The Rancher Takes A Bride (15 page)

Travis Burnett was the man who had awakened her sensuality.

Cool air fanned across her delicate skin, and she realized that somehow the buttons of her shirt had been loosened. She felt his hand slip inside her chemise and tenderly pluck her nipple, rubbing it between his fingers. She moaned deep in her throat. She wanted more, so much more, as she arched her back fervently, giving him access to her aching breasts.

She throbbed with a need she'd never known before, and she wanted him in the worst possible way. His lips wildly covered hers, sucking the very life breath from her as he plundered her mouth.

He roused every emotion within her, from anger and despair to laughter and happiness. She'd never given her heart to a man before, yet this man left her feeling out of control.

Suddenly he broke off the kiss, his absence leaving her with a sense of loss. Dazed, she opened her eyes and gazed up at him in surprise, seeing the turbulent emotions warring in his dark brown eyes just as he pushed her off his lap.

She scrambled to keep from falling onto the floor as he jumped up from the couch.

"Stop!" he commanded, his eyes piercing in the dim light from the lamps.

Travis ran a hand through his hair and began to pace, his breathing rapid and shallow, his face flushed. He'd been on the verge of losing control here in his mother's parlor. Dear God, she could have walked in on them at any moment and found Desirée sprawled on her sofa, her son all over the female thief.

Another five minutes and his sweet little mother could have had heart failure at the sight of the two them deep in the throes of passion. Desirée had taken him to the edge, and somehow he'd managed to crawl back. Barely.

Travis breathed in and out, forcing himself to relax as he paced the floor. How was he going to keep his hands off this woman? How could they continue to live in the same house, if all she was going to do was tempt him? "We can't keep kissing like this."

Her hand reached up and touched her swollen lips. "What's wrong with kissing? I was kind of enjoying it."

Desirée quickly buttoned her shirt.

"Because it's not right."

"Felt good to me."

He sighed, the sound heavy in the room. How could he explain nicely that he was not interested in a woman like Desirée—at least not permanently? How did you describe a woman whose reputation was definitely colorful?

"Look, I'm not looking for a woman like you. I want . . . hell, I don't know what I want in a woman anymore. But I want someone honest. Someone who's not been ..."

"Yes?" Her green eyes flashed like a thunderstorm and for a moment he thought she was going to strike out at him.

"Like I said, you know nothing about me," she said passionately. "And though it's probably a big disappointment for you, I'm not trying to tempt, seduce, or entice you. Just let me go."

The gall of the woman. She was going to stand right there and lie to him. Blatantly disagree with him after she had kissed him. She had bewitched him from the moment they met!

"Yes, you are. Look at you—you're a tempting vixen. You're always there with that twinkle in your eye and a smile on your lips, bustling around the room like a—like a—hussy!"

Damn! He'd lost his temper after all, after he'd promised himself he wouldn't let her get to him. It seemed that no matter what he did, invariably she had a knack for getting him riled.

"How dare you call me a hussy!" She took a deep breath, the buttons on her shirt almost exploding. "That twinkle is not seduction, it's outrage. You big lout! And you don't even know the difference."

"No decent woman would kiss me like that."

"Your definition of a decent woman lives in a nunnery, hasn't had to work for a living, and couldn't take care of a dog, let alone herself. And her kisses would be boring."

He took a deep breath. That hurt! So he wanted an innocent, a woman who lived by the rules—his rules—and depended on him. What was wrong with that?

They were practically screaming at one another, and still the urge to grab her and kiss her was getting stronger and stronger. He wanted to kiss her until she was dazed, breathless, and, with luck, speechless.

But he couldn't. "Look. Just leave me alone. I don't want to get mixed up with a gal like you."

"What makes you think I want to be involved with you? I can be packed within five minutes and ready to leave. We can pretend we never met and this never happened."

There was no way he was going to let her go. He couldn't just let her walk out of his life. Not yet.

"You know the answer to that riddle. Give me the ring back, and I'll take you into town tonight."

"
Quel abruti
, "she said, with a toss of her hair. "I'm sick of arguing that belabored point. I'm not wasting my breath."

She turned her back on him and strolled toward the stairs as if she were a queen and he was one of her subjects. What did she mean, she wasn't going to argue that one anymore? If she were innocent, she'd defend herself, right?

"Come back here. We're not through talking about this."

"Then talk till you're blue in the face, but I'm through. Good night, Travis."

It was all Travis could do to watch her walk away. The urge to go after her and kiss her until she became pliant and hot in his arms was still strong, but he resisted. But how much longer could he withstand her tempting wiles? And did he really want to?

***

The sound of the dogs barking, sounding the alarm, woke Travis from a fitful sleep. His feet hit the cold floor, and he reached for his trousers and his six- shooter. His first thought was that Desirée was escaping, and he sprinted for the closed bedroom door, tucking his shirt into his pants as he went Yanking it open, he rushed across the hall. In his haste, he pushed her door open. The wooden portal slammed against the wall.

Desirée sat straight up in bed, her long mahogany hair streaming wildly about her face. Oh God, she was beautiful.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

A sleep-tousled Desirée was almost too much for his barely held-in-check sensuality. She looked so innocent with her hair hanging untamed about her face, her nightgown falling off one silken shoulder. The urge to throw caution out the window and crawl into her bed was strong.

"Nothing," he said and felt like a fool for interrupting her sleep. "Sorry to have awakened you."

"You come crashing into my bedroom in the wee hours of the morning and expect me to go back to sleep?"

He ignored her comment, knowing he'd have said even more if the situation were reversed.

