Sagebrush Bride by Tanya Anne Crosby Page A

again returned to the waiting bed, calculating.
    So close.
    So damned close.
    And
yet it was by far the longest four feet he’d ever considered crossing. Closing
his eyes, he took a deep breath, forcing himself to wrench his mouth away from
her warm skin. His breathing labored, Cutter again laid his head back upon the
door. His hands slipped obediently to her shoulders.
    In
a state of torment, he watched as Elizabeth’s lucidity slowly returned. All the
while, he held her away from himself.
    For
the longest moment, she stood as though in a stupor, her head titled
seductively, her breasts rising and falling with her quickened breath. Her
luscious lips were parted faintly, pursed in anticipation-swollen from his
kisses, he noted with deep satisfaction. God, her expression was paradise
itself, he thought in that moment, and it took all of his resolve to keep from
letting her fall against him and bending slowly forward to reclaim her lips.
    He’d
fully expected her to turn down his offer. It had surprised him near out of his
britches when she’d boldly claimed him as her husband in the hall. But he could
still taste the sweet surge of triumph he’d experienced at her declaration...
and was hungry for more of it. Even as furious as he had been with her, he
wanted her... and he wanted her willing. Recoiling from the notion of her
running from him, he cleared his throat.
    The
spell broken, she opened her eyes.
    “You
won’ be disappointed… for taking me up on my offer, Elizabeth.”
 

Chapter Seven
     
    Blinking twice, Elizabeth struggled to brush the
cobwebs from her brain.
    “Offer? Oh, oh, yes... that offer!” she declared.
Straightening abruptly, she shrugged out of Cutter’s embrace, her face flaming.
Once again, she wondered what was wrong with her that she would turn to mush
with just a single touch from him. Good night, she was as shameless as Bess!
Shivering at the strange look in his eyes, she stepped away from him,
retreating into the protective shadows. “That is, I—I intended to,” she
said peevishly in order to cover her mortification. Her traitorous heart
continued to pound frantically. “Until you brought that... that...
woman—”
    Cutter allowed her withdrawal, never stirring.
Leaning more fully upon the door, he casually shoved a fist into his front
pocket. “Just for the record, Doc. I didn’t bring any woman anywhere.” His tone
was smooth and calm, nothing like the storm simmering in his eyes. “The old
girl followed me home from the Rushing Bull.”
    Annoyance creased Elizabeth’s brow. “She didn’t
seem all that old to me!” she returned petulantly. “In any case, I’ve thought
on it—all day, in fact—and you’re right. I can’t trust anyone else
to take me to St. Louis.” Her tone was resigned. “You win, Mr. McKenzie.”
    One brow rose. “I win?” he asked softly. He
straightened, drawing his hand out of his pocket, and Elizabeth took another
cautious step backward.
    “Stay there!” she said anxiously. “And... and turn
around, while you’re at it.” She made a little circular motion with her hand
when he only looked at her. “Please.”
    Sighing, Cutter threw his hands up into the air
and turned toward the door, shaking his head. The moment he turned away, he
heard her bare feet pattering softly across the wood floor. She lifted the
bedcovers. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
    Elizabeth froze. “Do what?”
    “Hide in the bed,” he said, his tone curt. “It
wouldn’t be a good idea.”
    “That—is—not—what I was about to
do, Mr. McKenzie!” Wrapping the coverlet about herself like a protective cape,
Elizabeth moved away from the bed, indignant that Cutter would assume she would
give such a blatant invitation—and wounded somehow that he had taken such
exception to the notion. “I’m not Bess,” she exclaimed. “You can turn around
now.”
    “Izzatso?”
    “Yes, it is. Now... if I’m going to allow you to
escort me to St. Louis,