Trouble in Texas (17 page)

“No,” she said. “But Moses Tate had some interesting information. According to Moses’
grandfather, William Cates stayed more than just a night at Miss Hattie’s.”

Brant’s gaze lifted from the book. “He has evidence?”

“Nothing solid, but he swears his grandfather told him that William was killed the
night of November tenth.”

Brant leaned back on the pillows, the same pillows Elizabeth had been sleeping on
not more than five minutes earlier. And if she thought he’d taken up too much space
when he was sitting on the bed, it was nothing compared to having him stretched out
on it.

“But that’s more than three months later,” he said, completely unaware of her discomfort.
“The article in the Bramble
Gazette
said August fifth.”

She inched so far off the bed her entire leg was hanging over the edge. “Exactly,”
she said. “But what was funny was that when I looked back at the newspaper, it
came out November 30, 1892. Now I realize that news was slower back then, but four
months slower?”

“So you think William was at Miss Hattie’s for three months before the mayor and sheriff
concocted the story about his shooting. But that’s crazy.”

“You don’t know Bramble. We’re a pretty crazy town,” she said as she watched him toe
off a cowboy boot. The boot hit the floor with a thud that had Elizabeth jumping.
“Just what do you think you’re doing?”

Brant cocked an eyebrow. “Worried I’m going to piss off your boyfriend Elmer?”

“Elmer is not my boyfriend. He’s married, for goodness sakes.”

The other eyebrow joined the first. “Are you sure you’re not behind the invitations?”
He toed off the other boot, and it thumped to the floor.

It was difficult to pull her gaze away from the big stocking feet that now hung over
the end of her bed. “Did Minnie actually invite young women out to the house to become
prostitutes?”

“It appears so,” he said as he tucked his hands behind his head. “Although she refuses
to use that word.”

“Except we both know that it’s the same difference. Has she lost her mind?”

“I think that would be a yes,” he said.

“Well, you’ll just have to contact the women and let them know the situation.”

He turned to her. “Me? I’m not the owner of Miss Hattie’s. And you can be damned sure
that I won’t be until this is cleared up.”

Elizabeth was afraid of that. “Fine. I’ll contact the women. How many invitations
did she send out?”

“According to Baby, only ten. And five have already declined, which leaves five, minus
the one that’s already there.”

Elizabeth stared at him. “There’s a girl at Miss Hattie’s?”

“Starlet Brubaker to be exact.” He rolled to his side and propped his head up on his
hand. “According to Minnie, she’s a direct descendant of Starlet O’Malley.”

Elizabeth knew the name. “The hen who moved to New York and starred on Broadway?”

“That would be the one, which is why Starlet is at Miss Hattie’s. She’s convinced
that her road to stardom starts as a hen.”

“Good grief.” She flopped back on the bed. “Please tell me she’s over eighteen.”

“Barely.” He reached out and caught a curl of her hair that had fallen over the edge
of his pillow. “I thought it would be shorter and more brown.” He stretched out the
strand and studied it in the light of the lamp. “Not long with hints of gold.”

At another time, the sight of his fingers caressing her hair might’ve turned her into
a witless wonder. But the thought of going to jail for soliciting kept her on topic.
“So this Starlet is still at the house? Why didn’t you explain things and send her
on her way?”

“Because I’ve always been a sucker for tears.” He wound the piece of hair around his
finger. “And not only does Starlet have a voice that would send African elephants
charging, she also cries so loudly it had me saying anything to get her to stop. Which
means the job of kicking her out is all on you.”

“Fine,” Elizabeth said. “I’ll deal with it first thing in
the morning.” She looked over at him. “And now that we have that settled, you can
go.”

But Brant seemed in no hurry to release her hair, or leave. In fact, he continued
to wind the lock around his finger until the tension had her moving closer.

“So tell me about Elmer.” His breath fell hot against her lips.

“There’s nothing to tell. He’s just a neighbor who forgets where he lives when he
gets drunk,” she said as she tried to unwind her hair. It only took him closing his
fist to crush her hopes of freedom.

“Maybe he doesn’t forget,” he said. “Maybe he knows exactly what he’s doing.”

