Tracker's Sin. Sarah McCarty

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ what her instincts said were the truth. It didn’t mesh with her own experience.

      She touched her cheek where she could still feel the warmth of Tracker’s hand. He’d been angry with her and hurt, but his touch had been anything but angry. If she didn’t know better, she would have called it seductive, maybe even tender. He was a very strange and confusing man. And he was her only hope.

      Tracker hefted the saddle onto his horse’s back. Despite the anger and frustration she could feel coming from him, he was gentle with the animal, too. She admired the maturity that allowed him to control his emotions. She admired his physique. He was truly beautiful from behind. His broad shoulders tapered to lean hips and tight buttocks that flexed as he turned. A mature man in his prime, he was beautiful in a very masculine way. Her gaze dropped to his buttocks again. Very beautiful.

      “Don’t you have a baby to attend to?”

      Dear heavens. How had he known she was looking? Heat flooded her cheeks.

      Ari had two choices: apologize or brazen it out. She chose the latter. Tracker wasn’t the type to admire cowardice. And there was something about him that made her want his admiration. Of course, the fact that she’d lapsed into an episode likely would always color how he saw her, but she could try. She was more than that scared woman she couldn’t control. She lifted her chin. A perceptive man would figure that out. “Josefina will call me when he wakes from his nap.”

      Tracker’s response to that was a grunt. He tied off the girth strap. His hands were large yet deft, going through the process with a certain grace that held her gaze. He handled a horse well. How would he be with a woman?

      “Then why don’t you find something else to do besides stare at me?”

      Because staring at him made her feel alive for the first time since she’d awoken after her husband’s murder. Vital. More than just a crazy woman with no past. “This suits me fine.”

      The truth was, she liked having his hands against her skin. That brief touch still lingered in her senses like a brand. It had been…arousing in a way she couldn’t remember ever feeling before. She frowned, closed her eyes and studied the sensation, trying to follow it back into the black void that used to be her past. As she had every other time she tried to remember, she hit a wall of nothing. She sighed and opened her eyes. Her gaze collided with Tracker’s.

      “Anybody ever tell you that staring at a strange man will get you into trouble?”

      “But I’m not staring at you.”

      The look he shot her was hot enough to make her toes curl. Hate her or resent her, Tracker Ochoa desired her. That was an exciting thought. She was a widow, but she was almost at the end of her mourning. And he was a very virile individual.

      “I warn you, sweets, I’m not a nice man.”

      She tried to remember all that she’d ever heard of him, and he was right, no one had ever said he was nice. She nodded. “I understand.”

      He flipped the stirrup down off the saddle horn. The light of the barn slashed across his face, highlighting the set of his chin, the fullness of his lower lip, the hint of muscle she could see through the open neck of his shirt. His skin, the color of cinnamon coffee with just a touch of cream, stretched tight over his collarbone. There was a scar just to the right of his throat. Rather than detracting, it emphasized the sheer virility of the man. Beneath the brim of his hat, his eyes watched her admire him. Narrowed as they were, he should have looked scary, but beneath the hooded lids, she could see heat simmering. Desire. For her.

      “Do you?”

      She nodded again.

      “What do you think you understand?”

      There was something so…alive about flirting with Tracker. Even when it was a bluff. It made her feel so far away from that void, so far away from her troubles. It was stimulating. “That you want me.”

      The swear word he uttered was vile and not one she was used to hearing. But instead of being repulsed, she was intrigued. It was the first break in Tracker’s control, and she’d caused it. She couldn’t help a small, proud smile.

      “You’re playing with fire.” He gathered up the reins and hooked them over the saddle horn. “I’m a dangerous man.”

      She’d be more afraid if his voice wasn’t so softly enticing, with dark notes that stroked along her nerves in a provocative lure. “I’m a crazy woman.”

      “You’re a mother.”

      What did that have to do with anything? “You’re a lawman.”

      “I was an outlaw before that.”

      Interesting. But not as scary as it should be. Excitement hummed in her veins. She should be afraid. She wasn’t. She was actually a bit exhilarated. “You couldn’t have been much of one if you ended up a Ranger.”

      “I was a damn good outlaw.”

      He stopped fussing with the saddle and turned his full attention on her. His mouth quirked up in a smile that, twisted by the scar, seemed to give his expression a cruel edge. Until she looked into his eyes, and then she saw the sensuality waiting to be unleashed.

      A shiver went down her spine. “And now you’re a damn good Ranger.”

      “Don’t curse.”

      She didn’t recognize the woman who retorted, “Then don’t talk nonsense,” but she liked her.

      So did Tracker, if the softening of his lips was to be believed.

      “I told you I’d help you.” He gave the saddle a tug, testing the girth. “You don’t need to seal the deal with your body.”

      All right, that was embarrassing. She took a breath as heat seared her cheeks. But she didn’t retreat and didn’t back down. She’d sworn when she’d woken up to nothing that she’d face her new life with courage. Courageous people didn’t run from the truth.

      “I’m sorry about that.”

      Tracker swung up into the saddle. “It doesn’t matter.”

      But it did. She’d insulted him. He was a lawman. He lived his life doing right, and she’d taken in his size, the vicious scar cutting his cheek, the darkness of his skin, and judged him to be amoral. “It does.”

      She took a step forward. He watched. She took another. His eyes narrowed. She took a third. She couldn’t take the fourth. The sleeping demon coiled behind the blank wall of her memory stirred. There was something wrong with the way he sat the horse. Something familiar and horrible in his long hair, flowing from beneath the hat. Something wrong with the illusion of power when she had none. She took a breath, desperate for the memory to continue, but terrified that it would. The horse shifted, leaving Tracker backlit by the sun pouring in the doorway. The sense of danger increased. Dear God, she didn’t want to know.

      “Please.” Please make it go away. Please make it go away. Make it go away.

      She blinked and Tracker was there, studying her with that intentness she didn’t like. As if he could see what she couldn’t. As if he knew what she didn’t. Suddenly, СКАЧАТЬ