Harvest Moon (Borrowed Brides 2)

“I understand that I was as much your client when you kissed me as I am now,” she told him. “And I understand that I might not have much time left. A week from now I might be in jail for the rest of my life.” Tessa turned and stalked across the room, down the hall and into her bedroom, leaving him with a splendid view of the rigid column of her corseted spine.

Chapter Fourteen

Tessa couldn’t sleep. She tossed and turned against the feather mattress, waiting, listening for the sound of David’s footsteps in the hall. She hadn’t heard anything except the rustle of the bedclothes against her body for hours. Had he left her? Had he gone out? Tessa remembered the last time he’d gone to the Satin Slipper when he’d told her about his drinking, how it made him want to love a woman all night long.

Tessa punched her pillow one more time, then flipped back the covers. If he’d gone to the Satin Slipper, she’d kill him. If he wanted to make love to a woman, it wasn’t going to be Charlotte or Myra. It was going to be her. She was the one who might go to prison for the rest of her life. Tessa knew David would fight hard to prove her innocence to the judge and jury, but she also knew that the people of Peaceable already believed her guilty of killing Arnie Mason. She felt, deep down in her heart, that she didn’t stand a chance of going free. She might never get another opportunity to he in David’s arms and to make love with him. She desperately wanted her chance to experience the pleasure David offered. She was the woman he wanted, not Myra or Charlotte, and she wanted him. Why shouldn’t she take advantage of her one chance at loving? Why shouldn’t she have the man she wanted before she went to prison?

* * *

David looked up from his desk, the words on the pages of the Pinkerton dossier scattered across his desk blurring in the lamplight. He closed his eyes, then wearily pinched the bridge of his nose. It was no use. He couldn’t keep his mind off Tessa. He wondered how she looked when she slept. What she wore. The memory of her back tortured him. He wanted to caress her soft skin, to kiss each vertebra, run his tongue up and down her spine, turn her over and pay homage to her magnificent breasts. David shifted in his chair, adjusting to accommodate the swelling in his trousers. It had been like this all night. He opened his eyes, forcing himself to read the meticulously written notes on Arnie Mason, the lists of petty crimes, extortion, and attempted murder. Just thinking of a man like that coming in contact with Tessa…Tessa.

David closed the dossier and picked up a lawbook. Streams of dull legal phrases swam before his eyes. He reached into his desk drawer and removed a bottle of Scots whisky and a glass. David uncorked the bottle and filled the glass, then recorked it and replaced the bottle. He took a small ring of keys from his trouser pocket and locked the drawer, then threw the key ring across the room so he wouldn’t be tempted to overindulge. It bounced off the wall and skidded across the floor.

Sipping his drink, David concentrated on the printed page. There had to be something here, some legal precedent, some tiny loophole to prevent the Territory of Wyoming from prosecuting Tessa Roarke. Tessa. He groaned as her name conjured up pictures. Tessa with her yellow dress bunched around her waist, her breasts bared. Tessa, her lips swollen, her cool hands against his chest. Tessa, stalking away, her beautiful back displayed just for him. He imagined her lying naked amid the lawbooks and papers on his desk, begging him to love her.

“Dammit!” David muttered, raking his left arm across the top of his desk, sweeping books and papers off the shiny surface. The heavy law books thudded to the floor. “Dammit!” He pressed his forehead against the polished wood. He had to concentrate on his work. He had to stop thinking about her.

“David?”

He lifted his head, blinking at her image. She moved toward him, and David wondered if he’d conjured her up from the depths of his memory.

“David?” Tessa repeated his name, then saw the glass of whisky in his hand. “Are you drunk?”

“Nope. It’s my first.”

“Oh.”

He gazed at the long, shapely legs outlined against the fine silk of her nightclothes. She wore a chemise, brief silk and lace underdrawers, and nothing else. The shadow of the triangle between her thighs beckoned to him. “You sound disappointed.”

Her face flushed with color. “Maybe a little.” Tessa studied him, gauging his sobriety.

“I hate to disappoint you,” David told her, shifting against the leather chair, “but I’ve limited myself to one drink.” He raised the glass and saluted her. So much for her coming to gloat over the fact that she’d driven him to drink.

“Oh, I thought…” She shifted her weight from one leg to the other.

“You thought I might be drinking myself into a high temper on your account?” David interrupted.

“I…hoped you might,” she told him.

“Not this time.”

Tessa moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue.

Leaning back against the comfortable leather, David took a gulp of whisky.

“I guess you’re not ready yet,” Tessa said, trying to hide her disappointment. “Maybe if I come back later you’ll be ready.” She turned, as if to return to her bed.

“Ready for what?” Her words puzzled him.

“To make love all night long, like you said.”

“What?” The lead-crystal glass slipped from his hand and shattered against the floor.

“You know… You told me not to be afraid of you because you weren’t a mean drunk,” Tessa explained.

David didn’t remember saying anything of the kind.

“You said that lots of drinking made you…and I thought maybe you wanted to…earlier tonight.”