Nights with the Outlaw (6 page)

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Authors: Lauri Robinson

BOOK: Nights with the Outlaw
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Chapter Seven

Heat and pleasure radiated from her center and flowed profoundly through her body as Clint lowered her onto the soft grass beneath the tree. Every touch of his lips, every stroke of his hands had her senses reeling. Their shoes and several pieces of clothing were in a haphazard pile beside them. She ran her hand over the hard contours of his chest. It was like touching heaven; there was nothing else comparable.

He pushed her hair from her face. “You're so beautiful, so wonderful. Are you sure you want to marry me?”

“More than anything else in the world.” She kissed his neck, savoring the tang of his skin.

His lips pressed against hers softly and lingered there for a long time. The touch was so intense it stunned her. When he lifted his face, he said, “I never fathomed the things I want with you. Life. Family. Home.”

“That's what I want, too.” There was no shyness inside her, only a hot, strong desire. “And I want you, Clint. Now.”

His smile lit up his face. “I'll never be able to deny you anything.”

She giggled. “I hope not. Especially right now.”

The sun bore down on the earth, but beneath the shade of their tree, a sweet breeze floated over her skin as Clint, with tender, gentle hands, and even more affectionate kisses, eased away her underclothes. The way his eyes savored her body, as if he'd never seen anything more glorious, filled her with exquisite pleasure. His movements, how he rolled down her stockings or lifted her camisole over her head, were slow and languid, as if he unwrapped a delicate package. Afterward, when he set each article aside, he explored the exposed skin with his hands, and tempted the growing storm within her by kissing each inch.

Every touch, though soft and gentle, was powerful, making her sigh with pleasure while increasing the sensations awaking inside her. The need grew more demanding, focused on an action she knew little about, but wanted beyond reality.

She grew fervent, afraid she might perish if he didn't soon satisfy the heated turbulence overcoming her. Kneading the thick muscles of his sides and hips, her fingers tingled and her palms quivered at the intimate touches while her eyes feasted on his masterful body.

He leaned down and covered her nipple with his mouth. The delightful intensity lifted her back off the ground, and she dug her hands into his shoulders, wanting to cry out with joy. Glorious sensations shot through her system faster than her blood could flow. His fingers weaved their way down below her stomach, to her private center. There they caressed her so sweetly she buckled, squeezing his hand between her thighs.

Unable to take much more, she found the waistband of his britches and worked her fingers to the front, searching for the buttoned flap. His arousal, gallant and telling, increased her natural boldness. The buttons parted, and her fingers wrapped around the hot shaft. Stroking him caused a surge of boiling flames where his fingers continued to fondle.

“Clint,” she gasped, “I'm on fire with want.”

“Me, too, darling.” His lips left her breasts and found her mouth. “Me, too.”

She pushed his pants down, caressing the firmness of his backside and the tight muscles of his thighs.

He rolled onto his back and shed the pants, tossing them aside. She grabbed his arms, pulling him back toward her.

The smile on his face made her giggle. “I'm a bit impatient.”

“I noticed,” Clint said, kissing her nose, and drowning in the love beating inside his chest. He'd taken a chance on returning, a leap of faith his heart had conjured up. It had insisted she needed him, and he needed her. It was right.

So hard he was ready to burst, Clint fought to control his desire. He wanted to be gentle, give her the opportunity to savor their first time together the same way he was.

“I don't want to cause you pain, Doreena,” he murmured, searching her moist warmth with his fingers again. The touch renewed his passion, making him throb with expectation.

She spread her legs wide, giving him room to settle his knees between hers. “Then take me now, Clint. Now, before I expire from yearning.”

He eased his fingers away and used them to guide his way into her folds. Cautiously he pushed forward, but drew back before full engagement. She lifted her hips confidently, pulling him forward again.

Their pace grew gradually, every thrust more splendid than the last, and when he entered her fully, she gasped, but her hands clutching his backside and her arched back refused to allow him to withdraw. After a short pause, their mutual momentum began again.

Glorying in her eagerness, he moved, drawing them closer and closer together with every plunge. A natural rhythm ensued, one they both instinctively knew. The pleasure on her face, the way she increased her speed, keeping the movements both equal and enthralling, had Clint reeling with sensations that would forever remain in his mind. The sharing of need, the distribution of give-and-take, was completely unforgettable. It went on and on, until he was overwhelmingly immersed in nothing but their union.

