'Jealous, darlin'?' He taunted huskily. She opened her eyes. Her foot was free and he had come close to her. Very close. Their limbs were all entangled. She could feel the shaft of his sex against her ankle, the hardness of his thighs against her toes. It was unbearable.
And she could see the pulse beating, beating, against his throat. His lips were close to hers as he spoke.
'Never!' she promised him in a heated panic. 'I just can't stand the thought of being sullied by your touch.'
'No?' He cocked his head, and his lashes fell lazily over his cheeks. 'You didn't mind down in the store this afternoon.'
'That was—that was necessary.'
'No, I don't think so. I don't think so at all. Shannon, I haven't ever, not even by the most practiced whore, been kissed so provocatively in my entire life.'
She leaped up. It had gone too far. Her cheeks were blazing and her breasts were heaving. The bubbles and water sluiced from her, bathing her in a seductive white foam.
Malachi leaned back. His eyes fell on the hardened dark peaks of her breasts as they thrust through the white foam of the bubbles. She saw that look in his eyes again, and she cried out softly as she stepped from the tub. She grabbed for the towel, but she had barely dried her face before he was up behind her. He lifted her cleanly from the ground and tossed her upon Mrs. Haywood's crocheted spread. She gasped for breath, trying to rise. It was impossible. He was down beside her within a split second, a leg cast over her hips and thighs, his arm a bar of steel across her.
'That kiss wasn't necessary at all,' he told her.
'I am going to scream, Malachi. I'm going to scream so loudly that you'll be sorry.'
'If you scream,' he promised her, 'it isn't going to be for help.'
'You bastard!' She surged against him. 'You can't come from a fancyhouse to me—' She broke off, straining against the muscles that held her. She tossed like a wild creature, but it served no purpose. It just put their bodies more fully in contact. Her breasts rubbed against his chest, and her limbs became more and more entangled with his. She felt the hard, searing heart of his desire against her thighs, against her belly. She tried to kick him and failed, but he swore softly, knowing her intent. He straddled her, keeping himself safe from her rancor, and caught her hands, pinning them to her sides. Exhausted, she twisted her head from his, gasping desperately for breath.
She heard him chuckle softly and she opened her eyes, staring at him in fury. 'I will scream, Malachi! You bastard!' Tears glazed her eyes. 'Gentleman! Southern cavalier! The last of the flower of knighthood—'
'Shannon, I didn't touch her.'
'What?' she breathed.
'She's a friend, and a good one. She's going to do some spying on Fitz for me.'
'Fitz?'
'We're not far, not far at all now. Fitz has Kristin. She's in jail.'
'Oh, no, Malachi!' She surged against him, bit her lip and fell back.
'But she's all right. Iris is going to go see her. She's going to help us.'
'Or else turn you in,' Shannon said softly.
He shook his head with irritating confidence. 'She's a friend.'
'I'll bet she is.'
He lay over her, his head close to hers. 'You are jealous, Miss McCahy. I told you; I didn't touch her.
'That—that doesn't mean anything at all,' Shannon whispered against his lips. 'I don't—'
His mouth closed upon hers with a curiously tender force, parting her lips, searing them, causing them to part sweetly beneath his. She lost contact with everything but the fire of his tongue, so hot and hard, thrusting into the depths of her soul and desire. She didn't feel the bed beneath her, or know that gentle candlelight filled the room. She could only taste the fever of his kiss.
She ceased to fight him. Her fingers curled around his. His mouth lifted from hers, and touched down again upon the column of her throat. The brush of his mustache and beard feathered softly over her flesh, and she moaned, arching hard against him. He lowered his head, sweeping his face over her breasts, slowly encircling one mound with the tip of his tongue, then taking in the fullness of her nipple with the whole of his mouth. His teeth grazed the pebbled peak as he licked it in slow and leisurely fashion.
Her heart was beating like thunder; her blood seemed to hiss and boil and cascade through her, and she could not think of anything but the exquisite pleasure of his touch. Something deep inside her tried to warn her that it was wrong, that no great and everlasting love lay between them, that theirs was the heated and tempestuous passion forged from the hatred borne between sworn enemies.
But she did not hate him. Not at all…
She craved his touch with a basic, undeniable need. She felt the huge pulse of his passion, thundering against her, and she was sweetly excited, pleased that this time there would be no pain at all. She wanted to touch him. She wanted to explore his shoulders and run her fingers over his chest, and she even wanted to venture decadently downward, and touch with fascination the place from which his darkest desire sprung…
His lips moved over her, down to her belly. His tongue laved her with hot moisture, and his beard continued to caress her flesh and evoke a greater surge within her. She wanted him so desperately…
Suddenly he rose above her. His features were tight, but he smiled and he spoke lightly. 'Good night, Shannon.'
She stared at him in utter disbelief, then the color surged to her face and she tried to strike him in a raw fury. Once again, he secured her hands. He fell to her side and swept her against him. 'We need to get some sleep.'
'Sleep! I will never sleep with you, you Confederate snake! You rodent, you knave, scalawag! You bastard, you—'
'Enough, Shannon.'
'Vulture, diseased rat! Rabid dog!'
'Enough!' He managed to land his hand on her derriere in a sharp slap. She swore again with the venom and expertise of a cowhand, and this time his hand landed over her mouth. 'Darlin', let's go to sleep, or I will forget that I'm a gentleman.'
'Gentleman!'
'A gentleman,' he repeated. 'You're the one who wants to be left alone,' he reminded her gruffly.
She was quick and twisted around to see his face. His eyes were unreadable, his features taut, his jaw locked. And his eyes…he stared at her as if he hated her, and she found herself lowering her eyes in misery.
It was true. She had wanted to be left alone because…
'Oh, Malachi!' she said miserably, a sob catching in her throat. He was the one who had brought them to their present untenable position, but she had provoked him earlier. She had meant to stir him down in the store, and she had meant to provoke him over at the saloon. She had been sick, imagining him in the arms of the redhead…
'Malachi, I did love Robert,' she whispered. 'And if I did, then it can't be right, it just can't be right… I don't mean by Sunday-school morals, I mean in the soul, in the heart…'
She was near to tears. She couldn't possibly be speaking to Malachi this way, especially not when she lay naked in bed with him.
But something in his eyes softened, and his touch was very gentle as he drew her against him. 'Shannon, I know that you loved him. You've taken nothing away from him by needing to feel warm again.' He sighed. His beard brushed the top of her head. His hand lay against her midriff, but it was a tender touch, and not meant to seduce or capture. 'Tell me about him.'
'What?'
'Tell me about him. When did you meet? What was he like?'
She shook her head. She couldn't begin to imagine Malachi being interested in her deceased Yank fiance. But he whispered against her hair softly. 'Talk to me. It may feel good. You met when the house in Kansas City fell down.'
She nodded, absurdly content to lie there, held by him. 'I was arrested along with Kristin—for my relationship
