California Caress

“Why not?” he asked dryly. “It’s the truth.”

“And if we’d sent my brother, or Old Joe instead?” she asked. Her heart was pounding a mile a minute and her palms were suddenly cold and damp with nervous anticipation. “What then?”

Drake chuckled. “First, I think they would have had the good sense not to show up in my room half-drunk,” he replied, causing Hope’s flush to deepen. “Second, I don’t think their fainting in my arms would have had quite the same effect.” This was said with a sly, knowing wink. “Third, and last, I would have sent them packing the second they made the offer—an offer, I might add, that they could not have sweetened the same way you did.”

“But you didn’t send me packing. Why not? Why them and not me?” Hope’s voice was soft, breathless, the direct result of the hand that had slipped around her waist and now gently stroked the small of her back.

Drake pulled Hope against him, surprised at the pleasure the feel of her lithe body against his incited. “Let’s just say the opportunity to get to know you better was more than I could resist.”

The words were whispered hoarsely against her ear, rustling through the chestnut waves, caressing her cheek like a warm summer breeze caresses a soft forest leaf. Her breath lodged in her throat and she tilted her chin up only to be caught again by that brilliant, piercing gaze.

“Don’t,” she breathed softly. Her hands played helplessly atop the sinewy chest, as she watched the sensuously carved mouth dip with lazy confidence. Her tongue tingled with the savored memory of his taste, and Hope sucked in a ragged gasp when she felt her body spark to keen awareness. Eager anticipation shot through her blood as she unconsciously craned her neck to meet the kiss.

His lips were soft and tender, gently coaxing the fire that kindled in her veins. The sweet, lingering warmth of his touch ignited the first fragile sparks of passion.

With a whispered sigh of resignation, Hope lost herself to the taste of his lips, to the pleasant, spicy aroma that seemed to both surround and engulf her at once. Combined with the sweet magic of his kiss, her wall of resistance was knocked down as though it were built of porcelain.

Drake sensed her surrender with a surge of satisfaction. In his hotel room, she had begun to return his ardor, only to overcome the weakness and pull away. Though the passion had been fleeting, it had been enough to hint at a churning jumble of desires, carefully guarded beneath her defiant pose; a revelation that served only to whet his appetite for her.

The hands at her waist grew bolder, and though Hope would normally have called a quick halt to such an intimate contact, she was suddenly too gloriously diverted by the first insistent probing of a warm, moist tongue flickering over her lips. She found herself slipping her hands up over the broad shoulders, entwining her arms around the thick cord of Drake’s neck, burying her fingers deep in the flaxen smoothness of his hair. The strands felt deliciously like raw silk beneath her fingertips.

Since she had already molded her body into his, there was no need to hold her still. Drake put his hands to better use. The gentle curve of her hips fit the cup of his palm to perfection. He let his hands linger there, inwardly amazed at how the feel of warm, vibrant flesh beneath the smooth muslin made his fingers itch to remove the barrier. His imagination was quick to conjure up the image of soft, creamy flesh. The thought brought a rumbled groan to the back of his throat.

Hope blossomed beneath the demanding exploration of Drake’s tongue. The kiss deepened, intensifying to an incredible pitch. Denial was wiped away, leaving not a trace in the wake of an all-consuming passion that burst through Hope’s body.

In unison, the hands that stroked her hips turned inward, trailing over the quivering, taut flesh of her stomach. They gained momentum as they reached the swell of her breasts. The palms lingered there, savoring the feel of the firmly upthrust buds straining against the thin fabric, before continuing up and settling on the table of her shoulders.

He couldn’t slip his hands over her shoulders to trail down the curve of her back, as he would have liked, without breaking the circle of her arms. The exquisite feel of her hands caressing his neck, tickling the underside of his earlobe, was too pleasurable a sensation to surrender.

