The Bounty Hunter and the Heiress. Carol Finch
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moment. His arms contracted, lifting her off the ground. He pressed her against his hips as his tongue plunged between her lips. She felt his aroused flesh between her thighs and her body responded instantaneously. She couldn’t get close enough to satisfy the burgeoning craving, couldn’t kiss him hard enough or deeply enough to appease the white-hot need that suddenly burned her alive.
Sweet mercy! Where had all these wild, desperate feelings and sizzling sensations come from? Had she suppressed physical desire for too many years, in her effort to avoid the wiles and entrapments of cunning adventurers? And why did this man, who didn’t particularly like her, have to be the one who inflamed her with incredible hunger?
Eva’s head was still spinning like a windmill when Raven suddenly set her to her feet and stepped away. He stared at her as if she were insane. Or he was. Then his thick brows bunched over his green-gold eyes and he scowled at her.
“You are trying to seduce me into taking this assignment, aren’t you? Damn it, Eva!”
She puffed up with offended dignity. “I did no such thing! You’re the one who tried to lure me into your bed last night.” Shame and anger flooded her cheeks. “I can’t begin to explain why I thought it was a good idea to kiss you. It was foolish and reckless and I don’t care if you strike off to train a blasted horse while I track Gordon myself. No matter what, I will get the job done!”
Furious with herself for her lapse of good judgment—and feeling incredibly self-conscious to boot—she lurched around to hike back to the relay station. She must be out of her mind to be so attracted to a man who had no use for her whatsoever.
“Don’t kiss me like that again,” he called after her.
“Don’t worry, I won’t,” she said over her shoulder.
Besides, she’d liked kissing him way too much and she would cut out her tongue before she admitted it to that infuriating man.
“Don’t go haring off by yourself without paying attention to your surroundings,” Raven warned as she stamped off without so much as a backward glance.
Raven blew out his breath. He hadn’t meant to pick a fight with Eva right now. Apparently, it came naturally for him. She made him feel reckless and vulnerable. Plus, she was as headstrong as he was, no doubt about that.
The more conflict between them, the better off he’d be. He wished he’d remembered that before he kissed her and discovered that she tasted like honey, smelled as fresh and wholesome as the whole outdoors…and felt like heaven in his arms.
Holy hell! Dealing with the scalding sensations she set off inside him was the last thing he needed to distract him while an unknown sniper lurked around. Already Eva had come dangerously close to being shot by a bullet meant for him.
He cringed at the thought of her being hurt or killed because of her association with him.
Marshal Doyle in Denver had warned him the Widow Flanders and Buster’s family were hell-bent on revenge. Since that clan of ruffians was as thick as thieves, whomever she’d hired to gun him down must be taking the job seriously.
The fact that someone wanted him dead was nothing new. Besides, he faced danger on a daily basis. He had made peace with the prospect of his own demise after watching the massacre that had destroyed most of his Cheyenne family. But he was not prepared to claim responsibility for Eva’s death.
He barely knew that firebrand but that didn’t seem to matter. She provoked all sorts of intense sentiments and sensations that he usually had no difficulty controlling. But here she was, the picture of beauty and spirit, right in his face, right in his arms…and now she was the lingering taste on his lips.
The disturbing thought prompted him to take another sip of water, hoping to wash away her taste. It was a waste of time. And he had no idea how to erase the memory of her shapely body imprinted on his.
“Hell and damnation.” Raven expelled an exasperated breath then inhaled fresh air, hoping to clear his head and get his unruly male body under control.
He stood in the exact spot where he’d kissed Eva with wild desperation—and she had kissed him back the same way. When the memory and sensations tried to overpower him again, he focused his concentration on scanning the hillsides. He’d encountered enough precarious situations the past decade to sense trouble. And he definitely sensed trouble now. Hell, he could practically hear death rattles.
The hair on the back of his neck stood at attention, prompting him to retreat into the pockets of shadows in the trees. He knew there was a narrow trail leading to the ridge to the west because he’d followed it as a child and had used it three years ago while searching for the drunken murderer wanted in Leadville.
Raven stared up the rocky slopes and noticed a flash of color among the trees. Someone was lying in wait. Thankfully, he hadn’t become an easy target for another ambush attempt.
A horse nickered in the distance, confirming his suspicion. Raven jogged off when he heard the driver announce it was time to board the coach. He circled to step into the opposite side of the coach, convinced that he was being stalked and that he had been marked for death.
No one in the coach uttered a word when Eva piled onto the seat. She sat catty-corner to him and never once glanced in his direction. It was clear to everyone that she wasn’t speaking to him.
“Lover’s spat?” Frank Albers questioned as he rolled a silver dollar deftly over his fingers.
Apparently, Eva overheard because she looked over at Raven and held his gaze while he replied, “Just a difference of opinion. Now that I think about it, I was probably wrong.”
Frank snickered when he noticed the smile on Eva’s lips. “A wise man once told me that if husbands knew how to say they were sorry and they were wrong, marriages would run smoother.” He winked at Raven. “You’re halfway there.”
For the life of him, he didn’t know why he’d bypassed the chance to fuel the anger that had sent Eva stamping off earlier. The only explanation was that he was turning into mush—all because of a beautiful but feisty female who couldn’t possibly be more than a footnote in the chronicles of his hardscrabble life. Why should he care if Eva Whoever-she-was was annoyed with him? He shouldn’t…
Then she smiled and those luminous brown eyes twinkled with inner spirit. He turned into a mindless sap and smiled back at her.
Raven was reasonably sure that goofy smile was still plastered on his face when a loud clap of thunder shook loose his stalled thoughts. He glanced through the window to see a thunderstorm skirting the mountains. The bank of gray clouds that had scraped the summits left a curtain of rain sweeping over the stagecoach. The driver cracked his whip over the team of horses, hoping to outrun the cloudburst.
Rather than huddling against the seat, Eva outstretched her hand to catch the oversize raindrops then she inhaled a deep breath of rain-scented air. Spellbound, Raven watched her tilt her face to the mist swirling around the window. A woman who embraced storms? What else did she like? he wondered.
Was she really the sister of the woman Gordon had betrayed? Or was she the woman scorned? There was also the possibility that she had been Gordon’s accomplice and he had double-crossed her by riding off with the extorted money. Perhaps she wanted her cut and wasn’t giving up until she found him.
Why wouldn’t she divulge her last name? he wondered. That made him highly suspicious. He knew she wasn’t telling him the whole story. He could sense it.
You’re thinking too damn hard, Raven. Before long, you’ll be gone and Eva will continue her crusade with or without you.
Raven glanced away, watching the curtain of rain sweep past the stagecoach then fizzle out as if it hadn’t been there at all. If nothing else, the shower settled the dust. At best, the midday storm might have waylaid the unidentified bushwhacker. Better yet, he might slip and fall on the treacherous mountain trails. If he ended up at the bottom of a canyon, it would be one less thing for Raven to fret about.
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