Sullivan (12 page)

"You're kidding, right?" he asked.

"No. I'd like to know if it's adequate for the guests, before I go to the trouble of gathering towels and all the rest. I know it'll suit me and the children, but since most of the hotel guests are male, it seems only right that I do my best to make sure the facilities are adequate."

Sin cursed as he stepped past her and into the tub, boots and all. She didn't bother to tell him to watch his language.

"Have a seat," she said, when he continued to stand there.

With a sigh he complied, sitting down, then leaning back, then stretching out his long legs so the heels of his boots were propped up on the edge of the tub.

His long hair hung around his face, dark and silky and lovely. Eden wanted to lean over, reach out, and brush that hair back with her fingers so she would have a better view. She didn't.

She smiled. "Perfect."

She wasn't prepared for what came next, as Sin's hand shot up and grabbed her wrist, and with a gentle yank pulled her over the edge and into the tub with him. Her flailing foot caught the edge of the door, and it slammed closed as she fell into his lap with a squeal.

"Big enough for two," he said softly, his mouth so near her ear she shivered.

She really should scramble out, she knew that, but she fit so perfectly she couldn't make herself leave. Not just yet. She leaned back and relaxed, resting her legs atop Sin's. His chest made a warm and comfortable chair back; his arms were so tempting to rest her own arms on she couldn't resist.

"It's a lovely tub," she said softly.

"Lovely," Sin muttered, and his arms slipped around to encircle her. His lips found her neck and he kissed her there briefly. Too briefly. She melted against her warm, hard chair, all but unable to move. She'd never felt this way before, as if she were wonderfully frozen in place. Maybe if she stayed very still he would kiss her neck again. That had been very nice. This position she found herself in was surely sinful, decadent, and shocking, and not at
all
proper.

Did she care? Should she?

"I really should get out of here and start cooking something for lunch." Still, she couldn't make herself move. "I told Lydia that I'd cook lunch today, and she really didn't seem to mind..."

"Neither will anyone else," Sin mumbled. The fingers of one large hand began to rock against her side.

Eden felt the mild touch through her blouse, and it sent a quiver to her very core. Oh, she could stay here forever; she could rest in Sin's arms, quite happily, and need nothing else.

"I really should..." she began, making a weak attempt to rise.

Sin pulled her back into place. "Not yet," he whispered.

She dissolved against him. Goodness, he smelled and felt so good, she didn't ever want to leave the tub!

"Eden," he whispered against her neck, "you know what I want."

"Sin..." she began.

"And I know just as well that I can't have it," he interrupted. "But there are other things we can do," he breathed.

Since she had no real idea of what it would be like to lie with a man, she certainly didn't know what
other things
he might be talking about. "Like... kissing?" she guessed as he planted another one on her neck. Finally!

"Like kissing," he said. "And touching."

Eden gulped. She had no idea if what he wanted was any less improper than going to his bed. "Touching?"

One hand raked up her midsection to settle lightly over one breast. His fingers brushed gently over the tip of her breast, sending a wave of unexpected tingling through her body. Sin moved his mouth to the other side of her neck, and she shivered deeply when he laid his lips on her skin.

While his fingers teased her breast, the other hand moved lower to brush down her thigh and up again. Anxious and quivering, she shifted slightly and landed on something hard. She shifted again, but it was still there.

"Sin?" she whispered.

He murmured his response against her neck.

"Are you wearing a gun?"

He laughed low and dark without ever taking his mouth from her flesh. "No," he murmured.

"Then what...", she began, and then, with a sudden startling clarity, she knew what she was feeling.

She turned about so she was not sitting on the evidence of his arousal, and twisted her head so she could see Sin's face. What she saw there startled her. Last night it had been too dark to see his features and the feelings he might have revealed there, but today sunlight came through the high window in the room and she could see the passion in his eyes. That passion was dark and tempting and more than a little frightening.

"We shouldn't be doing this," she said, placing one hand on his cheek.

