Page 38 of The Saloon Girl's Only Shot
It was unseemly, no doubt about it, being back to back and bum to bum with a man she barely knew, but Clarence’s furry hide provided a nice place for her stockinged feet to rest. The sensation of being in a snuggly nest was nice, not that she cared to admit it.
“Why are you helping me?” she asked softly.
“Because I want something from you. Why else?”
She snapped her eyes open to the dense darkness. “Like what?”
“I’m not telling you until you’ve had a good night’s sleep. Otherwise, you’re too crotchety.”
“You really think I’m going to wake up whistling after sharing a bed with y—” She clenched her eyes shut, cringing while his body began to shake with laughter against hers.
“Oh, go to sleep,” she muttered.
“Sweet dreams, Rose.”
Chapter 11
She must have fallen asleep, because the room wasn’t nearly so dark when Clarence crawled from beneath the blanket, jumped to the floor, and had a good shake.
“Dogs are a pain in the ass,” Owen mumbled. He rose and shrugged on his jacket, then stomped into his boots to take the dog outside.
This was probably why Mrs. Pincher had decided to give him up, Temperance thought drowsily. Putting a dog out on a summer morning wasn’t too much trouble, but now that it was growing cold and dark, Mrs. Pincher had grumbled about it.
Temperance took the opportunity to rise and use the chamber pot, then tried to glance out the window, but it was coated with frost. She hurried back into bed, hoping to fall back to sleep, but her ears were pricked for the sound of Owen’s boots on the stairs, accompanied by the click of Clarence’s nails. She rolled so she faced the door, wanting to be sure it was them when it opened.
“No, your feet are wet,” Owen said when they entered. He caught the dog’s scruff before he could reach the bed. “Sleep on that,” he ordered.
Temperance lifted her head to see Owen drop a tattered horse blanket onto the floor. The dog flopped onto it with a huff.
“It’s so cold out there, the dog was pissing icicles.” Owen kicked out of his boots and draped his cold jacket over the blankets before he crawled into bed facing her. “Warm me up.”
She didn’t have much choice. The way the narrow mattress dipped made it impossible to hold herself away from him. He curled his arm under the pillow, offering his bicep for her cheek. His other arm and leg scooped her half under him while he shuddered with chill.
Her nose was stuffed into the hollow of his throat, where he smelled like winter air and something more intrinsically him. Her lips were almost pressed to the skin revealed at the open collar of his shirt. His woolen vest was icy against her arms where they were squashed between their chests. She shyly slid her arm around his waist to invite him into the warmth trapped by her clothes and blanket.
A rumbled noise of gratitude resounded in his chest. He straightened his legs and pulled her closer.
“Better.” He ran his hand up and down her back a couple of times while he stretched before her, ironing her to his front, stoking the warmth between them.
It felt really nice. Not just warm on the outside, but within her too. Something similar had happened with Dewey—soft, elusive feelings welled up from deep within her, unfurling heat and delight through her limbs. Except with Owen, the sensations were much stronger. Disconcertingly strong.
Rather than snuggling into him and relaxing, a nascent tension rose within her, but it wasn’t repulsion. It was the opposite, making her want to move against him. Feel more.
Her whole body was becoming extra sensitive. She was intensely aware of the press of her breasts to the hardness of Owen’s chest and the weight of his thighs against her skirts, trapping her in place, making the urge to wriggle and express her restlessness all the more acute.
“Your bonnet is tickling my lips.” He tried to smooth the ruffle down.
She drew back enough to pull the ribbon free under her neck and brush it back off her hair.
Now she was staring at his mouth in the half light. His lashes were a line of tangled gold shielding his irises. If he kissed her, would that bronze stubble scrape her chin or feel nice? She absently brought her fingertips up to pet the nap of it, mesmerized by the shape of his mouth and the angle of his brows and the glitter of sky blue as he opened his eyes to stare at her through the narrowed slits.
Men always seemed such brutes, but right now, Owen’s angular body felt as though it had all the right dips and pliant hollows to allow hers to fit against him. The hand rubbing her back slowed. He wasn’t being the least bit forceful. More like encouraging. His lips looked smooth and held a distinctly pinkish tinge along with that playful tilt at the corners.
A swirl of yearning in her belly had her dampening lips that stung with anticipation.
His breath drew in, seeming to pull her toward him.
Slow and natural, she let herself lean closer to him, the way a pair of leaves might settle into the same current in a stream and carry along together. His lips were warm when she touched them with her own. His mouth parted and the sensation that shot through her was a swoop down an unexpected waterfall.