Bind Me Close: 3 (Knights in Black Leather) Page 3

  She snorted. “Have you ever been there?”

  “I was, as a matter of fact. Took a seminar in urban street fighting in the city a few years back.” He walked alongside her as he climbed up his porch steps and pushed the door wide. “Come on inside where it’s shady and cool.”

  “Thanks. No one locks their doors here?”

  He arched his brows at her. “Rob the sheriff’s house?”

  “So true,” she said, snapping her fingers. She stood in his foyer, her skin glowing in the setting sun streaming through his windows. “So you really hated Boston?”

  “Let’s say I didn’t like it as much as I wanted to.” He unbuckled his belts and his holster, laying them on the front table. Anything to stop admiring how big and beautiful she is. “Thought I might have moved there but I couldn’t stand the cold. Not the weather or the people.”

  “Maybe you didn’t meet the right people,” she told him, her dark-chocolate eyes swirling with humor.

  “You could have a point.” He motioned for her to follow him, leading her down the long hall past the stairs and the living room toward the kitchen. “I believe in women’s equality and all that but I could not cotton to how bold they were. Have a seat.”

  She dropped onto a barstool at his kitchen counter, giving him a sassy lift of her brows. “What other offenses did they commit besides open their own doors?”

  He liked the way she argued with him. “Grabbed for the dinner check.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Worse,” he said as he strode to the refrigerator, opened it up and got a pitcher of iced tea. “Ordered the wine.”

  She shook her head, her eyes twinkling like dark stars. “Terrible, all that gumption. It’s why the North won the war.”

  “Only when we turned our heads.” He got down glasses, dropped ice cubes in and poured the tea. “You know that quite a few of the Turner men died in that war?”

  “No. I didn’t.” She took her glass and drank.

  “General Hood’s men, every one.” His gaze on her elegant throat as she swallowed had him thinking of many acts that had nothing to do with the War Between the States. “I have a big family Bible with dates of births and deaths, marriages too. Case has letters from a lot of the relatives. The MacRae men have lots of letters but you really want to look at their pictures. Many of them are of Fancy and Cole and Wyatt MacRae. The whole lot is a treasure trove for someone like you.”

  “Oh, you are killing me here.” The look on her face was pure passion. Her eyes alight, her lips parted.

  Beautiful as she was right now, he hankered for a finer expression. He wanted to see her when she screamed in orgasm. Did she look exactly like this? Or could he take her higher?

  He cleared his throat. “Well, examining all of it could keep you very busy. How long are you staying?” Days? Weeks? As if I could be so lucky.

  “Depends on how quickly I get to read all those letters and see all the pictures. I know only about my great-grandfather’s life as a…well, even in private he called himself a half-breed.” She winced and took a sip of her tea then drew patterns in the frost on the glass. “Toward the end of his life after his oldest son died in the Spanish-American War, he wrote that he was an American.”

  “Good for him. It’s what he was, even more than the rest of us Anglos.”

  “He was proud to be part Anglo too. After he passed the bar and became a lawyer he never told anyone he was part Comanche. He said he came from Texans who were proud to have fought for the country. And what about your ancestors?” she asked him.

  “Ah, well. My great-grandfather came to Bravado after Lee surrendered at Appomattox in ’65. He was a lieutenant in the First Maryland Cavalry but he came with a lot of money so everyone called him a carpetbagger.”

  Her gaze ran over the lovely kitchen, trying to picture the desperation of those who survived the Civil War. Her own family had suffered terribly. “Did he have family here? Why come so far south?”

  “We think he came for a new start. The Saxons hail from Baltimore. They were strong stock, a big family who ran a bank in the city and bred racing horses in Howard County. But in the records we have a warrant for his arrest from the sheriff of Loudoun County, Virginia, near Washington. It says he was wanted for the murder of a Confederate soldier named Dennis Stiles.”

  “Any idea why?”

