The Outlaw and the Lady (15 page)

Her mouth grew dryer with each tentative step she took to Lee’s room. She wrapped her hand around the doorknob, turned it, and slowly pushed open the door. Harsh breathing echoed in the room like the constant pumping sound of bellows in a forge feeding the flames. “Lee?”

“Get out!”

The savageness of his order couldn’t hide the fear. Stepping farther into the room, she closed the door.

“Damn it, Angela, get the hell out!”

But in his trembling voice, she heard a strong man fighting to remain valiant. A man who might not understand that strength sometimes came from challenging his weaknesses, and that this time, at least, he didn’t have to confront them alone.

Concentrating on the location of his voice near the window, she glided toward him until she felt the heat of his body so close to her own, too much heat. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, and only Juanita’s thin nightgown served as a barrier between her flesh and his.

“Does it not bother you to have a man standing before you who wears not a stitch of clothing?” he asked severely.

Her suspicions confirmed, she shook her head. Did he now fear something more than his nightmare? “No. You don’t frighten me, Lee. You haven’t for a long time.”

In that moment, she would have sold her soul to be able to see him, standing in the shadows, silhouetted against the night. Yet in a way, he was only a shadow himself; she knew his shape but not the details. “Let me help you.”

“You can’t help me.”

“I’m willing to try.”

“Don’t you understand? No one can help me.”

“Then at least let me comfort you.” Touching his arm, she became aware of the tiny tremors rip
pling through him, the clammy dampness of his skin. “I know the reason that you killed Floyd Shelby,” she said softly.

His corded muscles tensed into hard knots. “You can’t know,” he insisted.

But she did. All the facts had tumbled through her mind late into the night, long after Juanita drifted off to sleep. In her mind, she clearly saw a young girl forced into womanhood, and a brother who had sacrificed his own dreams to save her. “Miguel isn’t your brother as you claim. He’s your nephew. You killed that man because of what he did to Juanita.”

A shudder coursed through him, his breathing grew more labored as though with each breath he fought the memories. “She was a child when he took her into the night. I could not stop him.”

Her heart constricted painfully with his ravaged agony. It shouldn’t have been his place to have to stop anyone. Where had the law been? Sanctioning the murder of a father and son, allowing the violation of a young girl. Lee had tried to stop the murders and been shot. He’d been unable to protect Juanita. She understood how failings fueled the flames of guilt, how they could eat at you, distort your memory until you knew what you should have done and forgot that you’d taken the only choice open to you. In retrospect, choices increased. In reality, only one ever existed, the one chosen. Until now, standing here with this man, she hadn’t realized it as clearly.

“Hush now,” she cooed, much as he had when she’d been attacked. Little wonder he’d refused to leave her to the mercies of the men who’d followed them. He’d learned long ago of the ugliness that some men carried within them. She rubbed his arm, desperately wanting to comfort him in any way she could. “Shh, you did the only thing you could do.”

“I failed her.”

“No, Lee, the law failed her—not you.” He had rescued her, and then he had brought her son into the world. For five years, he had carried the torment of a perceived failure with him. She had called him a vicious murderer when in truth he’d been Juanita’s salvation. She placed her hand on his chest, over his pounding heart. “It’s over now.”

“It’ll never be over.” Growling, he drew her close with one arm while his free hand cradled her face. “Make me forget,” he croaked hoarsely. “For God’s sake, make me forget.”

He blanketed her mouth with his own, his lips desperate, his tongue demanding. She opened herself up to the kiss, but more she completely welcomed the man. Even as she sank against him, willing to comfort him in any way necessary, wanting to offer solace, she understood the undeniable message she conveyed: absolute surrender. She would give him all she could, do what she could to help him forget, and in the process, create memories of this one night that she would hold close to her heart through the years.

Gasping, he broke away. “You have to go.”

But some decisions were hers and hers alone. The most important of all: who she would love.

“No, Lee, I have to stay.” Slowly, with fingers that were deft at turning a card, she began loosening the buttons on her nightgown. She heard his sharp intake of breath and was acutely aware of his gaze, intense and smoldering to such a degree that it almost felt as though he was touching her. She stilled her fingers when she’d given freedom to the last button, and knew that with her next action there would be no turning back.

