Bind Me Close: 3 (Knights in Black Leather) (4 page)

Opening the key box, he took down the set to the Chevy. The
Fleetline, in better shape than his Firebird, could certainly give Willow the
ability to get around town. If she wanted to go farther, even down to San
Antonio, he’d have to drive her.

He smiled. Not a bad prospect. Getting close to Willow
Turner promised to be a tasty experience. She was not like Bostonians at all.
Polite to a fault, she tried, sweet baby, to be a diplomat.
I could live
like that, with a woman who has standards for herself.

But she was more than polite. From what he’d learned about
her from the MacRaes, Willow was a high school teacher of history. Had won an
award or two from the state of Oklahoma for her service on Native American
reservations. She had a younger sister whom she put through college and no hint
of a husband, an ex or a male companion sniffing around her.

Wonder why not. She certainly is a nice package.
Stately as an Amazon, she was regal with flawless skin, all that thick black
hair and wide chocolate eyes. The cheekbones were killers, courtesy of her
Comanche genes. But the body was courtesy of god and all his wonders. She had
breasts that deserved to be out of that damned flimsy white tee and licked.
Legs that needed to be parted and wrapped around a man’s hips. And an ass that
he would gladly hold tight while he fucked her like the randy sonofabitch he
was.

He could do her right. The way a big man paid homage to a
woman able to handle his size. With her he’d never worry about crushing her.
She could take him, from the front, to the hilt. And from behind, oh man. He’d
pump her full of him, make her clit and her G-spot happy.

Shit. Why fuck her from behind?
Just cuz it’s my hot
button doesn’t mean it’s hers.
Some women hated it and flat-out refused
him. That was, until he showed them how he could make them gasp with delight.
But
if I get the chance to do this lady, I’ll ensure she comes first with me
licking her nipples and fucking her pussy full front while I make her scream to
hell and gone!

Fat chance you can even get her naked, Saxon!

Growling, he grabbed the set of keys dangling from the first
hook and strode over to the red ’48 Chevy Fleetline convertible. Yanking open
the door, he slid inside and turned the ignition once, twice and she purred to
life.

The sound of the engine calmed him, his eyes drifting closed
while he thought of stripping Miss Willow Turner naked and exploring that gorgeous
body of hers.
Wonder what her favorite position is. Standing? Straddling? On
the table? What makes her yell her pleasure?

“You can’t be serious.”

He jumped as the sound of her voice invaded his reverie.

Standing right beside his car, she peered down at him. “Tell
me you aren’t revving that motor to give that car to me.”

Her surprise charmed him. Everything about her did. “Don’t
think you can handle her?”

“Don’t think I want to! Wade, for heavens sake, what’s she
worth? Look at all these!” Her tone one of wonder, she cooed at the cars that
filled the garage. She swept her hand in the air toward his 1937 cream Cord
roadster, his 1912 black Model T, his 1967 Firebird convertible and the Chevy.
“You don’t want to give her to me. Just take me to the Breakaway B&B in
town. I’ll—”

“Move.” Killing the engine, he tried to push open his door
and she stood in the way.

She flapped her arms, appearing flummoxed.

“Get in.”

She frowned. “I will not.”

“I said…” He rose up, took hold of her arm and hauled her
inside. Right back down on top of him, hands to his chest, face inches from his
too. “Get in.”

Bracing herself with one hand to the passenger seat, she
sprawled across his lap. “Not a good idea.”

“What is?”

“Driving this.”

“Okay.” He could play this game and win.

She tried to right herself. “Let me up.”

“I have a finer idea.”

She looked at him sideways, leery.

Didn’t matter. He sent one hand into her hair, destroying
the bun so that the heavy curtain of her hair cascaded over her shoulder, over
his arm too, and tempted him onward. “I think we should try it.”

“The car? No. No.” She shook her head, wary, but melting
into him, her breasts big, warm pillows against his chest, her nipples boring
into his flesh like cut diamonds.

“Why not?” He could have great fun teasing her. She was so
sweet, so tender.

“I shouldn’t. It’ll cost too much if I’m not good enough.”

“You would be.” He meant how she kissed. She meant how she
drove. That didn’t matter either. They could have a double conversation, see
where it led, especially if he took advantage of her lovability and drove her
where he wanted.

