Wanted (30 page)

She didn't know what to call him. He'd always been the Ranger. An impersonal name for an enemy.

“Morgan,” he said, as if reading her mind, his fingers tangling in her hair, undoing the loose braid.

“Morgan,” she tried, feeling it strange on her tongue.

“Not so hard to say, is it?” he said, a touch of wistfulness in his voice.

“Everything about you is hard,” she whispered.

His mouth quirked in a small smile. “You're very perceptive, Miss Lori,” he said.

The heat inside her intensified. She felt his hardness against her, felt his manhood straining against his trousers. She blushed that he had so misunderstood, and yet …

He was still waiting for an answer to his earlier question, the unspoken question that hovered in the air. Her hand went up and tangled in his thick dark hair. He leaned down and kissed her again, this time with tender violence. Every slight movement of his body or his hands made her body hum with feeling. It was awakening, twisting with each new sensation, quaking slightly under the unbearable need building inside her.

She felt his hands begin to unbutton her dress, felt them move under the chemise she was wearing and caress her breast, teasing the nipples with his fingers. When he moved his lips from her mouth down to her breasts, she felt as if warm honey were running through her veins. “Morgan,” she whispered, and she felt his body stiffen with the recognition she'd just given him.

Her hands went around his neck, and she lifted her head slightly to lean it against his dark hair as his mouth explored and tempted and teased. She felt as if she were caught in an exquisite whirlpool, drawn more and more into turbulent, twisting currents of feelings. Drowning in them. Drowning in her need for him, for that mixture of tenderness and barely restrained violence she always sensed in him. His hands were at her waist, tugging at her underdrawers. She felt them roll down over her hips, the chill of the air against skin.

And then she found herself helping him unbutton his shirt, and her hands played along his chest, lightly over the new wound, more curiously over the old ones. His chest was so hard, like a board except for the muscles that shaped it so handsomely. Her fingers hesitated at his nipples, and she played with them as he had with hers, then she traced a line down to where his trousers were buttoned. He stiffened, then his hands went to them and he quickly unbuttoned them, pulling his boots off and then his pants. He was sitting, wearing only long underdrawers that molded against hard muscles and lean legs.

Lori thought she had never seen anything so sensual, so gloriously primal. So perfect. She held out a hand to him, and it was all the response he needed. He took it, his large hand making hers seem so small as he turned it over and traced lines in it with his other hand. She had to keep reminding herself he was right-handed. She was so used to Nick.…

The thought was like a storm cloud descending over her, ominous and warning. Her hand jerked back in sudden protest, and he went still for a moment. Then he lowered his body to lie next to her, and he kissed her, long and hard and demanding, seeking, she knew, to exorcise that ghost that hovered between them. The kiss ignited an explosion inside her, a series of detonations that exposed a raw craving so strong, she knew it had to be satisfied or she would explode. She knew her eyes must be saying as much, they seemed enormous in her face as she watched him. Loving him. Hating him. Wanting him.

With a groan his body moved above and down on hers. She felt his throbbing manhood against her, only thin cloth between the two bodies, a slight abrasive barrier, which, if anything, exacerbated the burning need inside her.

And then it was gone, that cloth, and she felt his smooth skin against the now incredibly sensitive crevice at the juncture of her legs … and an insistent throbbing of her own deep inside. It was a clutching, wanting throbbing she'd never known before, and she was frightened by its intensity. Frightened and fascinated that such a thing existed, and she hadn't been aware until this very moment.

She felt his fingers then, gentle but insistent as they teased the entrance to her womanhood. Waves of sensation washed over her as she felt that part of her grow warm and wet. Her arms went around him, drawing him closer, frantic now for what was being promised. His hands moved, and she saw his face. So much intensity. He hesitated as his gaze met hers. “Lori,” he said roughly, like a man in extreme pain, and then his tense, stiff body moved, his manhood touching and teasing that most intimate part of her. She felt him enter, slowly, and she was astonished at the feeling of the tentative invasion. So strange, so foreign … and yet so oddly exquisite. And then he probed deeper and she felt him strain against something and there was a sudden pain, so unexpected that she couldn't stop a small cry.

