Nan Ryan (11 page)

He shrugged, reached into his breast pocket, shook a store-bought cigarette out of a crushed pack, and lit it.

“I don’t like you, Ranger Black,” she told him hotly.

“Few do,” he said, then warned, “Better hold on tight now.” He eased his grip on the reins, and the black’s stride lengthened into a gallop. The dappled gray swiftly changed her gait to match that of the stallion’s, and the princess had no choice but to hang on for dear life. Skirts and hair flying, she cursed her callous companion with every frightened breath she drew.

The sun had completely disappeared behind the towering peaks of the Sacramentos when the pair finally stopped for the night. Choosing a narrow meadow partially concealed by tall pines, shimmering aspens, and scrubby cedar, Virgil drew rein. Turning in the saddle, he searched the small shadowy valley for the snow-fed brook he heard tumbling over the rocks. He dismounted, glanced at the weary princess, and was satisfied she wouldn’t try to get away. Leaving her there atop the gentle gray, he swiftly made his way through the trees and momentarily came upon the roaring stream. Clean, clear water surged so swiftly down the rocky bed, it splashed white and noisy over its banks.

Virgil returned to the clearing.

When he lifted the princess down off the mare’s back, she was so tired she hardly knew what she was doing. Obediently she sat down on the soft grass while the Ranger unsaddled the horses. Warning her to stay put he led the thirsty stallion and mare down to the stream and watered them. In minutes he returned and ground-tethered the horses. Then he built a small fire of piñon twigs and cooked supper.

Far too hungry to turn him down when he offered her a tin plate filled with decidedly unappetizing food, the princess took it and ate every bite of the beans, beef, and bread.

After the meal, Virgil lit a cigarette and poured himself a second cup of strong black coffee. But the princess, so drowsy and exhausted she hardly knew what she was doing, rose unsteadily to her feet and moved toward Virgil Black.

So accustomed was she to being waited on hand and foot, she walked directly up to the seated Ranger, her arms outstretched, and sleepily issued the order she had automatically issued every night of her life since she learned how to talk.

“Undress me.”

12

“
Sure baby.
”

In one fluid movement, Virgil tossed his coffee into the fire, flicked his cigarette away, came to his feet, and reached for her. Catching the sleepy princess off guard, he wrapped a long arm around her narrow waist, drew her swiftly into his embrace, bent his dark head, and kissed her.

When his warm smooth mouth closed over her soft open lips, her eyes popped open in shocked surprise, and she came fully awake. But she didn’t immediately push him away. Her heartbeat accelerated crazily and she felt breathless at his touch. Of their own volition, her widened eyes soon slipped closed again.

The unexpected kiss had the startling effect of a great bolt of lightning shooting through her, searing her trembling mouth. Burning its way down into her body. Numbing her addled brain. Instantly disarmed by the incredible kiss that was, strangely, an irresistible blend of fierceness and tenderness, she hadn’t the will to end it without delay.

Swaying helplessly into him, she trembled against his tall, hard body as he forced her teeth apart. And she shuddered helplessly at the aggressive probing of his tongue.

Her knees were dangerously weak. Her breath was painfully short. Her head was spinning dizzily. She was so completely conquered by his blazing kiss, she had no idea that as his lips moved on hers and his tongue stroked fiery pleasure inside her sensitive mouth, that he had begun undressing her. His deft fingers were hurriedly undoing the tiny buttons down the bodice of her blue summer dress. She didn’t feel the cool night air on her exposed flesh. She felt only the heat of his mouth on hers, his lips expertly molding her own to more perfectly fit his, his sleek tongue seeking out the inner recesses of her tingling mouth.

Finally he ended the devastating kiss, but his lips stayed on hers when he said again, “Sure, baby, I’ll undress you.” He nudged a bent knee between her legs as he promised, “We’ll take up right where we left off.”

