Last night had been different. Things had just happened between them without her having to make a conscious choice. Then she still had some of her illusions about her relationship with Christopher to sustain her. She could pretend there was a chance they could build a life together.
Tonight they were all fugitives. Nothing was certain. Not even that Christopher would help Corey.
For the first time in a long time, she was going to ask for what she wanted. She wanted to give herself to Christopher for no other reason than to be held in his arms.
Her courage faltered slightly when she reached him. He openly stared, his indifference gone. She sank next to him and avoided his bold gaze. He hadn’t changed his mind about wanting her. That was obvious. Nor was he smiling. His jaw was tight, held with an intensity that reminded her of the man who had first stalked up to the adobe’s door, his pistols drawn. This was the side of him she feared slightly.
She hugged her knees to her chest. Something in her wouldn’t let her turn back, though the urge to slink back to her warm blankets tempted her.
“I had a bad dream.”
His gaze returned to the fire. “What about?”
“I dreamed my world was falling apart, crumbling all around me.”
“It is.”
“I know.” She touched his shoulder with the flat of her palm, letting it follow the contour of his arm. He was tense despite the way he leisurely stretched a leg out in front of him.
“I want…” She began but faltered, unable to say the words.
He turned to look at her. His hazel eyes burned light green with some inner struggle, but his jaw remained tight. He wasn’t going to say it for her.
“You,” she finished, her voice smoky and seductive. The word rubbed against her own skin like soft fabric after a warm bath.
He returned his gaze to the fire and tightened his grip on the tin cup. “Why?”
She studied his profile, unsure of what she was supposed to say. Braddock seemed coiled too tightly. Even she didn’t know why she wanted to ignore propriety and give her body to him. The simple pleasure of being held seemed too shallow of a reason to turn against common sense. But the desire to feel his skin pressed against hers was stronger than anything she had experienced before. To be close to him, even for an hour, seemed worth whatever consequences might follow.
“I want you because you make me feel good.”
He glanced at her sharply. Something in him had started to unwind. His breathing quickened.
“I want to make you feel better than you ever felt before.”
He stood and offered her his hand. She placed her palm against his, and he brought her to her feet. Without a word he led her away from the fire, away from Corey. He paused to scoop up the discarded bedroll, then guided her behind the rocks.
In a nook where soft sand had been piled by desert winds, he spread the blankets. He turned to face her while pulling his shirt from his pants. As he freed the buttons, she started to do the same to her blouse.
He stilled her movements by gently touching her wrist. “I can’t offer you anything but this. You know that.”
“Yes.”
He moved his hands and let her finish her task. His fascination with her progress urged her to slow the process. Capturing his attention so fully was a pleasure in itself. His stare alone tightened her body, sending a rush of warmth to her breasts and belly.
“I want you to feel the same pleasure I do. Even if it takes all night,” he said without taking his gaze from her hands as they worked to release the buttons of her blouse.
She peeled the cotton from her shoulders. “I do.”
He grinned. “No, you don’t. But you will.”
He pulled her toward him as if he couldn’t resist touching the skin she revealed. While he smoothed his hands down her back, he kissed her. In two quick motions he managed to relieve her of her outer garments and her underskirts.
His kisses drifted to her shoulder while he reached underneath her chemise to cup her bare bottom. “You’re going to have to tell me what feels good and what doesn’t.”
The sensation of his rough hands gripping her so intimately forced a gasp of pleasure.
“That feels good.”
When he pressed her more fully against him, the buckle of his gun belt dug into her stomach.
She braced her hands against his chest. “That doesn’t. Aren’t you going to take off your guns?”
He tensed and peeled her away from him.
She blinked, not believing what she saw in his expression—suspicion.
“What are you thinking?” She was more hurt than angry, which she wished weren’t the case.
He unbuckled his belt. “I don’t want a repeat of this morning. If I have to get caught with my pants down again, I don’t want it to be without a gun.”