His body grew hard, his time of release urgent, but he held back, watching her face, feeling her body as it reacted to wave after wave of pleasure erupting between them.

“Clint,” she exclaimed, wrapping her legs around his thighs as she met her summit.

He groaned as he discharged in a moment of liberation, becoming one forever with Doreena. The act was exhausting, and invigorating, and made him want to shout at the deep and profound ecstasy. He kissed her instead, thoroughly. When she relaxed and grew lethargic beneath him, he slid off her. Unwilling to experience separation, he pulled her close and caressed her silky skin.

“That was amazing,” she whispered as she settled her cheek upon his chest and her leg across his.

“Yes, it was,” he admitted. “So are you.”

She sighed with pleasure, and he kissed the top of her head as she twisted.

Her gaze was on the tree. A sudden quiver of unease rippled his spine. “I carved that because I figured we'd both lost some of our youth. We've been too busy with life to experience the simple, silly things others may have.”

She ran the tip of one finger over his lips. “That's just one of the things I love about you. No one else could ever understand me the way you do.”

“Nor the way you understand me,” he admitted.

She braced herself on one arm, looking down at him with a glowing, serene gaze. “We both needed a new start. Now we have it. Tristan will inherit the ranch and we'll go—”

“What?” he interrupted.

She shrugged. “Go to California?”

“You've worked so hard. Your pigs. Jeb and Sarah and the others, they need you.”

Her lips brushed over his. “But I need you more. From now on, I'll be devoted to making you happy.”

He framed her face with both hands. “You'll make me happy by doing what you do best. Tristan will need your help to run one of the biggest pig ranches in all of Nebraska.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, he will.” Tiny lines formed on her forehead. “You'd be all right with that? With us helping him, for a while at least?”

“Yes. I fell in love with a woman pig farmer. And that's the woman I want to spend the rest of my life loving.”

“What about California?”

He shrugged. “Maybe when you and Tristan sell a right-of-way to the railroad, you can get a couple tickets in the deal, and we'll take a trip out there.”

“Railroad?”

He nodded. “That's why the dwellers were in the cave. Martin was trying to sell rights-of-way to the railroad.”

“On our land?”

He nodded. “His lookouts were to keep the railroad men from approaching the ranch.” He touched the tip of her nose. “A railroad agent will be out to talk to you and Tristan next week.”

Her response was a simple but thoughtful, “Hmm,” before she gave him a saucy look. “If we do go to California, are you going to look for women in scanty dresses?”

He grasped her hips and settled her warm, naked body upon his. “Nope. I got the only woman I want to look at right here. No other will ever compare to this.” He kissed the tip of one healthy breast as her weight settled upon him.

She giggled. “We're going to have a wonderful life. Together, with your leadership and my instincts, we'll help Tristan build the largest pig farm in Nebraska.”

He cupped her buttocks. “The way you say it, I can't help but believe it.”

She lowered her lips to his. “You'd better believe it, because when I set my mind to having something, I never give up.” After a brief kiss, she repeated. “Never.”

“I noticed,” he whispered. “I noticed.”

If you enjoyed this story by Lauri Robinson, don't miss her other Harlequin Historical UNDONE stories set in the Old West:

 

Wedding Night with the Ranger

Her Midnight Cowboy

 

Both titles available now wherever ebooks are sold!

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Craving something a little longer? Find more historical romantic adventure from Harlequin Historical at www.eHarlequin.com or your local bookstore.

 

Interested in writing for Harlequin Historical UNDONE? Send your submission to [email protected].

Lauri Robinson
's chosen genre to write is western historical. When asked why, she says, “Because I know I wasn't the only girl who wanted to grow up and marry Little Joe Cartwright.”

 

With a degree in early childhood education, Lauri has spent decades working in the non-profit field and claims once upon a time and happily ever after romance novels have always been a form of stress relief. When her husband suggested she write one, she took the challenge and has loved every minute of the journey.

 

Lauri lives in rural Minnesota where she and her husband spend every spare moment with their three grown sons and four grandchildren. She works part time, volunteers for several organizations, and is a diehard Elvis and NASCAR fan. Her favorite getaway location is the woods of northern Minnesota on the land homesteaded by her great-grandfather.

ISBN: 978-1-4592-0272-6

Nights with the Outlaw

Copyright © 2011 by Lauri Robinson

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All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

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