"I promise not to hurt you, and I promise not to do anything you don't want me to," he said. "All you have to do is tell me to stop, and I will." He tested her, raising his hand to her breast again, cupping it tenderly, brushing his thumb against the tip.

Eden licked her suddenly dry lower lip, but she didn't tell him to stop. These were surely liberties best saved for a husband, but in truth she saw no harm in a little touching and kissing.

"I'd rather have a little bit of you than nothing at all," Sin whispered. "For as long as we're both here, for as long as we both want it."

She knew she should climb from this tub and call a halt to this, here and now. Sin's hands on her body were driving her crazy. His kisses were passionate and tender and only made her want more. This had to be difficult for Sin, too. More difficult than for her, since he was, after all, a man.

But she didn't want to call a halt to what they were doing. She didn't want to give up this moment. Not yet. "Can I touch you, too?" she asked.

Pain joined the passion in his eyes. "Yes."

Shy, she touched his cheek and his neck, trailing her fingers over his warm flesh. His hand settled on her hip, and she trailed her fingers down to his chest. She felt his small nipples beneath his shirt, felt him quiver as she raked her hand down his ribs.

She speared her fingers through his hair. "Why do you wear your hair long?" she whispered. "It's lovely," she added, "but... different."

"It reminds me of who I am," he said darkly. "Of where I come from. It should remind you, too," he whispered. "I'm a half-breed, Eden, and a mean son of a bitch when I have to be. I don't belong in anybody's world. Not white, not Comanche." He laid a hand in her hair. "I sure as hell don't belong in your life, not even for a little while. You should slap me right now and tell me to get lost."

Eden's heart warmed as he tried to warn her away. "First of all, I don't believe for a moment that you have a mean bone in your body. Perhaps you've done things that needed to be done, unpleasant, terrible things that you don't speak about." When he opened his mouth to respond she laid a silencing finger over his mouth. "But you're not mean. You're good and noble and..."
And I love you.
Oh, she couldn't tell him that. Not yet. "And secondly, you belong in whatever world you make for yourself. I'm very glad that at the moment you're in mine." She laid her mouth over his and kissed him deeply. The touch of his hands changed, as he held her tighter than before, and he plunged his tongue into her mouth and took her breath away.

She couldn't get close enough to him, no matter how she tried. Finally she found a position that satisfied her, her breasts pressed against his chest, one leg hiked up so that she lay comfortable and close to him. The kisses continued unbroken, tongues dancing and reaching, lips coming together and parting just slightly before clamping together again.

The ache in her grew. Sin moaned into her mouth. She felt her skirt slipping up and up, and then felt Sin's hand against her bare leg. She moaned a mild protest as his fingers crept slowly up her thigh, and at her very center she throbbed.

He was going to touch her
there,
and she was so lost in sensation she didn't dare to stop him. She didn't want to stop him.

A voice from outside their small sanctuary interrupted. "Sullivan?"

She lifted her head and looked toward the closed door. "Someone's calling you," she said breathlessly.

"I know," he said, unconcerned.

From beyond the closed door, a voice called, "Damn it, Sullivan, I know you're in here somewhere. Your horse is still in the stable."

"It's Cash," Sin said with a dejected sigh as the man cursed and ran up the stairs. They heard his footsteps pounding, almost above their heads. "Don't worry. He won't think to look in here. He'll give up and head back to the saloon when he doesn't find me in my room."

Moments later Cash ran back down the stairs.

"He'll head back to the saloon, now," Sin said softly, kissing her again and smiling. "I think this is as long as he's been out of the place in the past six months."

But Sin was wrong. Cash didn't give up his search and return to his saloon. The door Eden had accidentally kicked shut flew open, and the man in question stared down into the tub with disdain and disappointment on his handsome face.

He barely gave Eden a glance, but settled his cold dark eyes on Sin's face. "I thought you were leaving this morning," Cash said calmly. "But I see you were detained."

Eden straightened her clothes, mortified to be caught in such a position. "Mr. Sullivan has agreed to stay a few more days to help me put the hotel in order for Mr. McClure. The poor man's been so ill..."

