The Reward Page 8

  “Yes?” she managed to say.

  And still he didn’t stop. Stroking, pinching, licking. Oh, Jesus, so close.

  “Everything all right? I thought I heard you yell.”

  “Just slipped on the water. I’m…”

  His mouth captured the other nipple with an audible slurp and he stuck two fingers up her pussy.

  “I’m fine,” she croaked. Oh, no, she wasn’t fine. She was about to have the orgasm of a lifetime.

  “Okay then. Supper’s on the stove waiting.”

  Over the roaring in her ears, she heard Mrs. Hanson’s footsteps fade down the hallway.

  “Now come for me, amante. Come.” He bit her nipple and Leigh came in his hand so hard she saw stars behind her eyes. She jerked and clawed at him as his fingers continued to fuck her and he suckled her nipple deep into his mouth. Oh, God, so good.

  More.

  “Malcolm, please.” She needed to feel him inside her. Now.

  His eyes were onyx pools of heat.

  “Yesssss…”

  His tongue dueled with hers while he backed her up to the wall. Pushing her against the plaster, he pulled her legs up to wrap around his waist.

  His hardened cock nudged her pussy and she held her breath as he slid in. All the way in. Like a key in a well-oiled lock. She had never felt anything so perfect in her life. He filled her completely.

  “You are so tight, amante. So fucking tight. Dios.”

  When he began to move, she changed her mind. He fit. All of him. He thrust in and out as his mouth reclaimed her nipples. Stroke after stroke. Faster and faster. Her body clenched with need, with hunger, with pleasure. She was going to come again, a nearly impossible feat until that day. With his big, hard cock pushing inside over and over.

  “Mal, I’m going to come. Jesus, you’re going to make me come again.”

  He let loose her nipple and looked into her eyes. With a wicked grin, he reached between them and stroked her hot button.

  “I want to see you.”

  He pounded into her again and again, surrounding her with heat and passion until her world exploded. A cascade of stars sparkled behind her eyes, and she stifled the scream of ecstasy by biting her lips. She pulled him deeper into her body as the pleasure washed over her. Her breath caught in her throat and her blood zinged through her.

  “Ay, Dios, you are beautiful, amante. Now you bring me with you,” Malcolm whispered.

  Leigh looked into his eyes as he reached his own peak. Slamming home, he thrust into her so hard, she was sure her shoulders made a dent in the wall. He gripped her ass and held on as he groaned low and deep in his throat like the predator he was. After a seemingly endless minute, he stopped moving.

  Leigh shook like a newborn calf. Hell, even her toes were shaking. And he was still inside her. Hard and pulsing. Her body grasped him hungrily, muscles tight with pleasure.

  Nothing had prepared her for this. Not that first painful, horrible experience in a horse stall. Not any of the dozen times in her marriage Sean had fumbled beneath her nightshirt. Not any of the times she eased her own aches in the dark of night. Or that crazy night in Houston after Sean’s death when she spent the night with a stranger. None of it even came close.

  She took a deep shuddering breath echoed by Malcolm. He slowly withdrew and set her back on her feet. The floorboards felt cool against her heated skin.

  They didn’t speak. Malcolm walked over to his clothes, slipped them on, then stepped out of the room, closing the door behind him.

  Chapter Nine

  Malcolm changed his shirt without talking to anyone in the bunkhouse. Andy tried to talk to him, but he just ignored the boy and left as quickly as he came.

  He went to the barn and saddled Demon like a madman. He had to get out of there fast. It was the only coherent thought he had.

  Run. Get out. Disappear.

  He was cinching the saddle when he realized his damn hands were trembling.

  Santa Maria.

  He needed a drink. A lot of them. After he led Demon out of the barn, he threw himself onto the horse and took off like the hounds of hell were snapping at his heels. The ride into Millerton was a blur in the fading sunset. His body still hummed and his balls tingled.

  It had been incredible. No, more than that. It was the single most significant event in his life since that fateful day fifteen years ago when he hit Damasco and his entire life changed for the worse.

  Life had just taken another drastic turn in the bathing room of the Circle O ranch house. Malcolm didn’t understand what was going on with Leigh and it scared the piss out of him.