“You can’t know that.”

“True. Not until you try.”
Go on. Do it.
“Take a
chance.”

Her mouth worked at words. Her lower lip was plump at the
middle, curving to the corners as if she wore a perpetual smile. Her upper was
deeply bowed. Expressive. She’d be heaven to kiss.

But she heaved herself up and away, finding footing on the
garage floor and facing away from him as she pulled her short shorts over the
curve of her ass cheeks.

“Well,” he said as he blinked and cleared his head of lust
for her, “that deserves my own apology.”

“No, don’t.”

Climbing out, he walked in front of her and lifted her chin
so she’d look at him. “I acted like an ape. I am sorry, Willow. I don’t
normally do that kind of thing.”
I usually store my cojones in my pants, not
my brains.
“The car rides well. She’s tuned, got all her licenses and
fluids. For jetting around Bravado she’ll do you just fine. Take her. Please.
As a favor to the ape man who owes you one.”

She locked gazes with him, smiling broadly as if she were
totally ready to accept his apology. “You’re on. I’ll take her. And I will say
thank you. No arguments.”

“Good.”

“One problem.”

“What’s that?”

“I have no clue where I am. Can you give me directions into town?”

“Better yet, I’ll lead you there. Ah, ah! Let me do this.”

She held up both palms. “Now?”

“No time like the present.”

What’s wrong with me? I’m acting like a teenager,
starry-eyed over a man I’ve known for hours. Hours! Who does that?

Not me.

Drive the car!

Willow bit her lower lip, pushing her sunglasses up her nose
and loving the wind in her hair as they left his house. The Chevy was
to-die-for comfortable. She’d never owned a convertible but promised herself
that someday she’d buy one. Maybe secondhand. But to drive his was heaven. The
leather seat fit her hips and legs, unlike new cars whose seats were too
narrow. The engine purred…

Just like I did when he put his hands on me. When I fell
on him. And oh, wasn’t that graceful?

Blech.

He stuck his hand out his driver’s side window and motioned
for her to hurry up.

Daydream, much?

That’s me.

She put her foot to the pedal and crawled up in back of him.
Like I’d love to in the flesh. No cars, no clothes between us.

Forget it.

Shouldn’t make faces at myself. He can see me in his
rearview mirror. How embarrassing would it be if he saw me lecturing myself on
how not to be intrigued by him?

Ha!

Concentrate on the tough Texas landscape. The deer, my
god, which are everywhere. The bald, pointed hills. And the sunset. Vermilion
red, hot and sweaty.

Like my hands. And my pussy. All mushy over the local
sheriff.

Not smart.

From her peripheral vision she saw he’d put on his blinker.
From the road sign, Willow knew they had only two miles into town. Terrific.
The sooner she was able to lose Wade Saxon, the better she’d be able to think
about her problems and not her awakened libido.

Another sign declared the city line, and shops appeared on
either side of Main Street. Wade’s blinker flashed again and he turned left onto
a circular drive. The cute bungalow of adobe and cedar bore a sign that said it
was the Breakaway Bed and Breakfast. Willow prayed Wade would just wave goodbye
and return home.

No such luck. She heard him put on the brake and saw him
climb down out of his cab to open her door before she had a chance to do it for
herself.

“This chivalry could get addictive,” she told him, kicking
herself for the inference that he could continue and that it would have an
effect on her.

“Works for me,” he said, his Stetson firmly back on his head
as he handed her out and led her up the sidewalk to the entrance.

“Really, Wade, you do not have to baby me.”

With a cockeyed grin he winked at her. “Enjoying it. Go on
inside. Let’s get you fixed up.”

Shaking her head, Willow marched right up to counter. “Hi,
I’m Willow Turner. You have a reservation for me.”

“So glad you got here!” An older woman, thin and eager as a
puppy, reached across the desk and shook her hand. “Glad you took such good
care of her, Sheriff.”

“I gather you heard what happened out on Bandera road, Miz
Sykes?” He tipped up the brim of his huge white cowboy hat.

“Yes sir. That robbery was a fright. Mary Taylor said when
he ran into the jewelry store he was so nervous and so wild with that gun that
he almost shot her.”