Instead, Drake contented himself on another downward stroke. This time, his fingers didn’t just hesitate, they stopped completely when they reached the curve of her breasts. Like her hips, each one nestled perfectly in the center of his palm. Before there had been only a deep, insistent desire to remove the annoying barrier separating hand from flesh. Now there was a burning, aching need to do so.

The playful antics of Drake’s teeth trying to nibble at the tip of her darting tongue distracted Hope long enough for him to free the first three buttons at the nape of her neck. Two more slipped from their holes in the time it took for realization to begin nipping at the back of Hope’s mind. By the time the seventh button slipped free, she was shockingly aware of what was going on. Her heart skipped a beat, then began pounding furiously.

Hot fingertips seared across the rippled strip of flesh on her back a split second before a strangled cry of terror escaped her lips. Frantically, she pushed against the wall of his chest. Surprised, Drake let her go, and she slipped easily from the circle of his arms.

She wasted no time. The gut-wrenching fear pumping through her veins had the same effect as a bucket of ice water being thrown over a sleeping drunk. Terror served to drive away any remnants of passion that might have remained.

A quick look at the confusion on Drake’s hardening features convinced Hope not to wait for the rest of his reaction. Hoisting her skirts, she bolted for the sack of flour. The skirt slipped from her fingers only once. It wrapped itself around her ankles, trying to trip her, but she reached out and steadied herself on the side of the table before any damage could be done. Snatching up the peachy folds, she plunged on. Another mistake like that and Frazier would be on her before she could reach the gun.

Two footsteps thudded on the planks behind her in the time it took her to reach the lumpy sack. Skidding to a stop, and coming treacherously close to slamming into the wall, she crouched low and grabbed the pistol. Her calves sent a weak protest to her mind as, still in a half-squat, she spun on her heel and leveled the barrel smack at the middle of Frazier’s chest.

Drake had been on the other end of a gun barrel enough times to know when to stop. He came to an abrupt halt in the middle of the floor, and to Hope he looked remarkably like a charging bull brought up short by a barbed wire fence.

“Come any closer and I’ll take your head off,” she warned, her voice a breathless mixture of exertion, fear, and dread. She punctuated the threat by pulling the hammer back with her thumb. The metallic click of the rotating chambers echoed, loud and ominous in the ensuing silence.

Working under the assumption that the gun was loaded—and only a fool would be stupid enough to assume that it wasn’t—Drake assessed Hope’s skill and decided there was little doubt she had enough to use the gun. But would she? One glance told him the girl was petrified, and, like a frightened, cornered animal, her actions couldn’t be predicted.

Drake was right, Hope was scared to death. However, he’d surprisingly overestimated her prowess with a firearm.

She made no effort to correct the mistaken assumption. If Frazier thought she could do something besides load, point, and fire the pistol, then all the better. She certainly wasn’t about to admit that her lessons had stopped just shy of teaching her how to aim the damn thing.

A lazy grin twisted Drake’s lips as his gaze flickered between the gun and Hope. Only the leery glitter in his eyes gave hint to the trepidation coursing inside.

“Well, sunshine, are you going to shoot me with that thing or am I going to have to wrestle it away from you?” he drawled with an easy shrug, as he settled his hands on his hips. The gaze took on a decidedly wicked twinkle. “Personally, I prefer the latter.”

She tilted her chin proudly, meeting his gaze head on. “Try it,” she spat, trying to ignore the trickle of admiration that seeped into her blood at the man’s apparent immunity to fear. That he could be so calm in the face of adversity, while she held the upper hand and still sat trembling like a leaf, annoyed Hope to no end. “Go ahead and try it, Frazier. But you’d better move fast because...” she paused, angling the gun until the barrel was aimed directly at the space between his golden brows, “so help me God, it’ll be the last thing you ever do.”

Her words seemed to have impact. Casually, Frazier took a seat on the crudely built bench. Leaning back, he rested his back against the table’s edge and lazily stretched his legs out before him. He crossed his arms over his chest, his booted legs at the ankles. To Hope, he looked for all the world like an old friend come to chat.