  “Yes. My great-grandfather was a gambler. Very skilled with cards. The family story goes that although he might have been a fugitive from the law in Virginia, he came to Bravado with a lot of money. In fact he paid the Turner land taxes for his brother-in-law, Fancy’s younger brother, for more than four years after he married your grandmother’s sister, who was my great-grandmother.”

  “And her name was what?”

  “Marguerite.”

  “Oh, boy.” Willow dragged a hand over the crown of her midnight-black hair. “I’ll have to make a family tree or I will never remember all these names!”

  “I’ve got one in the family Bible you can study. In fact I’ll give it to you and you can photocopy it.”

  “Terrific. So all this means that you and I really are distant cousins.”

  Kissing cousins. He lifted his glass in a toast. “I would not kid you. So you see, we’re able to help each other out without necessary payback.”

  In the cool comfort of his home she smiled and clinked glasses with him. “Sounds like a lot of people in town are related. Might be tough for this old rude, crude Bostonian to accept favors.”

  He chastised her with a fierce grin. “Not so hard. You’ll get along fine.”

  Her smile faded, her gaze dropping to her tea. “I’ve never had to deal with a wrecked car before. Can you give me some kind of letter or form for the rental company? Something that states what happened to the Honda?”

  “Sure. I’ll do that for you first thing tomorrow morning.”

  “Thanks.” Draining her glass, she rose from her stool. “Can you point me in the direction of the powder room?”

  “Sure thing. I should have thought of it sooner. You were patient to sit there all those hours and wait for me. Go down the hall and to the right near the stairs.”

  “Great. Then I really need to go check in at the B&B. Get ready for tonight.”

  “When you’re done meet me in the garage through that door.” He pointed to the one in the far wall of the family room. “I’ll get the car ready for you.”

  Walking out of the gleaming kitchen, Willow wondered if Wade himself kept the house so spotless. His car was. Why not? Men did dishes. Why not cleaning? The stainless steel had nary a fingerprint on the fridge or the big gas range. The black granite countertops sparkled. The floor, she could eat dinner from.

  But escaping Sheriff Wade Saxon’s presence for a few minutes seemed like a wise move. He had been a different person in his truck. As sheriff, he was driven, focused even if he also looked at her as if he wanted to eat her for supper. Here in his home he was so jovial, so conversational, so knowledgeable about their extended family that she was enchanted by him in a new way. She was captured by his charm and his willingness to tell her all he knew.

  He was older. A father with two adult children. A sheriff with responsibilities and a home that looked as though it came from House and Ranch. To put it bluntly, she was impressed.

  And I should not be thinking about a man. I am here on business. And looking starry-eyed at the local sheriff is not among the duties of the teacher and historian who is here to get information for a book.

  She got the heck out of the kitchen, hoping she didn’t look as though she was running.

  Passing through the hall, she paused at the étagère loaded with family photographs. All were of children, a girl and boy as they grew from toddlers to elementary age with their front teeth missing. One was of the two of them in caps and gowns. Blond and green-eyed, they were good-looking kids. His, clearly.

  Among the pictures was not one of a woman.

  Which means he can’t bear
to look at her because he still loves her or—

  “She’s not here because she isn’t part of my family.”

  At the sound of his voice Willow spun right into his arms. Catching her by the elbows, Wade steadied her.

  “Sorry. I—” She shook her head, embarrassed to be caught being nosy and apologizing once more. “I make a habit of that word.”

  “No need.”

  “I was drawn by their pictures.”

  “And you noticed there aren’t any of their mother.”

  Willow bit her lower lip. “I did. It’s not any of my business.”

  “But everyone knows. And you’re family so you should know too. You will soon, what with your research and all. She left town. Left me. Long ago. Never came back. And I wouldn’t have taken her if she had returned.”

  “I see. Was she a kissing cousin too?” Arghh. That was forward, as well! Get smart, Willow! Shut your mouth.

  “No. She was New Bravado. Thought she’d like it but…” He halted, his mellow green eyes gone hard as glass. “She came for the fun, left for more.”

  That totally confounded Willow. What did you say after you had just thrown a grenade into his living room? “I should go to the powder room.”