With his shoulder denting the wall, his hands clenched into tightened fists at his side, Lee had watched each slow, torturous movement of her fingers, had felt his body grow more taut with each button she slipped through its mooring. The pale moonlight spilling in through the window waltzed softly over the inner swells of her breasts, just the barest glimpse of creamy skin that hinted at what remained hidden. He knew that if she wasn’t willing to leave, then he should. But he couldn’t. He didn’t have the strength to refuse what she was offering, what he so desperately wanted, to journey with her to a place where his nightmares had never been.

“Be sure, Angela,” he rasped, his blood humming so loudly that he couldn’t be certain he’d spoken loudly enough for her to hear him.

She angled her head slightly as though she was amused that he would even question her intent. As her stilled fingers began to move once
more, he sucked in his breath. Her hands didn’t shake, no doubts creased her brow. Her face was serene, expectant, and he hoped he wouldn’t disappoint her.

She parted the material further until the gown glided slowly, sensually off the delicate slope of her shoulders, over the tempting mounds of her breasts, along her tiny waist, across her flattened belly. Past her narrow, rounded hips, slender thighs, enticing calves, dainty ankles, stopping only when it pooled at her tiny feet.

The midnight breeze blew through the window and traveled lightly over her exposed skin. Little bumps erupted over her flesh; her nipples puckered. His mouth went dry. “
Dios mío
,” he said hoarsely. “You probably have no idea how beautiful you are.”

Tears stung Angela’s eyes at the reverence in Lee’s voice. No man, other than her father, had ever hinted that she was beautiful. She took a step toward him, more sure of her course than she’d ever been. Of all the actions she’d expected of him at this moment, reaching behind her to take her braid was the last. He unwound her hair until it cascaded around her.

“I like the way the moonlight glistens on your hair.”

He drew her close, his strong arms like bands around her as his mouth possessed hers. Just as they had danced earlier, he now guided her. The backs of her knees hit the bed, and she sank onto the mattress, his body covering hers as early
morning sunlight touched the earth, awakening all in its path. Her remaining senses seemed to heighten with incredible awareness, her skin prickling. When he cradled her bare breast with his roughened palm, a shaft of pleasure speared her.

She reached for him, and he captured her wrist. “Let me touch you,” she implored.

In gentle rebuke, he took her other wrist, clamped both within his large hand, and raised them over her head, resting them on the pillow. “Let me touch you first,” he said quietly, his hand skimming a virgin trail from her throat to her knee.

Simply touching her bared skin brought Lee close to losing control. He wanted to savor the moment, to relish every line, every curve, every dip. A woman’s body was a marvel of velvety hills and secretive valleys, each to be treasured for the incredible pleasure that gazing upon them brought to a man. He grazed his fingers up her thigh. Like satin, but warm, almost hot, as though she too burned with his needs. She whimpered softly and he felt a shiver pass beneath his callused fingers. Did he excite her as she excited him?

Moving up, he plowed his hand through her hair, angled his mouth over hers, and kissed her deeply. The succulent recesses of her mouth inflamed him, sent desire hot and blinding rushing through him. His restraint was close to snapping. Her hands strained against his hold as though
hers was as well. He tore his lips from hers, burning a path along the column of her throat.

Angela moaned, her body caught up in the maelstrom he created as his fiery mouth paid homage to her, trailing hot, moist kisses over her flesh, his tongue darting, swirling, taunting, teasing until she was squirming and arching toward him. He splayed the fingers of his free hand over her stomach and slowly moved them lower, lower until he cupped her intimately.

With heat surging through every nerve, she strained harder against the vice-like grip that still held her hands over her head. “Lee—”

“Shh,
querida
, enjoy what I have to offer.”

What he had to offer were sensations she’d never imagined, tendrils of pleasure weaving their way through her as his fingers stroked and teased her amorously. She gasped. “Lee—”

“Shh.” With his knee, he nudged her thighs apart, and then he was nestled between her legs, his chest rubbing her breasts as he returned his mouth to hers, kissing her voraciously, his tongue mimicking the slow actions of his body as he cautiously tested her body’s defenses.

She had none. Where he was concerned, emotionally and physically, she had lowered the barriers to her heart. Squeezing her legs against his hips, she urged him on.

As he slid into her body, she felt the slightest bit of discomfort. Then nothing existed beyond the fullness of him. He stilled and she was aware of his labored breathing and his tenseness, the
light sprinkling of hair on his chest. “Dear Lord, but you feel good,” he rasped.