Then he kissed her again, drawing her closer against his tall, ungiving frame, aggressively insinuating his hard muscled thigh between her legs in a shockingly blatant gesture of intimacy. She made a fleeting little sound of censure, but his arms only tightened around her. He deepened the kiss, and her soft, pliant body quite naturally sought the heat and hardness of his.

Shocked by his bold behavior, even more shocked by her own, the princess was impotent against the sensual onslaught. This tall Texan was kissing her as she’d never been kissed before, and for a long, shameful moment she was totally powerless against him. Momentarily suspended in that wonderfully thrilling state of escalating sexual excitement, logical thought had slipped away, unseated by simple, basic need. She was swept away by a primal hunger she’d never known was a part of her. Helplessly she responded to Black’s burning caresses before finally managing to regain her temporarily lost senses.

A little of her equilibrium returning, she tore her kiss-scorched lips from his and began to fight him. Struggling to free herself from his embrace, she scolded in a voice shaky with emotion, “Are you mad! You let me go you—you—maniac!”

His tone flat, even, Virgil said, “Ah, come off it, Red. What is it really? You still miffed because I went to sleep on you?”

Continuing to struggle within his arms, she shouted, “You are insane! As mad as a hatter! I have never seen you before in my life, and you have never seen me!”

Virgil Black shrugged wide shoulders and abruptly released her. “It won’t work, baby. Pretend to be anyone you please, but we both know damned well who you are. You’re a beautiful thief and you are going to jail, just like your accomplice, British Bob.”

Backing away from him, she shook her head. “I know of no one called British Bob.”

“Well, he sure knows you, and the ungentlemanly coward ratted out on you.” He turned and walked away.

Confused by her frightening emotions, furious with him for causing her distress, the shaking princess stooped down, picked up a rock, and sailed it forcefully at him. The well-thrown pebble caught him on the right ear, breaking the skin, drawing blood.

Virgil Black stopped, lifted a hand, touched his ringing ear, and slowly turned to face her. “Do that again”—his dark face struck by the bright moonlight seemed to be chiseled from the most resistant stone—“and you will regret it.”

“I doubt that!” she answered confidently, but took a defensive step backward.

“Trust me.” He blotted the blood from his ear with the kerchief he had used earlier on his nail-scratched jaw.

“You ever try to kiss me again and
you
will regret it!”

“I doubt that.” His blue eyes flashed menacingly in the moonlight.

She opened her mouth to utter a stinging retort, but thought better of it and said nothing. She watched in angry silence as the Ranger nonchalantly spread a blanket on the ground near the dying fire, stretched out, covered himself to midchest, folded his hands beneath his head, and closed his eyes.

Nonplussed, Princess Marlena moved tentatively closer. “Just what do you think you’re doing?” she asked, standing above, her hands on her hips.

Virgil cocked one eye open. “Going to sleep,” he said. “I suggest you do the same.”

The princess looked about, frowned. “Where shall I sleep? I see no blanket spread for me. No pillow. No—”

“You’re more than welcome to join me,” Virgil interrupted, tossing back one side of his blanket.

“Never!” she huffed. “I would gladly sit up all night before I would lie down next to a rude, ruthless, ill-bred commoner like you!”

She turned away contemptuously and walked toward the low-burning campfire, sat down, and thought how she would wait until the Ranger was asleep, then she’d take both horses and flee. Leave the cocksure bastard afoot! That’s exactly what he deserved.

A long, chilly, silent hour dragged slowly by.

The fire had burned so low only a few glowing embers remained. It was cold in the mountains at night, even in mid-June. Princess Marlena was shivering. She sat hugging herself, her teeth chattering. She would freeze if she waited much longer. She drew a shallow breath and slowly rose to her feet.

And froze where she stood when the Ranger said, in that flat Texas drawl, “Don’t take a step. You’re not going anywhere.” A long tense pause, then, more softly, “It’s cold, Red. Come here and get warm.”

