Tracker’s Sin (10 page)

heavy.

As if sensing the seriousness of the moment, Miguel grabbed her blouse and buried his face in her throat. As soon as they were on the

street she released her breath.

“A little too soon to be breathing a sigh of relief,” Tracker said, taking the pistol from her hand and putting it back in his belt. Grabbing her

arm, he hustled her over to where the horse stood patiently waiting. “Tighten your grip on that baby,” he said as he lifted her. She grabbed the back of the

saddle with her free hand.

Without further ado, he stepped backward into a stirrup and swung his leg over the horse, turning his body. The saddle dipped with his

weight, and Ari dipped right along with it. His left arm swept back and pushed her upright as he settled into the saddle. If he hadn’t left it there she

would’ve tumbled right off when the horse spun.

Miguel laughed. Ari cried out. Tracker swore. Switching her grip to his waist, she pressed her face into his back, relishing the feel of

muscle beneath his skin. She held her son tightly between them.

Tracker didn’t slow the horse until they got back to the ranch. He was strong. So strong. And he made her feel so safe. For the first time in

eleven months, she felt she could breathe.

The horse stopped in front the barn. Tracker grabbed her arm, offering support. “Slide down.”

It was awkward, holding Miguel. Tracker swung her out a little. She squealed. Miguel giggled. Tracker swore. It was getting to be a

pattern.

Vincente came hurrying up. Tracker waved him away. “Go back to the house. Make sure that gun of yours is loaded.”

When Ari turned to go with Vincente, Tracker grabbed her arm. “We need to talk.”

More ominous words had never been spoken. “About what?”

“About why I’m about to paddle your ass.” He hauled her through the barn door.

“Your horse?”

“Deserves better than he’s getting, but he’l wait.”

The growl in Tracker’s voice sent a shiver down her spine. It should’ve been one of terror, but it wasn’t. That odd sense of being alive

tingled through her, spreading until her fingers curved with the need to touch him.

Inside the barn door she stopped, blinking. He kept going, taking her with him. She stumbled. Miguel giggled again. Tracker gave them

both a dirty look. His hair swung out and fel over her shoulder as he spun back around. Miguel grabbed a handful, his eyes widening at the novelty.

“Hel , now. You don’t want to be chewing on that.”

Oblivious to Tracker’s frustration, Miguel dragged his new treasure to his mouth.

Tracker stared as if he’d never seen the like. “That’s disgusting.”

Whatever Miguel touched went into his mouth. “You haven’t been around too many babies, have you?” Ari asked.

“No.” He motioned with his free hand to Miguel. “Any chance he’l let go soon?”

It might’ve been her imagination, but there wasn’t as much anger in Tracker’s voice now. There was stil that growl, though. Another tingle

started where he gripped her arm, spread over her shoulder, moved down to her breasts. Her breath caught. Her “no” was a little hoarse.

“Figures.” Not even bothering to fight Miguel’s claim to his hair, Tracker pul ed her into the bedroom and stopped dead. He stood there

holding her arm, Miguel holding his hair, and Ari realized he didn’t know what to do. The last of her fear flitted away. Whatever the Ranger’s past, whatever

horrible things he might have done in the course of his job, he wasn’t a danger to her. But he was a temptation. Strong and handsome, he would be a

temptation to any woman. Another thril went through her.

“Make him let go,” he grunted.

Excitement,
she realized. Those thril s were excitement. Tracker Ochoa excited her. It was shocking. It was…nice. She tossed her hair

back off her face. Her neat bun was a thing of the past. “You make him.”

“Do you think I won’t?”

She was pretty sure he wouldn’t. Tracker didn’t have the look of a man comfortable around children.

“No.”

A flutter of sensation went through her, fol owed very quickly by a surge of heat as the side of Tracker’s pinkie touched her breast. It wasn’t

fear. It wasn’t frustration. It wasn’t depression. It was excitement. And she was feeling it, when she’d given up on feeling anything good ever again.