Releasing her wrists, he intertwined his fingers through hers, the backs of her hands cradled within his palms just as he was now cradled tightly between her thighs.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he rocked against her, his chest brushing over hers with each thrust, his tongue delving into her mouth, his fingers tightening around hers. It was like a pebble thrown into a pond, with sensations rippling through her, growing, widening until they encompassed all of her. He had taken her on a journey through Texas, but the road they now traveled was unlike anything she’d ever experienced; the joy of it, the rightness of it, as though her body had been created to house his. Her passionate responses mounted, growing stronger and increasingly intense, until they exploded like the Fourth of July fireworks she’d seen the year before she’d lost her sight. Arching beneath him, she cried out, but his mouth, still hovering over hers, captured her declaration of exultation. He released a guttural groan with his final thrust, his body shuddering almost violently. Beside her ear, he breathed heavily, and she felt the fine sheen of sweat beading his flesh.

He placed a kiss beneath her jaw before easing off her. He released her hands, turned her onto her side, and pressed his chest against her back, her backside nestled within his lap while his palm cradled her breast.

She could hear his breathing growing slower, fainter, until it became the steady, soft rhythm of a sound sleep. A solitary tear rolled from the corner of her eye. For all they had just shared, he’d never let her touch his face.

L
ee couldn’t remember the last time that he’d slept soundly. Indeed, he had no memory of a sleep that carried him under as deeply as this one had.

As a child, he’d always been prone to unexplained nightmares. He had learned to awaken himself at the first hint that the demons causing them were going to play havoc with his mind. Even now, as a man, he constantly warded them off.

Except for last night. He’d gone too long without giving in to his usual restless sleep. He’d been too exhausted to keep his guard up, and the nightmares had arrived with a vengeance. Only this time when he’d awakened trembling and ashamed, still caught in the web of their horror, his angel had returned as well.

Angela. Incredibly giving and loving, she had gifted him with herself…a gift he treasured beyond measure, but in the harsh reality of day, knew he did not rightfully deserve.

Languidly, he stretched, relishing the slaked sensation of a sated body that had loved long and hard. Intending to draw Angela back into the circle of his embrace, he turned onto his side, only to discover he was alone. His heart thundering, he bolted upright. The early morning sunlight streamed in through the window while the slight breeze toyed with the curtains.

What spell had she cast over him to make him oblivious to her leaving?

He scrambled out of bed, snatched his britches off the floor, and worked his way into them. Buttoning them as he went, he strode from the room. The aroma of hot sweetbread teased his nostrils. He peered into the kitchen.

Juanita turned from the oven. “
Buenos días
.”

“Have you seen Angela?” he asked.

“She went outside.”

“By herself?”

Juanita nodded.

“You let her go by herself?”

“She didn’t ask me for help. She just walked out.”

Lee stormed out of the house, past the corral and the barn, frantically searching for the woman who had somehow managed to snare him from the moment he’d stumbled into her. In the field beyond, he spotted the red hue of her hair and hoped the morning sun would not burn her fair
skin. Heat saturated his body as he remembered how smooth that flesh had felt beneath his hands, against his mouth. Already he wanted her again, in his bed, beneath his body, writhing, gasping. He’d never meant to possess her, but still struggling against his nightmare, he’d been a man drowning, and she’d offered a tether toward a dream that he should have ignored.

He knew that undeniable truth in his head, but his heart…his heart preached otherwise.

Kneeling before her, he was caught off-guard by the sadness reflected in her eyes. He couldn’t blame her for regretting what had passed between them last night. He had been her first, an honor that should have gone to a man far better than he was, a man who could give her his name and offer her a world deserving of her.

He took her hand, the ache in his chest growing as it remained limp in his. “Angela?”

She didn’t tilt her face toward him as she usually did so that it appeared she was looking at him. He pressed a kiss to her fingers, and she snatched her hand away.

“Regrets,
querida
?” he asked gently.

She shook her head slowly. “I hurt.”

Guilt stabbed him with the evidence of his failure. “I tried to be gentle.”

Shaking her head, she pressed a clenched fist to her breast. “Here. I hurt so badly here. Last night, I was willing to give you everything, and you manipulated my body in ways that ensured I never touched your face.”

He squeezed his eyes shut. He’d held her
hands and when she’d asked for freedom, he’d distracted her—easily, if her moans and cries had been any indication. He opened his eyes. “It’s for the best, Angela.”

