Nan Ryan (16 page)

“I’ll take more than my share from you, Lew,” Mollie teased playfully as she stepped up before him.

Tilting her head to one side she stuck her hand down into the paper bag. Reflexively his long fingers wrapped themselves firmly around her wrist, capturing her hand inside the bag.

His lips thinned, and his eyes narrowed to blue glint.

“You won’t get the chance.”

“Lew, what is it?” Alarmed, Mollie looked up
into his icy eyes and asked anxiously, “Is something bothering you?”

Instantly he softened his expression. Flashing her a boyish smile, he said, “Yes. You are. You bother me unmercifully, Miss Gayerre. Didn’t you know that?” He released her fragile wrist. “Do I bother you? Do you think about me when we’re apart?”

Relieved and charmed, Mollie withdrew her hand from the candy sack and said honestly, “I do, Lew, yes I do.” Blushing then, her eyes dropped to his mouth and she added, “All day I kept thinking that this would be our first time alone.”

“Why do you suppose I cut myself shaving?” He touched a pinpoint nick on the tanned skin just below his right cheekbone.

Mollie screwed her face into a sympathetic frown, impulsively kissed the tip of her forefinger and touched it to the minuscule bloodspot. Lew again captured her wrist, but this time he gently drew her open hand up to his lips. Mollie felt all the air leave her lungs when his thick, dark lashes closed seductively over his blue eyes and his smooth lips brushed a slow, warm kiss to her sensitive palm.

When Lew raised his head, he flattened her open hand on the broad expanse of his chest, then placed his own atop it. Mollie thrilled to the touch. His work-callused hand, with its long, lean fingers, felt good covering hers—almost as good as the hard, flat chest muscles under her spread hand. Awed by the strength and heat beneath her fingertips, she could feel the crisp hair through his silky white shirt. And she wondered, fleetingly, if she would be repulsed—the way she’d been with the Kid—if Lew were to take off his shirt. Her wildly beating heart told her that she wouldn’t.

“Would you like to go with me for a ride in the moonlight, Miss Gayerre?” Lew’s voice was soft, persuasive.

“Oh, yes, I—no, Lew. We can’t. I’m sorry. I promised the professor that I would have you drive me straight home.” She gave him a weak smile.

He was annoyed, but he carefully hid it. He said, “I don’t blame the professor.” His fingers closed around hers and he slowly lowered her hand from his chest. But he continued to hold her hand loosely in his. Then he shook his head and looked worried. “Perhaps the professor doesn’t trust me. Maybe he doesn’t want me to—”

“Oh, no, that’s not it! He trusts you completely, honest he does. It’s just that I haven’t known you that long, really, and—You understand, don’t you?”

“I sure do, sweetheart. Come on, I’ll drive you home.” Impatient to get on with his plan, Lew thought irritably that seducing this luscious little outlaw was going to take a hell of a lot longer than he’d counted on.

Mollie smiled happily, pleased that he was so agreeable and such a gentleman.

At the gig, Lew’s hands went to her waist and he lifted her easily upon to the leather seat. Settling herself comfortably, Mollie fussily arranged her long, billowing skirts, carefully arranging the folds and gathers of the starched organza.

“There,” she said, finishing, and looked up.

Lew had not yet climbed into the gig. He stood, one foot on the step, a hand on the seat back, watching her with a devilish smile on his handsome face. “What? What is it?” she asked, suddenly embarrassed by his scrutiny, wondering if he were laughing at her.

“You are a constant delight, Fontaine Gayerre,” he said evenly. “Such a well-bred young lady.” He leaned very close then and, his foot never leaving the step or his hand the seat back, he toyed with the hem of her frilly dress. “I wonder,” he mused aloud, his fingers snaking up under the folds of organza to capture a slender ankle, “are you a woman as well as a lady?”

Mollie couldn’t speak. She swallowed. Then swallowed again, but couldn’t make a sound because his fingers, those long, warm fingers were wrapped around her ankle and they felt for all the world like a band of fire. His thumb began sliding slowly, tantalizingly up and down her shin bone while his middle finger located and caressed the pulse beating in her foot. He said nothing more, just looked at her with humid blue eyes as if waiting for her to answer.

