Whirlwind Groom (20 page)

With his foot, Davis Lee hooked a dining chair by its leg and dragged it over to the stove, setting Josie down carefully. But when he tried to step away, she clung to him.

“I'm lighting the lamp,” he said soothingly. “Then I'm going to start a fire and get you a blanket.”

Her eyes were huge with terror. “I don't want you to leave.”

The alarm in her voice had him stroking her hair. “You'll be able to see me the whole time.”

Finally she released him. He quickly lit the lamp on the dining table, then moved around her and past the stove to shove kindling into the fireplace. After starting a fire, he went through the door that led into his bedroom and returned with a quilt his ma had made.

He wrapped Josie up and crouched before her. “I've got to go back and take that guy to jail. Will you be okay for a few minutes?”

“I don't want you to go.”

“I know, honey.” Leaving her alone for even a minute went against every protective instinct inside him. “But if you want what happened to be kept secret, I have to be the one to move the bastard or tell Jake to do it.”

“All right,” she whispered, her face ashen, tears streaking her cheeks.

He squeezed her shoulders. “Let me get Charlie or his wife—”

“No, just you.”

“I don't like you being here alone.”

“I'll be okay. Just hurry.”

He wasn't worried about her attacker going anywhere because he'd used the man's own rope belt to hog-tie him, but Davis Lee didn't want the sonovabitch drawing any attention, either. He took an extra pistol from the mantel and laid it in her lap. “You use this if you need to.”

She nodded but didn't touch the gun. He smoothed a hand over her dark hair, half of it loosened from her chignon. “Bar the door behind me. I'll be right back.”

He waited until he heard her slide the long piece of wood into place then he raced to the alley and made sure his prisoner hadn't moved. He hadn't, so Davis Lee checked his breathing and made sure he was still alive. He was, which was slightly disappointing.

It was a wonder Davis Lee had heard Josie scream with all the racket coming from the saloon, especially since he'd been checking Jed Doyle's gunsmith shop several doors away.

Concerned at being away from her a minute more than necessary, Davis Lee ran to the jail and told Jake to go fetch the guy in the alley then lock him up. Whatever questions the deputy wanted to ask would just have to wait. Davis Lee was back at his house in less than five minutes.

When Josie heard his voice, she opened the door so fast he figured she must've been standing there the whole time. She was huddled into the blanket, and when she saw him, sharp relief broke across her face.

“Is he in jail?”

“On his way.” He barred the door behind him and shrugged out of his coat.

She closed the distance between them and laid her head on his chest. His throat tightened.

Reaching behind him, he hung his coat on the peg next to the door. “Let's go over here.”

He picked her up and walked to the chair she'd used
before. Sinking down into it, he closed his eyes and inhaled her light scent, let it soak into him. She trembled in his arms and Davis Lee remained silent until the jagged edge of his fear subsided. “I found your scalpel. It's in my coat pocket.”

“I cut him.”

“I know, honey.” He stroked her hair out of her face, careful to keep his touch easy. “That was good.”

Her lashes lay in dark velvet crescents on her cheeks; she was pale as milk. Her shawl was draped over the back of another chair and he caught sight of something green and white on the floor behind the table. Her dress.

Her gaze followed his. “I had to get it off.”

“Are you—do you—”
Damn.
“Do you need some clothes? You can wear one of my shirts.”

“That's okay. I didn't…take off anything else.”

“You're not cold?”

“No.”

He tucked the quilt tighter around her, refusing to let his mind picture what she looked like beneath the covering. Her small black boots peeked out and he caught a flash of a white stocking.

“Thank you for not telling anyone.”

“You're welcome.” He pressed her head to his shoulder. “Tomorrow, Jake will take the guy to Abilene. I don't want that sonova—him anywhere near you.”

She nodded, exhaling a ragged breath.

“Feeling a little more steady now?”

“Yes.”

“I'll get some water and a cloth.”

“No,” she said quickly. “Not yet.”

