Colorado Captive Page 9

  “Why? Would you rather be with the Indian princess?”

  “Not at all. I want you, rosebud, but—”

  “You were in her room during the party, weren’t you?” Emily searched his urgent face for signs of a lie, wishing she hadn’t kissed him so insistently.

  Matt sighed. “Grace got tired of me watching you, so we took a walk. She’s a friend, Emily. Not a lover.”

  “Then what’s the matter?” she demanded shrilly. “Have Silas and Clancy told you stay the hell away? Took you forever to kiss me today, and—”

  His finger silenced her. “I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you, Emily. But your affections are yours to give, not mine to take. Especially this first time.”

  Emily gazed into clear blue eyes that made her pulse pound. And as the meaning of his tender words sank in, she realized Matt McClanahan was a special man indeed—perhaps in the same league as Papa. She fumbled with the top button of his shirt. “Touch me the way you did at the Rose that first night, Matt. Only don’t stop.”

  “Are you sure?” he whispered. “Will you want me as much tomorrow as you do now? The wine’s making you—”

  “I’ll probably want you more.”

  Matt cradled her against his length and kissed her. As he nuzzled beneath the fragrant cascade of her hair, Emily’s breathing tickled his ear. Her hands were ruffling the hair on his chest, making his stomach muscles tighten with desire. “Maybe we should leave some clothes on so we won’t get cold,” he suggested.

  “If you won’t take them off me, I will!” She sat up, tugging at her apron strings.

  Matt wanted to stop her—or help her—but the sun’s rays playing in Emily’s hair as she stepped out of her skirt was a sight he could appreciate more fully while he was flat on his back. Her blouse fell away in the breeze, revealing a lithe body clad in the flimsiest of pale pink under-things. She grinned and grabbed his ankles.

  As Emily tugged at his boots, a laugh welled up inside him. She was pure pleasure, this mountain nymph—and now she was suspended over his outstretched leg, her breasts bobbing beneath her frilly camisole.

  “Are you laughing at me, McClanahan?”

  “The last time I did that, my clothes ended up in a trough.” He sat up to grasp her hands, smiling at the feminine curves so temptingly displayed before him. “We’re not running a race, honey. A woman’s first time with a man isn’t her best, so let’s slow down. You’ll enjoy it more.”

  Emily nipped her lip. “Will it hurt? Some ladies say it’s more duty than pleasure.”

  “I doubt you’ll ever have that problem. Come here, rosebud. Let me love you.” He coaxed her down on top of him, kissing her eyelids and her pert little nose before claiming her mouth. Her hips were round and full beneath the thin fabric of her pantaloons, and when he slipped his hands under her camisole, the warmth of her velvety skin made him hold his breath. “Now isn’t this better?”

  Emily smiled, weaving her fingers into his thick black waves. His face was dim beneath the curtain of her hair; his eyes glimmered with passion, and once again she marveled at the sleek softness of his skin. “Your heart’s pumping as fast as mine,” she whispered.

  “They’ll pump faster before we’re finished.” Gently grasping her sides, Matt slid her up to sample her breasts with his mouth. She tasted warm and clean, and as his tongue slithered under her camisole, Emily squirmed against him.

  “Please…I want to feel your skin against mine.” She sat up, watching Matt lift the undergarment over her head. He molded his hands to her bare breasts, massaging in a circular motion that nearly drove her crazy, yet uncertainty gnawed at her. “Am I built all right, McClanahan?” she asked in a tiny voice. “You took me for a boy when you first came to the mine.”

  Hearing doubt rather than the desire for a compliment, Matt smiled. “That was the furthest thing from my mind when you were pointing your pistol at me. All I could hope was that after you shot me, you’d hold me in your arms so I could nestle against you before I died.”

  Emily giggled, then sucked in her breath when his thumbs coaxed her nipples into rigid little buds. He was rock-hard beneath her, rubbing in a rhythm that sent shimmers of heat throughout her body. “Matt…”

  “We’d better do something about these pants.” He slid her off to the side of him and unbuttoned his fly. Emily turned to pull his trouser legs down, presenting a firm, pantalooned bottom that begged for a playful slap.