  Ayúdame, Dios.

  When he’d seen her naked, he’d lost all ability to reason. All he could do was hang on while his body took over. He had never, ever lost complete control with a woman. And this woman wasn’t just any woman. It was Leigh.

  What the hell happened?

  He didn’t know and didn’t think he was going to figure it out while he was still lightheaded from coming his brains out.

  Malcolm headed right for the Pink Slipper. It was time to let Damasco know who stood in the shadows. He was sure his brother was behind the attacks on Leigh and the Circle O. He would not allow her to be hurt any more. It was time for the fox to flush out the hound.

  ———

  Malcolm sat in the back of the room, nursing a bad whiskey, waiting for Damasco to appear. He used to be so patient, able to wait like a spider in its web. But tonight he felt antsy.

  Maybe you shouldn’t have left her naked with your seed dripping down her leg.

  He chose to ignore his inner demons’ taunts and focused on the door. One moment it was empty. The next, Damasco appeared and Malcolm’s fury leapt at the sight.

  Damasco walked in like a king greeting his subjects. Three men followed him in, guarding his back, looking as smart as a trio of rats. Malcolm itched to grab the knife strapped to his back.

  “Buenas noches,” Damasco boomed.

  A few half-hearted replies greeted him. He pushed an old man out of his chair at a table near the bar. His rats chortled merrily.

  “Move it, abuelo.”

  The old man skittered out of the way and left the bar in a hurry.

  A barmaid hesitantly approached them after they sat at the now empty table. She was a young redhead with a sweet body and apple-sized breasts. Her blue eyes watched Damasco. She obviously knew his tricks because she wouldn’t get within three feet of him.

  “Whiskey, chica. Rápido,” he shouted.

  The girl jumped and scurried back behind the bar. Damasco and the rodent brothers laughed and pounded their thighs like they’d never seen anything so funny.

  “Soon, amigos, it will all be mine, and I will buy this shithole. All the girls will wear smaller clothes and sit on your lap while they serve you.”

  He made a swipe for the barmaid when she came back to the table with the whiskey. She yelped and fell back on her ass, dropping the tray. The whiskey-filled glasses shattered on the floor.

  No one moved. The silence was broken by the sound of the girl whimpering. Damasco and his rats started howling with laughter.

  “Bring me another, chica, and next time don’t drop it.”

  More knee slapping and general stupidity. If given a choice, Malcolm would never admit this miscreant was his brother. He watched the girl, shaking and crying, at the bar. When he turned his attention back to Damasco, Malcolm heard what he’d been waiting all night for.

  “I tell you, once the old man kicks off and I can get that cold bitch to spread her thighs for me, I will buy this whole town.”

  “Didn’t she knee you in the balls last time?” asked one of the rat brothers.

  Damasco’s face flushed red. “Next time she won’t get the chance. That puta—”

  Malcolm stood abruptly, knocking over his chair, which clattered noisily in the suddenly silent saloon.

  “You need to watch your mouth, Damasco.”

  Damasco turned his
head to look at him. He appeared so cocksure and full of himself.

  “Who the hell are you, cabron, to speak to me like that? Don’t you know who I am?”

  Yup, he knew who he was, all right. If Damasco had been a little bit smarter, he would have noticed Malcolm called him by his first name.

  Malcolm walked over to Damasco slowly, and his half-brother didn’t even bother to rise from his chair. He just sneered.

  The three prairie dogs rose to back him like a wall of muscle and flesh. The quiet was pregnant with anticipation and fear. Malcolm heard the barkeep and the girl dive behind the bar. A few smart people ducked out the batwing doors.

  When he finally reached Damasco, all the hate and loathing he had for this scrap of humanity filled him up to his eyes. With his right hand resting on a pistol, he pushed his hat back and stared into the deep brown eyes of his brother.

  “Hola, hermano. Miss me?”

  He counted three seconds before the recognition hit him. Damasco’s eyes widened and Malcolm saw fear and disbelief in their shallow depths.

  “Y-you’re dead. You can’t be here. You’re d-dead, dammit. Mama told me so.” Damasco’s voice shook like a young boy’s.