The movement stopped, and she felt so many things, the strangeness of him in her, the pain that was now receding even as the core of her seemed to close around him, to react in a greedy way of its own. She felt the stiffness of his body as he hesitated, the sound of his expelled breath and a curse. She felt the throbbing in her grab and hold him, and that craving she hadn't understood grew like Jack's beanstalk, wild and uncontrollable.

“Morgan,” she whispered, unaware until the word came that she had uttered it.

His breathing was ragged against her hair, and then his lips touched hers, so lightly they felt like butterfly wings. Her own body moved then, hungry, so hungry. Instinctively she lifted her body to him, seeking more of him, and she felt him fill her, move inside with a rhythmic dance that made her explode with sensation, one after another, as that passage came alive with wonderful, tingling feelings too fine, too exquisite to even try to understand. Even as wondrous as they were, though, she knew they were but a prelude, that they were climbing toward some nirvana, toward some place she'd never even imagined.

Her arms tightened around him, her mouth kissing, nibbling as her legs instinctively went around his, drawing him deeper as his movements came stronger, magnifying all those sensations until she wondered how she could bear them without screaming.

She heard her own cry, and his mouth came down on hers, his kiss snatching the sound from her, as he made one last mighty thrust and erupted inside her, sending waves and waves of shuddering warmth through her, shocks of ecstasy that rocked her and then exploded like falling stars, casting a rich, mellow glow in its wake. Her body quaked with tremors as he quieted inside her and held her tightly, as if she were a treasure of inestimable value. She felt safe and loved. She felt … so wonderful. So new. Different and yet the same. Richer. So much richer. As if she'd found a vein of gold she didn't know existed, that would change her life forever.

He rolled over on his side, taking her with him, and she felt his body shudder, his hands moved over her as if they had found something wondrous. They were that gentle.

Neither of them said anything. Lori didn't want to prick this beautiful cocoon they were in. She just wanted to feel him inside, his hands touching her. She felt his rough cheek against hers. Then his whisper, “Dear God, Lori.” It was like a cry of pain, an animal wounded near death.

She closed her eyes, knowing the wonder of this moment was ending, that they both had to return to a world where they were enemies, where tenderness had no place, where the law had divided them. Where they were forbidden each other by whatever god ruled their lives.

She felt him withdraw from her, move slightly away. His breath was still labored. A tear trickled down her face, and one of his fingers wiped it away. Still, she wouldn't open her eyes. As long as she kept them closed, she didn't have to face what she'd just done.

“Look at me, Lori,” he said. She didn't want to. She wanted to curl up in a ball and just hurt.

“Lori,” he said again, and she forced herself to look up into a face that was rough and hard and … dear. Loved and hated. No, not hated. No longer hated. And that fact hurt as much as the hate had.

He took her hand, held it tightly, his eyes willing her to listen, to believe. “Trust me,” he said, his voice rough, rough with feeling. “Trust me about your brother. I
can
help. I
will
help.”

If it had been her life, she would have done it. She would have agreed. But it wasn't hers. It was Nick's. She knew Morgan Davis didn't lie. He would do his best for Nick, but what if the best wasn't good enough?

“I … can't.”

He didn't say anything for a moment, then moved several feet away from her. That blankness fell over his face, that hard impassivity, and he stared out at the stream. “Then what was this all about?”

It was about love. Lori realized she had loved him ever since he'd put that knife to his wound so many days ago. Nearly a lifetime ago. She'd known it from the way she'd felt his hurt. And Morgan … he also cared. She knew that something … something much greater than lust had driven him to her. He'd been too tender, too gentle for it to be otherwise.

But she couldn't let him know how she felt. They had already done too much damage to each other.

“Need,” she said simply. “Just … need. Man and woman.”

He turned back to face her. “It was one hell of a lot more than that,” he said.