  When his palm stung her skin, she cried, “Hey! I won’t be manhandled like the ladies at—”

  “I’d never hurt you, honey. Never.” Matt smiled, slipping his fingers under her waistband. “Do you wear these frilly little things under your overalls, too?”

  Emily grinned wickedly.

  “Oh, Lord. I won’t be able to see you at the mine without thinking of ruffles and lace…oh, rosebud. You are lovely, honey” he breathed.

  She stood nude before him, pleased at the way his eyes burned with blue fire. He stood up to remove his underwear and then pulled her close, his hands roaming over her flesh with a gentle firmness that almost made her cry out for wanting him. Matt slid his manhood between her thighs, moving against her until fingers of desire curled in the pit of her stomach. Then he stood still, teasing her neck with feathery kisses. “If you stop, I’ll explode,” she breathed.

  “If I keep on, you’ll explode too soon,” he said with a chuckle. “Let’s lie down, honey.”

  Emily reclined in the lush grass. As Matt lowered his powerful body, he swept her with a hungry gaze. His weight was warm, his caress laden with anticipation.

  “I’ll try to go slowly, so it won’t hurt so much when I—Emily!”

  With one fluid movement she found what her body ached for. Wrapping a leg around him, Emily arched until they were joined. The pain was piercing for a moment, but then she couldn’t stop pressing against him, again and again.

  “Rosebud, tell me if I’m—”

  “You’re fussing over me like Idaho does,” she whispered. “Love me—like Matt McClanahan!”

  He leaned into her warmth and forgot his qualms. She was returning thrust for thrust, kissing him with lips as urgent as his own. Emily fit against him perfectly, and McClanahan forced himself to slow down until he felt her body tensing with uncontrollable pleasure.

  Emily was suddenly overwhelmed by the mysterious power surging through her, building toward a peak from which she couldn’t turn back. She cried out, exploding in a shimmering sunburst as he found his own release.

  After a moment, Matt rose up on his elbows to kiss her. She was so still…her eyes were closed and her head had lolled to one side. “Emily? Honey, can you hear me?” he asked softly. “My God, she passed out.”

  She shook with a giggle and then laughed aloud as Matt repeatedly swatted her cheek. “McClanahan,” she murmured, “if this was pain, I won’t be able to stand the pleasure when we make love again. And again.”

  Matt laughed and kissed her. Then he held her sweet, sated body against his, wondering how he’d get through the week—even a day—without loving her every time he saw her. “We’d better put our clothes on, before someone comes looking for you.”

  “Why would Idaho do that?” she asked playfully. “He trusts you, or he wouldn’t have told you I was up here.”

  McClanahan sighed. “It was Silas I had in mind.”

  Emily reached for her underthings, which were damp with dew as she slipped them on. “He can’t fire you. And he can’t tell me how to feel about you, either.”

  As he stepped into his trousers, Matt kept his doubts to himself. Was he strong enough to withhold his emotions until each time they were absolutely alone? One winsome grin, even from under Eliza’s dusty mining hat, would have him wanting her no matter where they were.

  She watched his expression vacillate between boyish glee and a wise smile that fascinated her, as everything about him did. “How old are you, McClanahan?”

  Emily’s question came like a shot
out of nowhere, a trait he knew he’d better get used to. “Twenty-seven. You think I’m too old and worn out to tame you?”

  “No. I was just wondering how many more years of this I have to look forward to.”

  Matt clutched her, feeling utterly invincible as she hugged him back. “It’s too soon to say, honey. But I’d like to find out, too.” He kissed her fervently on the mouth, then picked his hat up off the ground. “I’ll ride with you to the livery stable, and then—”

  “But what if someone sees us together?”

  He plucked a blade of grass from her hair. “I’d never forgive myself if some drunk got ahold of you while you were walking home,” he insisted. “The streets may be lit, but they’re not safe.”

  Emily nodded and gathered the picnic things into the basket. She tied her shawl around her shoulders, needing its warmth now that Matt wasn’t holding her, and swung onto Sundance.