"Just stay in your room." The sound of the dogs growling sent him rushing down the stairs, his gun in his hand, leaving a very sexy Desirée to her own conclusions.

He reached the bottom of the stairs and hurried to the window. He peered out into the inky blackness. The dogs were standing in the yard, growling at a Negro man on horseback.

Several of his cowhands, rifles in hand, were approaching the man. Travis stepped out onto the porch.

"Who are you? What do you want?" he called into the night.

The man threw his leg over the saddle and slid from his horse. His feet hit the ground and Travis's men raised their rifles.

"I ..." The click of hammers being pulled back gave the man pause. "I don't want no trouble."

Just then Desirée flew past Travis, down the stairs, straight into the arms of the man. "Isaiah! Isaiah," she called into the darkened night. "Thank God you found me. I was so worried about you."

The Negro man returned her hug. "Oh, Miss Rose, you scared the life out of me. I searched for you for days. What are you doin' here?"

She leaned back and gazed up at the man. "I'm so happy to see you. It's a long story, Isaiah. But now that you've found me, we won't be here much longer."

Suddenly it dawned on Travis just who this man was. He was the missing manservant. "Put your weapons down, men," he called. "You all can go back to bed!"

Reluctantly, the cowboys walked back to the bunkhouse, occasionally looking back over their shoulders at the touching scene, clearly admiring Desirée in her night shift.

Travis frowned and tried to step between their line of sight and Desirée. He didn't need his men gawking at her every time she stepped outside.

After the men disappeared inside, Travis strolled over to Desirée and her manservant.

"Name's Isaiah Wilkes, sir. I'm Miss Severin's servant. Sorry to ride in this late at night and cause a fuss."

Travis frowned. Something wasn't quite right. "Did you call her Rose?"

Desirée gasped.

Isaiah looked at Desirée, a guilty grimace on his black face, before he lifted his eyes to Travis. "Yes, sir, Miss Rose Severin, otherwise known as Desirée, Voice of the Dead."

A stiff wind could have blown Travis over as he stood, stunned, absorbing the news that Desirée's name was really Rose. Inwardly, he called himself a fool. He should have known her real name wasn't Desirée. Hadn't he mentioned to Eugenia that very first night that Desirée was probably a fictitious name?

"Rose," he said with disgust "From France?"

"Don't go making a big deal out of nothing. My real name is Rose. Rose Severin, born right here in America. But my stage name is Desirée."

"Do you change it each time you change cons, or each time you change towns, or maybe even every Saturday night? Take a bath, scrub off the dirt, and choose a new name? Tired of the old life, change towns, change names? Even change professions?" he shouted.

It seemed so dirty. She'd lied about her name, and somehow he felt betrayed. He glanced at Isaiah, who stepped back and was hurriedly loosening the cinch on his saddle, his eyes downcast.

"That's enough, cowboy. I'm getting tired of your insinuations," she said, her voice tense in the darkness.

"Lady, I don't give a damn. A lie is a lie. You should have told me your real name was Rose."

"Why? So that you could haul me down to the county jail under the name of Rose, instead of Desirée? So you could drag me halfway back across Texas as Rose, instead of Desirée? Or could it be that Rose sounds more like a lady than Desirée?"

Angrily he chewed his bottom lip.

The urge to scream at her that he had given the wrong name to a Pinkerton man was strong. That piece of knowledge was better kept to himself.

She sidled up closer to him, her wrapper flapping in the cool breeze. Like moonbeams, her eyes flashed in the darkness. "You aren't playing fair, so why should I? Abduction isn't a noble cause."

"You're right, I'm not playing fair. But then again, I never play fair when people try to con my family or steal from me."

She laughed. "Guilty until proven innocent."

"Miss Rose, I'm going to take this horse to the barn now."

"Go ahead, Isaiah." She turned back to Travis. "Somehow I don't think having to prove you're not guilty is what the founding fathers had in mind when they wrote the Constitution."

"They didn't have a lying con artist distracting them."

"So now I'm a distraction. A lying distraction at that." She took a deep breath and tried to reason with him. "Look, it's the middle of the night, I'm tired, and you've caused me more than enough grief this evening. I suggest you step back and take a breather, or I'm going to come out with fists flying."

"Well, at least then you won't be kissing me," he shot back, knowing the words were a mistake the moment they left his mouth.

She stepped forward and grabbed him by the arm and shook him. "Wake up, cowboy! You've started a lot of the kissing yourself! I don't understand it and I don't think I want to know why, but there's an attraction between the two of us. It's time you realized it." She stepped back and took a deep breath. "God help me, I'd just as soon kiss a snake."

"Believe me, the feeling is mutual. Snakebite is quick and fatal. Your kiss could be just as deadly."

She raised her arms in disbelief, then dropped them dramatically. She started to laugh hysterically. "I've just admitted I'm attracted to you, and all you can say is my kiss is deadly?" She sighed, her breasts rising and falling. "
Merde!
You are a stubborn, ignorant man."

For a moment he was stunned, as the impact of her words sank slowly into his dazed, angry mind. She had admitted she was attracted to him. She was drawn to him, just as he was drawn to her. Slowly his anger receded, to be replaced by that anticipatory feeling that came upon him whenever he was with Desirée, or whatever she was calling herself now. That feeling that something better was just a deep kiss away. That feeling he'd been running from since that roadhouse outside of Waco.

God, yes, he wanted her too, but it was all wrong.

The memory of her deception came racing back, and he reminded himself that she'd probably told any number of men she was attracted to them. Why should he think he was the first, though he wanted to believe her words were real? Part of him wanted to believe that she was attracted to him, but he couldn't. "How can I know your words are not just an attempt to seduce me into letting you go?"