Reese by Lori Handeland

Author:Lori Handeland [Handeland, Lori]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2011-11-09T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 11

Reese's body was on fire, his mind a bewildered haze. Mary's innocence was seduction itself and lured the wickedness roiling in his heart. She had no idea how she made him ache for the man he had once been—a man who was gone and never coming back. If he told her his secrets, would she still offer her untainted mouth to his?

He wasn't going to find out. He was going to kiss her while he had the chance. Just one more time.

Only one last time.

When his mouth touched hers, Mary still smiled at what she thought had been a joke. Little did she know, Reese hadn't made a joke since Stonewall Jackson died.

Her lips, curved from laughter, were as cool as midnight. She tasted like rain after a desert summer day, night fallen, dreams awakened. Her touch soothed his parched soul; her sigh of surrender filled him again with desire.

How many times had they kissed? He could not recall. Enough that they already knew the rhythm and the music. He kissed her gently at first, as light as her smile, as sweet as her eyes.

"Reese," she whispered.

For a moment, he hesitated, the need to hear his real name from her lips nearly overwhelming. But to share that forgotten part of himself would be a mistake. Instead, he kissed her less gently, more deeply, and they both forgot everything but this moment.

For a woman who had never been kissed before he came to town, she caught on right quick. The thought of anyone else enjoying Mary's eager mouth made Reese see red. He couldn't believe he hadn't beaten the crap out of Rico for daring. But Reese knew the Kid. Kissing Mary hadn't meant a thing to him. Nothing like what it meant to Reese.

Everything.

Tongues mating, teeth scraping, lips caressing. Shared breath, shared sunset, shared dreams. What was he thinking? This was lust, nothing more. Even though Mary was a woman reminiscent of the man he had once been, she was not a woman he could call his own. Not now or ever again.

The shots, when they came, did not at first penetrate Reese's jumbled mind. His senses were filled with Mary—the scent of soap, the taste of rain, the softness of a woman beneath his hard, rough hands. Then she tore her mouth from his, blinking at him owlishly beneath the painted sky.

They both looked toward town, then they ran—together, holding hands. Later, Reese would wonder if he'd grabbed her or if she'd grabbed him. But the answer to that question wasn't half as disturbing as the fact that holding Mary's hand felt like something he'd been missing all his life.

Expecting to see El Diablo and crew blasting holes in Rock Creek, Reese was surprised to find the street deserted.

Slowly, the two of them walked down the boardwalk. Reese held tightly to Mary's hand. He wouldn't put it past the woman to charge into any fray that occurred, whether between El Diablo and his men or his men alone.

That was the problem when you brought six rough men to a little town in Texas.

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