  For a moment, it was fifteen years ago, and he heard the childish taunts spewing from the young Damasco as Malcolm was punished. Damasco watched it. He’d watched every damn lash fall down on Malcolm’s back.

  Malcolm had to grab onto his hatred like a snarling dog before he killed Damasco in front of twenty witnesses and got his neck stretched within the hour.

  “As you can see, your bitch of a mother was wrong. I am very much alive.”

  Damasco finally stood, pointing a finger at Malcolm.

  “At least my mother was not a puta.”

  His hands gripped both pistols in a heartbeat without even thinking about it, so great was his anger. His blood was running so hot it scalded his brain. He wanted to kill Damasco so badly, Malcolm could actually run his tongue on his lips and taste it. The three rats all had their hands full of steel and were pointing them straight at Malcolm’s heart.

  “I just wanted to say hello, little brother.”

  The word brother rippled through the saloon like a breeze across a field of wheat.

  “You are not my brother.”

  Malcolm threw back his head and laughed with all the bitterness in his heart.

  “If only that were true. Believe me, I’d rather not be brother to such a stupid dog like you.”

  He stepped forward to leave the saloon, more than conscious of the dozens of eyes and three pistols pointed at his back.

  He turned to point at Damasco. Like trained rats, the three walls of muscle shifted to stand behind Damasco again. They were like a portable shield.

  “Take my advice, Damasco. Leave Leigh O’Reilly and the Circle O alone. She has my protection now. And I don’t show mercy to anyone who harms me or mine.”

  “So you cracked those dusty thighs, eh? I heard even Old Sean couldn’t stand the stench.”

  Malcolm barely held onto his rage as it pumped through him like fire. All he wanted was to see the bandejo die.

  “You’ve been warned, little brother.”

  He turned to leave when someone called out, “Who the hell is that?”

  Malcolm stopped and looked around the saloon. “Malcolm. Malcolm Ross y Zarza.”

  A few gasps and one or two exclamations of “I’ll be damned!” and “Goddamn!” met his proclamation.

  He stepped out into the darkness. He didn’t think his warning would stop Damasco, but maybe force his hand to act quickly. And people in a hurry made mistakes.

  As he stepped off the wooden planked sidewalk toward Demon, he heard the whistle of wood right before it slammed into his back. Two sets of hands grabbed him and pulled him into the alley. Malcolm began to fight for his life.

  Chapter Ten

  Dawn was just painting the eastern sky when Leigh saddled Ghost in the barn. She was headed to town to do some errands. And trying not to notice Malcolm’s horse was gone. Still gone. She didn’t have the cojones to ask if his saddlebags were missing from the bunkhouse. She was afraid she’d go loco if he had left for good. Again. Without saying goodbye. Again.

  After Malcolm had walked out of the bathroom last night, she had climbed back into the tepid water until it was cold. She dried off, dressed, then went downstairs.

  Gnawing on a piece of bread, she sat on the front porch, staring into the night sky. It took her hours to accept the fact that not only was she still deeply in love with Malcolm, but that she could never lie with another man again. What she found with him was so absolutely unexpected, amazing…and she wanted more. A lot more.

  She had crazy, erotic dreams all night she couldn’t remember. But she woke up wet and throbbing. The quick relief found with her hand didn’t come close to quenching her hunger for Malcolm. He hadn’t returned the ranch during the night, and she was afraid he never would.

  Leigh led Ghost out of the barn, mounted and headed into town, praying Malcolm would be at the Circle O when she got back.

  ———

  Leigh was halfway back from town when she saw Malcolm’s horse, Demon, under a cottonwood tree, riderless.

  Her stomach flip-flopped and she had to force herself to trot slowly toward the stallion. He was not a friendly horse. He pricked his ears and watched her approach. The roan’s nostrils flared, but he didn’t run.

  She dismounted, knowing Ghost would stay put. She walked carefully toward Demon, grabbing a sugar cube from her jacket pocket, grateful she always had a supply handy for her sweet-toothed horse.

  “Easy, boy, easy.”