  They let the horses set the pace down the dark mountainside. The only sounds were their mounts’ breathing and muffled hoofbeats on the hard-packed road, until they trotted onto the pavement in town. Boisterous laughter came from the gambling halls, and men were milling from one establishment to the next, so no one noticed them. After Emily got Sundance settled for the night, she stepped into Matt’s stirrup, letting him hoist her onto Arapaho in front of him.

  The ride to the house was too short. With her thighs rubbing Matt’s and his warm hand resting beneath her breasts, Emily felt another rush of desire as they rocked along. McClanahan tugged on the reins, stopping before they entered the squares of lamp light coming out of Silas’s parlor windows.

  “Emily, I—”

  She kissed him, not wanting to spoil the evening’s perfection with mere words. Then she swung a leg over Arapaho’s neck. “Goodnight, Matt.” She patted his supple boot and hurried toward the house.

  “Goodnight, sweetheart,” he whispered after her.

  When she opened the door, the vestibule mirror confirmed her fears. She was rumpled and flushed, and with her hair falling over her shoulders in wavy disarray, she looked exactly like what she was: a young woman who’d tasted love and swallowed it whole. She jumped when Silas cleared his throat.

  He’d been reading his paper, and now he was approaching her with a stern scowl. “You’re playing with fire, young lady,” he said tersely. “And your carelessness will get us all burned before this is over.”

  Still intoxicated from the wine and Matt’s touch, Emily faced him boldly. “I’m not stupid, Silas,” she retorted. “Nobody saw us—”

  “It’s quite obvious how you and McClanahan feel about each other, and that you’ve both lost control of the situation,” her father’s partner replied. “I thought I could trust him to—”

  “He didn’t take anything I didn’t offer, Mr. Hughes.”

  Silas’s mouth became a tight line. “That’s precisely the attitude I’m talking about,” he said in a strained whisper. “I’ve risked my reputation—laid my very livelihood on the line for you, Emily, because I thought you were mature enough to respect that. What will Victoria and the men do when they find out I’ve lied for you? And I’m the one who got Donahue his job at the Rose, supposedly because Elliott’s distraught daughter sent him here. What happens when this farce blows up in our faces?”

  Emily knew better than to make another flippant remark, yet she refused to let his tirade go unanswered. “With McClanahan helping us, we’ll find Papa’s killer before anyone’s the wiser,” she insisted. “You worry too much, Silas—and your nerves will give us away as easily as anything McClanahan and I might do.”

  Hughes shook his head in disgust. “Your father must be rolling over in his grave right now,” he muttered, turning toward the stairs. “Goodnight, Miss Burnham.”

  Chapter Nine

  “Good morning, Mr. Matt!” the colored cook’s voice rang in the vestibule. “Mr. Silas and Miss Emily just sat down to breakfast. You’ll join them, won’t you?”

  “Thanks, Idaho, but I’ve eaten.”

  Emily looked up from the egg she’d been piddling with. She and Silas had little to say to each other, and she hoped Matt’s presence would improve the dark mood that was hanging over the table like a storm cloud. But when she saw his jeans, she knew his plans didn’t include working at the mine today.

  “What’s new?” Silas asked as McClanahan crossed the dining room. His scowl relaxed, as though he were separating his personal misgivings about Matt from his need to keep abreast of the manhunt.

  McClanahan pulled out a chair and sat facing the mine manager. “Emily told me where she got her horse, so I’ve decided to check with the lawmen around Colorado Springs,” he said. “If they spotted Longbaugh or any of the Wild Bunch around May seventh, when Elliott was killed, we may have something solid to go on.”

  Silas grunted. “Sounds like a long shot. Longbaugh’s specialty is horse thieving, as I recall.”

  “It’s the closest thing to a lead I’ve got.”

  Emily looked glumly down at her yolk-smeared plate. They were talking as though she weren’t even in the room, and Matt’s idea sounded like a convenient excuse to get away from her. “How long will you be gone?” she mumbled.

  “Probably two or three days. Ill check on some other possibilities…maybe go on up to Denver, too.”

  “That’ll fit with your new position, if people ask where

  you are,” Silas said with a nod. “And I’m more likely to overhear something pertinent if the men don’t know when you’ll be in and out of the Angel Claire.”

