaw, and he looked so much
like the boy she remembered—the boy in the picture with Gideon—that
she had to swallow the knot in her throat. Turning abruptly, he signaled for her
to follow him.

Luke
.

Swallowing hard, she gave him
a nervous smile and followed him silently down the hall, the floorboards
creaking beneath her bare feet. He ushered her into their room and the door
whispered shut behind him. He locked it and wedged a chair underneath the knob.

From his expression, she
guessed he’d later move the chest of drawers in front of it, if only so the two
of them could get a little sleep.

At that moment, she caught
her reflection in the mirror of the dresser she’d just been thinking
about—and saw the toll the last two days had taken.

A green bruise had blossomed
across her right cheek, and there were angry scratches on her neck and across
the bridge of her nose. Her face was pale and drawn, her features pinched, the
rings under her eyes showing just how tired she was.

She put an anxious hand to
her hair and fought sudden, inexplicable tears.

Luke caught Jessie’s eye in
the mirror’s reflection. Turning her toward him, he traced the line of her jaw
with his forefinger, delicately touching the bruise she hadn’t even realized
she had. Her heart stuttered and before she knew it, she was leaning into his
touch.

“That’s a good shiner you’ve
got. “ He brushed the hair off her forehead, and the intimacy in that small
gesture brought tears to her eyes.

“Well, if I’m going to get
into a spot of trouble, I figure I may as well look like I just lost a bar
fight,” she said, trying to make light of it. Fighting the tears and the desire
to fold herself into his arms.

“‘A spot of trouble.’
Interesting way you have of phrasing it. A lesser woman would be dead.” He
threaded his fingers into her wet hair. “And a few scratches don’t change how
beautiful you are.”

Her heart swelled at his
praise, and she gave him a lopsided smile.
“You’re funny.”

“I’m not teasing.” He tangled
his other hand into her hair. He stroked her temple with his thumb.

Was she bruised there, too?

For a moment, he dropped his
guard, and she thought she saw intense emotion in his eyes. Lust. Pain.
Longing. Joy.

“Look at me,” she whispered.

“I am.”

“Then you’re blind.”

“Nope. I’m looking at the
most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. A few bruises don’t change that.”

Jessie wanted to weep. When
he looked at her like that, she felt beautiful and desirable and she forgot how
different she was and how angry she should be. Instead, she wanted to have him
hold her while she cried until she had no more tears left. Kiss him until dawn
broke and the pain went away.

She wanted to forgive him and
have him be her man for however long he’d have her.

Her body contracted with
want. Unable to fight the urge to touch him, she placed her hands on his chest
and felt the steady rise and fall.

It was so hard to believe he
was alive, and so hard to forget what might have been. So hard to deny herself
the one thing she had wanted for so long.

“Oh, hell.” She pulled him
down roughly and kissed him with everything she had inside her. All the pain.
All the anger. All the lust and desire.

All the love.

She channeled it all into a
kiss she wished would go on forever.

Luke fisted his hands into
her hair, pulling her head back, grinding his lips against hers.

She took his lower lip into
her mouth, and was rewarded with a low growl of pleasure.

He broke the kiss. “Jessie…”

“Shut up.” She plunged her
hands into his hair and delighted in the texture of the silky strands between
her fingers. She coiled a lock around her finger. “Shut up and kiss me.”

He laughed and pulled her
body against his, but his hands were tender. “So bossy.” His lips found hers in
a kiss so achingly gentle tears stung her eyes.

“You wouldn’t want me any
other way.” Words whispered against his lips.

He answered her by pressing
his lips against hers, and heat spiraled through her body and centered between
her legs. Desire screamed in her veins, her body dissolving into lust, fierce
and out of control.

Picking her up, he moved over
to the couch and sat, settling her in his lap. She straddled his thighs and
wrapped her arms around his shoulders, as she opened her mouth and her tongue
tangled with his.

He groaned and ground into
her, and for a moment, she went blind with lust.

It had been so long.

He broke the kiss and moved
to her neck, his lips gliding across the sensitive flesh below her ear while he
palmed her breast. The nipple puckered beneath his hand.

She groaned when he ducked
his head to take a hardened nipple into his mouth, right through the thin
fabric of her undergarments.

Pleasure so intense it
bordered on pain lanced through her. All she could think about was removing the
last of her clothes and pressing her bare flesh against his. To feel his heat,
to take his warmth, to revel in his presence, to celebrate his life and hers.

With shaking hands, she began
unbuttoning his shirt, and the moment she saw a shock of wiry, dark hair, she
bent her head, pressed a kiss to it, and tasted his skin. Inhaled the minty
fragrance of the soap he used and the scent of him, the smell of summer rain on
the salt flats and leather.

A sharp crack at the door
startled her, and she sat back.

