Devil in Texas(27)

All Cass had to do was run his fingers through his hair.

Hell. He doesn't even have to do that, apparently.

She pasted on a luscious smile. "This is the lair of Lucifire, isn't it? The notorious heartbreaker, whose kisses burn like flame?"

He snorted. "Depends on who's doing the asking... Mrs. Sterne."

She ignored his dig. "You were most persuasive at Wilma's place last night."

"How's that?"

"Well, for one thing, you weren't packing a pistol."

"I'm always packing, sweetheart."

"Mmm." She let her eyes trail lower. "Why don't you show me?"

He leaned his shoulder against the jamb and folded his arms across his chest. "What's the matter? Some sodbuster get a putter in his pecker?"

"Let's just say... I like my stud ponies to run the long race."

A reluctant mirth flickered in his glare. Nevertheless, he continued to bar her entry.

Cass was a game-player. Nothing excited his inner Coyote more than giving chase—except, perhaps, getting snared by the Tigress in her den. So Sadie let her shawl gape to advantage. The ploy revealed the bulging tops of freckled, patchouli-scented breasts.

"A lady could freeze out here, waiting to be invited inside," she said huskily.

"Good thing it's hotter 'n the devil's frying pan, huh?"

Smartass.

"But darling, I brought your favorite dessert. And I made my own whip—er, whipping cream."

"I'm flattered."

"You're tempted."

"Hmm." He rubbed his stubbled jaw. "So what's the pleasure of this visit gonna cost me? Daddy's button?"

"Pendant."

"That's what I figured."

"I could never fool you." Her smile dripped honey.

He tossed a suspicious look at her handbag. "Got anything else to declare in there? A scorpion? Or a rattler, maybe?"

"Nothing that bites as good as you."

"Aw. That's sweet."

He still wouldn't budge.

"You aren't still mad at me for dying, are you?" she asked with a pretty pout.

Something dark and dangerous flitted through the sapphire depths of his eyes. But the emotion fled so quickly, she couldn't put a name to it.

"Refresh my memory. Weren't you planning to visit Sterne the night you sneaked into the Globe Hotel, wearing trousers and a beard?"

She wrestled with her annoyance. She'd told Cass a dozen times—no, two dozen—she'd never had an affair with Rex. Why couldn't he simply believe her and drop the subject?

"I thought you liked my beard," she rallied with a naughty grin.

"Sure. Why don't you mosey on back to Wilma's place and put it on for me?"

She blinked. In all her years of game-playing with Cass, she couldn't remember a single other night when he'd turned down her offer of sex.

"We'd just be wasting time," she countered in provocative tones. "And my berries would wilt."

"Worse things could happen."

"You mean... your berries could wilt?"

He smirked. "As a gentleman, I plead the 5th."

"Not to worry, darling. I know the cure for berries—and for gentlemanly inclinations."

She sidled closer. He kept barring the door.

Her eyes narrowed.

She remembered how he'd answered her rap carrying a gun. But that wasn't so disturbing. Always ready for a showdown, that was her Lucifire.

What was disturbing—at least to her womanly intuition—was the way Cass continued to shield the door. He wasn't just trying to drive her away, he was preventing her from seeing past his shoulders to the dimly lit interior.

"Well?" she demanded.

"A deep subject."

Hilarious.

"Are you going to let me in?"

"How bad do you want that button?"

"Enough to come. Here," she added provocatively.

His chuckle was wolfish. "That could be arranged."

"Promises, promises."

The smoking sapphire of his gaze trailed leisurely over her bodice, her belly, her hips. By the time he was staring at the apex between her thighs, she was licking her lips.

"You know," he drawled, "that kick of yours left a dent in my gut."

"You're a big boy." She fought fire with fire, training a lusty stare at his crotch. "I figured you could handle it."

She was gratified to see his buttons strain.

"Would it have been so hard to say, 'Howdy, Cass. It's me under the beard?'"

"A woman likes to play hard to get."

"This is playing hard to get?"

She was sorely tempted to kick him again. "You want me to beg for forgiveness? Is that it?"

"It couldn't hurt."

Donkey butt.

She struggled with her notoriously short temper. "All right, fine. Cass, I'm sorry. I need you. I want you. I can't live without you."

"Aw, you didn't say pretty please. With cherries on top."

She gritted her teeth. "Pretty please. With cherries."

Those wicked, blue eyes danced. "Now say—"

"Impossible man." She grabbed his shirt front and kissed him.

He chuckled into her mouth, stepping into the hall and letting the door slam behind him. As their tongues wrestled for dominance, fire rushed through her blood. Sparks showered her nerves. Enjoying the sensations, she wasn't shy about demanding pleasure. She shimmied until the taut nubs of her breasts jutted into his shirt; he dragged her hips closer, tantalizing her with the hot, throbbing promise of his arousal.

Cass wasn't called "Eros in Spurs" for nothing. His erotic enticements were soon melting the rational part of her brain. She began to forget why she'd knocked on his door. She began to lose sight of her starry-eyed ambitions to topple a corrupt senator.

The heat of Cass, the taste of Cass, the scent of tobacco, sandalwood, and leather, were heady aphrodisiacs. They called to mind other nights, other seductions. Cass wasn't just some informant whom she could trick into helping her solve her case. He was the only man whom she'd ever yearned for in the secret, lonely chambers of her heart. He was the one lover who could set her nights on fire.

She dragged his hips closer and rubbed against them. In the next moment, she wasn't sure who was growling, who was panting, and who was needier for release. She tugged at his shirt buttons; he hiked her skirt. She squirmed, her breaths sawing when he shoved his free hand down the front of her bloomers. Within seconds, he proved that he knew precisely how to make her body beg. His uncompromising mastery had her shaking with craving. And that was before he found her spot.

"You will never," he snarled in her ear, "pretend to die on me again! You put me through hell!"

His name tore from her throat; he silenced her with a wild, untamed kiss. She tried to retaliate, but he seized her hand, backing her into the wall.

Her knees threatened to buckle from the cyclone of pleasure coiling between her thighs. She thought she heard the seams of her bloomers rip. She tried to care, but her senses were reeling, and her mind was white noise. She clawed at the drawstrings, making it easier for him to plunder his prize.

He rewarded her submission with plunging, serpentine thrusts that soon grew maddening. He took her to the brink again and again, punishing her with the sweetest of tortures. Relentless in his expertise, he milked her liquid fire but refused to let her come.

"I promised myself I'd make you sorry..." He caught her earlobe between sharp teeth.

She tried to jerk away, but he tangled a hand in her hair, holding her head captive, tormenting the tender inner space of her ear with his tongue. Chills chased the sparks that danced over her flesh.