Page 10 of The Runaway Heiress (The Gilded West)

Chapter Nine

S ome time later, Gray lay with Sophie curled against his chest. One hand gripped her hip in a mildly possessive touch while the fingers of his other hand were threaded with hers. The pose seemed so natural, it scared the hell out of him.

She’d just finished telling him about her childhood.

The ranch, her parents, her brother, and how happy they’d been.

Perfectly idyllic until LaSalle had come and convinced her father to mine their land.

She didn’t mention that part but Sinclair had told him about his suspicions.

When the mine began showing profit, her parents had been killed in an accident that LaSalle had almost certainly arranged.

He wondered if she knew about that. The thought of Sophie at her uncle’s mercy filled him with a rage that bordered on uncontrollable.

He wanted to protect her no matter the cost.

She rose up to look down at their clasped hands.

He swallowed hard at the smile she bestowed on him.

Her heart was reflected in that smile, and it made him ache because he had no idea how to keep that heart from breaking come morning.

He had no idea how he would let her go, for that matter, so he pushed the thought from his mind and squeezed her close. They had tonight.

“Any regrets?” Her voice was as soft as the lighting.

“Never.” He couldn’t stop himself from smiling back. Even he was surprised at how true it was. No matter what happened, he would remember this night with her for the rest of his life.

“Now that you’ve thoroughly ravished me, will you tell me about yourself?”

He laughed. “I’m not interesting.”

“You are. Tell me.” She folded her hands on his chest and rested her chin there, waiting.

It ran counter to his nature to talk about himself so he started with the most recent things and worked backward.

He told her about how he worked at Victoria House before coming to work for LaSalle, and the ranch he’d worked at before that tracking horse thieves.

When he opened his mouth to tell her about the job before that, she started laughing.

“What’s so funny?” And he rolled so that he hovered above her.

“You don’t talk about yourself much, do you?” she managed between chuckles. “I don’t care about your profession, your life as a gunman or gunslinger or whatever you call yourself. I want to know about you. ”

“You should know better than to ask people out here about themselves.” He was only half kidding. This is where everyone came to start over.

“But you’re not people , you’re Gray.” She looked at him as if that meant something to her.

The sudden lump in his throat made it difficult to answer. He brushed his thumb across her cheekbone, admiring how the shadows played beneath it. “Nobody’s ever asked about me.”

“No one? There hasn’t been one woman in your past?”

So that’s what she was getting at. He shook his head and took a breath before he answered, knowing she probably wouldn’t like what he had to say, but she deserved honesty—as much as he was able—so that’s what he gave her. “No one I haven’t paid.”

The smile was gone from her lovely face. “Have there only been…prostitutes?”

“I move from job to job, town to town, and it doesn’t leave a lot of time for women.

After a while, I stopped thinking of any sort of future.

” Looking into her face, that had all changed.

Glimpses of what might be shoved themselves into his head.

Sharing meals at a table. Laughing together as they walked hand in hand.

“I haven’t lain with a woman in a long time, Sophie. ”

Now that he knew the joy of pleasuring Sophie he wondered if sex with another woman would ever be satisfying again.

She surprised him again by kissing him. “How a man like you has walked God’s green earth and not managed to have at least one woman fall in love with him is beyond me.”

He closed his eyes against the simple pleasure he found in her words. It would be so easy to love her. If only LaSalle didn’t stand between them, and he didn’t owe a debt to Sinclair. He rested his head on her breasts, listening to her heart thrum. “It doesn’t matter.”

“What about your family? Your parents.”

“Let’s not talk about me anymore.”

“Please?” she asked sweetly and brushed a hand over his hair.

He lifted up to stare into the deep blue pools of her eyes and understood the need she felt. The need to remove all barriers between them, even if it was just for the night.

“Dead. They’ve been gone for a long time. There’s only me.”

He’d never felt he belonged anywhere. The only acceptance he’d found had come in the form of the cash men paid for his gun…

until now…until her. He wanted to find the words to tell her, but after so many years they wouldn’t come.

It wouldn’t be fair to her anyway. He couldn’t tell her the full truth of who he was.

When she found out, she might hate him anyway.

“We’re both alone,” she whispered, her hand cool on his cheek.

He closed his eyes and put his head back down, lulled by the steady beat of her heart as her fingers played in his hair.

“I’m sorry for what you’ve gone through, mon coeur. But I’m thankful for whatever has led you to me.”

“Me too,” he whispered.

And he meant it.

Just as the first yellow streaks of dawn were peeking around the curtain, Sophie succumbed to the exhaustion of the night spent making love and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, Gray was dressed and leaning over her, his eyes tender.

She begged for more sleep but when he moved into bed beside her and held her close, she was afraid to close her eyes. Afraid to lose any more time with him. So they fed each other breakfast in bed—the buttermilk biscuits, bacon, and coffee he had gone out to get while she slept.

Only after she finally convinced him to turn his back did she get out of bed and wash with the pitcher of water he’d brought.

It had gone cold by then but it was worth the extra time spent in bed with him.

