The Outlaw and the Lady (26 page)

He wanted to focus all his energies, all his talents on the woman who had stolen his heart…shortly after he had stolen her. With deft hands, he made short work of removing her nightgown until she lay beneath him, her flesh against his.

She sighed softly as he trailed his hot mouth over her body, licking, suckling, teasing. She ran her hands over his broad shoulders, along his strong back as long as she could reach them—until he was skimming his lips over her thigh, along her calf. First one leg and then the other. “
Querida
, you did not answer my question.”

“What question?” she mumbled.

“When we were by the river that last morning, I asked you a question. You did not give me your answer.”

“Question…”

“Will you marry me?”

She gasped and her eyes flew open. “We need to talk.”

Hers was not exactly the response he’d been hoping for. She’d been unusually quiet most of the afternoon and evening. He knew she was happy about the turn of events, but something was bothering her. He knew her too well not to recognize that fact. “I am a man of many talents. I can kiss you and listen at the same time.” He nibbled on her earlobe.

“I can’t…I can’t talk when you’re doing that.”

He smiled. “Then don’t speak, just moan…ow!” He grabbed her wrist. “Why do you yank my hair like that?”

“Because I want your undivided attention.”
Obviously fully awake now, she shoved him aside, sat up, and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She clasped her hands together in her lap.

Trepidation sliced through him. Something was very wrong. He eased off the bed and crouched in front of her. “What’s troubling you,
querida
?”

“Do you know how old you are?” she asked.

He shrugged, a movement totally wasted on her. “Twenty.”

“Do you know how old I am?”

“Why are you giving me mathematical problems when we could be making love?”

“I’m twenty-four. Four years older than you!”

“
Sí
. I can do the calculation.”

“Oh, Damon!” She bolted off the bed and waved her hand through the air. “A woman is usually younger than a man.”

Damon slowly unfolded his body. “Is that the law?”

She came to an abrupt halt and faced him. “No, but that’s the way it usually is. Your mother is younger than your father. My mother is younger than my father. It’s the natural order of things.”

“I don’t understand what you are saying.”

“I can’t marry you.”

“Angela, I love you.”

“You can’t.”

He watched tears surface. “But I do,” he said.

Despair filled her eyes. “We should have never fallen in love. Oh, Damon, you’re only twenty years old! You’re so young. You haven’t had time
to sow wild oats or know what you want from life.”

“Are you more bothered by the fact that I am twenty than by the fact that you are older?”

She sighed. “Yes.”

He took her hand. “Come here.”

She resisted. “Damon—”

“Come here. Now I want to talk.” He led her back to the bed. “Sit.”

He knelt in front of her, took both her hands in his, and pressed them against his face. “Angela, look at me.”

“Damon—”

“Look at me.” She slowly traced her fingers over his features. “Mine is not the face of a man who has only known twenty years of life. I have seen more, experienced more than most men do in eighty. I am really a very old man.”

She gave him a tremulous smile. “Damon, I don’t think you realize how your life is about to change. As the heir to Ravenleigh, you could marry any woman you wanted.”

“I plan to marry the
only
woman I want.”

She squeezed her eyes shut.

“Don’t you love me?” he asked quietly.

She opened her eyes, pools of sadness that he couldn’t understand. “With all my heart.”

“Do you remember when I told you about the angel who would visit me when I was a boy?” he asked tenderly.

She nodded and a tear rolled down her cheek.

He framed her face between his large hands.
“She was you, Angela. You were my angel when I was a boy, and now that I am a man.” He eased her down onto the bed. He kissed her temple, each cheek, and the tip of her nose before settling his mouth against her lips. She was incredibly precious, and he wanted her to realize that she would be forever.

Too many nights had passed without her sharing his bed, and the temptation to sate his own hunger was strong, but his desire to pleasure her was more powerful.

While he deepened the kiss, he grazed his fingers along the length of her body. She curled against him much as she had the first time she’d slept in his arms, as though he provided solace.

He planned to give her everything—the warm hues of dawn and the calming shades of a sunset. He’d take care to always mention colors and fill her world with the rainbow of his love.

Holding her hip, he pressed her more solidly against his hardness and groaned low as the pleasure speared him. How could she possibly think he would consider giving her up because of his youth?

As far as he was concerned, he’d been fortunate to find her as early in life as he had. The many years stretching before them held exhilarating promise.

And the nights. They would have more nights than they could count, each one ending as this one was beginning…

Easing her onto her back, he trailed his mouth along her neck and dipped his tongue into the
hollow at the base of her throat. She dug her fingers into his shoulders, as though she needed a tether, but he wanted her to fly.