  He tried to smile. The attempt was weak. “Do that. Meet you in the garage.”

  Walking away, Willow felt like a snake slithering out of the room. She had intruded on his home, looking at pictures of his children, inciting him to talk about their mother whom he wished to ignore. She’d darkened his day. So bad, Willow.

  “Stop that.”

  Her hand on the knob to the bathroom door, she paused to tip her head in question at Wade. “What?”

  “Don’t criticize yourself. You were curious. That’s a good thing for historians, I’d say.”

  Relieved at his take on her intrusion, she sighed. “You’re very kind. I promise to be less rude and crude.”

  He crinkled his eyes at her in forgiveness. “You are fine as you are, Willow. No one is judging you here.”

  “Thanks. Not here either.”

  “Good to know. So get in there. Feel better. Then come get your car.”

  “Yes sir.”

  He hadn’t started up any of the cars since Sunday. Not good for the motors, the pumps, nothing. If he didn’t get back on schedule with the four cars’ maintenance he’d be left with four useless hunks of junk sitting in this massive garage.

  Opening the key box, he took down the set to the Chevy. The Fleetline, in better shape than his Firebird, could certainly give Willow the ability to get around town. If she wanted to go farther, even down to San Antonio, he’d have to drive her.

  He smiled. Not a bad prospect. Getting close to Willow Turner promised to be a tasty experience. She was not like Bostonians at all. Polite to a fault, she tried, sweet baby, to be a diplomat. I could live like that, with a woman who has standards for herself.

  But she was more than polite. From what he’d learned about her from the MacRaes, Willow was a high school teacher of history. Had won an award or two from the state of Oklahoma for her service on Native American reservations. She had a younger sister whom she put through college and no hint of a husband, an ex or a male companion sniffing around her.

  Wonder why not. She certainly is a nice package. Stately as an Amazon, she was regal with flawless skin, all that thick black hair and wide chocolate eyes. The cheekbones were killers, courtesy of her Comanche genes. But the body was courtesy of god and all his wonders. She had breasts that deserved to be out of that damned flimsy white tee and licked. Legs that needed to be parted and wrapped around a man’s hips. And an ass that he would gladly hold tight while he fucked her like the randy sonofabitch he was.

  He could do her right. The way a big man paid homage to a woman able to handle his size. With her he’d never worry about crushing her. She could take him, from the front, to the hilt. And from behind, oh man. He’d pump her full of him, make her clit and her G-spot happy.

  Shit. Why fuck her from behind? Just cuz it’s my hot button doesn’t mean it’s hers. Some women hated it and flat-out refused him. That was, until he showed them how he could make them gasp with delight. But if I get the chance to do this lady, I’ll ensure she comes first with me licking her nipples and fucking her pussy full front while I make her scream to hell and gone!

  Fat chance you can even get her naked, Saxon!

  Growling, he grabbed the set of keys dangling from the first hook and strode over to the red ’48 Chevy Fleetline convertible. Yanking open the door, he slid inside and turned the ignition once, twice and she purred to life.

  The sound of the engine calmed him, his eyes drifting closed while he thought of stripping Miss Willow Turner naked and exploring that gorgeous body of hers. Wonder what her favorite position is. Standing? Straddling? On the table? What makes her yell her pleasure?

  “You can’t be serious.”

  He jumped as the sound of her voice invaded his reverie.

  Standing right beside his car, she peered down at him. “Tell me you aren’t revving that motor to give that car to me.”

  Her surprise charmed him. Everything about her did. “Don’t think you can handle her?”

  “Don’t think I want to! Wade, for heavens sake, what’s she worth? Look at all these!” Her tone one of wonder, she cooed at the cars that filled the garage. She swept her hand in the air toward his 1937 cream Cord roadster, his 1912 black Model T, his 1967 Firebird convertible and the Chevy. “You don’t want to give her to me. Just take me to the Breakaway B&B in town. I’ll—”

  “Move.” Killing the engine, he tried to push open his door and she stood in the way.

