The Gunfighter and the Heiress - By Carol Finch Page 0,29
He’d never been particular when it came to scratching an itch and easing male needs. He told himself that he was partial to Natalie—or whoever she was—because she was his lawfully wedded wife. But he was afraid his feelings went deeper. She teased him, she amused him. She frustrated him and intrigued him. She aroused him with the slightest kiss and the lightest touch of her body brushing against his.
Van was suffering from a severe case of lust and it was wearing his disposition thin. Plus, his inner battle between doubt and desire was maddening.
He blew out an agitated breath when her door opened silently and her shadowed form—with a suitcase clutched in each hand—hovered above him.
“Going somewhere again, sunshine? Over my dead body.”
She glared at him and said, “Don’t tempt me.” Then she slammed the door.
Chapter Six
Natalie swore under her breath when Crow opened the door she had slammed in his face. “I thought I made it clear that just because you’re my husband doesn’t mean you are entitled to boss me around.”
“I must have forgotten.” He tossed her a sarcastic smile. “Sort of like you did when I told you to stand guard by Bart’s door and you barged in while I confronted the three hooligans who planned to finish off Bart tonight.”
He had her there, she admitted. She had thumbed her nose at his commands, determined to aid Bart and Crow if they encountered trouble. Which they certainly had.
Her thoughts went up in smoke when Crow dragged his pillow and pallet into her room to place it in front of her door. She glowered at him for blocking her escape route again.
“Are you inviting me to your bed instead?” he challenged.
She considered it for a half second then said, “Yes.”
That must have surprised him for his thick brows nearly shot off his forehead. “So what’s the catch, sunshine?”
She wasn’t about to tell him that she thought she might stand a better chance of escaping if he fell asleep in her bed rather than having to step over him while he was sprawled in front of her door. And curse it, she should have gone out the window earlier. Unfortunately, the route was precarious and she hadn’t wanted to break an arm or leg because she had a long ride ahead of her.
“There is no catch. I was just thinking of your comfort.”
“Your concern is touching,” he scoffed, and locked her door.
When he shed his dark shirt, exposing the washboard muscles of his belly and his powerful shoulders, Natalie lost her train of thought. Confound it, she was far too aware of the brawny warrior who was now her husband. Counting the battle scars on his arms, ribs and shoulders wasn’t helping to ease her attraction to him. Instead, she felt compelled to kiss away any remembered pain he’d suffered.
Then she wanted to make a deliberate study of the rest of him… Never mind what else you’re tempted to do with him, she scolded herself harshly. Her problem was that she’d become caught up in the fact that Crow was her husband and she was entitled to certain wifely rights to appease her feminine curiosity.
“Sunshine, are you coming to bed?”
She snapped to attention when she noticed that he’d sprawled on the bedspread and cushioned his head on his linked fingers. He was a fine male specimen. She couldn’t take her eyes off those rippling muscles and corded ten-dons on his chest and abdomen.
Without removing her clothing, Natalie stretched out beside him. After all, she still planned to sneak out the instant he dozed off. To her frustration, he rolled to his side and draped his arm over her waist, then angled his bent leg over her knees, effectively pinning in her place without applying pressure.
Her irritation with him fizzled out when he pressed the most incredibly tender kiss to her lips. Sensual awareness sizzled through her when his hand drifted dangerously close to the underside of her breast, then settled on her belly. Her body burned with unappeased need when he nudged his chin against the curve of her neck, then relaxed beside her.
Three hours later, she awoke to make her escape, only to find the sneaky rascal had tied her ankle to his.
“Making sure my captives don’t escape me is one of the things I do best,” he whispered in her ear.
Goose bumps pebbled her skin, despite her irritation with the clever rascal. “I’m really beginning to hate you, Crow.”