Outlaw's Bride (23 page)

“I'll do my best not to get killed,” he said.

“Then give it up.”

Her challenge lay between them like a brick wall.

“I can't,” he finally replied in a barely audible voice.

Moisture shimmered in her eyes, but she lifted her chin proudly. “That's what I thought.” She stood and gathered their dishes.

Clint remained where he was, confused and disgusted and angry, though he wasn't certain to whom his feelings were directed—Mattie for pointing out the truth, or himself for not being able to bend.

Mattie washed the dishes and Clint dried them in silence, both knowing this was the last night they'd spend under the same roof. Even if he returned, he wouldn't—couldn't—stay here again. It was even possible that if he came back, she'd be married to Dr. Murphy.

He had nothing against the doctor, but Mattie needed a man who was just as passionate as she was. A man who could satisfy her in bed as well as out.

A man like him.

The house was silent and still, but Mattie couldn't sleep. She tossed the light covers off and sprawled on her back staring at the ceiling. After the near tragedy, her restlessness shouldn't have surprised her. However, it wasn't the memory of her fear for Andy that kept her awake, but the burning fever Clint had ignited.

Just the recollection of his hand on hers that evening made her breasts swell and her loins ache. Erotic images of Clint rising above her and burying himself in her damp heat chased sleep away. The faded memories of lying with her husband paled even further beside the waking dreams of Clint. There was a barely restrained wildness about him that her body begged to release.

She closed her eyes, drawing her fingertips lightly across the gown's thin fabric, imagining Clint's hands on her bare breasts, his fingers playing with her nipples. The crests pebbled beneath Mattie's touch and she quickly dropped her hand to the mattress beside her. Embarrassment made her cheeks burn, but the feelings and images she'd evoked set the rest of her body aflame.

Abruptly, she sat up and swung her feet off the bed. She couldn't lie here any longer. She tugged on her robe and grimaced when the material slid across her sensitized breasts.

With soundless steps, she walked down the hall and looked into Andy's room. The boy slept peacefully, his soft snores punctuating the night's silence. She leaned against the doorjamb and merely watched him, thanking God that he had survived this day.

She swiped a hand across her moist eyes and descended the stairs. Halfway down, she noticed the flicker of light in the parlor. Who was in there?

Her hands trembling, she picked up the broom and gripped it like a club, ready to defend her home. Gliding across the floor, she made it to the wide doorway and paused. She caught the movement of a black shadow coming toward her and swung the broom forcefully.

“Ooomph,” came the satisfying reply.

“Who's there?” she demanded. “You'd better come out or I'll shoot you.”

“With what—a broom?”

It was Clint's very irate voice.

Oh, no.

“I'm sorry, Clint,” she said, setting the broom down. “I didn't realize it was you.”

He emerged from the darkness and the firelight danced across his frowning countenance. He had a hand pressed to his nose. “You should've called out,” he muttered.

“That would've warned off the thief.”

“There wasn't a thief, just me.” The exasperation in Clint's voice was almost funny.

She put a hand to her mouth to stifle her laughter. “That isn't the point. You could've been.”

“And what would I steal?”

My heart.

Her humor died. “I'm sorry.” She reached out to pull his hand away from his cheek. “Did I hurt you?”

“It's nothing,” he said.

She rolled her eyes. “Let me light a lamp so I can take a look at it.”

Mattie steered him toward the sofa and sat him in the corner closest to the lamp. After she lit the wick, she took a good look at him. Wearing nothing but black jeans and socks, he was the epitome of temptation. Just what she needed.

“Oh, Lord,” she murmured.

“What?” Clint asked.

“Nothing.” Mattie rubbed her brow, trying to erase the images she'd conjured as she had lain in her bed. This wasn't the glass of warm milk she expected to find down here.

“Did you break my nose?” Clint's question intruded into her frenzied thoughts.

“Let me take a look.” She leaned close, but her gaze kept flitting down to the crinkly blond hair sprinkled across his chest and tapering down to his bandage.

“Well?” His voice sounded strange, like he was being strangled.

She glanced down to look at him and saw where his gaze had settled. Her robe gaped open to reveal the swell of her breasts. Grabbing at the material, she tugged the sides together to hide her cleavage.

Turnabout is fair play.

“Shut up,” she muttered.

“I didn't say anything,” Clint said.

Heat flooded her cheeks. This had to be a nightmare.

Or a dream come true.

“I was talking to myself,” she said. “I don't think your nose is broken and it's not bleeding. Probably just bruised. It's a good thing I didn't put any force behind my swing.”

A smile lifted a corner of his sensuous lips. “Maybe you did.”

She propped her hands on her hips, knowing he was teasing. “Are you saying I'm weak?”

“Never, Mattie St. Clair.” His grin faded. “You're the strongest woman I've ever met.”

She blinked, unprepared for the serious turn of the conversation. “Then you don't know me that well.”

“Or you don't know yourself well enough.”

He took hold of her wrist and gently pulled her down beside him on the sofa. Her thigh pressed against his and she could feel the hard muscle of his leg through her robe and gown. Warmth exploded along the line of contact.

This is
not
a good idea.

Clint rested his arm along the back of the couch as if their closeness had no effect upon him.

“What brought you down here in the middle of the night?” he asked, as if it were normal to have a conversation at two in the morning with an indecently clad woman.