His expression a mix of determination and hesitation, Tracker reached out with his free hand. Miguel let go of his hair, grabbed his finger

and held on. Tracker blinked. Content with his prize, Miguel laid his head against Ari’s shoulder. He sighed that little sigh that told her he was going to

sleep shortly. Her heart stirred when Tracker didn’t tug his hand free. He was a good man. She glanced at his expression and hid a smile. Albeit a

frustrated one.

“In about two minutes he’l be asleep, and you can tear into me then,” she told him. It was comfortable in this moment with him. The world

was so far away. Her life so far away. As far away as her memories. There was just now. It was funny, when one had no past, how comfortable one could

get with the present moment. And right now, she was with Tracker. A man who’d offered her understanding. A man who’d saved her life. A man who made

her feel alive. Excited her. She licked her lips.

Tracker’s gaze flicked to hers before dropping to her mouth. His own mouth lost its hard edge. Her breathing quickened.

“What makes you think I want to tear into you?”

The ful ness of his lips. The tension in his muscles. The desire in his eyes. The increased pressure of his hand.

She tilted her head, glancing at him sideways, not quite so brazen that she could look him directly in the eye as a delicious hunger built

inside. Hunger for him. For his touch. For the sheer joy in living that she felt in his presence. He made the nothingness of today feel like the possibility of

tomorrow. “Just a hunch.”

Little flickers of lightning sparked out from where the side of his hand rested on her col arbone. It wasn’t her imagination that his touch

grew heavier. It wasn’t her imagination that his fingers spread down, caressing the soft upper curve of her breast. She should stop him. She told herself

she would as soon as it stopped feeling good. He made her feel so good, so alive.

“You’re playing with fire.”

“I know.” But at least she was playing.

“You don’t want this.” His hand slipped lower.

Didn’t she? “You seem awful y sure of what I want and what I don’t want.”

“I have more experience than you.”

“But not in what I want.”

His eyes narrowed and his pinkie slipped down to graze the tip of her breast, which grew hard and tingled with sensation. It felt so right.

“I’m a widow, Mr. Ochoa, not a virgin you have to worry about scaring.”

“You have no idea what I worry about.”

“It shouldn’t be me.”

His eyelids flickered. “You think you’re woman enough to handle me, sweets?”

Was she? She didn’t know. And neither did he. “Are you wil ing to let me try?”

“No.”

He was lying. She knew he was lying. He wanted her. And she wanted him. Holding his gaze, she reached up and slid her hand across

his cheek. She paused, dragging her fingertips downward. He didn’t have much of a beard. She frowned at the vague sense that there should be a beard.

She waited for a memory, an emotion to fol ow the fragment of a realization. There was nothing except the vague acknowledgment of there once being a

beard. Opening her hand, she slid it farther up his face. The edges of the scar abraded her palm.

He didn’t look away. His eyes studied hers. Again she had that sense that he saw more than she remembered, held answers she

needed. “What are you doing, Ari?” he asked at last.

“I’m not sure.” She frowned, concentrating on the feelings. “I think I’m experimenting.”

“With what?”

“How it feels to be alive.”

“Sweets, what you’re doing is more like asking to know what it would be like to die.”

“Not for me.” She already knew how to die. It was living she struggled with. A fight she might have lost if not for Miguel. And now this

man…. She threaded her fingers through Tracker’s hair. It was softer to the touch than she expected. Like heavy dark silk. “To me, you feel like life.”

“Because I make you remember?”

She shook her head. “I don’t remember anything, but with you, I don’t care.” She touched her thumb to his lips the way he had to hers.

How could she begin to explain to him the freedom that came from feeling part of the world? The joy of feeling pleasure? The sense of coming home?

“You just feel…right.”

His eyes narrowed and his mouth tilted up in a sensual quirk. He had beautiful eyes. A rich brown so deep, like fine chocolate. And his

mouth. Such a beautiful mouth.

“Right?”

She pressed her thumb against his lips again. “Don’t laugh, but I think I’ve been waiting for you, Tracker Ochoa.”

This close, she couldn’t miss his start. “Hel .”

“Does that mean you stil want to paddle my butt?”

That smal smile grew. “Yeah, but not for the same reason.”

