Free And One Rode West by Heather Graham Page A

quite a bit. Let’s go. I’ll have the chemise—
Mrs. McCauley
.”
    If she’d had a gun at that moment he was quite sure she would have shot him.
    “Why, you—” she began.
    He shook his head, his lip curling with dry humor. “Watch it, Mrs. McCauley.”
    “Why should I bother?”
    “If you act the dutiful wife, I might decide to go away.”
    “And if I don’t?”
    “Well, the dress is in tatters. The chemise can follow the same route.”
    Her eyes narrowed. “You wouldn’t.”
    “Want to try me? I am a Yank, after all. You need to keep that in mind.”
    She lifted her chin. “You can talk that way tonight, but if Jesse or Daniel were here—”
    There was nothing she could have said to quite test his temper so far. His hand shot out, his fingers winding around her wrist. In a second she was in front of him again. “Don’t threaten me with your brothers, Christa. Ever. Not unless you like the thought of more bloodshed. You married me. I warned you that you were selling both our souls to the devil. Jesse and Daniel are your brothers. Your name is McCauley now. I’m your husband. And so help me, Christa, you caused it, you’ll remember it!”
    He didn’t mean to hurt her. He didn’t mean to be destructive. His fingers gripped the bodice of her chemise at the cleft between her breasts. Alarmed, she tried to wrench free again. The fabric began to tear and she stopped, furious, shaking. She wrenched the garment over her head, throwing it at him,
    “Bastard!” she cried. “Take the damned thing!” He was blinded by a cloud of white fabric as she started by him.
    He threw it savagely aside, long strides bringing him to her. He caught hold of her elbow, swirled her around, and swept her into his arms. He cast her, naked, defiant, and trembling, onto her bed. Before shecould think to spring to her feet he had straddled her, his weight bearing her down.
    She was pure rebellion, staring up at him. A flush of color had risen to her cheeks, but her eyes were wild and furious and challenging.
    Pure rebellion—and beauty. Her hair spilled about her like a black cloud, her lips were still red and moist from his kiss. Her coloring, even in moonlight, was glorious. Her naked breasts and flesh were radiant and beautiful. Heat cascaded from her in great waves. It seemed to touch him. To sweep into his body, constrict his muscles, quicken his pulse. The heat entered into his hips and his loins, and he was stunned by the savage and volatile way in which he wanted her.
    He clenched his teeth hard together. He could walk away from her. Damn her, he could walk away from her!
    She started to struggle. “Stop!” he warned her with a roar. He pushed back while she seethed, trying to remain still, her lower lip caught between her teeth, her breasts rising and falling with her exertion, her eyes alive with fire and vengeance.
    He allowed his gaze to flicker over her. Not too slowly. A quick assessment.
    “Well?” she flared. He could hear the grating of her teeth beneath the word.
    He leaned close to her. “I think, Christa, that you are well aware of your own attributes. But are you payment enough for the price of a soul?” he murmured.
    He felt her begin to tremble more fiercely. He pushed away from her, furious with her and with himself. He rose. He saw her eyes widen with amazement. She inched up quickly, grabbing for the coverings on her bed. He bowed to her. “My dear.”
    “You’re leaving?” she said quickly.
    “For the moment.”
    “But what—” She paused, moistening her lips. He could see her pride battling with her absolute relief that he seemed about to let her be.
    “You’ll do, Christa. But hell, I think I need a drink!” He turned and started for the door.
    To his amazement, he was hit by a pillow. “Oh, you bastard!” she cried as he spun around. “This whole thing was just to torture me, to humiliate me, to strip me of my modesty—”
    He walked back to her quickly, catching hold of her