Dakota Marshal Page 11

  She smiled. “Maybe. A little. Do you care?”

  “I always care, Alessandra.”

  “I’ll rephrase, then. Does it matter?”

  “Same answer, darlin’, but with a lot more restraint.” His gaze dropped to the shadowy swell of her breasts and didn’t want to leave. He forced the issue and met her stunning eyes, eyes made even a deeper shade of gold by the lamplight glowing in the corner of the room. “Why the seduction scene?”

  She laughed, and the sound of it sent a surge of blood straight to his groin.

  “Because it’s over, McBride. But before it ended and the danger level reached its peak, it occurred to me that life is very short.” Her booted feet hit the floor. “And you, Marshal McBride, are very hot.” She stood in a single liquid motion that put a glitch in but didn’t halt his inexorable advance. “You’re also the man to whom I said ‘for better or worse.’ I’ll admit, I went through more of the second thing than the first for the bulk of our marriage, but as you pointed out, I knew what I was getting into when I said ‘I do’ to a cop. So maybe the split was no one’s fault.” Close enough now that he could feel the warmth of her skin, she hooked her arms around his neck and stared into his still-shielded eyes. “I really have to say it again. You truly are one überhot lawman. Even if sex isn’t everything in a relationship, ours was always top-notch, and I’m in the mood for a fun and exciting side trip.”

  Gonna get problematic, McBride reflected inasmuch as he could think with his brain already enveloped in a dark and delicious mist that gave all the power to her and his own churning lust.

  He sucked in a breath through his teeth when her hand closed around him and squeezed. “Jesus, Alessandra. Shouldn’t we be…?”

  Wait. What the hell was he doing? he suddenly wondered. A hot woman—his wife and the woman he loved—wanted hot sex, and he was thinking about objections and stall tactics and having some form of inane conversation with her first?

  When he heard the chuckle deep in her throat, he yanked her against him. “You want this, right? You’re sure?”

  Her eyes sparkled. “A man of few words is my McBride.”

  He figured he’d been lucky to get that much out. “I’ll call that a yes,” he said. Lowering his head, he took possession of her mouth.

  And seriously hoped the nagging voice he’d heard earlier had been wrong, even if only for tonight.

  ALESSANDRA SUSPECTED she’d been gearing up for this moment since he’d reappeared in her life. Tonight, after everything that had gone down in Luke’s Bar, then watching McBride deal with the aftermath of Rory Simms’s arrest in the sheriff’s office, she’d been stoked and ready. How could she not love such an unpretentiously sexy, take-charge kind of man?

  The more she’d seen, the more she’d wanted, and now, finally, she intended to have.

  It wouldn’t change anything between them, wouldn’t erase or even address the problems that had driven them apart, but for one incredible moment, she’d be able to go back and experience the rush that was McBride.

  She didn’t want him to be sweet or tentative or particularly gentle. Not that any of those things were McBride’s style. Like her, he preferred—well, jungle sex, she supposed. Too bad the hotel didn’t provide its guests with animal-print sheets.

  Leopard spots began to dance in her head. Then McBride dragged her up onto her toes, covered her mouth with his and blotted out every one of those spots.

  He swept her under, down to a lovely, dark world that was all about sensation, with a speed and thoroughness that upped the heat factor substantially and had need galloping like a thoroughbred in her chest.

  She’d intended to seduce and entice, to disarm. To do what he might not expect. She’d never meant to let greed swallow her.

  But that’s what it did. It took her in whole and gave her no time to rethink. Or think at all. The heat and hunger that slammed together left her breathless. And wanting much, much more.

  He gripped her hips, pulled his mouth from hers just long enough for his lips to crook up into a faint smile.

  Oh, yeah, so McBride.

  One easy boost, and her feet left the floor. Her legs curled tightly around him. His arousal burned through the lace of her bikinis and made her breath hitch. One arm at a time, the leather jacket fell away, landing with a soft thud at his feet.

  He feasted on her mouth, then sent a shiver of delight along her nerve endings when he lifted her higher to capture one of her breasts.