  “I thought so, too. I’ll let you know what I’ve learned as soon as I get back.” Matt glanced at Emily and stood to put his Stetson on. “Try to behave while I’m gone, all right?”

  He might as well have been talking to his little sister. As Silas walked McClanahan to the door, Emily tossed her napkin onto the table. She stood before the mirrored étagère to coil her braid underneath the hat she wore at the Angel Claire. In the glass, she saw the mine manager studying her from across the dining room, but she had nothing to say to him.

  “It might be best if you varied your schedule, too, so the employees don’t suspect anything when you need to be gone,” Silas suggested quietly.

  “Don’t worry—I can’t embarrass you by mooning over McClanahan today,” she replied bitterly.

  Hughes walked up behind her, meeting her eyes in the mirror. “I realize how badly you miss your father’s affection,” he said with a sigh. “Elliott thought it was time to be finding you a husband—and I feel better, having McClanahan to look out for you when I’m not around the office. But we know so little about him.”

  “Papa would’ve liked Matt,” she challenged. “Idaho thinks so, too.”

  “But he would not like his daughter parading around with her hair loose, like some strumpet from Myers Avenue,” Silas stated. “McClanahan could’ve at least—”

  “Haven’t you ever run your hands through a woman’s hair, Mr. Hughes?” Emily turned, mocking him with a grin. “I’ll bet you’ve never cavorted on Mount Pisgah in the all-together.”

  The mine manager grabbed his hat from the shelf beside her. “I don’t put my private life on display, Miss Burnham. And you’d be wise to follow suit.”

  Her life returned to the way it was before Matt McClanahan showed up, yet the next three days were unbearably long. Emily called a truce with Silas by apologizing for her unladylike remarks—she didn’t really understand her vicious tongue any more than he did. His idea about varying her schedule was valid, so she explained to Miss Victoria that sometimes Idaho needed her help in the kitchen after dinner. Clancy eyed her suspiciously as she told this story, but Emily felt no need to justify her actions to a jealous, thieving bartender.

  But what if intensifying her efforts to find Papa’s killer didn’t help? She heard no tell-tale remarks when the men at the Angel Claire grumbled about low wages and the oppressive heat in the mine shaft, as they always did. The Golden Rose had settled into it
s normal routine, now that Miss Victoria’s party was a pleasant memory. It was as though Elliott Burnham and his daughter were tending to business as usual: from a distance.

  Would Papa approve of Matt McClanahan? Or was she making another impulsive mistake, falling for the man who’d roused her passions so quickly and effortlessly? Even the simple act of dressing, whether in overalls or her uniform, became an ordeal because she couldn’t put on her underthings without recalling how Matt’s hands had lit fires all over her body when he took them off her. And yet he’d left town without a hint that he’d miss her, or that he felt anything more for her than he did for Silas. He’d stolen her heart, dammit! And for all she knew, he’d disappear with it as suddenly as he came.

  Emily was staring blankly at the Angel Claire’s ledgers Wednesday afternoon, when she discovered she wasn’t the only one who resented the way McClanahan had come in from nowhere and taken over. Nigel Grath swaggered into the office, his belligerence as apparent as the stench of sweat and blasting powder.

  “McClanahan around?” he demanded.

  Emily shook her head and returned to her bookkeeping.

  “Good. Know when he’ll be back?”

  She shook her head again, sensing trouble as the wiry miner leaned on the front of her desk. Grath giggled, focusing his beady eyes on her until she couldn’t ignore him. “Well, he won’t be tendin’ E.R.’s business much longer,” he said in a conspiratorial tone. “One sonuvabitchin’ know-it-all’s enough at this hellhole.”

  As he looked purposefully around the little office, Emily dreaded what he’d say next. The blaster seemed higher-strung than usual as he raked his fingers through his stringy hair and replaced his gritty hat. His body odor was overpowering, and she glanced toward the window, hoping to see Silas.

  “McClanahan ain’t who he says he is,” Nigel began in an ominous whine. “The boys think Burnham’s daughter sent him here to spy on Federation doin’s, but I know for a fact she didn’t.” His laugh was humorless as he looked down at her. Then he blinked, and added, “I mean—McClanahan don’t know a mine shaft from the crack in his ass! So he’s gonna go sky-high!”