“All right.” He slid out her hairpins and placed them on the table. Running his fingers through her hair, he got out what dirt and tangles he could. “What happened, Josie?”

“I went for a walk,” she said quietly. “Until I reached
the saloon, I didn't realize how far I'd gone. When I started back to the hotel, I heard a noise behind me. Like someone was in pain.”

“And you tried to help?”

“Yes.”

Davis Lee had seen it before—a man pretending to be sick or injured to trick a woman into getting close to him, then hurting her. “That's when he attacked you?”

“Yes.”

“I'm glad you had your scalpel.”

“Me, too.”

He gathered her hair in his hand and smoothed the silky length to the middle of her back. “Why were you walking so late?”

“I…couldn't sleep.”

“Something was troubling you?”

She nodded against his shoulder.

“Wanna tell me?” If he hadn't been holding her, he wouldn't have known that her body tightened almost imperceptibly. Why wouldn't she want him to know what bothered her? Surely she hadn't been meeting someone. Or trying to sneak into the jail again.

“Don't you know by now that you can trust me?” he asked softly.

“It isn't that,” she whispered, so low he had to strain to catch the words. “I just…went for a walk.”

His gut told him she had started to say something else, but he let it go for now. Finally the thunder of his heartbeat slowed. She breathed easier, too. “Let me get that water now. You'll feel better once we get some of the dirt off of you.”

“Okay.” She stood stiffly beside the chair as he got a basin from the shelf over his sink then pumped the bowl full of water. He added a warmed brick piece from the fireplace. After dropping a cloth into the basin, he set it on the
table then turned to the small cupboard behind and took out a bottle of Old Farm whiskey and a glass.

Filling it with a moderate amount of liquor, he stepped over to her and pressed it into her hand. “Drink this. It'll help steady you.”

She sipped slowly, grimacing distastefully at the first swallow.

He laid his palm between her shoulder blades and rubbed her back until she finished the drink. Pulling the rocking chair over from the corner, he settled it in front of his seat and motioned for her to sit.

He did the same, picking up the basin of water. “I'll hold the washbowl for you.”

She finally relaxed her stranglehold on the blanket and it gaped slightly at her neck. Reaching toward him, she took the cloth and squeezed out the excess water. Her hands were visibly shaking and she clasped them tightly together, her gaze fixed on them as if she could order them to stop trembling.

After a long minute, when she still hadn't moved, Davis Lee set the basin on the cold stove and lifted her onto his lap, fitting her against his left shoulder so he could use his right hand. He gently pried the cloth from her.

“I feel silly,” she said, looking down.

“There's nothing silly about letting me help you. Especially tonight.”

She nodded, her eyes locking on his.

“I'll try not to hurt you.” He dabbed at her cheek, already slightly discolored, then ran the cloth lightly over the delicate lines of her face, careful of the bruise on her jaw.

“I'm so glad you found me,” she said close to his ear.

As he moved the rag down her neck, the blanket parted enough to reveal one lace-edged strap of her undergarment. He nudged the blanket aside just enough to reach below her collarbone, and froze.

A vicious scratch angled from just beneath the hollow in her throat to the swell of her left breast.

He went rigid with the effort to hold back the brutal, black tide sweeping through him. “Why didn't you tell me you were hurt here?”

She glanced down. “I didn't know.”

“Are there any other marks on you?”

“I don't think so.”

A long minute passed before he had himself under control. He carefully cleaned the flat plane of her chest, unable to keep his jaw from tightening as he neared the bloody mark on her tender flesh.

The thought that she'd been hurt was bad enough, but that she could've been hurt even worse rocked him. Hating that he hadn't been there to prevent the attack, feeling he should give her
something,
he bent his head and put his mouth gently on the scrape.

She made a little sound of surprise. Her warm breath fluttered against the back of his neck. “I don't know what I would've done if he—”

“Shhh.” He looked up, his mouth barely an inch from hers. “You're all right.”