  It was all about waves then, dark billowing swells that rose and fell and rose again. Up and up, until her muscles simply gave out and her head fell back.

  He drew her nipple into his mouth, used his teeth and tongue on the tip. Sensation rocked her, hard and fierce. A muffled cry slipped out. Pleasure surged until the need spiking through her won out.

  She was desperate for more of him, for all of him. When his mouth shifted back to hers, she untangled her legs and hopped down to tug on his shirt, his jeans, anything and everything that prevented her from getting her hands on him.

  Don’t stop. Don’t slow down. Don’t think about the rocky before or the nebulous after. She was on fire, he was hard and they wanted each other. Now.

  Crickets and grasshoppers chirped softly outside. An owl hooted. Music of the night, she thought, and breathed in the scent that was a combination of McBride and late summer in a remote mountain town.

  The contrast of outright lust and sparkling romance amused her. McBride’s head came up. Sort of. When he spoke, it was against her lips and between kisses.

  “Just how much wine have you had, Alessandra?”

  “Not much.” She freed a hand to measure out two inches. Then she caught the ends of his hair in her fists and tugged. “I’m not drunk. I swear. Not on wine, anyway. Not even on the danger aspect.” She released his hair, ran her hands along his arms to his ribs and lower, until she heard a hiss of air. “The power, though, and afterward the no-big-deal cop efficiency—” her fingers zeroed in on target “—now those things are really cool.”

  His eyes, unreadable and dark, swept over her face. “Are you sure about the two inches, darlin’?”

  “No.” Her lips curved into a teasing smile as her hand closed once again on his erection. “But I’m not going to pass out. I’m also over twenty-one and hungry for something way better than food.” With a sultry roll of her hips, she kissed him again. “Mmm, way better than wine, too.”

  He was holding on to the remnants of his control. She knew it and swore she heard his teeth grinding. Time to go for it. Wrapping a single leg around his hips, she made a slow gyration. She saw his eyes close, heard a sound that might have been a wry laugh and watched the remnants scatter.

  Suddenly, both his hands and hers were everywhere, racing over heated skin, digging into taut muscle, sliding through hair and down long limbs.

  He backed her across the floor. The bedsprings protested under their weight. The lamp filled the old room with a soft light that was a perfect counterpoint to the fire consuming them from the inside.

  Alessandra kissed and nipped at McBride’s face—his jaw, his eyelids, his cheekbones. She scraped her fingernails across his shoulders and back. She used her teeth on him, bit his throat and his neck, then gave a gasping laugh when he moved his hand between her legs.

  Wires snapped and sizzled and sparked at every pulse point. But when he slid his fingers inside her, the world around them simply vanished.

  Her head bowed on the pillow. A thousand frantic little drums beat under her skin. Every part of her throbbed and zinged and pumped. He knew, had always known, how to take her up and over, to bring out the passion inside her.

  Her fingers gripped the sheets, her hips arched and the heat, the sparking, sparkling heat, reached staggering proportions.

  She hadn’t realized she had so much left for him. The shock of that discovery, together with the wonder of her reaction, almost diverted her. But then he angled his body over hers, kissed her senseless and plun
ged inside.

  She didn’t know if she cried out—it had been so long, and she’d deliberately locked the passion away—but something, either breath or sound, emerged from her throat. Her heart was a drumbeat, driving her higher. He cuffed her wrists on either side of her head. She saw his eyes, dark and gleaming, his face partly lit by the lamp, his body in silhouette.

  Excitement streaked through her veins. It seemed the room was in motion. Or was it her? Or them?

  One peak, two. She drew him in again, harder, faster, deeper and at the same time rose to meet him.

  Emotions boiled to a climax. She felt the exact moment of his release and matched it with her own. She knew she cried out then, and sank her fingers into his hips for one last glorious burst.

  Her skin was hot and damp, her lungs on fire, her brain a delightful blur. He collapsed on top of her, and in spite of the fact that none of her muscles were functioning, she managed a satisfied smile.

  She loved it when his self-control disappeared. No more walls, no more hurdles, no more distance, nothing said or unsaid, no charged or hurtful words. Only one beautiful, blissful, disconnected moment in the center of an otherwise stormy marital sea.