Her gaze lifted to his. In his eyes, she saw desire. The same desire that swirled
around inside of her. Brant had come here because of invitations. Now it looked as
if he was issuing one of his own. Except he didn’t wait for her reply before his head
tipped and his lips brushed over hers.

The man had a way with kisses. He had all these subtle techniques of soft sips and
gentle little nips that left Elizabeth completely and utterly mindless. All she could
think about was the heat of his mouth and the tingles that filled her body with each
sweep of his tongue. It didn’t take much for him to coax her into participating, and
once she offered up her mouth to his skillful assault, all sanity was lost.

Releasing her hair, he pressed her back against the pillows. His hand skated over
the cotton of her nightshirt as he reshaped her breast to fit his palm. He brushed
his thumb over her nipple and heat zinged from the hardening point to the spot between
her legs. The intense sensation
left her breathless and stunned, forcing her to pull back from the kiss or pass out
from lack of oxygen.

While she gasped for air, Brant blazed a trail of kisses down her neck and over her
breasts, his mouth creating little damp spots on her shirt. Elizabeth had just caught
her breath when his mouth settled over her nipple and took it away again. The combination
of hot tongue and wet cotton stroking over her nipple brought the ache between her
legs to a fevered pitch. She couldn’t breathe, but she no longer cared. All she cared
about was Brant continuing what he was doing. A primitive groan came from her throat,
and Brant answered the guttural sound by jerking up her shirt and touching his hot,
rough tongue to her tight, bare nipple.

The hard pull of his lips had her hands gripping his hair and her hips bumping up
against his thigh as she searched for a way to alleviate her aching need. The bedspread
and sheets had bunched up between them, cushioning the hardness she craved. As if
reading her thoughts, Brant jerked the blankets free and sent them sailing to the
floor before his hand curved over her bare bottom.

He pulled his head back and glanced down. The sexual haze lifted, and she tried to
tug the shirt over her most vulnerable spot. But Brant wasn’t having it. He curled
his strong fingers over hers and lifted the shirt back up amid her stammered excuses.

“I-I don’t just run around without my panties. I read this article that said it was
a good idea at night to let… certain body parts,” she swallowed hard, “sort of… you
know… breathe.”

He stared at the light brown patch of hair for an inordinately long amount of time
before his gaze lifted to hers.
The heat in his eyes had her face flushing, and her pulse throbbing.

“I couldn’t agree more,” he said as he slipped his hand between her legs, causing
a current of desire to zing straight through her. “We wouldn’t want
this
,” he slid a finger inside her slick heat, and she wondered if she might pass out
after all, “not to be able to breathe.”

Before she could do more than groan, he removed his hand and lowered his head to kiss
her there. And not a brief sweet kiss, but a long, deep one with plenty of tongue.
She knew about oral sex. She just didn’t
know
about oral sex. Now that she did, she didn’t think she could ever go without it again.
It was like an addictive drug that sizzled through her veins and up to her brain where
it completely reconfigured all her synapses.

Gone was the Elizabeth Murphy who had spent most of her life ignoring her sexual needs.
In her place was a woman who wanted to explore every one of them.

And Brant didn’t seem to have a problem helping her.

With each stroke of his tongue, he brought out more and more of her passion, turning
her into a wanton woman who held on to his head and urged him on with her groans.
The tight knot of desire grew and grew until Elizabeth felt like a stretched rubber
band just waiting to be released. The intensity of her orgasm took her by surprise.
Suddenly, she was sailing through the heavens in a meteor shower of sensations that
had her thighs clamping around Brant’s head and words flying from her mouth.

“Oh, yes! Yes! Yes!”

She landed back on earth with a satisfying plop. She enjoyed the feeling of contentment
for only a moment before the sound of tearing foil made her open her eyes.
Brant knelt above her, completely naked. She was so wrapped up in the sight of all
those lean muscles that she didn’t notice what he was doing until his hands dropped
away from his condom-covered penis.

Correction. His mammoth condom-covered penis.

Her eyes widened as her heart started beating erratically again. But this time, not
with passion. With fear. She jerked down her shirt and crab-walked closer to the headboard.
She tried to look away, but she couldn’t seem to get her eyes to cooperate. Or her
unruly mouth.

