River Song (7 page)

His pants circling the tops of his boots, Cole twisted his mouth into a smirk. "All right, they're down. Now what, young lady? Do you intend to have your way with me?"

Incensed, Sunny advanced a few steps but stopped short of his reach. "Enough of your questions, dog. Take off your boots and slide your pants all the way down." She pointed the .44 at his head.

"All right, all right."
Grumbling, Cole followed her orders. His eyes narrow and thoughtful, he looked up at her, gave her a wicked grin, and said, "Anything else you'd like me to take off?"

"No." Waving the pistol toward the fire, Sunny took a few steps back. "Slide over to there and stick out your right leg."

"You plan to roast me like a jack rabbit?" he asked, surprised.

"Maybe later," she threatened. "For now, I just want to have a look at you."

Cole inched closer to the flames until his leg was illuminated. His mind galloping at full speed as he thought of ways to disarm her, he was careful to keep one eye on Sunflower as she crept closer for a better view.

His heel propped on a stone from the fire ring, Cole's long muscular leg glistened with coils of blond down. But where was the mark of her mother's revenge?

Leaning closer, she peered at a peculiar mark near the thick part of his calf. Unlike the slash of a knife, the healing wound was nearly round, and had the shape of two quarter moons fitted together. The wound resembled a small bite. Had she followed the wrong man?

Cole sensed her confusion, guessed she was faltering in whatever plans she had for him. With lightening quickness, he leapt to his feet and lunged for his gun. Her responses sluggish, he was able to duck his head as the slow-moving knife arched towards it, then he reached up and gripped her right wrist.

The two circled for several seconds as if dancing to some primitive ritual, their arms high over head, Cole's hands clamped firmly around her wrists. Then Sunny's boot caught the back of a large stone and the two dropped to the ground.

Like a large tumble weed, they rolled over and over in the sand and rocks, startling a pair of roadrunners. The birds skimmed across the sand, half-running, half-flying at the disturbance, and caught Sunny's attention for a split second.

Cole took that moment to shout, "Dammit, hold still."

Sunny answered him by raising her head up hard under his chin.

"D
ammit,"
he screamed just as they bumped the base of the cliff where Cole's bedroll was spread.

"Let go of me," Sunny demanded, fighting like a wounded lion. Knowing he would kill
her
if he got the chance, she pounded his back with one small fist and strained to bring the barrel of the pistol to his head with her other hand, but she was no match for the hardened rancher.

"What in
hell
is wrong with you?"

This time, she answered him by poking at his eye with her free hand.

Ducking her, Cole's strong fingers circled the delicate wrist holding his gun. Then he hooked his boot around her leg, flipped her over onto her back and straddled her.

"Hold still," he rasped, out of breath.

But Sunny renewed her attempts to break
free,
still convinced he was trying to kill her. She squirmed beneath the prison of muscular legs and heaving chest, and sputtered a long string of Irish curses between breaths. Patrick's knife had been knocked from her hand during their tumble, leaving the Colt as her only defense. She struggled, trying to find a way to free the gun and use it to gain her freedom—or end his.

Sunflower's vain attempts to escape inflamed Cole as her soft full breasts pressed against his chest and her hips writhed between his legs. A fire grew in his loins, even though he understood the pleasurable distraction might cost him his life. His mind rapidly losing sight of the warnings, Cole lowered his head and repeated the request, but this time the words were soft and low.

"Hold still, Sunflower. I'm not going to hurt you."

Wary, but confused by his sudden gentleness, Sunny tested her rapidly tiring body for a quick burst of energy with which to fight him off. Then it occurred to her that she might not need her strength. The rancher had a new look in his eye, a gentler hold on her than before. Was he thinking of using her, of sating his lusts in her copper body, then discarding her?

If so, she would allow his disgusting advances.

She would
encourage
them. Then, when some sixth sense told her he was beyond control, she would point the gun at his head and demand her freedom.

Sunny stopped her struggles and willed her body to relax.

Enveloped by a cloud of silky black hair, consumed by its sweet, earthy fragrance, Cole kept a firm grip on her wrists, not realizing the girl had given up the fight. His head dropped lower, and his mouth brushed the velvet skin at the base of her throat. Her pulse hammered against his lips. She was
so
soft, so sweet and clean, yet wild as the country surrounding them.

Cole lifted his head and stared into her eyes. Then he noticed the compliant limbs, the inviting expression looking up at him in the moon-bathed night.

"Have you changed your mind?" he whispered. "Is this all you wanted from me?"

Not waiting for her answer, Cole teased her upper lip with a gentle sweep of his mustache, hoping to draw some kind of response from her. The gesture only served to inflame him further. Suddenly eager for her taste, he took her up on her invitation and claimed her mouth with his.

Keeping her purpose in mind, Sunny squeezed her eyes and mind shut to what was happening, and accepted his kiss. Her first sensation was one of surprise. Instead of the stabbing broom-like prickles she expected from the growth of hair on his upper lip, the feeling was akin to a caress from a length of the finest fox pelt. Her mouth wrapped in this wonderful silky fur, Sunny allowed instinct to guide her, and matched his kiss with the same heat and intensity. But when his tongue slipped between her lips, when the tip sought passage between her clenched teeth, she stiffened. What did he mean to do to her?