Tears filled her eyes, spilled down her cheeks.

“Oh, honey, don't cry. I've got you now.”

“I—I know,” she sobbed, covering her eyes. “I can't help it.”

The shudder that went through her body kindled every protective instinct he'd ever had, made him want to promise her that nothing like this would ever happen again. But he couldn't promise something like that. All he could do was be here for her now.

He took her hand from her eyes. Unable to help himself, he kissed the tears from one cheek, then the other, registering the slight taste of salt. He thumbed away more tears.
The absolute trust on her face released something inside him. “Seeing you in that alley scared the hell out of me.”

Her eyes, deep green and wet, met his. He still held the damp cloth to her chest, and beneath his hand he could feel her pulse pounding wildly, could feel the slope where her breast began to curve.

She leaned into him and touched her lips to his; some barrier inside him crumbled. Hungrily, tenderly, he fed on her mouth, reining back the reckless impulses shooting through him. At first their lips were barely open, her breath mingling with his. She looped one arm around his neck and made an urgent sound in the back of her throat.

Mindful of her bruised jaw, as carefully as if she were spun glass, he moved his hand to cup the back of her head and angled her to him for a better fit. Her mouth parted, inviting him in. He went, the slow mating of their tongues helping to reassure him that she was all right.

She shrugged her shoulder free of the blanket and brought her other arm around his neck. Short nails grazed his nape as her fingers delved into his hair. His arm wrapped around her small waist, his reach far enough that his fingers brushed the underside of her breast. She turned fully into his chest.

She was warm and soft, the flavor of woman and aged whiskey. Compelled to taste the rest of her, Davis Lee's lips moved to her neck, up to the tender patch behind her ear, down to the sensitive curve where her shoulder began.

She kissed his nape, her small hands tugging his shirt from his trousers and sliding the fabric up so she could splay her hands flat against his bare back.

The powder-soft texture of her skin, her faint honeysuckle scent swirled around him, making his arousal rock hard.

Her breasts burned into him. He shifted her so he could reach all of her. His lips glided down her elegant neck. Her head went back, baring her throat to him, dissolving every last ounce of his common sense. He laved the dip in the
center of her collarbone, touched his tongue to the tiny mole there, then once more opened his mouth over her torn flesh. He pressed his lips to the swell of her breast, repeating the butterfly kiss on the other.

He couldn't stop kissing her there. She made a little sound in the back of her throat, his name spilling brokenly from her lips. “Please, Davis Lee.”

Compelled by the rush in his blood and feelings he could no longer escape, he opened the first three buttons at the top of her one-piece undergarment. He slipped his hand inside to the smooth warm flesh beneath, curving his fingers around her small, plump breast.

He felt her pulse hitch when he brushed his thumb across her nipple. It budded in response as she brought his mouth back to hers. She kissed him long and deep with an edge of wildness. Emotion rushed through him. He wanted to devour her, shelter her, claim her. He opened another button then another, pushing aside the thin fabric and dragging his lips from hers so he could look at her.

Her nipples were rosy and tight, touched with gold firelight. The sight of his rough-skinned hand on her pale, perfect flesh had his chest tightening. Transfixed, he brushed his thumb along the curve of her breast.

“You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen,” he said just before his mouth closed over her.

Her hand slid up the bare flesh of his back and she held him to her, her entire body quivering. The ragged moan spilling from her throat went straight to his heart then lower.

He arched her slightly over his arm so he could taste more of her. His big palm splayed on her stomach, the tip of his little finger touching the seam at the apex of her thighs.

His tongue curled around her. She held him close, her breathy cry driving a spike of pure burning need through him.

He moved his mouth to the sensitive skin of her throat,
scraped her gently with his teeth, then covered her lips with his. The kiss was hot and deep, desperately intense. She turned full into him so that her breasts flattened against his chest, trapping his hand between them. One slender arm went around his neck; the other was moving under his shirt, stroking his waist, his back. Every inch of her torso touched his.