“That’s what I hear she told my deputy too.”

“But he’s in the hospital now? Do you have police watching
him?”

“We do, Miz Sykes. We do. The San Antonio Police Department
is helping us out with shifts.”

“And you’ll prosecute him?”

“We will. Never you fear. Now, Miss Turner has had a tough
day and would like to go to her casita. Are you ready for her?”

“I am. I surely am. Sorry to keep you waiting, Miz Turner.
We got you all set up in the corner casita where it is nice and quiet. No music
from the honky-tonk on Main Street will hit your ears and keep you awake at
night. I wonder, Sheriff, if you would keep a good eye out for those boys. They
tell me they keep it real peaceful, but you know, our guests still do
complain.”

“I know.” Wade took Willow’s elbow and reached for the key
the lady offered. “We monitor the noise every weekend.”

“Thank you, Sheriff. Miz Turner, you do enjoy and if there
is anything you need, you just call us here and we’ll get it for you.”

“Thank you. I will.”

Wade bid the lady goodbye and steered Willow toward the
front door. Outside he said, “She’s sweet, but the older she gets, she’s
becoming a busybody. Do not let her into your casita or she’ll talk your ears
off.”

“Got it. Thanks for the heads-up.” They walked along the
paving stones that wended between several small one-story casitas, but Willow
halted. “You know, Wade, you don’t need to escort me to my rooms. I am
capable.”

“See. There you go again, Miss Boston.” He tugged her toward
the far casita. “How would you know where to go without me?”

She gritted her teeth and let him see her do it. “She could
have given me directions.”

“Yes, and you could’ve asked.” He grinned like a very
pleased Cheshire cat. “But you didn’t.”

“Too busy listening to the police rap sheet for Bravado on
Friday and Saturday nights!” But they got to her door and he plugged the key in
and turned.

The roughly burnished door swung wide and a blast of cool
lemon-scented air rushed out. Willow stepped inside the house and though the
afternoon sun had set and the heat of the day still burned outside, in there
the cool neutral beiges and rusts beckoned.

“Wow, this is lovely.”

“The owner does a nice job. She recently had all the casitas
remodeled. A mix of early
Tejano
with old-world Spanish
colonia
,
wouldn’t you say?”

She smiled at him. “You know architectural styles?”

“I do. A man is more than his work.” He stared at her, his
eyes verdant and mysterious in the brassy-red rays of sunset streaming in
through the front door.

“I hear you. I’m glad I got to know the sheriff and his work
today,” she said with a lump in her throat and gratitude, “firsthand.”

“Feeling’s mutual. You were a cool customer. I’m grateful
you came along like you did. Everything went more smoothly since I didn’t have
to come back for you at the ice house.”

“You were helping me.”

He sauntered forward, stepping right up to her. He was so
marvelously huge that she had to tip back her head to see him fully. He loomed
over her, so many thrilling inches taller than she. He filled her vision with
the virile power of him. He cupped her elbows, ran his fingers up to her
shoulders and pulled her against him. “You’re going to be fine here.”

In the town? In the casita? In his arms? She nodded, a
quivering mess of jam. “I…I think so.”

He drifted nearer, his lips parting, his breath branding her
with fervent need, and she couldn’t resist the temptation. She lifted up on her
toes, headed straight for his mouth, his kiss and—

“Oh, Miss Turner! Miss Turner…oh my, I…am sorry.”

Through the tinted lenses of his sunglasses Wade’s gaze
never left Willow’s as they widened in surprise and disappointment. Then he set
Willow back on her heels and pouted.

Willow gulped…and turned to face the receptionist, Wade
pressing right up against her back. “Miss Sykes, hello.”

Behind Willow, Wade had settled one thigh against the crack
of her ass. As if he wished to let her know he was still here, still warm and
big and within reach, he also declared that he was her support and oh, yeah,
was he interested in her…for more than kisses. Willow bit her lower lip, hoping
her brain defogged.

Miss Sykes held two shopping bags in her hand. One pink with
loads of white tissue sticking out the top. The other was cream and beige.
“These came for you. One’s from Cara MacRae. She runs the lingerie store in
town. And this is from her aunt who owns the clothing store. They said you had
no duds, you poor thing.”