“The hell it is. You keep a false wall between us, Lee. I don’t know why. I don’t know what you’re hiding, but it’s a lot more than your identity.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he snapped, the anger rising because she’d hit the mark.

“Then let me touch your face.”

“I can’t.”

“You can’t? Or you won’t?”

He had hidden his identity for so long that it was now his nature to do so. He would not change for her, risk himself, risk his family. He surged to his feet. “Tomorrow I’m taking you home.”

“Rot in hell.”

He strode away from her, his feet pounding the ground unmercifully. If he let her touch his face, let her into his heart completely, how would he ever bear to face the hangman’s noose? If he removed the last barrier between them, where would he find the strength to give her up?

The air shimmered differently when night began to fall. The heat lingered as long as it could, but eventually it was forced into retreat. Angela had long ago learned to measure the night by the absence of heat.

She had remained in her self-imposed exile all day. Shortly after the sun moved from being di
rectly over her head, Miguel had brought her a tortilla wrapped around beans, rice, and meat. Awkwardly, he’d placed Lee’s hat on her head. The tears she’d been holding at bay had surfaced then. A man had made love to her, and she had little knowledge regarding his appearance. She wasn’t concerned with his actual features, she only cared what her ignorance divulged: that he was keeping a portion of himself secret, that he wasn’t willing to reveal every flaw, every perfection. That he didn’t trust her, and without that, he could never truly love her.

Yet he had managed to lure her into loving him with a voice that reminded her of whiskey going down, tales of loss that had touched her heart, and a respect toward her that no other man had ever shown.

She heard rocks and pebbles sliding away beneath the tread of heavy boots. The familiar pop of knees bending. The warmth from a body scant inches away seeping into hers.

“So even eyes that cannot see can weep,” Lee said quietly.

“Have you any idea how much trust it takes for a woman to open herself up to a man as I did for you last night?” she asked, her voice catching, betraying the agonizing ache in her chest that threatened to suffocate her. She wanted to be angry—furious, in fact—but she only felt the deep pain and wondered how long it would last. No doubt for the remainder of her life.

He slid his hands beneath hers and stroked his
thumbs across her knuckles. “Angela, come into the house.”

She didn’t want to remember how those glorious hands had elicited pleasure in her last night, and yet she couldn’t deny that she treasured the memory. She shook her head slightly. “I want to go home.”

Slowly, very slowly, he lifted her hands and pressed her fingers against his mouth. His warm, moist breath skimmed over the back of her hands, and she heated with the memory of his lips gliding tantalizingly over her flesh the night before. Then even more slowly, he turned her hand and kissed the heart of her palm before he flattened her hands against the base of his throat. She felt his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed hard just before his hands drifted away, leaving hers, granting her permission to obtain what she most desired.

Her breath caught, and fresh tears stung her eyes. She scrambled up to her knees and folded her trembling hands around his neck. Beneath his chin, the stubble of his beard barely pricked her. A day’s growth, she was certain, although it wasn’t nearly as rough as her father’s. It was soft, reminiscent of dandelion petals before they were scattered on the wind. Not at all what she’d expected.

She knew she should go slowly, memorize the curves, the lines, each indentation, but she was far too excited, filled with too much happiness. She ran her fingers over his chin, along his tense jaw, stopping briefly at his lips. Those she
thought she’d known, but his kisses had distorted the shape. Full on the bottom, thin on top, unsmiling. No upward curve; simply straight as though revealing himself to her brought him absolutely no joy. Tiny grooves along the corners dipped down. Lines etched by sadness. Her heart constricted and she wished she possessed the power to make him smile, to erase the rivulets of a life that she knew he hadn’t deserved.

She was momentarily tempted to stop. To give him what he wanted: an identity unknown to her, but she was greedy, greedy to know everything about him. She slid her hands up. His cheekbones were high, much higher than his brothers’…And his nose. Chiseled, narrow, aristocratic popped into her mind. She furrowed her brow. “You don’t look like your brothers.”

“Don’t I?” he asked quietly.

Shaking her head, she trailed her fingers over his eyes, over brows not nearly as thick as Jorge’s or Roberto’s or Eduardo’s. Why? Why did he look so different…and yet familiar?

Had Alejandro refused to grant her permission to touch his face because he was the brother who most resembled Lee?

Scooting closer, she combed her fingers into his hair, thick like his brothers’, but still so unlike theirs. She released a giddy laugh. “Your hair is curly. I thought it would be straight, like Jorge’s.”