"Open your mouth, little flower," Cole breathed against her fiery flesh. "Let me taste your sweetness." Then he crushed her mouth, determined to invade the honeyed sanctuary.

If she relented, allowed him to perform this unnatural act with his tongue, would he finally be rendered helpless? Could this concession give her the opportunity she sought? It was a chance she decided to take.

Steeling herself against the wave of nausea she was sure to have, Sunny slowly parted her teeth. But Cole didn't plunge in as she'd assumed, didn't ravage her tender flesh or bite her. Instead, he slowly circled the tip of her tongue with his in a lazy swirling motion. In place of the expected revulsion, she was hit with a stunning series of new and terrifying sensations. She was on fire everywhere at once. Her skin burned where he touched her, yet begged for him to return and add to the flames. As if it had a life of its own, her body arched against his, demanded that he fill the aching voids she never knew existed within her.

And then she became more aware of Cole, of the hard length of his body pressing against hers. Of his immediate need. Clad only in a shirt and his loose summer drawers, Sunny could feel every angle in his body, every muscular ridge as he pushed against her thin cotton breeches. For the first time in her life, she knew what it was to have a man want her, to feel his arousal thundering against her core. Suddenly confused, wondering why her most sensitive area was so alive with a deliciously painful ache—and worse, why she wanted the feelings to continue—she struggled to clear her mind and ignore the sweet torment.

Cole moved from her mouth and spread a trail of hot kisses across her cheeks to her earlobe. One big hand slid along her ribs until it found, then cupped, a full breast. And when his lips began the return trip to her open mouth, this time sweeping across her forehead and down to the tip of her nose, he began to murmur hoarse words of encouragement against her flushed skin.

Instinct told her he was ready to mate.

Her brain told her he had only that purpose in mind and it was time for her to make a move.

Her body told her an entirely different story.

Her body won. Just a couple more of those wonderful exciting kisses, she convinced herself. Then she would be ready to do what had to be done.

Not thinking of her own slipping control, Sunny reached up with her free hand and sank her fingers into Cole's flaxen hair. She guided his mouth back to hers as if it were an act she'd performed a thousand times, and buried her lips in his.

Suddenly bold, wanting to know everything at once, Sunny didn't wait for his exploring tongue, and instead drove hers into his mouth and mimicked his swirling motion with the expertise of a far more experienced woman. She was drowning in him, savoring the exquisite sensations and marvelous texture of his mouth as the kiss deepened. His aroma, that same blend of fresh tobacco, of the earth and his horse, nearly drove her mad as her senses heightened. Unaware she'd become as helpless as her victim, or that the gun had fallen from her suddenly boneless hand, Sunny wrapped both of her arms around Cole's broad back and dug eager fingers into the hard muscles of his shoulders.

She was even wilder than he'd first imagined, as schooled as any courtesan in the art of driving a man into
a frenzy
. Where had she learned her skills, how many men had shown her the way? Cole flinched at the thought,
then
dismissed it—along with the fact that she was Indian—as a wave of urgency shook him. Impatient to possess her, to know what other delights she had in mind for him, he slipped his hand between their damp bodies and began to fumble with the knot in her shirt.

Singular in his purpose, aware only of the beautiful, sensual woman he held in his arms, Cole failed to pick up the ominous signals of impending danger. By the time he heard the distinct click of a rifle hammer, it was too late.

"Now ain't this an
interestin
' sight for these tired ole eyes," a deep whiskey voice commented.

Cole jerked as if ready to leap to his feet, but the barrel of the rifle dug into the center of his back.

"That wouldn't be too smart, stranger. Just slide to the side of that little gal and keep your face hugged to that there blanket."

Silently cursing the lapse in his usually excellent instincts, Cole inched his body off Sunflower's and pushed his head into the bed roll.

A shrill, appreciative whistle cut into the calm night before the man said, "Can't say as I blame
ya
, mister.
She your squaw?"

"I am no man's
squaw
,"
Sunny snapped. "I am not a squaw."

Heedless of his own danger, Cole whipped his head towards Sunflower. "Shut your mouth and lay still," he hissed under his breath.

Through cackling laughter, the man said, "Better listen to him, squaw. You and
me
can have us a real good time if you don't give me any trouble. But if you insist on
misbehavin
'," he ran his fingers over the rifle as if it were a woman's body, "I'd just as soon splatter your pretty face all over the sand."

Confident and suddenly hungry for the squaw, the outlaw spread his legs wide and added, "Be a real waste,
tho
."

His mind exploding with rapid-fire ideas for their escape, Cole glanced at Sunflower, hoping she'd remain quiet and go along with him. "No need to threaten the squaw, buddy. She'll do anything you want."

Sunny gasped, but something in Cole's cool green eyes and low, even tone prompted her to lie back and press her lips together.