Give Me A Texas Ranger. Jodi Thomas
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He shifted his mouth and she felt the stubble of the beginnings of a beard as his tongue parted her lips, demanding entry.
Opening her eyes, she saw nothing but midnight shadows and the dark outline of the Ranger. She lifted her hand to shove him away, but he circled his arm and caught it, tucking it behind her back as he pulled her closer still.
“Not yet,” he whispered against her tender lips. “I can’t let you go yet.” His arms were iron around her. “I haven’t had near enough.”
She knew she should pull away and demand he stop, but no one had ever kissed her with such desire, with such need, with such passion. Relaxing, she let the fire of it sweep over her.
He felt her surrender and slowed. The kiss went from demanding to teaching, as he silently showed her what he wanted and rewarded her with bold strokes of his hands along her body as she learned each lesson.
For the first time in her life, she was mindless, floating in gentle waves of pleasure. The way he tugged at her bottom lip with his teeth, the way he held her so close and kissed her throat when he gave her time to catch her breath, then pulled her mouth back to his as if starving once more.
When his hand finally passed over the fabric covering her breast, she arched and cried out. He laughed against her mouth, then kissed her deep and long, not giving her time to react or even think.
“You taste so good,” he whispered with his mouth still on hers. “It’ll take me a long time to get enough of you, Anna.”
Before she could answer he was kissing her again and she was welcoming his touch. Somehow in the nowhere of this land she could let down her guard and just react.
The sound of a horse, ridden fast, drifted into their world.
McCord groaned and pulled away. “Stay here,” he ordered as he shoved her farther into the shadows and disappeared.
Annalane sat perfectly still, listening to her own heart pound. What had she just done? She could still taste him on her lips, still feel his warmth against her body. The grip of his fingers over her breast now burned through the layers of cloth. What had she done?
The fear of being killed by a band of outlaws no longer frightened her near as dearly as the fear of facing the Ranger when daylight came. She’d behaved like a wanton woman and he’d…he’d patted her on the bottom as he’d left her. No man had ever done that! All her life she’d never allowed anything so wild to happen. He had no right to…
“Are you all right?” His words drifted in the night. He sounded almost angry, as if in a hurry for an answer.
She nodded, then realized he probably couldn’t see her. “I’m fine,” she lied, wishing she could crawl back under the rock for a few minutes, or days, or maybe years.
His hand brushed her arm, then found her fingers and gripped tightly. “We have to move fast, Anna. We need to be over the ridge by dawn. I couldn’t tell who was on that horse riding by below, but I don’t think it will be long before more follow.”
He didn’t give her time to answer; he just tugged her out of the shadow of the boulder and began climbing. The rain had turned to a mist making her feel like she was moving in a dream.
She kept moving, trying not to think. Maybe she’d get lucky and they wouldn’t make the ridge, and the outlaws would shoot them down. At least then she wouldn’t have to face him. Never, never, never had she allowed a man to touch her the way he had. The only other kiss she’d truly received had been at her wedding. There had been no time or privacy for more.
She thought of how hard the Ranger’s face had looked, even when he’d slept in the stagecoach, chiseled like weathered granite. How cold his eyes were.
How demanding his kiss. How bold his hands. She mentally slapped herself for letting her mind wander.
He’d advanced so fast she hadn’t been able to think about how to reject him. This was all his fault. She should have nothing to be ashamed of.
If the man would slow down now, Annalane swore she would kill him. What right did he think he had to kiss her like that? To touch her. To wake her up to something she told herself she had been perfectly happy not knowing about.
Her anger stewed as she climbed. She barely noticed the eastern sky lighten. They were at the ridge by the time dawn washed over the rocks.
McCord jumped down off a rock and turned, lifting his arms to catch her. He swung her around. “We made it.”
A smile lit his face, making him look younger—closer to thirty, not forty as she’d first guessed. Despite her anger and exhaustion, she smiled. They were safe, at least for now.
He set her on her feet, took her hand as if he’d done so a thousand times, and started down the shadowy side of the hill.
Halfway down, he stopped to allow her to catch her breath. While she rested against a cold rock, he searched the valley below.
“The driver told me you were going to meet your brother at Camp Supply.”
She nodded as she fought exhaustion.
“He’ll know the stage didn’t make it in last night, and I’m guessing troops will be headed this way. If I’d been waiting for you, I’d be an hour in the saddle by now, maybe more.”
If Devin hadn’t planned to introduce her at dinner last night, she doubted he’d even notice she was missing. He was more likely to wait and blame her for being late than come after her, but Annalane didn’t want to admit that to McCord.
The Ranger kept watching. “On horseback they could cut some time off the stage trail and be here in an hour, two at the most.”
Annalane closed her eyes, wishing the driver hadn’t been so nosy, but a woman traveling alone was a rare sight in these parts, and she thought it would help if he knew she had someone waiting to meet her. It might make her sound not quite so like an old maid. At least she hadn’t told the driver more. She never told anyone the truth. What would people say, or believe, if she told them that her brother never contacted her unless he needed something from her? She swore that ever since he could talk he’d manipulated everyone around him. Life was some kind of game and people just cards to play to him.
She sniffed, thinking she was really pathetic. Even knowing what he was like, she’d traveled half a continent hoping that this time he’d act like a real brother. Maybe for once he was thinking of her, alone in Washington, and not just himself.
I will not cry, she silently vowed. I will not cry.
McCord startled her when he stomped back to where she stood. All she could manage was to glare at him when he cleared his throat.
“About last night…” he started, forcing out the words as if he were reading his own obituary.
“I don’t want to talk about last night,” she hissed through her teeth to keep from screaming.
“Good.” He slapped his gloves against his hand. “’Cause I don’t want to hear you talk about it. Never could tolerate the Northern accent. How about we just agree to talk as little as possible.”
She didn’t need a weapon, she decided. She’d kill him with her bare hands. She’d just grab his throat and bite him, then she’d watch the blood pump out of his long, hard body and say sweetly, in her most proper Northern accent, that she was wrong about not having the killer instinct. It appeared she did.
Before she could pounce, he plopped his hat on her head and dropped his gloves in her hand. “Put these on, Anna. There’s brush the rest of the way down that’ll cut you if you grab for a handhold, and the sun’s going to turn hot enough to put that blush permanently on those cheeks.”
He’d never know how close he came to dying, she thought. She’d let him live awhile longer. Not because he’d said something nice to her. A nice word would probably choke the man. But he had shown a degree of thoughtfulness. The dirty hat and the worn gloves couldn’t