The Innocent And The Outlaw. Harper St. George
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Название: The Innocent And The Outlaw
Автор: Harper St. George
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Вестерны
Серия: Mills & Boon Historical
isbn: 9781474042482
isbn:
She couldn’t help but to raise her chin, refusing to be cowed by him, even though it was a different experience entirely to be totally restrained by him rather than the rope. It gave the situation an intimacy that the binding hadn’t. While fear pounded through her, it was tempered with something else that she wouldn’t dare to allow herself to think about. “As I said, I’m used to dealing with men like you.”
“Sweetheart, I seriously doubt you’ve met anyone like me.”
“All men of your ilk seem to think that they’re an original.”
A quick breath tickled the hair at her temple, a laugh. “Men of my ilk,” he repeated. “You talk like a schoolmarm, not a saloon girl. Who are you, Emmy?” His voice lowered a bit on this last question, so that it was soft, but still so deep that the vibrations rumbled through her.
Emmy? A name that he’d made up. Something about the way he whispered it made it more of an endearment. The notion was ridiculous, but it wasn’t the outlaw looking back at her anymore. She saw him. Time stood still as he stared right back at her, his greenish eyes locked to hers, seemingly caught up in the same realization eating away at her rationality. That, maybe, this was someone she’d like to know better. That maybe there was more to him than his good looks and dangerous exterior. Slowly, his gaze moved down to her lips, touching her with the sudden heat that flared in their depths before moving back up to her eyes again. Attraction arced between them. When he licked his lips, her own lips tingled as if he had touched them. His heavy gaze fell to her mouth again. That look was so hooded and dark, she was sure that he was going to kiss her. He moved forward so slowly that she was certain he was giving her time to object. There was no chance of that, because she was caught and couldn’t even breathe.
His breath brushed across her lips, tinged with the whiskey he’d drunk back at the saloon. He didn’t kiss her though, leaving her bereft for that touch when he simply stopped and let his breath touch the sensitive flesh just below her bottom lip. It wasn’t a kiss. It was too soft to be a kiss. It was more like a restrained exploration, an acknowledgment of want. When he moved along her jawline, still not kissing, still just that gentle almost-there touch, she turned her head to allow him access, eyes falling half-shut as the flicker of warmth that had begun deep in her belly began to flare higher. The stubble on his jaw rasped pleasantly against the softer skin of her cheek. He stopped when he reached the sensitive shell of her ear, his breath hot and somehow loud in the quiet space of the room. Chills of excitement ran through her body. Not even realizing she had moved until it had happened, her back arched, pushing her breasts into him. Immediately, his fist unclasped, settling his palm against her chest over her pounding heart. He still covered the locket, but his fingertips were so close to the tip of her breast that her nipples beaded, begging for his touch.
“Still not afraid of me?” His words were a hot whisper, followed by a gentle scrape of the stubble near his mouth against the tender lobe of her ear.
Her heart plummeted and she wanted to whimper, but was too proud to utter a sound that would give her secret pleasure away, although she was fairly certain it wasn’t so secret. He was so confident it must be plain for him to see. Or maybe she was simply that easy to read. Maybe he didn’t feel anything that she did and had been playing her the entire time. This was her greatest fear come to life. That she would fall for someone like him, only to be used and discarded, exactly as her mother had been by Ship. Emmaline had spent her entire life being guarded. Why had this one man been able to sneak right past her defenses and make her want something more? Her mother had been a whore who had lost herself to exactly this type of man. Maybe Emmaline’s fate had been sealed the moment she was born in the brothel.
“Please...don’t take my locket.” She kept her eyes closed and said the only thing she could think of that wouldn’t give herself away.
He took a deep, ragged breath, not immune to her after all. His breath shifted, hot against her throat now. The back of his fingers gently stroked a circle around the smooth metal and faux gemstone of her locket, teasing her skin through the material of her dress and drawing a shiver from her though she tried to hide it.
“You lied to me. This is your last chance to tell me the truth.”
Whatever he might have done to make good on his promise, the knock that shook the thin door in its frame cinched her decision. A firm, single knock that made her imagine the giant or the angry Spaniard standing out there waiting to interrogate her. “It’s two miles northeast of where you found me,” she blurted out.
Just that quickly, he released her from his hold and turned just as the door was opening. She didn’t miss that the smirk was back on his face, but sagged with relief that his attention was away from her, however briefly. What was happening to her?
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