Outlaw (30 page)

"Shhh." Threading his fingers with hers,
Mason pressed their hands into the jumbled quilts and lowered his
mouth to hers, easing them both into the pillows beneath. Sweetness
filled his heart even as he felt her stir beneath him.

The moment the kiss ended, she drew a
quick—and to his pleasure, a chest-expanding—breath. "But you must
think—oh, I'm not sure how I can ever look at you again,
after—"

"Quiet." Mason slid lower, cupped her
breasts in both hands and felt her nipples bud beneath his palms.
He groaned, settling himself firmly between her thighs. "We'll talk
later."

"But—"

"Later." He kissed her again, moved aside
her arm and kissed her closed eyelids, caressed the smooth
roundness of her breasts and felt her shudder beneath his hands.
Amy moaned, brought her hands to his shoulders, held him closer.
Her stroking hands urged him, welcomed him. His breath held as he
nestled himself between her thighs, felt her warmth and wetness
caress him...a tremor shook him as the head of his shaft nudged
deeper, nearly joining with her.

He stroked himself intimately against her,
almost overcome with the pleasure of touching her. Ahhh, but he had
to wait, wait until she was ready...Frantically, Mason held her
head in his hands and kissed her, his hips tilting to stroke again
and again, arousing them both.

As the kiss ended she gasped, arching
higher, trembling. He gritted his teeth, savage with the need to
take her. "Amy...Ahhh..."

She clutched him, pulled him tighter, and
her response drove the last of his control from him. Groaning,
shaking with the effort to go slowly for her sake, he entered her
inch by inch. Her body pulsed around him, sending pleasure coursing
through him, and all of it was nothing compared with the pleasure
of raising his head and seeing her eyes open to meet his gaze.

Love, and loving desire, flowed between
them. Her face glowed with it, and her body spoke of it with every
touch, every arch to meet him, every sensuous meeting of skin
against skin. Mason gazed at her, stroked her cheek, and in that
moment he was lost.

"Are you ready?" he whispered, and some part
of him knew it was more than lovemaking he spoke of, even as he
shuddered and slowly entered her a little further, even as he felt
her tremble in response.

Her eyes widened briefly. "There's
more?"

Ahhh, true Curly Top
. The thought
glimmered through him, smiled into his heart, then vanished beneath
a fresh, urgent desire to possess her.

"
Yes
," was all he could manage aloud,
his mind and body urging him toward completion.
Love her, love
her...

She smiled, writhed beneath him, and at her
whispered, "
Yes
," Mason made their union complete. His first
smooth thrust ended their isolation, joined them in heat and blind
pleasure and the snug, perfect fitting of their bodies together.
Pleasure shafted through him, increasing quickly as he searched
Amy's face for signs he'd hurt her and found none. Instead she lay
still for only a moment, wonder filling her eyes, then
instinctively rose to meet him.

Wanting her, needing her, he slipped his
hands to her bottom and squeezed. He cupped her, lifted her to him,
thrusting again and again. Again. Their cries of pleasure mingled,
Mason's hoarse with a need too long denied. Loving her was all he'd
ever wanted, ever needed, and he abandoned himself to the sheer
pleasure of it with each loving stroke.

Each thrust joined them more fully, sent him
nearer and nearer to the edge of fulfillment...and, finally,
beyond. He clutched her as each spasm took him, wrung his body of
anything beyond his release, leaving only warmth and their joining
behind.

Breathing hard, Mason cradled Amy to his
chest. His heart pounded, his ears rung, and the cool night air
against his damp skin raised goose bumps all along his
backside...but he'd never felt better in his life. A wide grin rose
to his lips, too powerful to be denied, as he buried his head in
the crook of her neck and kissed her shoulder.

"Oh, Mason," she whispered, her hands roving
over his back, his shoulders. "Oh...oh, my!"

She giggled, and he felt her legs and toes
wriggle next to his along the length of the quilt beneath them.

"Not funny," he growled, nipping her
neck.