She couldn’t stop thinking about the things they had done to each other throughout the night, the things he had confessed to her, and she savored the languorous feeling of contentment that she took with her.

Until she felt his arms snake around her hips and pull her back to him.

“Gray!” She meant to scold but it came out as a laugh and then she felt a suspicious hardness strain his pants and press against her buttocks. “God, you’re insatiable.”

“I can’t get enough of you.” He smiled against her neck.

“If only I wasn’t so sore.” She’d lost track of how many times he’d been inside her and knew she’d be tender for weeks as it was.

“I’m not sorry for that.”

“Beast,” she accused as she turned in his arms and wrapped hers around his shoulders.

He growled and kissed her until reluctantly pulling back to retrieve her clothes.

He even helped her dress, kissing each body part before he covered it.

Once she was fully dressed the mood changed subtly, and the reality they had tried so hard to keep at bay slowly began to infiltrate their nest. When she turned from the shaving mirror, finished with her hair, he grabbed her hand and silently pulled her down onto his lap in the chair.

She curled into him and buried her face in his neck, breathing deeply of his scent while some invisible clock ticked away their last minutes together.

Even now, with only moments left in their solitude, she was reluctant to ruin it with talk of what might happen.

But she knew it must be discussed. There would be no time alone once they met Monsieur Sinclair and Martine at the dress shop.

“Gray, I…” His thumb, all this time absently stroking a stray lock of her hair, stilled.

She watched him gently disentangle his hand and move it to grip the arm of the chair.

Her gaze turned then to find his, to understand why he had suddenly gone stiff.

But he only looked at her, giving nothing away.

She recognized it as the facade she often wore herself, a wall between them, and it scared her like nothing else could, but she persisted.

“How do we go on from here? I can’t imagine…I don’t want to go on without this—without you.”

He didn’t say anything. They gray of his eyes had turned to steel.

Her stomach twisted in fear, but she had to say it. She could not go the rest of her life without saying it. “I’ve never felt about anyone else the way I feel about you. I want to be with you.” I think I could love you. There was no time left. It was now or never. “I think I—”

He flinched when she touched his cheek, throwing cold water on the words lodged in her throat. The chill worked its way to her extremities until her fingertips were numb with it, and her hand dropped uselessly to her lap.

“There has to be a wedding, Sophie.” The words only confirmed what his face had told her. She barely felt it as he gently took hold of her and set her on her feet.

“I don’t understand,” she finally managed in a near whisper.

He was standing then, close enough to touch, but their arms stayed firmly at their sides.

She watched him open and close his mouth several times in an effort to gather his thoughts.

Finally he spoke, but it fell pathetically short of what she needed to hear.

“We had last night.” He did seem regretful as he spoke and touched a wisp of her hair.

“I can’t promise you anything. I never promised you more.

Please.” He dropped his hand and took in a deep breath.

“Please?” The expression of resigned regret he wore did nothing to soothe her.

“Please what?” For the life of her she had no idea what he was asking or wanting from her.

She could not accept what he was telling her, could not accept that he was ready to move on.

Each time they had made love it had been more achingly tender than the last.

“Don’t ask more of me.” His voice was low, aching.

As reality came crashing down, she realized the possible consequences of their night and her hand instinctively went to her belly.

“Don’t worry,” he quickly reassured her, correctly interpreting her action. “I never spilled my seed in you.”

She jerked as if he had slapped her. She was thankful he had thought to ensure there would be no child to consider, but it was a harsh reminder that he had been thinking of this moment when he would say goodbye to her all along.

Which, of course he had been, the night wasn’t supposed to be anything more.

She was the fool here. She was the one trying to make more of it than it was.

His hands were on her shoulders. “Sophie, don’t be mad. I would change things if I could.”

What he meant by that statement she didn’t know or care to take the time to figure out. She whirled away from him and quickly settled the veiled hat on her head. The room had become stifling, and she needed to get away from him.

“I understand.” She managed to keep her voice steady. “I wouldn’t ask you to face my uncle.” And she didn’t want him to face Jean. He’d only be hurt or, more likely, killed. It was best this way. This way she was the only one hurt.

She fled down the stairs and blindly made her way back to the dress shop. She knew he shadowed her by only a few steps, but she did her best not to look at him. Anton Beaudin was her future and she cursed herself every kind of fool for forgetting it even for a moment.

Only the strength of his iron will kept Gray from pulling Sophie to him and refusing to let her go.

He wanted her in his life. Hell, he’d acknowledged that from the moment he’d watched her come apart in his arms. Being with her had given him a sense of redemption, of life, of what it would be to love and have a future.

What it meant to be accepted. No one had ever looked at him with the love and acceptance she had shown him.

But he had a job to do and that had to come first, because if he didn’t put it first they would have no chance at all.

If only he could tell her all of that. He couldn’t take the risk she might reveal their plan. His only choice was to endure her hate until the wedding and beg her forgiveness after.

And hope that everything went according to plan and she didn’t end up married to Beaudin.