Cash lit his eyes on her, and she saw there pure condemnation. It didn't matter that he wore a very nice suit and a ruffled shirt better suited to a dandy than a gunman. With that mustache and small beard and the void in his eyes, again he looked too much like her mental image of the devil. It was the eyes, she decided. She shuddered. There was no warmth there, not one iota.

"I can see for myself how he's helping you out, ma'am," Cash said crisply. "Are you not aware that your brother will kill Sullivan when he finds out what's been going on?"

Eden lifted her chin, determined not to be afraid. "Nothing's been going on."

Cash folded his arms across his chest."And what do you call this?"

"We were cleaning the tub," she said indignantly.

The gambler grinned lasciviously. "Well, that's a new name for it."

"Get out of here, Cash," Sin said softly. "This is none of your concern."

"None of my concern?" he asked, incredulous. "I didn't watch your back all these years just to see you end up dead because you couldn't keep your hands off a... off a
woman
."

"I said," Sin seethed, "get out. Now."

Cash shook his head in dismay, threw his arms in the air, and stalked away.

With Sin's help, Eden left the tub and straightened her hair, her skirt, and her blouse. Her heart still beat too fast, but Cash's interruption and accusations had ruined the moment. Just as well. Who knows when they would have stopped, otherwise?

She was so embarrassed by her response to Sin's touches and kisses, she couldn't make herself look him in the eye. "I really should see to lunch," she said crisply. "Would you check on Mr. McClure for me? See if he needs anything?"

She spun around and left the small room, not giving him a chance to respond to her question.

* * *

He'd never been so tied up in knots he couldn't think straight, but Eden had done it to him, hadn't she? Sullivan considered, for a few long, painful moments, crossing the street, climbing the stairs, and finding a woman, any woman, to ease his pain.

But he didn't want
any
woman. He wanted Eden Rourke.

Cash was right; Jed would kill him. Eden was right; they couldn't lie together. She wasn't a woman who'd give herself to a man without loving him, without expecting a lifetime commitment, and that was something he didn't have to give.

For the first time in his life he wanted a woman to distraction, wanted a woman so hard he couldn't think of anything else, and damned if it didn't have to be a nice girl like Eden Rourke. Maybe he was fascinated with her because she was so different from every other woman he'd ever met. She was almost too nice, too concerned with those around her, as if it were her duty to be caretaker to the world. She was also naive, and tender, and dammit, what kind of woman took in every orphan she ran across?

He wanted her more than he'd ever wanted anyone or anything. Tangled in the tub, her body pressed to his, he'd felt himself almost spiraling out of control. Almost. He would die before he forced her, before he hurt her. Damn it, he would not be like the Comanche renegade who'd raped his mother and hung for it before Fiona Sullivan had known she carried a child.

Sullivan wondered, as he watched Eden working diligently over the stove, if his mother had ever been as happy as Eden, if she'd ever smiled and laughed and played at falling in love. If she ever had, that part of her had died the night three bandits broke into her home to rob and rape her. Her father and brother had been out hunting. If they hadn't returned the next morning, she might've died there on the kitchen floor. Hadn't he heard his grandfather say a thousand times, that she, and he, would've been better off if she'd died that night?

Better off if there had never been a baby; that's what his grandfather had meant. Better off if his only daughter's only child hadn't been born out of wedlock. Better off if the boy hadn't looked so much like the man who'd fathered him. Sullivan had often wondered if the hate in his grandfather's heart would have been less if the rapist who'd fathered him had been one of the other two, the Smith or the Roberts.

Hellfire, Eden had stirred all these memories up with talk about his hair. Why did he wear it long? To make damn sure everyone knew who and what he was. To make damn sure everyone kept their distance. Especially women. Especially
nice girls.
Eden said she knew who she was. Well, so did he.

"I think I should head on out to Webberville in the morning," he said softly.

Even though Eden didn't speak right away, he knew she'd heard him because she stopped stirring her chicken stew. "Why?" she finally asked.