  Alessandra had no idea how long they lay together while the room and her skin cooled. She felt…happy, she decided, and, letting her lashes fall, steeped her drifting senses in McBride and the night air.

  When he eventually stirred, she realized with a trace of amusement that she couldn’t breathe, at least not properly. She could, however, feel his heart thudding against hers.

  Sliding a foot along his leg, she wiggled. “I think I’m starting to see the tunnel, McBride. With pretty golden angels at the end.”

  He grunted, used his elbows to lever up. Not far, but enough for her to take in some desperately needed air.

  “Lucky lady,” he murmured. “All I see is a big orange glow. Guess that tells me where I’m headed.” This time when he collapsed, he did so more beside than on top of her. “Not sure, darlin’, but it’s possible I just had a heart attack.”

  Humor mingled with delight. Since he was facedown on the mattress now, and not moving, she slid the rest of the way out, climbed on top of him and rested her ear on his back.

  “Beat sounds strong and healthy to me, McBride.” She ran a hand underneath him. “Feels good, too. Still, I’m no expert…” She drew the words out as her fingers made their way to his groin.

  He cut off a breath and rolled onto his back. His hands snagged her waist to hold her in place.

  “Oops.” She grinned. “Wrong body part.”

  “Right part, wrong position. Try that again now that we’re face-to-face.”

  Her eyes ran down, then up. “Strong and healthy,” she repeated, and let her head dip inch by tantalizing inch, until her mouth almost but not quite touched his. “What say we try that sex experiment again and see who ends up where—in the fire or the tunnel—and in what condition?”

  “It’s your funeral, darlin’.”

  She smiled. “Well, then…” Challenge set, she gave his bottom lip a bite, tightened her fingers around the hard, silky length of him and, holding his eyes with hers, drew him back inside.

  Chapter Twelve

  Alessandra woke to a roar and the stomach-to-throat sensation of somersaulting down an embankment.

  For a disoriented second, she was on a two-lane highway south of Chicago, and forty-six passengers were trying desperately to remain in their seats while tons of bus rolled over a rocky embankment. To her relief, when her surroundings steadied and the shadows settled, there were plank floorboards beneath her and the rumble that was making them shudder came from the sky outside.

  Safe, her mind whispered. Releasing a deep breath, she willed her speeding heart to slow down.

  Flat on her stomach with the bedsheet tangled around her, she mumbled, “McBride?” When he didn’t answer, she sat up. “McBride? Are you here?”

  She checked the mattress, realized it was empty and, unwrapping herself from the sheet, got to her knees. Since his backpack was closest, she rummaged inside and found a clean denim shirt. Then her eyes landed on a thermal mug and, dropping the sheet, she knee-walked to the table.

  A note beside the mug said, “Taking Rory to Cheyenne. You still sleep like the dead, and look beautiful doing it. Last night—incredible. Wonder who’ll have a better day? Love, McBride.”

  Memories flooded back and made her smile, but it was the coffee that elicited a sigh of pure pleasure. Bless the man for his attention to detail.

  A protracted peal of thunder shook the floor again. The bedside clock read 9:22 a.m. The window showed dense black clouds outside and the first fat drops of rain.

  In no particular hurry—and, God, wasn’t that a treat—Alessandra took her coffee into the bathroom. She showered, then using McBride’s shirt as a robe, came out to sit cross-legged on the bed and check her emails.

  She’d text Joan and Larry first, eat a really healthy breakfast and, since the street party was bound to be a washout, see what kind of impulse shopping Loden had to offer.

  That was the plan, anyway. A fist banging on the door interrupted her before she could compose her first message.

  Must be housekeeping, she decided, her attention focused on her BlackBerry. “Not dressed,” she called out.

  “Got food,” Raven countered.

  Alessandra glanced at her bare legs. Good enough for another woman. Buttoning the shirt, she got up to let her visitor in.

  A stack of something black sat on a plate next to three strips of something even blacker.

  “Seriously.” Alessandra stared. “What is that?”