She blinked. He wanted to spank her for pleasure? “Why don’t you just start with kissing me?”

The shake of his head sent his hair spil ing onto her breast. Another connection.

“You don’t know what you’re asking.”

“I know kissing sounds better than spanking.”

His lips quirked at the corner. “Sweets, you’d be safer taking the spanking.”

She shrugged, not looking away. “Maybe I’m tired of being safe.”

There was possession in the cupping of his hand around hers, hunger in the press, acceptance in the withdrawal. “I like you being safe.”

Nothing was colder than the moment when he took his hand away. Nothing more annoying than yet another person tel ing her what she

felt, what she wanted. “You don’t know me.”

He took a step back. “But I’ve known a lot of women like you. Women who want excitement for the moment. Only problem with the plan is

I’m not your toy. Bad enough that claiming you in town is likely to get me kil ed.”

She took a step forward. Then a bigger one, so that her skirt wrapped around his legs. He made her feel so brazen. So sexy. “Since

when are you afraid of being kil ed?”

Ari had a point, Tracker realized. Since when was he afraid to take what life offered? Since when did he worry about the future? Hel ,

since when did he think he’d have a future?

“I’m not.” He motioned to Miguel, who’d fal en asleep. “Put him down.”

Ari hesitated, her hand stroking the baby’s head. Her tongue flicked over her lips, a pink dart of temptation. Tracker wanted that tongue in

his mouth, on his skin. His cock flexed in protest when she bit her lip. Damn it, he wanted that kiss.

She squared her shoulders. It was a different woman who held his gaze, confident, passionate. It had to be an il usion. Tracker stepped

back, making room for Ari’s escape. She gave him a look that was completely unreadable, turned in the opposite direction than he expected and placed

Miguel careful y on the bed. The boy didn’t wake as Ari took the pil ow and pul ed it down, bracketing her son between it and the wal . When she turned

back to Tracker, her chin came up.

“Prove it.”

“Daring me?” he asked, not sure which answer he desired. A “no” that would put an end to this, or a “yes” that would draw him in.

She smiled a siren’s smile. One that no man could resist. “Throwing myself at you didn’t work.”

The hel it hadn’t. “You want the kiss that badly?”

She nodded and took a step forward. “Oh, yes.”

He took a step of his own, his gaze drawn to the press of her nipples against the cotton of her blouse. She wasn’t faking it. She wanted

him. “Why?”

“I already told you.” Her next step brought her within reach.

He caught the curl that tumbled from her bun. It wound around his finger. “Because you want to feel alive?”

Her fingers curled around his wrist as if she was afraid he’d bolt. She didn’t have to worry. He wasn’t going anywhere. “With you.”

She reiterated that, as if it was important. And maybe it was to her. No woman liked to feel she had needs just any man could fulfil .

Tracker nodded, stretching out that curl, letting it go, watching it bounce back, as if the trauma had never happened. Was that what she

was doing? Bouncing back from the trauma of her past? “Because you think I’m different.”

“I know you’re different.”

“You don’t remember anything that happened before you arrived here.”

If she did, she wouldn’t be within a hundred yards of him.

She took the last step, sliding her hands up over his shoulders. Hot little hands that sent shivers of pure sensation down his spine. “Are

you always this argumentative?”

“Probably.”

Her nails pressed into the back of his neck. “Just my luck.”

Or his. He brushed his fingers over her cheek, snagging the remnants of the bun at the nape of her neck. Two tugs and the braid came

free, unfurling down her back. He fol owed the trail with his fingers, tracing the subtle indentations of her spine to the hol ow of her back before retracing

the path and drawing her gently forward. Giving her time to reconsider.

Damn it al to hel , the one thing she had to be sure about was kissing him. There was only so much honor a man had when faced with

such temptation.

“Don’t you want to kiss me, Tracker?” she asked. As if there was any doubt…

“I want to do a hel of a lot more than that.” His cock was rock hard, ready to go off like a green boy. And al he’d done was run his fingers

up her spine.

A shadow flitted through the clear blue of her eyes, gone in a heartbeat. He was making her nervous.