ear, and she thought she would faint.
“I want you, Shari. You know that, don’t you? Let me make love to you.” His voice became even huskier. “If we were married now, it’s what we would be doing for the rest of the evening. It will take hours to love you properly, and I intend to love you properly, Shari.”
His words were intoxicating. She had to fight him. Even the way he whispered her name made her tingle, pronouncing it as the French chéri .
“You can’t…we aren’t…Lucas! Please!” She was pleading for his help because she had lost the strength to resist.
He leaned back so he could gaze into her eyes, but his arms still pressed her close. There was a smoldering heat in his eyes that pierced right to her soul.
“You’re not an innocent anymore. Why do you resist? You know it will be good. Now or later, it doesn’t matter. And even if we don’t marry, it makes no difference. Don’t fight it, Shari.”
It was the wrong thing to say. He knew it instantly, seeing in her amethyst eyes the sparks that turned them a deep, dark violet.
“Only a man would say it makes no difference.It obviously means nothing more to you than a moment’s gratification. But for a woman there has to be more.”
“You talk like a virgin,” he said accusingly. “Who does it hurt if you and I make love?”
Sharisse stopped breathing. How could she answer when all she had were a virgin’s answers? Was it permissible for a widow to be promiscuous? How could she know?
“I don’t know why I’m even discussing this with you,” she said defensively. “There will be no marriage rights before the marriage.”
“Will you force me to fetch the preacher then just to ease my pain?”
Her belly tightened. “What pain?”
He frowned. “Don’t play with me, Sharisse. You can’t have been married and not know any more about men than that. You feel this.” He pressed her hips firmly to his, and she gasped. “You think that doesn’t hurt if I can’t do anything about it?”
“I…I…” Her face flamed red, and she tried with all her might to push away from him. “I’m sorry, I—”
“All right.” He cut her off sharply and let her go. Then he cursed himself, seeing the fear in her eyes. “I’m the one who’s sorry, Sharisse. I know I’m rushing you, and I apologize. But you’re so damn desirable.”
“You…you’re not going for the preacher, are you?” she asked hesitantly.
Is that what had frightened her? “How the hellshould I know?” His voice rose again. “Damn, you frustrate me, woman!”
He turned on his heel and left the house. Sharisse ran to her room, slamming the door behind her.
What was she going to do? She couldn’t go through that again. What on earth was she going to do?
Nine
Lucas tied his horse outside the saloon and sauntered inside. Only a few men looked up, but those who did watched curiously as he moved to the long bar and ordered whiskey. It wasn’t often that Lucas Holt came to town, even less often at night.
Lucas finished a glass of whiskey, and when Ben offered him another, he grabbed the bottle without a word and moved to an empty table. He surveyed the room slowly, but it was just the usual crowd that hung out at Whiskers’s place—except for Leon Waggoner, sitting in on a card game. Lucas watched the Newcomb Ranch foreman, and, as he watched, he drank from the bottle.
He had never liked Leon. The man just rubbed him wrong. Too, Newcomb was a king in the town he had founded, so anyone who worked for Newcomb was treated with near-reverence, and it had gone to Leon’s head from the start. Now he was what you might call the town tough, and he had the weight and build to carry it off. No one messedwith Leon. Too bad he always managed to make himself scarce whenever Slade came to town, Lucas thought cynically.
Leon was blissfully unaware of the cold green eyes boring into his back. He was on a winning streak, and the three regulars he was playing with
“I want you, Shari. You know that, don’t you? Let me make love to you.” His voice became even huskier. “If we were married now, it’s what we would be doing for the rest of the evening. It will take hours to love you properly, and I intend to love you properly, Shari.”
His words were intoxicating. She had to fight him. Even the way he whispered her name made her tingle, pronouncing it as the French chéri .
“You can’t…we aren’t…Lucas! Please!” She was pleading for his help because she had lost the strength to resist.
He leaned back so he could gaze into her eyes, but his arms still pressed her close. There was a smoldering heat in his eyes that pierced right to her soul.
“You’re not an innocent anymore. Why do you resist? You know it will be good. Now or later, it doesn’t matter. And even if we don’t marry, it makes no difference. Don’t fight it, Shari.”
It was the wrong thing to say. He knew it instantly, seeing in her amethyst eyes the sparks that turned them a deep, dark violet.
“Only a man would say it makes no difference.It obviously means nothing more to you than a moment’s gratification. But for a woman there has to be more.”
“You talk like a virgin,” he said accusingly. “Who does it hurt if you and I make love?”
Sharisse stopped breathing. How could she answer when all she had were a virgin’s answers? Was it permissible for a widow to be promiscuous? How could she know?
“I don’t know why I’m even discussing this with you,” she said defensively. “There will be no marriage rights before the marriage.”
“Will you force me to fetch the preacher then just to ease my pain?”
Her belly tightened. “What pain?”
He frowned. “Don’t play with me, Sharisse. You can’t have been married and not know any more about men than that. You feel this.” He pressed her hips firmly to his, and she gasped. “You think that doesn’t hurt if I can’t do anything about it?”
“I…I…” Her face flamed red, and she tried with all her might to push away from him. “I’m sorry, I—”
“All right.” He cut her off sharply and let her go. Then he cursed himself, seeing the fear in her eyes. “I’m the one who’s sorry, Sharisse. I know I’m rushing you, and I apologize. But you’re so damn desirable.”
“You…you’re not going for the preacher, are you?” she asked hesitantly.
Is that what had frightened her? “How the hellshould I know?” His voice rose again. “Damn, you frustrate me, woman!”
He turned on his heel and left the house. Sharisse ran to her room, slamming the door behind her.
What was she going to do? She couldn’t go through that again. What on earth was she going to do?
Nine
Lucas tied his horse outside the saloon and sauntered inside. Only a few men looked up, but those who did watched curiously as he moved to the long bar and ordered whiskey. It wasn’t often that Lucas Holt came to town, even less often at night.
Lucas finished a glass of whiskey, and when Ben offered him another, he grabbed the bottle without a word and moved to an empty table. He surveyed the room slowly, but it was just the usual crowd that hung out at Whiskers’s place—except for Leon Waggoner, sitting in on a card game. Lucas watched the Newcomb Ranch foreman, and, as he watched, he drank from the bottle.
He had never liked Leon. The man just rubbed him wrong. Too, Newcomb was a king in the town he had founded, so anyone who worked for Newcomb was treated with near-reverence, and it had gone to Leon’s head from the start. Now he was what you might call the town tough, and he had the weight and build to carry it off. No one messedwith Leon. Too bad he always managed to make himself scarce whenever Slade came to town, Lucas thought cynically.
Leon was blissfully unaware of the cold green eyes boring into his back. He was on a winning streak, and the three regulars he was playing with
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