Her own eyes wide, her bosom rising and falling rapidly, Mollie finally broke the tension-filled silence. Mesmerized by his intense gaze and stirring touch, she said truthfully, “I don’t know yet, Lew. I’m not sure.”

Biting his tongue to keep from reminding her that she knew all too well, Lew gave her shapely ankle one last intimate squeeze, withdrew his hand from beneath her dress, and swung up into the gig beside her.

Unwinding the long leather reins from around the brake, he said, “I do, sweetheart. I’m sure.”

“You are?”

He clucked to the horse and the wheels of the carriage began to roll as the responsive pony pranced away into the deepening darkness.

“Yes,” Lew said, turned and smiled at Mollie. “You’re a woman, all right.” His gaze shifted to her parted lips. “My woman.”

“Oh, Lew,” she murmured breathlessly.

Mollie was so thrilled and captivated she hardly noticed that on the ride home through the gaslit streets of Maya, Lew asked more questions than he ever had before. Thrown off guard by his masculine charm and compelling closeness, she hemmed and hawed and stumbled over her answers, momentarily forgetting some of the detailed background she and the professor had so carefully made up.

“It’s so strange, Fontaine, to hear a beautiful young lady from back East speak with an … umm … almost a Southern accent. No, no, not Southern.” His eyes flashed in the darkness when he said, “I was in the army with a couple of men from Texas. That’s it. You sound a lot like them. Ever spend any time down in Texas?”

“I … I … my mother had some cousins in Texas and I went with her to visit them when I was younger.”

“Really? What part of Texas?”

“San Antonio.” Mollie said the first place that popped into her head.

“San Antone,” echoed Lew. “Good town. Been there myself. Maybe I’d know your cousins. I met a lot of—”

“They moved a long time ago,” Mollie anxiously interrupted. “They all came east to be closer to the rest of the family.”

Lew nodded and let that subject drop. But the questions continued—tactfully, subtly—and the totally enamored Mollie never became suspicious. The wise interrogator was far too clever and charming to arouse any distrust or suspicion in his cooperative suspect.

Mollie was smiling when the gig rolled into the mansion’s graveled driveway. She was flattered that Lew was so interested in her. He wanted to know everything about her. She understood perfectly, since she longed to know everything there was to know about him.

A rising desert moon, full and white, now bathed the Maya valley in silvery brilliance. Lew swung down, turned, and lifted his arms to Mollie. When his hands encircled her waist and he plucked her from the seat, Mollie found herself held high in the air for a moment.

Laughing, she scolded, “Lew Taylor, you put me down this minute!”

“Anything you say, sweetheart,” he replied, looking up at her.

Then took his own sweet time.

Before he released her he drew her to him, pressing her against his tall, hard body. His face at the level of her full breasts, he looked unblinkingly into her eyes as he slowly, suggestively, lowered her to her feet. Purposely sliding her down his lean frame, he made sure the soft contours of her slender body met and melded with the harsh planes and hollows of his.

When Mollie felt her toes finally touch the ground, she was trembling from the unsettling, intimate contact. Staring up into his handsome face—half-shadowed in the darkness, half-lighted by the moon—she became aware of his quick breathing. Or was it her own?

Nervously she freed herself from his arms and hurried toward the yard. In two long strides Lew caught up with her, took her hand in his, and squeezed it reassuringly.

When they climbed the steps to the broad veranda, Mollie said, “We have the drawing room all to ourselves.” Halfway to the front door, she asked, “Shall we go inside and talk?”

Lew paused. Mollie, clinging to his hand, stopped, turned back, and looked questioningly up at him. On his dark face was an expression of such intensity Mollie was awed and a little frightened. A tiny muscle spasmed in his jaw, and his eyes gleamed with a strange new light.

“I don’t want to hold a conversation,” he said, “I want to hold you.” Then he quickly backed into the deep shadow of a tall porch column, drawing her to him. Mollie blinked, trying desperately to see the face of the magnetic man speaking to her from out of the darkness while she stood squarely in the bright moonlight. “I only want to hold you, sweetheart,” came that low, caressing voice as he pulled her to him until she too was swallowed up in the deep blackness. His arms went around her and he drew her into his embrace.

