Their Reckless Bride (Bridgewater Ménage 11)

I nodded, trying not to wonder why my nipples hardened at the dark rasp of his voice. “All right, you’ve done so.” I cleared my throat, glanced down and kicked a pebble. “You can go now.”

This feeling, god, this was a new sensation. Nervous. Not bad nervous as if I were afraid if I was too loud washing the dishes my father might slap me. Not horrible nervous like when Barton Finch had me pressed against the wall and I’d felt every doughy, smelly inch of him.

The sheriff slowly shook his head. “Like Charlie said, that’s the least we can offer. We’d like to offer you more.”

“Oh?” I wiped my damp hands on my thighs.

The sheriff’s gaze dipped to my mouth, then lower still to my chest. I glanced down saw the button was undone, parting my shirt more than it should in other’s company. The material was damp in spots, but nothing was revealed because of the thick binding wrap. Perhaps he was wondering why he couldn’t see anything.

He set the gun back on the boulder and approached. Clearly, he wasn’t worried I’d somehow get to it and shoot him, perhaps because I’d had prime opportunity to do so earlier and hadn’t.

I tipped my chin up when he stopped directly before me. He didn’t say a word, only reached up and took off my hat. My braid, which had been tucked up, fell in a thick plait in front over my shoulder.

“Hey!” I said, trying to take my hat from him. He held it aloft. “Give that back.”

Instead of doing as I requested, he tossed it onto the ground behind him. “Your outfit is quite the disguise. I’m very glad to find you’re a woman,” he murmured. He took hold of the bottom of my braid, his fingers playing with the tail below the leather tie, staring, as if mesmerized.

“Oh?” I asked again, licking my lips. He wasn’t touching me except for my hair, and yet I felt it.

A groan rumbled from him and my eyes lifted to his.

“I’ve never been interested in kissing a man before.”

He wanted to… to kiss me? That answer was obvious when he stepped even closer, his body pressed to me, his mouth hovering just over mine, his lips barely touching mine.

He grinned down at me, which totally transformed him. Laugh lines creased the corners of his eyes, making him seem… nice. It showed his age as well, perhaps a decade or more older than my nineteen years.

“You’re right, Charlie,” he said, pulling back just a touch. “The men’s clothes hide the curves.”

If I could feel every hard inch of him, including—gasp!—the thick bulge that pressed firmly into my belly, which wasn’t his gun, then he could feel every inch of me as well. Could feel my curves, that I was, indeed, a woman. Everything I tried to diminish, to keep hidden.

He lowered his head and did just what he wanted. His lips met mine, brushed over them gently, so very softly, completely in contradiction to the ruggedness of the man himself. His tongue flicked out and stroked over my lower lip.

Stunned, I took a step back, my foot landing in the water. With the rocky bottom, I lost my balance. Instead of falling, the sheriff’s large arm hooked about my waist and pulled me into him. He grinned.

That wry turn of his mouth set my temper blazing, and I pushed at his chest. “How dare you.”

It was like trying to move a brick wall, but was warm to the touch, and I could feel the beating of his heart. He was real, flesh and blood male.

Still, he was just like any other man, pushing his advantage, ready to take whatever he wanted, regardless of my wants. As soon as I thought that, I knew it was a lie. If he were like Barton Finch, he wouldn’t have kissed me. That would have been too personal. He’d have groped me. Thrown me onto the grassy bank and had his way, even with his friend watching.

As for my wants, he knew. Perhaps it made him a good sheriff, but it seemed he could look at me somehow and see that I desired him, that I longed for his lips to close that last fraction of an inch to press against mine. To kiss me for the first time.

I wasn’t resisting him because I was angry with him.

I was angry at myself.

Feeling the heat of him, the hot brand of his palm against my lower back as he held me close, the way the tips of his fingers settled dangerously low on my waist, practically cupping my bottom had me all but whimpering. Made me alm

ost swoon like a… woman.

He made me weak. He made me… distracted.

“How dare us? What have we done, sweetheart?” he asked.

What had he done that I could tell him? You’ve confused me? Made me aroused? That I liked my first kiss and wanted more… with both of them? “You’ve… interrupted my bath.”

He looked over my shoulder to the creek.