“You’re huge.”

Brant tossed the condom wrapper to the nightstand, a smile teasing the corners of
his mouth. “Thank you.”

“I didn’t mean it as a compliment. What I meant was—” Her eyes widened as he eased
down next to her. “What are you going to do with that?”

He arched one brow. “Do?”

“I mean, I know what you want to do with it, but I just don’t think it’s possible.
That,” she pointed a finger down, but refused to look, “is not going to fit.”

His laughter took her completely by surprise. She had rarely seen the man smile, let
alone laugh until tears dripped from the corners of his eyes. She should’ve been angry
that he was making fun of her. But the sight didn’t fill her with anger as much as
a warm, cozy feeling that settled in her stomach and had her smiling back.

He stopped laughing, but his lips still tipped up at the corners. And it was really
hard to think when he smiled at her. His smile wasn’t as flashy as Beau’s, but it
was twice as sexy. He had white, even teeth and a dimple. Just the sight of that little
dent in his cheek caused her heart—and a spot much lower—to flutter.

“Believe me, sweetheart,” he said. “I’m not laughing at you. It’s just that I’ve never
been with someone who is quite so straight to the point.” His smile faded. “So I guess
my assumption was wrong. You really are a virgin.” When she nodded, he released his
breath and rolled to his back, covering his eyes with the back of his forearm. “Would
you care to explain how a woman your age is still a virgin? Or let me guess: you’re
saving yourself for marriage.”

She probably could’ve lied and saved herself an embarrassing explanation, but she
had never been good at lying. Especially to a man who had just given her the best
orgasm of her life—the only male-induced orgasm of her life.

“No. I don’t want to get married.”

He lifted his arm and looked over at her. “Every woman wants to get married.”

“I don’t,” she said. “I’m quite happy being single.”

He rolled over onto his side to face her. “So are you telling me that the reason you’re
still a virgin is that you just haven’t found the right fit?” He reached out and smoothed
back her hair, trailing a line of fire from her forehead to her ear.

“I haven’t looked that hard.” Her gaze swept down to the condom-covered thing that
rested against her thigh. “Have you found women that fit?”

He chuckled. “A few.” He leaned over and brushed his lips across hers until her brain
was so scrambled she couldn’t think. “Did you know you have the prettiest lips?” He
deepened the kiss. Between the compliment and his hot kisses, Elizabeth started to
wonder if size really didn’t matter.

“Fine,” she whispered against his mouth. “I’m willing to try. But if it doesn’t work,
you’ll have to promise to stop.”

Brant pulled back and studied her for a few minutes before he shook his head. “Sorry,
but I don’t do virgins. You might not be saving yourself for marriage, but you should
be saving yourself for someone you care about.”

Brant was right. The first time should be with someone she cared about. And she certainly
didn’t care about this man. But if that was true, then why did she suddenly feel so
disappointed?

“Well,” she tugged at the hem of her t-shirt and tried to scoot away from him, “thank
you for the… orgasm. And I would appreciate it if you’d lock the door when you leave.”

His dimple reappeared. “Who said anything about leaving?” His hand slid up her leg,
pushing her t-shirt to her waist.

“But I thought you didn’t want—”

“Oh, I want,” he said in a gravelly whisper. “But just because I can’t have what I
want doesn’t mean we still can’t have a little innocent fun.” His hand slipped between
her legs, and his thumb brushed over her.

Elizabeth closed her eyes as hot tingles spread upward.

She didn’t know how innocent it was… but it sure was fun.

T
HERE WAS A MAN IN
E
LIZABETH’S BED.

A man with huge feet that dangled off the end and an armspan that took up the entire
width of her double mattress. Elizabeth was pinned beneath one of those arms. Pinned
like a butterfly to a display board, she was unable to do more than stare at the ceiling
and try to figure out how she had ended up in this position.

She wasn’t some impulsive woman who was easily swept off her feet. In fact, Elizabeth
wasn’t impulsive at all. She prided herself on her rational thinking. Before she made
any decision, she always did her homework, weighed the pros and cons, and considered
every angle.