The seductive darkness, the feel of his lean, muscular frame pressed against hers, made Mollie extremely nervous. Her hands anxiously dancing over the fabric stretching across his biceps, she said, “Louise has fixed a delicious dessert for us.”

“That’s nice,” he responded distractedly, his hands sweeping over Mollie’s waist, urging her steadily closer. He stood with his back against the tall porch pillar, his feet apart, his arms wrapped around her. “Kiss me, Fontaine,” he whispered, his breath ruffling the wispy hair at her temple. “It’s dark and no one can see us. Kiss me. Just one time, kiss me.”

Mollie was going to say no. At least she was almost certain that was what she had intended to say. But he never gave her the chance. Before she could say anything his mouth was on hers, smooth and warm and wonderful. It was a proper kiss, a kiss of decorum, lips pliant but closed. A guarded, tender kiss.

When it ended, Mollie was convinced that their first kiss had been exactly as it should be. Pleasant, but restrained, demonstrating that Lew knew she was a proper young lady and he had great respect for her.

However, his muscular arms were like bands of steel as he continued to hold her. She could feel his strong heartbeat against her breasts and the granite hardness of his thighs brushing against her own. His hands, slipping low on her hips, were pressing her dangerously close, and his clean, uniquely masculine scent filled her senses.

The warm June night grew warmer still, and Mollie struggled to free herself, saying uneasily, “Louise has outdone herself, Lew. There’s lemonade with ice and a twelve-egg pound cake, and—”

“Sounds delicious,” Lew interrupted, but didn’t move or release her. “Delicious,” he repeated as his lips slowly descended to hers again.

Sighing, Mollie closed her eyes and told herself that one more little good-night kiss could hardly be construed as unseemly by Lew or anyone else. But this time, to her surprise and pleasure, Lew’s lips didn’t stay completely closed. And the kiss that began as a single one turned into a dozen kisses that made Mollie’s face feel uncomfortably hot, her lips become soft and full.

When finally—after several long, heart-stopping kisses—their mouths separated, Mollie, unsteady on her feet, said with a touch of desperation in her voice, “And … and there’s orange sauce for the cake.”

“Mmm,” was Lew’s reply.

And again his mouth masterfully took hers in a heated, coaxing kiss that caused her to cling to him, her hands anxiously gripping his smooth, clefted back, her sharp nails punishing the flesh through his shirt. His tongue slid provocatively along the seam of Mollie’s full lips until they parted to him. Still she kept her teeth tightly shut, so Lew gently chewed on the fleshy inside of her lower lip, pressed wet little kisses to the corners of her mouth, and raked his teeth over her kiss-swollen lips until, half-dazed but determined to stop behaving so improperly, Mollie abruptly pulled away.

“And strawberries,” she managed, her breath coming fast, “big, ripe strawberries.” Her hands were gliding up and down Lew’s shirtfront now, her fingertips exploring the breadth of his chest, the hard sinew, the crisp hair. “With warm honey to dip—”

Lew’s lips silenced her. His breath mingling with hers, he said against her trembling mouth, “You’ve got the warm honey I want to taste.” He pressed a kiss to her parted lips, raised his head, and looked down at her. His blue eyes flashed in the darkness when he said, “Give it to me, sweetheart. Let me have all your sweet honey.”

Mollie shivered, but gave no answer as his lips brushed back and forth on hers before settling squarely on her mouth. He kissed her so commandingly, so hotly, she felt a new kind of heat envelop her.

When the kiss began, Lew’s hands were on her face, his fingers gently cupping her flushed cheeks. His thumbs caressing her temples, his lips toyed and licked and played with hers. As the long, ardent kiss continued, his mouth opened and his tongue slid sensuously between her teeth. His hands left her face, moved down to clasp her shoulders and drew her more intimately to him. Then the kiss deepened as he thrust his tongue into the silky sweetness of her mouth, tasting, stroking, devouring.