Her Forbidden Gunslinger (6 page)

Unable to hold back anymore, Gray sheathed himself completely inside her in a deep thrust, tearing through her maidenhead and forcing the delicate tissue of her channel apart to accept his size. Sophie stiffened and made a noise low in her throat, her nails biting into his shoulders to stay him. He tried to hold back, to allow her untried body to get used to the feel of him, his whole body shaking with the effort, but he failed miserably. His fingertips bit into the soft flesh of her buttocks to hold her still for him as his hips grinded against her, unwilling to obey the commands of his mind.

She was so tight and hot wrapped around him, he only wanted to pound into her in a mindless fervor of abandon. And then she moved. A simple shift of position, probably, but his body took it as submission and before he could get a grip on his passion, he pulled back and pushed into her. A single, deep, mind-numbing in its intensity thrust that was in no way gentle and in all ways the raw hunger he was afraid to unleash on her.

“Shit, Sophie.” He pulled away from her, stunned into sobriety by his own actions. “I’m sorry,” he whispered when he had completely withdrawn from her body.

“Gray.” From beneath him, her voice penetrated his conscious and summoned his gaze to hers. “Don’t leave!” She grabbed him desperately. “Please.”

He didn’t breathe as he looked down at her, hardly able to believe that he was hearing her correctly. That despite the pain he had caused her, she still wanted him. There was no fear on her face. She wanted him! To prove it she grabbed his hips and pulled him back to her.

“More!”

And then her hips were arching up to him, attempting to join them again and he hoped she knew what she was asking because he was lost. He fell over her then, resting on his forearms, aware of her slim, delicate body beneath him. His hands were trembling as he fisted them in the sheet on either side of her. Slowly and with infinite gentleness, he pushed into her again, his gaze locked on her face until he was fully seated within her. Her passage was so incredibly tight he was sure he’d hurt her, but her eyes were heavy-lidded and glazed with passion when they met his. He pulled out of her almost completely, and smiled when her fingernails bit into his hips to pull him back. He obliged and tenderly thrust into her again.

“Please, Gray.” Her hips rose, asking for more friction.

It was all the encouragement he needed. He drove into her then without restraint, giving into the madness of their passion, watching in awe as her face changed with each stroke. Finally her hoarse cry filled the room and he watched her come apart, felt her come apart, as she contracted around his shaft. Only then did he bury his face in her neck and hold her tight until his own groan of pleasure tore itself from his lips. He barely managed to pull out of her before spilling his seed.

He fell onto her then, limp and sated, and sure that she had taken some part of his soul.

Long moments passed in silence as their breathing returned to normal. Sophie relished the way his body felt, completely relaxed and calm, on top of her. But he stirred then and shifted so the bulk of him lay beside her, a heavy thigh still positioned between hers and his shoulder still covering most of her torso. The June night was so warm their skin glistened in the meager lamp light, but it didn’t matter. She savored him and the slick feel of his skin on hers.

“Are you okay?”

Sophie opened her eyes to see him raised slightly, gaze roving her face in search of damage. As if any damage he’d caused would be visible on her face, she mused. “Wonderful,
mon coeur.
” Her fingertips caressed his cheek and he reflexively turned to press a kiss to the center of her palm.

Her other hand came up to stroke his shoulder and then down to trace lightly over the tattoo, overwhelmed by her need to touch him, to somehow be closer to him even though they had just completed an act that brought them as close as two people could physically be. “Is it always this way?” she whispered, hoping he didn’t need clarification because she wasn’t quite sure how to express the complex feelings of longing and completeness she felt.

When his gaze met hers again the solemnity was back but there was something else. And when he whispered “never” Sophie’s breath caught in her throat. She realized, more than anything else, she wanted to see him look at her like that every day for the rest of her life. But there were so many things in the way.

“I’m sorry if I made you do something you didn’t want to,” she blurted out.

He laughed. A soft exhalation of air that caused prickles of pleasure to dance across her skin where it touched as he bent and placed a kiss on her shoulder, her chest, her neck, just before his lips brushed across hers. “Did it feel like you had an unwilling man between your thighs?”

Her cheeks pinkened. “No. I meant…” Her voice faded. It didn’t seem right to mention her uncle, Anton, and Gray’s profession. Those things had no place in the room with them anymore.

But he knew. “We have tonight, Sophie.” And he kissed her again. A slow, deep, wet kiss that made that part of her start to ache again. When he pulled back there was a devious glint in his eyes that promised to make good use of the hours ahead.

Chapter Six

Some 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 Jean had come and convinced her father to mine their land. She didn’t mention that part but he knew what Sinclair had told him. 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.

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?”

“A warrior never regrets.” He couldn’t stop himself from smiling back.

“Does a warrior tell the woman he’s just taken back to his lodge and thoroughly ravished about himself?”

He laughed. “I doubt the woman would care to hear it.”

“Well I do. 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 the ranch he had worked at tracking horse thieves before coming to work for LaSalle. 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.
”

“I
don’t
talk about myself. Men generally don’t ask.”

“And women?”

Gray 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. “They just want their money when we’re done.”

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

She wouldn’t understand what it was like for him. As a half-breed he was beneath any respectable woman’s notice and as a gunslinger he was too dangerous. After a while, he’d stopped noticing them. Had stopped thinking of any sort of future. “Yeah, but I haven’t lain with a woman in a long time, Sophie.”

After a while the couplings with prostitutes had seemed hollow and unfulfilling. And 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 mother, Gray?”

Gray stiffened, unprepared to go back that far. “Let’s not talk about me anymore.”

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

He rose 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.

“I never saw her after she sent me away.” He paused, feeling the words he had never spoken stick in his throat. But he forced them out anyway. “I was twelve. She cut my hair, gave me a shirt and breeches and made me leave with a trader who visited our camp from time to time. She thought with my eyes I could pass for white or close to it.” He paused again, unaware that his fingers had tightened against her as he spoke. “I think she knew the end was coming, because a little over a year after that, the camp surrendered themselves to the army and were settled on a reservation. She died soon after.”

“Your father?”

He sat up then, leaving her to look at the broad expanse of his back. “You ask too much.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered and he felt her arms go about him from behind. Her lips found the smooth skin of shoulder. “I’m sorry. I just want to know everything about you, but you don’t have to tell me now.”

“He was a bluecoat…a soldier.” Gray laced his fingers with hers, drawing on the acceptance he felt in her embrace. “My mother was newly wed when their camp was raided. Her husband was killed and she was left for dead. I doubt she even knew which soldier it was.” After a pause he continued, “She never said but I imagine she spent the next nine months hoping that I was his…her dead husband’s.”

How did he explain to her how he’d never felt he belonged anywhere, was never truly wanted? His mother’s people had provided for him but never completely accepted him. It was as much that as any foreboding of the end of their resistance that had made her send him away. Even after he left, 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.

His confession made Sophie blanch and close her eyes. Had he spent his entire life feeling shame? There were a lot of words out of place in the room that night and she thought that love was probably one of them. What future did they have with Jean and Anton hanging over them? But Sophie doubted many brides felt as close to their bridegrooms on their wedding night as she did to Gray. She finally understood the haunted look in his eyes and she loved him for it.

She loved him.

Her eyes were moist with unshed tears when she moved to kneel in front of him. He still looked down so she gently touched his face and brought his gaze to hers. “I’m sorry for what you’ve gone through,
mon coeur.
But I’m thankful for whatever has led you to me.”

He swallowed before saying hoarsely. “I don’t deserve you. I’ll only hurt you.”

Whatever else he might have said was lost in her kiss.

* * *

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 Cole 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 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.”