  She held out her hand, palm up with the sugar cube in the middle. She hoped like hell the damn horse didn’t take a chunk of her hand, too. Surprisingly, he delicately nipped the treat without any flesh accompanying it.

  Leigh leaned over and blew softly into the horse’s nostrils, allowing him to get used to her scent. She was rewarded with a whicker and a small nudge on her shoulder from his great head.

  “Good boy.”

  She ran her hand down his powerful neck, kneading his tensed muscles.

  “Good boy,” she repeated.

  Leigh picked up the dangling reins with deliberate movements, murmuring soothing words to the horse. When she stepped closer, she saw the blood.

  She reached out and dabbed her finger in it. It was on the saddle and the saddle horn, nearly dry, and tacky. There was a lot of it, not enough to indicate Malcolm was dead, but he was damn sure hurting.

  Her throat tightened at the sight of his blood. Instead of blubbering about it, she squared her shoulders and walked back to Ghost. Demon docilely followed her as she tugged on his reins.

  Mounting quickly, she surveyed the immediate area, but saw nothing unusual. The dew was still slick on the grass and she followed the meandering hoof prints of the hungry stallion.

  Where the hell are you, Malcolm?

  Leigh looked for nearly two hours. By that time, the sun had burned off the dew and she’d lost the trail. Cold fingers of panic clawed at her mind. God only knew how long he’d been out here, bleeding and alone. It was at least fourteen hours since she saw him. Or at least his half-buttoned ass leaving her bathroom.

  Stop it!

  She grabbed the saddle horn until her knuckles blanched white and the hard leather bit into her hands. The pain dragged her back from the edge of an idiotic panic.

  Think like Malcolm. Where would he go if he were hurt? Water. Even if he was disoriented, water usually led to people. People led to help. Look for water.

  She forced herself to slow her breathing, she sounded like a bellows, for Chrissakes. Slow and easy. After a minute or two, she could finally hear over the blood rushing past her ears and she focused on the sounds in the woods. Birds, squirrels, a woodpecker, and…there. Over to the right came the faint sound of water.

  Leigh had to physically restrain herself from breaking into a hard gallop. She could tr
ample him before realizing he was even there. She kneed Ghost into a walk and kept her eyes moving back and forth, scanning the tall grass and tree shadows and behind the small bushes. Even so, if Demon hadn’t yanked on the reins and whickered, she might have missed him.

  Malcolm was lying on his side, under some brush. His brown clothes blended in with the bush and the surrounding bed of leaves.

  Leigh forced herself to dismount normally when all she wanted to do was scramble off and run.

  ———

  Malcolm opened his eyes slowly and tried to focus on the brown thing an inch in front of his eyes. A leaf. It was a leaf. So he was on the ground somewhere. He heard water trickling nearby, probably a creek. It was damp beneath him, so he must have landed there after the dew. His brain felt muzzy.

  He heard the crunch of a leaf and he struggled to turn and draw his gun with his free hand. But his movements were as slow as his mind.

  “Malcolm?”

  Leigh’s voice stopped his struggles. He blew out a breath, rustling the leaf by his nose.

  “Amante.” His voice was crusty and rough.

  He felt her hand on his shoulder, rolling him over gently. A groan worked its way up his throat. There wasn’t much of his body that wasn’t cursing at him. Loudly. Those rats sure knew how to throw a punch.

  Cool fingers touched his swollen face. Her hazel eyes were concerned, brows puckered over them.

  “Looks like you got the shit kicked out of you.”

  If he could have laughed, he would. Leigh was nothing if not honest.

  “Can you sit up?”

  With her help, he rose to a sitting position. Grunting and screaming wounds made themselves known.

  “Dios!” he yelled.

  “Easy. You don’t need to bust a bronc or anything. Just use your ass. I’m sure you know how to do that.”

  He wasn’t sure if she was trying to piss him off or not. If she was, it was working.

  Her strength supported his pitiful shaking self. He couldn’t remember the last time he had gotten such a beating. It had been at least five years or more. He was getting too damn old for any of it and was tired of his life. That realization hit him as hard as one of the fists of the damn sneaky sons of bitches who blindsided him last night.