It was nearing dusk when they rode up the hill to his camp.He carried her inside the cabin and set her on her bed. “Will we be safe here? What if other outlaws show up? Texas isn’t even here to help guard.”
“You know you’re safe with me, Violet. And Bo doesn’t go far from you. And you have this.” He set the Colt that he’d retrieved from the claim jumper on the top crate by her bed. “Don’t hesitate to fire it, if only to summon me.”
She smiled weakly. She already knew she should have done that today. Next time—God, there couldn’t be a next time. She wasn’t stepping foot out of this camp again unless the bear was with her.
He knelt to remove her boots, then left. She didn’t move, simply stared at the floor by her bare feet. Even after he came back in and began washing the blood from her face and hands with cold water, she still just stared at the floor, letting him remove the signs of what had happened. But what would wash away the fear and terror that were lurking in her mind?
He lit a few lanterns and started the fire before he said, “You need to eat.”
She didn’t answer. After a moment he stood in front of her again and added, “Maybe you need this instead.”
She saw the glass in his hand filled with golden liquid, the stuff he drank, whiskey or rum. “No thank you.”
He tipped up her chin and looked at her closely. “How are you feeling?”
“I can’t stop thinking about the dead men and all that blood.”
“You were brave today. I doubt many London debutantes would be able to help take down two American outlaws the way you did.”
He was trying to make her laugh, but his grin, so easily seen now, just pointed out that this wasn’t her Morgan. His voice, his eyes were familiar to her, but the rest of his face wasn’t. It was too bloody handsome. Why’d he have to shave? The bear had been somewhat safe.
“They were bad men, Violet,” he added. “Now they won’t be able to hurt people anymore.”
But she’d watched them die! She began to shake uncontrollably. And cry, great wrenching sobs. She couldn’t stop either reaction. She’d been so sure she was going to die today.
“Sometimes a good cry helps, according to my ma. I’m sorry you went through this, but I promise it will get better.”
She covered her face with her hands and felt him sit on the bed next to her and draw her onto his lap to try to soothe her. She remembered that her aunt had said something similar about tears being beneficial, so she didn’t try to stop crying, but she did try to stop thinking. The tears finally wound down to sniffles. She didn’t feel better yet, but maybe she could more easily lock those memories away now. And thinking about the new Morgan helped. He was still safe, still protecting her. Even if he was too handsome, she sensed that deep down he was still the bear.
“You want some of that whiskey now?”
“No, I think your mother was right about a good cry,” she said with a smile to assure him the flood was over.
He wiped her cheeks gently. “We should probably get rid of your dirty clothes and brush your hair.”
She gave him a curious look. “You do like doing that, don’t you?”
He grinned, abashed. “Can’t help it, with beautiful hair like yours.”
It was nice of him to just call her clothes dirty instead of mentioning the blood splatters, and she did want to get rid of them, so she helped him get them off her, saying, “They need to be burned.”
“We don’t need a room full of smoke. I’ll deal with them later.”
He found her brush and had her sit between his legs on the edge of the bed. He unwound her braid first, then began the long, gentle strokes that felt so good. “Picture my flower garden,” he said softly. “If I were to stay here longer, what would you recommend adding to it? I was thinking violets, but would roses be better? Are they popular in England?”
She laughed, aware that he was trying to make her feel better; it was certainly working. “Everyone knows English roses are the most beautiful.”
She turned halfway to face him, arrested again by his handsome face, but it was suddenly very important that he know how grateful she was. “Thank you for rescuing me and taking care of me.”
She leaned over to kiss his newly smooth cheek, but didn’t lean all the way back, still staring at him. He’d done so much for her today, but she suddenly wanted more, and before she could stop them, the words came out: “Kiss me.”
He didn’t hesitate, put his mouth to hers gently at first, and then more passionately. Had he already been thinking about this and only resisted for her sake? It only took moments for her to wrap an arm about his neck and kiss him back with equal passion.
A different realm, this, sensual, feelings so new they were yet to be explored, so far removed from what she was escaping. She delved deeper, quickened at the touch of his palm to her cheek, her neck, her breast. When a hand moved ever so slowly up her leg, it was hot skin she felt, making her realize she was only wearing her underclothes now. But propriety didn’t intrude, not even a little. There was just him and what he was doing.
He laid her back on the bed and joined her, half lying on top of her because there was so little room—or because he wanted to. She liked the position, liked feeling so much of him against her. His body, so long, so strong, was her shield from harm. He was her guardian knight, but tonight he was much more than that. He’d saved her life today, rescued her from danger and darkness. And now he was showing her the sweeter side of life—the tenderness! The exquisite pleasures she’d never imagined.
She wanted to say thank you, but even more she didn’t want to distract him, not when he was still kissing her, still moving one hand up and down her body in such an exciting way. He raised one of her legs over his shoulder, then bent down to kiss her breast, but he also slid an arm beneath her between her legs to lift her even closer to him. It felt unusual and yet thrilling, the heat of his mouth over her nipple, that hard arm rubbing between her legs, igniting little fires that coursed through her. Little moans escaped from her in gasps as he continued to kiss her breasts.
