him.
She was in no rush to see Croft again.
Oh,
she’d had the frustrating opportunity to turn his gun on him, but
he took it from her before she could figure out how to use it. If
only she’d had more time to fiddle with the weapon. Her mind was
not clear. Somehow, his touch, his kiss, the very rocking of hips
into her had turned her brain to mush like oatmeal. To get to the
weapon now, which was right next to him on the nightstand, she had to
continue her passionate charade to get to it. Although if she was
willing to admit it to herself, the more he touched her, the less of
a charade it became.
Surprisingly,
it wasn't too hard to pretend. She felt the warmth in her cheeks and
knew they were flushed. Her breathing was erratic and her skin
tingled in very special places from their kiss. Margaret had no idea
kissing would be so...incredible. William had mashed his mouth
against hers, but she hadn't responded, hadn't felt tiny flames lick
at her skin.
When
the sheriff's tongue had slipped into her mouth, at first she'd been
stunned. Never knowing that was even done, she'd stood motionless,
but the explorations of his mouth on hers had cleared her mind like
cleaning a slate of chalk. His thumbs had brushed her cheeks and
she'd been lost, overwhelmed by the new sensations, the new feelings
coursing through her veins. But
he was the enemy !
An enemy who could kiss the very thoughts from her head.
It
wasn’t just the kisses that muddled her brain. It was his presence,
his sheer size that overwhelmed her. He practically sucked all the
air from the room, leaving her gasping for breath. His intensity, his
domination of all her senses, made her mind and body burn.
It
was difficult, to say the least, to stay focused on her plan. She
wasn’t that type of woman. Of course the sheriff thought she was, and she was
supposed to act like one. When she was in the sheriff’s arms
however, she felt wanton, desirable, desperate. Maybe she was that
type of woman and just never knew it.
With
William using her as he had, she definitely would be considered a
whore. They hadn't been married when he'd taken her. Thank God they
weren't man and wife. But it didn't matter. In the eyes of society,
she was a soiled dove. She either needed to marry William or she
would be labeled a whore. No man in his right mind, unless in Croft's
saloon for a quick romp, wanted a whore in their bed.
No
matter what she would be called from now on, she needed to escape.
The only way to do that was through the sheriff. Taking a deep
breath, she walked over to the bed, lifted her petticoats—exposed
more leg than she’d ever shown a man before—and crawled on hands
and knees to reach his side. Hopefully the sheriff couldn’t hear
her hammering heart. If she could just seduce him a bit more, she
could get the gun and get away. How was she supposed to do that?
***
Grant
groaned deep in his throat as he stared at the stunning view Maggie
offered. Not only did her hips sway as she crawled on hands and knees
up to him, the expanse of cleavage she exposed to his gaze was
tantalizing. He’d never been an advocate of corsets, detesting
their suffocating qualities, but the view in front of him changed his
mind. She was good, really good at her job.
No
matter how much he felt lured into her whore’s trap, there was this
niggling feeling something was wrong. When she noticed where his gaze
was focused, she stopped short, coming up on her knees in front of
him. Her hands covered her creamy expanse of cleavage. She looked at
him through lowered lashes, bit her lower lip.
He
watched her innocent display. Her skills as an actress were
impressive, and he had to hand it to Croft at his adeptness for
getting out of a sticky card game. Damn him, but it worked. She was
the best cock tease he’d been with. He, nor his cock and balls,
could stand the torment no longer.
He
yanked one of her hands away from her breast. In one motion, he had
her tucked in at his side so snugly
She was in no rush to see Croft again.
Oh,
she’d had the frustrating opportunity to turn his gun on him, but
he took it from her before she could figure out how to use it. If
only she’d had more time to fiddle with the weapon. Her mind was
not clear. Somehow, his touch, his kiss, the very rocking of hips
into her had turned her brain to mush like oatmeal. To get to the
weapon now, which was right next to him on the nightstand, she had to
continue her passionate charade to get to it. Although if she was
willing to admit it to herself, the more he touched her, the less of
a charade it became.
Surprisingly,
it wasn't too hard to pretend. She felt the warmth in her cheeks and
knew they were flushed. Her breathing was erratic and her skin
tingled in very special places from their kiss. Margaret had no idea
kissing would be so...incredible. William had mashed his mouth
against hers, but she hadn't responded, hadn't felt tiny flames lick
at her skin.
When
the sheriff's tongue had slipped into her mouth, at first she'd been
stunned. Never knowing that was even done, she'd stood motionless,
but the explorations of his mouth on hers had cleared her mind like
cleaning a slate of chalk. His thumbs had brushed her cheeks and
she'd been lost, overwhelmed by the new sensations, the new feelings
coursing through her veins. But
he was the enemy !
An enemy who could kiss the very thoughts from her head.
It
wasn’t just the kisses that muddled her brain. It was his presence,
his sheer size that overwhelmed her. He practically sucked all the
air from the room, leaving her gasping for breath. His intensity, his
domination of all her senses, made her mind and body burn.
It
was difficult, to say the least, to stay focused on her plan. She
wasn’t that type of woman. Of course the sheriff thought she was, and she was
supposed to act like one. When she was in the sheriff’s arms
however, she felt wanton, desirable, desperate. Maybe she was that
type of woman and just never knew it.
With
William using her as he had, she definitely would be considered a
whore. They hadn't been married when he'd taken her. Thank God they
weren't man and wife. But it didn't matter. In the eyes of society,
she was a soiled dove. She either needed to marry William or she
would be labeled a whore. No man in his right mind, unless in Croft's
saloon for a quick romp, wanted a whore in their bed.
No
matter what she would be called from now on, she needed to escape.
The only way to do that was through the sheriff. Taking a deep
breath, she walked over to the bed, lifted her petticoats—exposed
more leg than she’d ever shown a man before—and crawled on hands
and knees to reach his side. Hopefully the sheriff couldn’t hear
her hammering heart. If she could just seduce him a bit more, she
could get the gun and get away. How was she supposed to do that?
***
Grant
groaned deep in his throat as he stared at the stunning view Maggie
offered. Not only did her hips sway as she crawled on hands and knees
up to him, the expanse of cleavage she exposed to his gaze was
tantalizing. He’d never been an advocate of corsets, detesting
their suffocating qualities, but the view in front of him changed his
mind. She was good, really good at her job.
No
matter how much he felt lured into her whore’s trap, there was this
niggling feeling something was wrong. When she noticed where his gaze
was focused, she stopped short, coming up on her knees in front of
him. Her hands covered her creamy expanse of cleavage. She looked at
him through lowered lashes, bit her lower lip.
He
watched her innocent display. Her skills as an actress were
impressive, and he had to hand it to Croft at his adeptness for
getting out of a sticky card game. Damn him, but it worked. She was
the best cock tease he’d been with. He, nor his cock and balls,
could stand the torment no longer.
He
yanked one of her hands away from her breast. In one motion, he had
her tucked in at his side so snugly
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