"Oh, I'm sorry, but I—" She stroked him,
craned her neck back to peer at his face again, and stretched like
a cat beneath him. "I just never imagined a person could feel so
good," she said, blushing again. "I just..."

She cupped his cheek in her hand and gave
him a serious look. "Mason, I just love you so much."

Love. Loved him.

She'd said it before, but now—now it seared
deeper within him, called forth a response that...

That Mason wasn't free to give her.

Hell. Closing his eyes, he lifted and rolled
to lay beside her. Yawning, Amy snuggled against his chest,
bringing one worn edge of the quilt with her and tucking her head
atop his shoulder with a trust he didn't deserve.

A trust he wanted all the more, just the
same.

Uneasiness stole over him, moving as
stealthily as the roving moonlight that snaked in between the
shutter slats at the window. Beside him her breathing evened,
fluttering across his chest as she eased into sleep.

Love.

That wasn't what he felt. Lust, hunger...but
not love.

Not love, no matter how near it his heart
felt.

With a muttered curse Mason rolled from the
bed, sending the rope springs creaking. His toes curled into the
rag rug as he crossed it, then padded across the smoothness of the
cool earth floor to stand beside the lamp. He paused beside it,
waiting for Amy's breathing to deepen again. Waiting until she
wouldn't know he'd gone.

"Mason?" Her throaty whisper came toward him
from the pile of blankets, then grew louder as she turned her head
on the pillow. "What's wrong?"

Nothing
.
Everything
.

"I just need to turn out the lamp."

"Hurry and come back to bed," she mumbled,
and he heard the smiling invitation in her voice. "It's cold
without you."

Mason turned the key, cast the room into
darkness except for the shadow of the shutters on the far wall.
Cast his heart into the light one last time as he lifted the
blankets and crawled into the warmth beside Amy. She nestled
against him, all sweet-smelling, smooth woman, and it was so good
to find her waiting for him.

Amy pressed her cheek against his heart and
drifted asleep, and just those simple acts awakened all the
yearning he'd hidden for so long. What would it be like to find
such warmth waiting for him, night after night? What would it be
like to come inside her, to pleasure her, night after night? To
love her?

His chest squeezed, hurting him. Aching,
Mason reached over her shoulder and pressed his palm hard against
the adobe until its hard-textured bite cleared his head. Then he
turned onto his side, faced away from Amy and the life that could
never be his.

And hoped it would make it that much easier
to turn away from her tomorrow—when he took Ben across the border
and left her forever.

Chapter Twenty

The crash of wood on adobe jerked Amelia
awake. Heart pounding, she lurched upright in bed, only to find
herself alone and squinting against the bright shafts of early
morning sunlight streaming in between the shutter slats.

A man loomed in the doorway. Manuel. He came
inside frowning, boot heels thunking solidly on the floor with
every stride. He glanced first toward the window, then toward the
bed.

Stifling a shriek, Amelia raised the quilts
higher. Dimly, she registered Manuel's frown and the opened door in
his wake, now creaking slowly away from the adobe wall it had
crashed into. Sunlight divided him into stripes of brightness and
shade, and fresh air swept in along with him, telling her he'd been
outside until only moments earlier.

Where was Mason
? She scooted nearer
to the wall that bordered the bed, horribly conscious of her
nakedness beneath the blankets—and of being alone with a man she
barely knew.

"Stay there, Curly Top."

Mason's voice sent relief sweeping through
her. Amelia looked for him and found him beside the oil lamp,
kicking his way into his wrinkled trousers. Straightening, he
buttoned them and gave her a look that warned her to obey.

She did—and realized that now that Manuel
had discovered them together, all of Mason's friends would know
what had happened between them last night. They'd likely think
poorly of her because of it, too. With reason. Whatever had
possessed her, to give herself so wantonly to a man she'd known
mere days? Even the love between them didn't excuse such behavior.
A shamed blush heated Amelia's face, climbing nearly to the roots
of her hair.

Mason saw, and frowned. "Let's take this
outside," he said, shouldering past Manuel without looking at
him.

Juana's brother raised his hand to hold him
there—a hand that Mason shrugged off as he wheeled around again.
Ire sparked between both men, its expression in Manuel underlaid by
worry. Something was wrong.