Luke threaded his hands into
her hair and held her fast. “Don’t you dare.” He turned to the door. “Go away!”

“It’s the kitchen. I’ve
brought up the supper you requested.”

Jessie sat back on his lap. “Oh,
food. I’m starved.”

He leaned forward and kissed
her hungrily. “As am I.” It was clear he didn’t mean for food. He called to the
man on the other side of the door, “Can you leave the tray in the hallway?”

“You left very clear
instructions with the kitchen, sir.”

Luke groaned softly into her
ear.

Turning her head, she took
his earlobe into her mouth and sucked gently. “Get the door and send him away,”
Jessie whispered. She let him see the offer in her eyes.

His mouth tightened and he
gave her a greedy kiss, branding her as his. Not that he really needed to claim
what had been his all along.

“As the lady commands.”
Lifting her from his lap as if she weighed next to nothing, he set her to one
side. “But I swear to you, once he’s gone, we’re finishing this.”

Her heart danced like a
dervish. “All right,” she whispered.

Rubbing his face, he drew a
long, shaking breath. “All right,” he echoed. As he opened the door, Luke
flashed her a smile, and she felt another rush of tenderness that had nothing
to do with what had just happened between them.

Luke.

A hotel clerk in a dark
string tie stood in the hallway, holding a tray of food. He peered around Luke,
and his eyes met Jessie’s, and she felt a tingle in her spine that caused her
to look at him and really see him.

“Sir,” he said to Luke.

Just a hotel clerk dressed in
a dark suit and a black string tie. Nothing was unusual.

Something was wrong.

He
was wrong.

Luke’s posture shifted, and
he blocked the entrance to the room with his body. Taking the tray from the man’s
hands, he moved to close the door.

“Luke?” she asked nervously,
rising to her feet. Another blink, the tray flipped over, and she screamed, “Luke!”

Too late. For in that moment,
the clerk plunged a knife into Luke’s chest.

Luke twisted, and as he fell,
he grabbed his attacker and they both went to ground. Grunting, he clawed and
punched the clerk amid bread rolls and silverware.

Jessie had never witnessed a
fight like this. She was more accustomed to the brawls of Virginia
City—screamed obscenities, glass breaking, the crowd chanting. By
contrast, this fight was oddly quiet. After the initial crash, the only sounds
were of fists meeting flesh.

Both men were determined to
win this fight, but only one would walk out of this room.

The knife flashed among the
melee of knees and fists. No ordinary hotel clerk, this man fought with the
ferocity of a mountain lion. His eyes locked on Jessie and he growled as he
struggled away from Luke.

He hadn’t come here for him.
He’d come for her.

Luke
.

She scrambled back against
the sofa as Luke clawed at the man’s knees and thrust a fork into his calf.

The man grunted and kicked at
him with his good leg. Another bright burst of blood spread across Luke’s white
shirt, and his face contorted. Another kick connected with Luke’s face, and his
grip weakened. The clerk shook Luke off and lunged for Jessie.

Before she had time to think
or react, he had her by the collar of the robe and shoved her, driving her
toward the door, his fingers around her throat.

She struggled against him,
and something hard pressed against her thigh.

The gun she’d never given
back.

As she was pushed toward the
door, her fingers curled around the pistol. Bringing it up, she thrust the
weapon into his body and pulled the trigger without taking it out of her
pocket. Her eardrums contracted painfully, and she heard nothing except
high-pitched ringing as she reeled backward and crashed into the wall.

The scent of gunpowder burned
her nostrils and her eyes began to water. The man’s face twisted into an
expression of horror so terrible Jessie couldn’t tear her eyes away. She wanted
to. Couldn’t. She looked into the eyes of the man she’d just shot, and saw fear
and pain.

And hate.

“Fuckin’ Indian,” he mouthed.
Blood seeped from the corner of his lips. He rocked back on his heels and
almost fell.

She swallowed convulsively
against the vomit rising at the back of her throat and shot him again. This
time, she didn’t flinch.

His eyes rolled back in his
head. He fell and lay still.

Her stomach churned and,
unable to fight any longer, Jessie doubled over and retched.

A hand settled between on the
back of her neck.

Luke.

Pressing a hand to her
midsection, she straightened her spine.

A faint sound reached her
ears, barely audible against the ringing in her ears. Luke had just kicked the
door closed. When she turned her eyes to him, she found him regarding her
seriously.

“You all right?” He took her
face in his hands and turned it gently from left to right.

She nodded. Her eyes fell to
his chest, to the bright stain of blood spreading out from under his arm and
across his chest, and nausea roiled in her gut. So much blood. “You?” Her voice
shook.

His breathing came short and
fast, perspiration dotted his brow, and his face was pale. Blood welled up on
his swollen lower lip, and he wiped it away with the back of his hand.
Grunting, he glanced from it to the crimson stain spreading across his shirt.