Page 16 of The Copper Heir (The Gilded West #1)
Chapter Eight
E mmy was on her knees near the boulders with the gun pointed toward the shooter, its muzzle still smoking from the shot.
Automatically, Hunter’s gaze followed the line of fire and saw bushes rustling and flashes of movement as the man made his way on foot down the mountain and to his horse.
The heavy brush at the bottom gave the man natural cover so Hunter couldn’t get a clear shot, so he grabbed the binoculars and watched him make his way to his horse.
By the time he reached it, he was out of revolver range, making Hunter wish he’d had his rifle.
As the man awkwardly pulled himself up with one arm, Hunter could tell that he was seriously injured.
A bright stain of red marred the blue on his right shoulder as he rode off, hunched over the reins.
Dropping the binoculars, he looked back at her. “Shit! You got him.”
“I hope I didn’t kill him.” Her face was pale and her hands had started to shake as she watched the rider retreat.
“No. No, you didn’t, it was only his shoulder,” he hurried to reassure her. “He won’t be aiming a gun anytime soon, but he’ll be okay.”
She looked at him then, finally taking her eyes from the retreating horse once she was assured that he spoke the truth.
“That was an expert shot,” he said.
“Of course it was. I’m an excellent shot.”
The arrogant yet somehow innocent grin she supplied with that remark was enough to make him stare.
She was beautiful when she smiled like that, her eyes shining with confidence.
He found himself smiling in return just because she was so damned enticing with that smile, but caught himself as he remembered their roles.
“But how? Last night you didn’t even come close when you shot at us.”
She shrugged, the apples of her cheeks turning a light shade of pink. “I’m better when the targets aren’t moving and there aren’t animals involved. Last night I didn’t want to hit the horses.”
He couldn’t help it; he laughed then, practically doubling over as the hilarity of her statement hit him.
She’d rather not shoot their horses—animals he’d gathered she didn’t particularly care for—than save herself from being kidnapped.
Her brow furrowed, but then she laughed, too.
The tension of the moment needed an outlet.
The light sound of her laugh was just husky enough to rake pleasantly across his senses while something warm tugged deep in his gut. It was beyond appealing.
The moment their eyes met, they both realized the exact same thing: she was his hostage and she was holding a loaded gun.
Before she could move, he lunged and knocked her backward, one hand moving to cup the back of her head and cushion her fall while the other grabbed her wrist, holding it pinned to the ground above her head.
The laughter was gone and just inches separated his face from hers, his lips from hers.
She didn’t struggle and she let go of the gun so that it dropped to lay on the ground.
Of its own volition, his hand inched up from her wrist until they were palm to palm, surprising himself when his fingers laced with hers.
She squeezed him back and he was dropping down to her as if she held some magic that was pulling him in and he didn’t even think about resisting.
All he wanted was to finally claim her as his.
Her gasp filled the air between them just before his mouth touched hers.
Despite his need, it was a gentle touch, slow and soft, giving her the chance to pull away the moment she didn’t want it.
Except that she did want it. Soft lips parted beneath his and desire immediately tightened deep in his groin as his heart beat a fast rhythm against his rib cage.
Excitement pulsed through her veins like a power that couldn’t be contained.
The fear that had only compounded with each bullet fired, followed by the exhilaration of firing the shot that had saved them, had combined to form this heady mix of energy she didn’t know how to control. She didn’t want to control it.
With his warm palm pressed to hers, his hand at the back of her head and his large body covering hers, imprisoning her between his powerful thighs, she briefly realized that she should have felt very much at his mercy, his prisoner, but what she felt was quite the opposite.
She felt protected and wanted. A small gasp escaped her when his tongue brushed against her bottom lip and she craved more.
Her free hand went to his chest, palm reveling in the hard muscle as she moved on to his shoulder and then the dark blond hair at the back of his head, where her fingers clenched in the short, thick waves to pull him closer.
His soft growl of pleasure made a spark of pleasure shoot through her belly and she touched him back, stroking the tip of her tongue against his full bottom lip.
Immediately he deepened the kiss, tightening his own fingers in her hair as he chased her tongue with his, moving in and out in a sensuous rhythm.
A new and strange need began to pulse within her, warmth unfurling in her belly and moving downward to pulse between her thighs.
She wanted to be closer to him, to feel the hardness of his body against the softness of hers.
He must have sensed what she wanted, because he lowered himself so that his elbow was no longer supporting him and his weight fell softly on her.
She almost groaned with how good he felt on top of her.
He was hard everywhere: his chest and stomach, his unforgiving thighs entrapping hers, the unmistakable shaft of steel pressed against her belly.
For the first time in her life she wanted to explore that part of a man.
The strange urge gave her a moment of pause, until she let the excitement overtake her again, forcing herself to lock her reticence away and to just let him make her feel.
Letting go of his hair, she curled her hand around his impossibly wide shoulder and held him close.
It was his turn to groan when he pulled his lips from hers and buried his face in her neck.
His breath on the sensitive area sent goose bumps prickling across her skin, but then it was followed by the wet heat of his mouth and she gasped aloud at the unexpected bolt of pleasure that shot through her middle, pushing her hips up into his.
He groaned again and pressed his pelvis into her.
This time her lips parted on a soft moan she tried to contain by biting down on her bottom lip.
His mouth moved down her neck, his tongue coming out to stroke her just before his lips closed over the spot, sucking lightly.
Finally, he reached the coarse wool of her dress and she actually sighed with disappointment when he stopped, his forehead coming to rest briefly on her shoulder as he took a deep, shuddering breath and raised up to look down at her.
She knew that she must look a mess if the heavy breaths she was trying hard to get under control were any indication.
His brow was furrowed, drawing his eyebrows together in a way that made him seem bewildered, and she couldn’t help but smile at how the look transformed him from hardened outlaw to ardent lover.
It didn’t seem to matter that they shouldn’t have been kissing at all or that their hands were still locked together and she wasn’t behaving like a proper hostage at all.
It had happened and neither of them seemed to quite know how it had come about.
When he smiled back, a tentative grin that revealed far more of his uncertainty than he probably intended, she had to resist the urge to trace the curve of his shapely bottom lip as desire shot through her core. Everything about that desire was wrong.
“That shouldn’t have happened.” The words were automatic and not at all what she meant even though she knew they were true.
“No. It shouldn’t.” Releasing her hand, he brought his to rest gently on her jawline and the curve of her neck. His fingertips rested there for a second, stroking back and forth before he roused himself and slipped off of her. “I shouldn’t have kissed you.”
She opened her mouth instinctively to tell him that it was fine, that she had wanted it.
Her body still throbbed with how “fine” it had been, but bit lightly on her tongue to stop the words.
He was still the outlaw who had kidnapped her.
Instead of saying anything, she pushed herself up and pulled her knees to her chest. She had to get away.
The locket rested heavily between her breasts, reminding her of the plan she had made.
He pushed his hand through his hair and let out a deep breath.
A tiny flutter of pleasure winged its way through her at the tangible evidence of how she affected him, but that wasn’t the only evidence, she reminded herself, and discreetly glanced to the bulge still obvious in his trousers.
It shouldn’t matter and, really, it didn’t matter, but it was something she could take with her and relive later.
When she didn’t absolve him of his guilt, he nodded and retrieved the gun she had used to return it to his holster lying near the saddlebags.
“I’m glad you know how to shoot. It was good that Campbell taught you.
” After he was finished he gave her a quick glance and flashed a grin.
“Care for a drink? I sure as hell need one.”
The flask. She faintly remembered seeing it at some point when she was on his horse and realized that it would be the best way to get the powders into him. “Yes, please.”