  She flapped her arms, appearing flummoxed.

  “Get in.”

  She frowned. “I will not.”

  “I said…” He rose up, took hold of her arm and hauled her inside. Right back down on top of him, hands to his chest, face inches from his too. “Get in.”

  Bracing herself with one hand to the passenger seat, she sprawled across his lap. “Not a good idea.”

  “What is?”

  “Driving this.”

  “Okay.” He could play this game and win.

  She tried to right herself. “Let me up.”

  “I have a finer idea.”

  She looked at him sideways, leery.

  Didn’t matter. He sent one hand into her hair, destroying the bun so that the heavy curtain of her hair cascaded over her shoulder, over his arm too, and tempted him onward. “I think we should try it.”

  “The car? No. No.” She shook her head, wary, but melting into him, her breasts big, warm pillows against his chest, her nipples boring into his flesh like cut diamonds.

  “Why not?” He could have great fun teasing her. She was so sweet, so tender.

  “I shouldn’t. It’ll cost too much if I’m not good enough.”

  “You would be.” He meant how she kissed. She meant how she drove. That didn’t matter either. They could have a double conversation, see where it led, especially if he took advantage of her lovability and drove her where he wanted.

  “You can’t know that.”

  “True. Not until you try.” Go on. Do it. “Take a chance.”

  Her mouth worked at words. Her lower lip was plump at the middle, curving to the corners as if she wore a perpetual smile. Her upper was deeply bowed. Expressive. She’d be heaven to kiss.

  But she heaved herself up and away, finding footing on the garage floor and facing away from him as she pulled her short shorts over the curve of her ass cheeks.

  “Well,” he said as he blinked and cleared his head of lust for her, “that deserves my own apology.”

  “No, don’t.”

  Climbing out, he walked in front of her and lifted her chin so she’d look at him. “I acted like an ape. I am sorry, Willow. I don’t normally do that kind of thing.” I usually store my cojones in my pants, not my brains. “The car rides well. She’s tuned, got all her licenses and fluids. For
jetting around Bravado she’ll do you just fine. Take her. Please. As a favor to the ape man who owes you one.”

  She locked gazes with him, smiling broadly as if she were totally ready to accept his apology. “You’re on. I’ll take her. And I will say thank you. No arguments.”

  “Good.”

  “One problem.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I have no clue where I am. Can you give me directions into town?”

  “Better yet, I’ll lead you there. Ah, ah! Let me do this.”

  She held up both palms. “Now?”

  “No time like the present.”

  What’s wrong with me? I’m acting like a teenager, starry-eyed over a man I’ve known for hours. Hours! Who does that?

  Not me.

  Drive the car!

  Willow bit her lower lip, pushing her sunglasses up her nose and loving the wind in her hair as they left his house. The Chevy was to-die-for comfortable. She’d never owned a convertible but promised herself that someday she’d buy one. Maybe secondhand. But to drive his was heaven. The leather seat fit her hips and legs, unlike new cars whose seats were too narrow. The engine purred…

  Just like I did when he put his hands on me. When I fell on him. And oh, wasn’t that graceful?

  Blech.

  He stuck his hand out his driver’s side window and motioned for her to hurry up.

  Daydream, much?

  That’s me.

  She put her foot to the pedal and crawled up in back of him. Like I’d love to in the flesh. No cars, no clothes between us.

  Forget it.

  Shouldn’t make faces at myself. He can see me in his rearview mirror. How embarrassing would it be if he saw me lecturing myself on how not to be intrigued by him?

  Ha!

  Concentrate on the tough Texas landscape. The deer, my god, which are everywhere. The bald, pointed hills. And the sunset. Vermilion red, hot and sweaty.

  Like my hands. And my pussy. All mushy over the local sheriff.

  Not smart.

  From her peripheral vision she saw he’d put on his blinker. From the road sign, Willow knew they had only two miles into town. Terrific. The sooner she was able to lose Wade Saxon, the better she’d be able to think about her problems and not her awakened libido.