Scandal at the Cahill Saloon - By Carol Arens Page 0,30

he could tell, the benefits would be greater than the cost.

One benefit to the marriage was obvious. Sharing a bed with Leanna Cahill would be… The thought distracted him so thoroughly that he nearly forgot the true purpose of his proposal.

“I’ll be a good husband to you. I’ll love your boy as my own flesh and blood.”

“Why?” Leanna stood and brushed blades of dry grass off her skirt. “We’ve known each other barely more than a blink. Why would you settle for a ruined woman and her child when you ought to be looking for a family of your own?”

She paced around the trunk of the tree. After three revolutions she stopped to gaze down at him.

“You don’t love me,” she pointed out.

“That could change.” He stood and backed her against the tree trunk. He twined his fingers in hers, then lifted her hands and kissed each one. “I admire you with all my heart. You are one of the finest women I have had the pleasure to meet.”

“I have four very dear friends working for me who feel the same way.”

“Not the same.” With their fingers joined, he drew them behind her back and tugged her to him. Her heart beat against his ribs. He breathed in the scent of her flesh where it was tender, just between her ear and her jaw. He tasted it with a slow flick of his tongue.

She melted against him. He kissed her hard…ardently.

“There’s this between us and you know it,” he whispered in her ear.

She tipped her head so that the curve of her ear met his lips. Her hair tickled his nose with the echo of meadow flowers.

“I expect you’ve kissed a passel of woman this way. I’m far from the first to share this dalliance with you.” She sighed and closed her eyes. “As lovely as it is.”

“I’ll admit, I’ve dallied with a few, but I’ve never proposed to one of them.” He nipped her earlobe and she sighed.

“Here’s the truth, Leanna.” And it was. No matter what else might be lies, this was true. “There is something between us. You know I feel it, and I know you feel it.”

“It’s not enough.” She sighed, but the protest was weak. He’d show her that she didn’t mean it.

“Let me prove it.”

“You can’t prove a feeling.” A bee buzzed about her hair and he blew it away.

“I’ll wager that I can.”

“A night’s pay, then.” Her wager came in quick, shallow breaths. “You win, you make double. I win, you work for free.”

“Deal.” While she sounded breathless he had all but choked on that one word.

He let go of her hands so that he could slide open three buttons at the collar of her dress. He cupped the back of her head in his palm, loosening neatly coiled curls and letting them slide between his fingertips. He pressed his lips to the hollow of her throat, tasted woman and velvet flesh.

A tremor skittered against his mouth.

“Did you feel that?” He figured that alone would prove is point.

“I did not.” She blinked her eyes, wide and certain.

Well, then, she’d have to notice that he’d slid open the buttons of her gown to the waist. He trailed his fingers over the curve of her breasts where they swelled over the top of her corset.

“What about that?”

“I might have, just a little,” she whispered with her eyes dipping shut.

His heart tripped. She liked pretty underthings. Ivory lace and satin ribbons parted under his fingertips.

“Marry me,” he croaked because the sight of her full, pink-tipped breasts spilling out, bare to the dappled sunshine, stole his breath and nearly buckled his knees.

He longed to take them in his mouth, to taste and tug at the summer-berry flesh. But this was a wager, not a wedding night.

“You’re trembling.” Damn, so was he! “That proves my point.”

When he looked up, he found that she had been watching him watch her. Their gazes held for a long time, then she turned around and began buttoning her dress.

“You’re so damn beautiful, Leanna. This could be enough for a start.”

“I’ll double your wages for one night.” She spoke firmly. But glancing over her shoulder, her eyes looked soft and languid. “That does not mean I will marry you.”

She turned about, her clothing restored but the blush-colored cheeks as vivid as a moment ago.

“Tell me you’ll consider it.”

“I’m not the woman you want,” she murmured, her voice no louder than the leaves rustling in the tree overhead. “I can’t marry you.”

“Maybe not today.”