She swallowed. She couldn't deny that. She still glowed from his lovemaking, her body still seemed to burn from his touch. She still remembered the wonder on his face as they had collapsed together.

“Nothing's changed,” she said in a whisper. “Nothing has really changed.”

He just stared at her, but she couldn't read his eyes, not in the dark. “Dammit, why can't you trust me?”

Lori's heart was breaking. She wanted to trust him. She wanted it more than anything. But that kind of trust wasn't hers to give. She tried not to hear that rough plea in his voice, tried not to understand that he was hurting as much as she was, tried not to acknowledge the fact that her denial was destroying something fine and beautiful.

“Let him go,” she said. “Let us go.” The last words caught in her throat.

“For services rendered?” he said bitterly, his face haggard, his words cutting through her.

“Yes,” she said defiantly.

“Sorry,” he said coldly, but then he hesitated, his eyes softening as he apparently read something else in her face. “If I thought … if I believed that would solve anything, I would. It won't. He can't run forever, and I'm his best chance, whether you and he believe it or not.”

“I don't,” she said flatly, the old frustration flooding back, more bitter now than ever before. “You just can't give up your man, can you? You don't know how to be a human being. You don't know …” Her voice broke, and she turned away.

His voice was haggard when he finally answered. “I think I just proved I'm human,” he said wearily. He hesitated. “I'm sorry, Lori. That shouldn't have happened. I … had hoped …” His voice trailed off.

Lori wished she didn't feel every ounce of the self-disgust she heard in his voice, but she couldn't surrender. Not now. “That we would make it easy for you?”

“No, I didn't think that,” he said dryly. “At least, Lori, give me your parole. For now, anyway.”

The pain stabbed even deeper than it had a moment ago. “Why?” She was going to make him say it. Damn him, she was going to make him put it into words.

But he was silent, his dark eyes impassive again, watching her, and she felt so vulnerable, particularly in her nakedness. She saw his gaze wash over her, saw the fire blaze in his eyes, and then the resignation.

“So you don't have to chain me, again?” she said in a cold, bright voice. “Why not? That's what you do best. Keep your prisoners on a leash, keep them helpless and hopeless. You're so damn good at it that …” She stopped, her voice suddenly breaking again. Her words had meant to hurt, and they had. She saw from the way his head jerked back.

He pulled on his trousers and his boots without comment, then his shirt, buttoning it with a deliberation that was obviously designed to hide something. Anger? Disappointment? He stood and walked over to a tree, silent and alone. As he always was.

Miserably, she dressed. It shouldn't be like this. But she knew she had struck a blow he wouldn't forget. He walked back to where she now stood, his back stiffer than she'd seen it. He hesitated, then tried again. “Lori, don't make it worse than it already is.”

Lori stared at the ground. She felt her mouth quivering. “Are you going to chain Nick tonight?”

“He isn't giving me a choice.”

“Then you'll have to do the same to me, because I'll try to free him any way I can.”

His sigh was audible. Defeated. He turned away from her. “It's time to get back,” he said in a weary voice. He took the reins of the three stallions and without looking back headed toward the campsite.

Lori stood there for a moment, wanting to take her words back. Wanting to love him. To trust him.

But she couldn't.

Now she knew what loneliness really was. Loving a man you couldn't trust, who couldn't trust you. She had never thought that possible, but now she knew it was.

Dear Mary and Joseph, she knew it was.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Morgan rose at dawn and checked the back trail again. Beth Andrews was still asleep. So was the child.

Lori hadn't been, he knew. Her eyes had watched his every move. Christ, he would never forget those eyes last night as he'd handcuffed her to Nick Braden. They would always haunt him, that wounded look that was equal parts anguish and defiance. He would never forget the way he had felt, the emptiness and guilt. So much guilt. But he knew he was right. He
knew
they would be safer with him than they would be on their own, running from the law, running from bounty hunters like Whitey Stark.

Wasn't that their decision to make?