He circled his tongue around her nipple, relishing her gasp and the shudder that rippled through her.

She outlined the muscles of his back, touched his side, and stilled. “Your wound—”

“—is nothing,” he assured her. Although he’d bled profusely, the bullet had only creased his flesh, and a doctor had closed the gash with a few stitches.

He returned his attention to her soft, pliant breast. Suckling gently, he listened as she moaned. She rubbed her foot up and down his calf while she slipped her hand between their bodies and stroked him, stirring the banked embers of his desire into a roaring blaze.

Cradling her face, he ordered, “Say my name.”

She skimmed her fingertips along the grooves of his face. “Damon.”

He lowered his mouth, kissing her voraciously as he joined his body to hers, taking pleasure, granting pleasure. He’d never possessed her with such absolute freedom because always before the shadows of his past had hovered around them.

But his lady had bathed them in the light of her love until they no longer existed.

Increasing the tempo of his movements, he tightened his hold on her and buried his face in the abundant thickness of her hair. He was aware of her body growing taut beneath his, her short gasps, her fingers digging into his buttocks—

Her back arched as she cried out his name. “Damon!”

He gave in to his own raging needs, one last thrust spilling his seed into her. With his limbs quaking, he smiled with pure male satisfaction and nuzzled her neck.

Lifting himself, he lovingly gazed down at her. “Don’t ever doubt that we were meant to be together.”

“I want you to be certain,” she said drowsily.

“If you could look into my eyes, you would know that I love you, Angela, with all my heart and all my soul, and I always have.”

T
he moon glistened over the waves as they rolled on to the shore. Standing barefoot in the Galveston sand, Damon Montgomery contemplated the twelve months that had passed since he’d first acknowledged his name and his original family.

It was with a great deal of satisfaction that Damon had testified at the trial of Vernon Shelby. More satisfying was the verdict of guilty. Less satisfying was the sentence: twenty-seven years for each murder.

Damon tried to find contentment in the knowledge that Shelby would die within prison walls and that the years would pass slowly, giving him a chance to reflect on all he’d instigated that fateful night.

Angela, Damon, and his brothers had visited
the schools, church, and orphanage that Christine had built with the money that they’d taken from Shelby’s accounts.

Juanita had declined the invitation to go with them. They had rebuilt the
hacienda
, and she wanted to remain there, working to make it “home,” but Damon feared she was simply withdrawing more from the world around her. Miguel had begun to call her “Mama,” and she only seemed happy within the house when Miguel was with her.

Sheriff Evans had been summarily removed from office. Roberto Rodriguez was hired to replace him, a quiet man with a steady temperament. Damon knew he would serve the town well and expected to read of his adventures someday in a dime novel.

Within the church built in memory of his family, Damon had taken Angela as his wife. Eight months later, she’d given birth to a son: John Christian Harrison Montgomery. At this moment, Johnny was in a nearby cottage being spoiled by two sets of grandparents and too many uncles and aunts to count.

Spence Montgomery was attending the university where Damon had once planned to study. Damon was about to embark on what he knew would be the first of many journeys that would take him and his family to Ravenleigh, where he would begin learning the intricacies of managing the estate Spence had thought he would one day inherit.

So many twisted strands of their lives were wo
ven together that Damon wondered if it was fate’s perverse way of building strong bonds between families.

“Are you going to stay out here all night?” Angela asked quietly behind him.

Reaching back, he tugged her forward, wrapped his arms around her, and settled his chin on the top of her head. “How is it that you can always find me?”

“Not always, Damon.”

“Always, Angel. Perhaps not as quickly as you’d like, but you do manage always to find me.”

He blanketed her mouth with his own, drawing her closely against his body. She clutched his shirt as he drank deeply, briefly sating an unquenchable thirst that would return the moment she left him. He inhaled her sweet scent, heard her soft whimper. As long as she drew breath, he knew that Damon Montgomery would always find his way home.

Join the daughters of Fortune
as they travel to Victorian England
and intrigue scandalous British lords.

TO MARRY AN HEIRESS
Coming Summer 2002

LORRAINE HEATH always dreamed of being a writer. After graduating from the University of Texas, she wrote training manuals, press releases, and articles, but something was always missing. In 1990, she read a romance novel and became not only hooked on the genre, but quickly realized what her own writing lacked: rebels, scoundrels, and rogues. She’s been writing about them ever since, for both adult and young adult readers. Her work has been recognized with numerous industry awards, including RWA’s RITA®, a HOLT medallion, a
Romantic Times
Career Achievement Award, and several Texas Gold Awards.

Lorraine loves hearing from readers. You can write her at
[email protected]
or visit her website at www.lorraineheath.com.

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