  “My attempt at waffles and bacon.” Raven shoved the otherwise empty tray into her hands. “I’m not much in the kitchen. Unfortunately, Ralph—he’s the day cook here—chopped off part of his index finger yesterday afternoon and had to go down to Cheyenne.”

  Skepticism changed to surprise. “You don’t have a doctor in Loden?”

  “Hey, we consider ourselves lucky to have a retired army medic. Be better if he wasn’t eighty-some years old, but you know the line about beggars. Now, are you gonna be nice and pretend to eat the fruits of my morning’s labors, or do I have to toss you in the cage and start my warm-up early?”

  Alessandra lifted one of the waffles to see if anything more palatable lurked beneath it. Nothing did. She dusted crumbs from her fingers, offered a polite smile. “Do you have a dog?”

  “Yeah, a pit bull named Rip. Why?”

  “Tell you what. If Rip’ll eat this, then I will, too. If not, I’m off the hook. Fair?”

  “Off the breakfast hook, anyway,” Raven allowed. “Too bad, though.” She strolled to the window. “It’s a pisser of a day out there. Win or lose, I could use a little fun with a novice.”

  Alessandra refrained from covering the tray with a napkin after she set it down. “Such a tempting offer, but…”

  She saw it coming, just not soon enough to evade Raven’s tattooed arm as it shot out, wrapped itself around her throat. And tightened.

  ALESSANDRA WASN’T SURE who was more shocked—her when Raven grabbed her, or Raven when Alessandra snapped her head back and cracked her captor’s face. An elbow low, then high, freed her. She dived for her shoulder bag, twisted around and came up with McBride’s Sig Sauer pointed at Raven’s chest.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Palms out, the woman sucked a spot of blood from her split lower lip. “You freeze, I’ll freeze. You react fast, lady. I was going for a sleeper, and you got out of it before I had you fully snared.”

  Alessandra held the gun steady while her heart hammered. “What the hell was that for?”

  “It’s a grip. I use it in the cage when a fight goes stale.” She chuckled at Alessandra’s unbelieving expression. “I didn’t figure you for the fight-back type, or I’d have put more oomph behind it. It was a demonstration.” She rapped her head. “I wanted to see what you were made of. I found out.”

  Mild irritation
moved in. “McBride asked you to watch me, didn’t he?”

  Raven’s slow smile was answer enough. Releasing an exasperated breath, Alessandra let her arms drop and climbed to her feet.

  “This is why I left him.” She gestured with the gun as she searched for her own pack. “No communication. He sics a watchdog on me, but does he mention it? No. ‘Last night was great, darlin’. Here’s coffee. Back whenever.’”

  “You’re really married? How long?”

  “Four frustrating years. Five and a half if you include separation time.” She located the pack beside a chair and yanked out the clothes she wanted. “You must be what he meant when he said he wondered which one of us would have a better day.” Another clap of thunder distracted her attention from her clothes. She looked up at Raven. “Sounds more like dynamite than thunder.”

  “Storm’s a doozy. Listen, can you cook?”

  “Yes.” Still annoyed, Alessandra rooted through her purse for a hairbrush. “Why?”

  “Because obviously I can’t. So how about a trade? I’ll teach you some more moves, and you can teach me how to bake an edible chocolate fudge cake. It’s what I want to bring to the potluck dinner tomorrow night, and so far those waffles over there are closer to the mark than anything I’ve done in a cake pan. There’s nothing else to do, anyway. This weather’s gonna get worse before it gets better.”

  Draping her jeans over one arm, Alessandra started for the bathroom. “Will these moves of yours work on anyone, male or female?”

  “Worked on Clover last night. Probably work on a certain marshal tonight.” Her mouth quirked up on one side. “If that’s what you’re asking.”

  “That’s what I’m asking.”

  “In that case, I hope he likes living on the edge.”

  Alessandra paused in the doorway, looked back. “Yeah, he does. In fact, I don’t think he’s ever lived anywhere else.”

  BY EARLY AFTERNOON, Alessandra pronounced the baking lesson done. And more or less successful. An hour later, the rising storm knocked out power to the south side of Loden. That included both the hotel kitchen and Luke’s Bar.