“Did you? Then I must be a disappointment.”

His emotionless tone matched his expressionless face. He reminded her of a child stoically accepting his punishment for snitching a cookie
before dinner. She desperately wanted him to relish her fingers touching his face, raking through his hair. She cradled his cheek with one hand while the other rested along his crown, where the curling strands had woven around her fingers. “Last night wasn’t just about trust. God help me, Lee, I’ve fallen in love with you.”

Groaning, he drew her into his arms, threaded his fingers through her hair, and slashed his mouth across hers, a kiss filled with fervor and desire, wanting, and the knowledge that whatever they built between them would not last, could not last. Wanted posters across the state of Texas demanded his capture, promised his death.

Losing him would be worse than losing her sight. With her eyes, she’d hoarded twelve years of memories crammed with images to sustain her. With Lee, she had only days. How could she fall so fast, so hard, so deeply in love?

He rained kisses over her face, his bearded stubble abrading her skin, but she didn’t care. She welcomed the softness and the rough, so much like the man.

“Angel,” he whispered, just before he latched his mouth back onto hers, his tongue delving deeply, claiming all she was willing to give.

And she did want to give, everything she owned, all she possessed, for whatever time they had, she would be his totally and completely, knowing it would never be enough, understanding it was all she would ever have.

Suddenly his mouth left hers and he stood, drawing her to her feet. He lifted her into his
arms. She wound one arm around his neck and touched his face with her other hand. She found his mouth with ease, kissing him with urgency as he strode over the uneven ground. He broke away and quickened his stride.

“I don’t want to break our necks,” he murmured.

She traced her fingers over his cheek, his chin, his mouth. His mouth that still didn’t smile, but it wasn’t as straight as it had been the first time she’d touched it. She wanted to constantly keep her hands pressed to his face, to be aware of the muscles shifting with each expression, to know with a touch if he was happy or sad or angry.

The door creaked on its hinges as he opened it, slammed as he closed it. The aromas of supper teased her nostrils.

“Aren’t you going to eat, Lee?” Juanita asked.

“Not yet,” he replied, and Angela buried her face in the hollow of his shoulder.

They would know, his entire family would know what was passing between them in his bedroom, in his bed. And she didn’t care. God help her she didn’t care if her reputation was ruined, if no other man would ever want her, if she was destined to spend the remainder of her life alone. For now she only wanted Lee and whatever time they had, every moment spent within his arms.

Another door slammed shut, and then he laid her down gently on the mattress, his body blanketing hers as his mouth captured hers. She sensed in him an equal desperation, the knowl
edge she held reflected in the rapacious hunger with which his kiss devoured her. Their love was but a fleeting illusion that could not exist beyond the boundaries of this house. And yet she didn’t care, or perhaps it made her care more, made her want him desperately. Since she could not have forever, she would make the most of now.

With her fingers, she etched the lines of his face into her memory as he worked to remove her clothes. She imagined the passion burning in his dark eyes, the appreciation.

“You are so beautiful,
querida
,” he whispered hoarsely, before his mouth began its heated sojourn over her bare breasts.

Molten fire flowed through her, and she quivered with desire and burned with hunger. He left her for the briefest of moments, and when he returned, they became flesh against flesh, and she’d never expected anything to feel this perfect. She placed her hands on either side of his beloved face. “I love you, Lee.”

His chest rumbled with the force of his moan as he buried his face between her breasts. She threaded her fingers through his hair. “It’s all right if you don’t love me.”

He kissed the inside swell of her breast before levering himself above her. She brushed her fingers over his face, trying to read his thoughts. Regret?

“This is wrong, Angela,” he murmured quietly before lowering his mouth to hers. A desolate kiss. “I have nothing to offer you but sorrow.”

“I don’t care.” Her voice cracked and tears filled her eyes. Her fingers felt the corners of his mouth lift slightly.

“I love you,
querida
,” he rasped. Her heart leapt with such joy that it was almost painful.

“God help me,” he whispered, “God help us both because I do not have the strength to walk out of this room.”

“I wouldn’t let you leave,” she promised, and he laughed, a low, sad laugh. “Love me, Lee, for as long as you can.”

His hands, his mouth, worked their magic, touching, teasing, taunting while she basked in the luxury of touching him as well, learning the shape of every corded muscle, tasting the salt of his sweat as his flesh grew slick, marveling at the tenseness that gave way to such tender caresses.