Reaper's Justice (15 page)

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Authors: Sarah McCarty

Tags: #Werewolves, #Paranormal, #Fiction, #Romance, #Fantasy, #Western, #Historical

BOOK: Reaper's Justice
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“Well, for sure, you’re not made of sugar so I don’t think we need to worry about you melting.”
Of all the nerve! “I’ll have you know, plenty of people think I’m pretty sweet.”
“They must see you in a different light.”
They did. But it bothered her that he didn’t see her as sweet. Another surprise. She normally was oblivious to people’s opinions of her. Enduring years of rampant speculation had a way of hardening a person to public opinion. But for some reason, this man brought out in her a desire to be seen as womanly. Soft. Delicate. All the things she spent her life convincing her cousins that she wasn’t.
Isaiah groaned under his breath as he stretched out on the pelts, his big body looking unreasonably comfortable against the fur. That intriguing scent that was uniquely his filled the interior, teasing her nostrils, tempting her into another breath. His mouth relaxed into a sensual fullness that had her tongue sliding over her lips as she imagined how his would feel against hers. She bit back a “stop” as he pulled his hat over his face, depriving her of the fantasy as he relaxed into the pleasure.
She knew for a fact that his bed wasn’t
that
comfortable, but watching him shift and hearing his whispered sigh of relief, she found her own muscles moaning in longing. And suddenly that sense of propriety that had her standing on her aching feet, six feet away from Isaiah and the comparative comfort of the bed, didn’t seem at all appropriate. A stray gust of wind blew into the lean-to, heralding the evening’s chill. Addy rubbed her arms. And eyed Isaiah again. Pressed up against his side as she’d have to be to share the bedroll, she’d be warm.
“The offer’s still open.”
The invitation, uttered in Isaiah’s rumbling drawl, slipped like a secret smile from behind his hat, sneaking past her guard and snuggling up to that part of her she’d thought missing. The womanly part that went weak for a man. The part of her that wanted to do more than sleep with him. The part of her that wanted to lie down beside him and slide her fingers under the lapels of his shirt and test the texture of his skin.
The offer’s still open.
She was crazy to consider what she was considering. Isaiah was wild. He was dangerous and he radiated a potent magnetism. In short, he was everything from which her cousins strove to protect her. And maybe that’s what made him so irresistible. The strip of pelt on his right side beckoned. The hollow of his shoulder encouraged. The heat of his body lured. And past her well-cultivated sense of propriety came the thought,
What is the harm if I explore the temptation he presents? What is there to lose?
This was a man with whom she could do more than sleep and no one would know. This was a man so far outside society that no one would believe that she’d invited him to her bed. This was a man she could love and leave with impunity. This was a man with whom she could explore her earthier side, without consequence. This man, in rescuing her, had provided her with the one opportunity to be the sensual woman she’d never thought she could be.
It wasn’t as if anyone thought she was still a virgin after her time with the Indians, and this excursion wasn’t going to help her reputation. It also wasn’t going to damage her marriage prospects. Matthew Hacklebury, the merchant she’d selected to be her future husband, had reassured her multiple times that it wasn’t important to him whether she was a virgin. Despite her constant reassurances that she was, he continued to tell her he didn’t mind “her experiences.” Which irked her. She wasn’t a liar. There were even times when she’d gotten the suspicion that Matthew might actually not want her to be a virgin, which was absurd, because every woman knew that every man wanted a pure wife. But still, at times when he didn’t think she was watching, she thought she caught him watching her with a certain light in his eyes that made her wonder what he really thought had happened to her during her time with the Indians.
“You’ve got a strange look on your face,” Isaiah murmured, pushing his hat back.
Addy put her hand on her hip and tilted her head to the side, studying him in return. “That’s probably because I have a strange thought in my head.”
Isaiah laced his fingers together and tucked them behind his head, looking so superior she wanted to smack him. He arrogantly thought he had her over a barrel. He thought that she was the type to back down when facing an obstacle, when in truth she was the type who liked to explore her options. But there was one obstacle she needed out of the way before she could make any decision. “You need to shave off your beard.”
To his credit he didn’t look shocked, or call her crazy. “Why?”
“Because I will not have relations with a man who has more hair than skin.”
That arrogant smile slowly slipped away as her statement sank in. “Who said anything about making love?”
She waved her hand dismissively. “Have relations, make love. I’m not splitting hairs.”
“Well, I am.” He sat up. “Look, lady, I was just pulling your chain. I don’t have any intention of . . . having relations with you or any other phrase you want to attach to it.”
That was a heck of a note. She might not be a dewy thing fresh out of the schoolroom, but she was not a hag. And as powerful as her attraction was for him, it was inconceivable that he didn’t feel the same for her. “Why not? Do you think I’m too old?”
“You’re not too old for anything.”
At least that was encouraging. “Do you think I’m ugly?”
He frowned at her. “I think you’ve lost your mind.”
“Well, for your information, I am perfectly within my right mind. I’m also twenty-five years old. And despite what you might have heard, I am a virgin. I’ve long accepted that I’m unlikely to marry a man about whom I feel passionate, but I find, intriguingly enough, that I feel passionately about you.”
“And this means what to me?”
“This means you get to make love to me and it will be no one’s concern but our own. When I get home, we’ll just go our separate ways and it will be over.”
“So I’m just an experiment?”
“Exactly.”
His expression went hard. “Well, maybe I have no interest in being an experiment.”
“I’m not a young girl, Mr. Isaiah. Every man is willing to be that kind of experiment.”
He grunted, then asked in little more than a growl, “And what do you get out of it?”
“Hopefully, an experience to look back on and smile over for the rest of my life.”
“You should save that experience for your husband, not for a—”
“For what? For the man willing to risk his life to save mine? The man who is willing to continue to risk his life for me? A man to whom I am strangely attracted? A man who sends tingles up my arm whenever he touches my hands? A man who can steal my breath with a glance? Can you name me someone who would be a better candidate?”
Isaiah didn’t have a ready response. Addy couldn’t tell whether that was because he was breathless with anticipation or speechless with shock. Hopefully it was the former, but just in case it was the latter, she pressed on.
“I’m not looking for forever, Mr. Jones. I’m just looking for a night of passion with a man who I think can make me see the stars.”
“And I just got done saying, it’s your husband who should be making you see stars.”
She folded her arms across her chest. “And I just got done telling you the man I have chosen to be my husband is not likely to even cause my breath to catch, let alone cause stars to fall from the sky.”
“Then why the hell are you marrying him?”
“Because he’s stable, even tempered, and makes a good income and will be a good father to whatever children I might have.”
“And you think this is normal?”
“Yes.”
“And what if this paragon wants you to make him see stars? Do you think he’s going to be happy with a woman who can’t tolerate his touch?”
He was so annoying with his logic. And so irritating with his lack of ability to see hers. “Of course, I thought of that eventuality, and that would be the second benefit to making love with you tonight. I will have the experience to be able to fake the enthusiasm that will satisfy him.”
Isaiah raked a hand through his hair. “Jesus Christ, woman! You are something.”
“What I am is practical, Mr. Isaiah. I’m not the type to cheat on a husband, and as I’m expecting Mr. Hacklebury to propose upon my return to town, this is about my only opportunity to experience a grand passion. If there’s one thing I’ve learned through my experiences in life, it’s that lost opportunities rarely return and chances for happiness should not be ignored.”
Isaiah rubbed his hand over the back of his neck and glared at her under the slash of his eyebrows. “Shit, not only do you expect me to make stars fall from the sky, you also expect me to make you happy?”
She shook out her skirt and sat down on the edge of the pelts. He didn’t need to make it sound so onerous. “I expect if you succeed in making the stars fall from the sky, I’ll be happy.”
Isaiah scooted to the left, putting a good foot between them. “Well, I don’t want to shave my beard.”
“That’s not negotiable. It’s extremely unhygienic.”
“Then I guess you have to set your sights elsewhere.”
She sighed. “I was hoping not to have to resort to this.”
He ran his hand down his face and said wearily from behind his fingers, “Go ahead, I might as well hear it all. What’s ‘this’?”
This was bribery. “I have a hundred dollars in my bank account back home. Fifty dollars I need for supplies to keep my bakery running. The other fifty is yours if you shave the beard and—”
He looked at her over the edge of his palm. “Make the stars fall from the sky for you.”
“Yes.”
His response was a long silence. He didn’t fidget, didn’t speak or give her any other indication of what he was thinking. Was he insulted at the offer of money? Thrilled? She didn’t know if that silence was good or bad, but she’d played enough poker with her cousins to know when to stay silent and when to let her arguments speak for her. This was one of the silent times. She’d never had to work harder to bite her tongue. Never been more aware of the untidiness of her appearance. Especially when Isaiah rolled to his feet, stood, and glared down at her. “You’re crazy.”
Bracing her weight on her hands, she arched her back in a pose she’d seen on her cousins’ dirty picture cards. As she’d hoped, Isaiah’s eyes fell to her breasts rather than lingering on the mess of her hair.
“And you’re a coward.”
He slapped his hat on his head. “You’d better hope the hell I’m not.”
At least he wasn’t running. “Why?”
“A coward would be thinking of the consequences of taking you up on your offer.”
That was encouraging, too. “And you’re not?”
“I should be.”
“Why?”
Instead of answering, he strode toward the ledge.
“Where are you going?”
He didn’t even look over his shoulder as he snapped back, “To shave.”
 