She slid her gaze to his bare chest. At least they were both indecently clad.

That thought did nothing to douse her sparking nerves.

“I couldn't sleep.” Why did her voice sound so breathy?

“Why?”

Mattie's heart hammered against her ribs. “It must've been the excitement of the day.” She prayed he couldn't see her pebbled nipples pressing against her robe. “What about you? What're you doing down here?”

He flashed a rueful smile. “I couldn't sleep, either.”

“Why?” She had to keep the conversation away from her.

Clint's eyes glittered like emeralds as his gaze settled on her. “I kept thinking about you, knowing you were just two doors away.”

Mattie shivered and forced a laugh. “I would've thought you'd be exhausted.”

She felt him touch her hair, stroking it gently. “I'm tired, but I … had other things on my mind.”

His rhythmic motions lulled her into a sensual calm. She closed her eyes and concentrated on the heat radiating from Clint's chest, and the faint scent of the liniment he'd applied earlier, and shivered again.

“Are you cold?” He wrapped his arm about her shoulders, drawing her snug against his side.

Hardly.

Then he passed his other arm in front of her and enclosed her within his secure embrace. God forgive her, but she didn't want to escape.

The air was thick. Expectant. Clint's warmth surrounded Mattie, his breath cascading across her cheek and his body heat radiating to her. Her breasts felt heavy and her limbs sluggish, but at the same time, something sizzled beneath her skin.

Awareness of Clint branded her with a passion she was tired of fighting. For ten years, she'd lived the life of a cloistered nun. She hadn't allowed any man but Kevin to touch her, and those caresses had been chaste at best.

Now she had a chance to grab the brass ring for one night. All she had to do was say yes and surrender her mind to what her body already demanded. Her heart hammered and her breath grew ragged. Did she have the strength to let herself go for one night? To feel totally alive with the man she loved but couldn't have?

Trembling, Mattie pulled away from Clint's arms and stood to walk to the fireplace. She had to do this, or she'd forever wonder….

With shaking fingers, she raised the lid of the music box and the strains of the waltz circled around her. She turned slowly and faced Clint. For a moment, all she could do was stare at him—the muscles playing across his chest and shoulders, his blond hair shimmering in the firelight, and his eyes so rich and intense and compassionate—she could disappear in those depths and never return.

Slowly, almost as if it weren't her, she removed the sash from her robe and allowed the heavy material to slide to the floor. Clad just in her white nightgown with the fire behind her, Mattie stretched out a hand to him. “Would you like this dance?” she asked huskily.

Mattie watched the light in his eyes turn to something dark and smoldering. Her belly curled and she was shaking so badly inside, she thought she'd shatter into a million pieces.

Clint came to his feet with the stealth of a predator, but Mattie wasn't afraid. She would be his willing prey for this one night.

His hand closed around hers and quicksilver glided through her blood as she curled her fingers around his. He slid his other arm around her waist and drew her close. She raised her head to gaze into his face and was captured by the tenderness in his expression. No longer was he the predator, but the lover she'd only imagined in fevered dreams.

He began to move to the strains of the waltz, and Mattie's feet instinctively followed his footsteps. No awkwardness existed between them; only a feeling that she had danced in this man's arms in another time, another life.

Mattie concentrated on every single inch of her body that Clint touched, from their clasped hands to her breasts, which pressed intimately against his torso with only the thin gown separating their hot skin. Her legs brushed his as they waltzed across the room in slow, sensual motions, and she could feel his arousal.

She laid her cheek against his bare chest and heard Clint's heart beat strong and steady. The coarse hairs tickled her face and the faint smells of leather, sweat, and masculinity clouded her thoughts with erotic images of the two of them, wrapped in damp sheets and passion.

Clint began to massage her back with gentle deliberate circular motions. Mattie tightened her hold on his hand and arched her breasts more firmly against his chest. Her body throbbed with anxious need and her thin nightgown suddenly seemed cumbersome. She whimpered with frustration—she wanted their skin touching … all of it.

Clint stopped in the middle of the room and cupped Mattie's face between his palms. His thumbs brushed her eyebrows lightly.

She stared up into his heavy-lidded eyes—eyes that burned with desire and turned her insides to molten heat. Her gaze flickered to his sensuous lips and she had to kiss him. Now. She couldn't wait.

Placing her hands on either side of his face, she lowered it and slanted her lips across his. After a moment of hesitation, Clint opened his mouth to hers as his fingers plunged into her hair, and he clutched the strands in his fists.

Lust, hot and hungry, fired Mattie's blood. Her lips were crushed by his demanding ones, but she wanted more. She met his urgent tongue with hers and they mated with an intensity she craved to imitate with their bodies.

Abruptly Clint pulled away, releasing her and taking a step back. His hands balled into fists at his sides. Her gaze fell to the hard column of flesh she'd felt while they'd danced.

Hurt and confusion swirled through her.

“I can't do this to you, Mattie.”

She could barely hear his words above her pounding heart. “What?”

He grabbed her upper arms and pulled her against him. “I'm leaving tomorrow and I can't leave you with regrets.”

Slowly, she lifted her hands and laid them on his cheeks. The agony in his eyes tore at her heart. “The only regret I'll have is if you don't make love to me tonight.”

“You don't know what you're asking.”

“I know exactly what I'm asking—just one night in your arms,” she said huskily.