The princess fervently wished that she had the fortitude to say no. But she did not. She was, for the moment at least, beaten. Dead-tired, impossibly sleepy, chilled to the bone, she gave in. Saying nothing, she started toward him. He again threw back one side of the blanket. Despising herself for being weak, the princess reluctantly lay down beside him, carefully making sure not to touch him.

She turned away from him, drew the shared blanket up over her shoulders, and closed her burning eyes. Then gasped and sputtered her outrage when the Ranger’s arm came around her.

“Shhh,” he cautioned, drawing her back against his hard muscled chest, fitting his long, lean body around hers, spoon fashion. “Behave now. Go to sleep.”

The princess didn’t go to sleep.

Not for a long, long time. Never in her life had she slept with another human being. Not even when she was married to the duke of Hernden. Not once had she allowed Sir Cedric to spend a night in her bed. Every night of her life she had gone to sleep alone and awakened alone. No way in the world would she sleep tonight. It was totally impossible. Out of the question.

The princess was horrified by the realization that she was lying in the arms of a ruthless Texas Ranger who was taking her to jail. She was even more horrified by the way her heart misbehaved when his muscular arm suddenly tightened around her. She stopped breathing entirely when his large tanned hand with its long, tapered fingers spread, settled possessively on her stomach.

She shivered involuntarily. And it wasn’t from the cold.

This man in whose arms she now lay was decidedly dangerous in his potent virility. She had never known such a ruggedly masculine man, and she recognized, with a shiver of icy fear, the very real threat he posed. An animal, sexual threat as old as time itself, but one that was totally novel to her.

Instinctively, the princess knew that she would have to be constantly on guard against this strange man. Which was a first for her. She had spent her life in the company of some of the most handsome and sophisticated gentlemen in Europe, but had never felt threatened by any of them.

This Ranger was different. This Ranger was dangerous. This Ranger must
never
get the chance to kiss her again.

The sudden, vivid recollection of his hot, aggressive kisses brought a warm flush to her cheeks and a strange tightness to her nipples. And she couldn’t keep from wondering—imagining—just what kind of lover he would be.

At that moment Virgil sighed deeply in his sleep, and the princess felt his warm, moist breath on her neck. Her own breath caught in her throat. Tingling from head to toe, experiencing new and disturbing feelings from simply lying in this sleeping man’s arms, the princess squirmed and shivered and knew she wouldn’t sleep a wink all night.

* * *

“Kiss me, baby,” he coaxed huskily, “Kiss me like you’ve never kissed any man before.”

Naked, he lay stretched out on his back in the brilliant mountain moon glow, his long, lean body gleaming a dark golden bronze against the vivid velvety green of the soft meadow grass. She too was unashamedly naked, her body as pale as the puffy white clouds that sailed high above them. Enclosed within his powerful arms, she lay close beside him on the downy cushion of grass.

“No,” she murmured, stretching lazily, “you kiss me. Kiss me and tell me how much you want me.”

“Anything you say, baby.”

He rolled agilely up onto an elbow, leaned down, and kissed her open, responsive lips. She felt the fire lick of his tongue burn through her naked body, heating the blood that raced through her veins, starting a gentle, rhythmic throbbing low, low in her bare belly.

She started to lift her slender arms, to put them around his neck, but she hesitated, deciding against it. Instead she raised her arms above her head, stretched them to their full length, let them drop upon soft grass, clasped her wrists together, and sighed.

She would do nothing. Make him do everything. She would pretend to be a perfect, naked goddess to be worshipped, and he her handsome, devoted slave.

Knowing innately what she wanted, he gladly gave it to her. He kissed her temples, her eyes, her ears, her mouth. And as he kissed her, he stroked—with gentle fingers—her bare yearning body as carefully as if it were made of priceless porcelain while he murmured sweet words of devotion and told her how he idolized her.

For a long time, he was extremely tender, extremely gentle, paying humble homage to the pale pliant flesh, literally worshipping her with his hands and mouth. Adoring her. Revering her.