 
SON of a bitch, he was actually shaving, which meant he was actually contemplating messing with his sanity. Isaiah stared at his reflection in the water of the pool. He touched the razor edge of the knife blade to the thick mass of hair bristling out from his face just below his ear. He’d worn the beard so long that it was a part of him. A bestial mask that reminded him of what he was. A reminder of what he could never be again. Unless he went forward with this. He tested the edge against his skin. The blade inched lower, tested his jugular. He had no right to go forward with this.
But he was. He’d sworn to regain his humanity. Making love to a woman was a hell of a step in the right direction. Especially to a woman who made him feel more human than anyone ever had. Isaiah drew the knife edge up his neck and over the edge of his jaw, feeling the bite and drag on the flesh, scenting the blood of the subsequent nicks and not caring. He was fucking shaving to make love to a virgin who wanted a love-’em-and-leave-’em moment that would make her see the stars. He needed his head examined. As if he could give any woman that.
As if he could give
her
that.
Son of a bitch, why was he doing this? He had no business contemplating making love with Addy. His beast snarled at the thought. He heard it in an inward rumble that rippled along his nerve endings and set the hair on the nape of his neck standing on end. For once he and the beast were in accord. They both needed tonight with Addy. They both needed this touch of humanity.
Running his fingers over his skin, he found it pretty smooth, the blood slicked over wounds that were healing even as he touched them. Another benefit of whatever it was that they had done to him was that he healed fast, so taking care with shaving wasn’t the priority it was for most men. The pain from the nicks was barely noticeable. The torture he’d endured to make him a more reliable weapon made him pretty immune to most pain. Unlike Addy. He thought of her feet. At least his saliva had healing properties that had aided the blisters.

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