Manuel's sun-browned, dirt-smudged face
looked solemn beneath his thick black hair and dark brows. His
sombrero
hung by its rawhide ties down his back. Its
disarray, along with his sweat-dampened clothes, served as chilling
evidence of his haste in reaching them.

"You are being followed,
compadre
,"
he said to Mason. "A posse was stopped, watering their horses at
Maricopa Wells when I returned the wagon."

He glanced at Amelia. "I'm sorry,
señorita
. They could be here any minute."

Mason swore and reached toward the chair
beside the lamp. Picking up his shirt, he slid it over both
shoulders, not bothering to button it before hefting his gun belt,
too. He lowered his head to check the ammunition, rapidly scanning
each shell pocket.

"The station master must have pointed me out
to them, after I told him about the wagon.
Entremetido
!"
Manuel raked his hand through his hair, making it stand on end. "I
think I threw them off the trail,
amigo
, but they will be
behind me soon."

Mason nodded, then raised his gun belt to
his hips and fastened it.
A posse, after Mason
? The notion
of a sheriff in pursuit had been bad enough. She'd known he was an
outlaw, but since their escape from Maricopa Wells, that fact had
become easier and easier to deny.

Now here it was again—embodied in a posse
that would capture, hurt, kill him if they could. Amelia shrank
into the pillows, unable to do more than watch him until Juana
stuck her head through the opened doorway.

"What's happened?" she asked, wiping her
hands on her long apron as she entered the room. She frowned toward
Manuel, taking in his rumpled clothes and sweat-shiny face, and
then turned her worried gaze upward at Mason. Whatever she saw in
his face made her frown deepen.

From the corner of her eye she glimpsed
Amelia, still in the bed. After a moment's startled pause, Juana
propped both hands on her slender hips.

"Whatever this is," she said quietly, raking
both men with a stern gaze, "it had better be important for you to
have awakened Amelia and invaded her room like this."

Manuel stared back at her. "But she—"

"She is a
lady
who doesn't need a
couple of knucks like you arguing nonsense in her room," Juana
insisted firmly.

She was defending her, Amelia
realized—making sure no harm would come to her reputation because
of what Manuel had seen. The warning to him was plain in her voice,
and the sound of it left Amelia humbled with gratitude.

"Now either clear out," Juana went on, "or
tell me what's happened."

"The sheriff's posse's caught up with me,"
Mason gritted out.

He nodded toward Manuel. "How far?"

"Five, six miles, maybe more." Manuel ducked
his head, checked his ammunition, too, then looked up again. "I
outran them when I hit the rises near the Gila."

"Good." Mason turned, reached for his
flat-brimmed black hat, and jammed it on his head.

Leaving. He was leaving because of the
posse.

"I'll have one of the hands saddle a horse
for you," Juana offered quietly, turning to leave. "Keep it as long
as you need."

Manuel stopped her. "I already did. I'm
going with him."

He held his sister's gaze, his head held
high. His unwavering stance beside Mason said much, bespoke of
long-standing friendship between them. Amelia realized she'd been
correct last night. Everyone at Picacho station trusted Mason,
trusted him enough even to take his side against the law.

Juana watched them, her arms crossed over
her chest. After a minute, she sighed. "I don't see where you have
much choice," she agreed. "Be careful, both of you. I won't have my
good horses returned with bullet holes—or my friends, either."

Mason nodded his thanks to her. He paused,
clapped his hand on Manuel's shoulder, then turned and headed
toward the door.

"Mason, wait!" Amelia cried, stuck beneath
the quilts where she couldn't go to him.

He looked back at her, but his gaze went
through her toward something else, something in his thoughts alone.
Then Mason turned his attention toward Manuel instead, and her
heart sank as even that small contact ended. Every part of him was
focused on the problem at hand. The posse.

"Which direction?"

"
Del norte
."

A muscle in Mason's jaw ticked. All traces
of sleep had vanished from his expression, leaving nothing behind
except dark, dangerous-looking man. Outlaw.