Page 39 of The Saloon Girl's Only Shot
His taste was fresh, as though he’d had a drink of water while he’d been outside. He took command of their kiss in a way that made her feel both emptied and filled up. She had the cautionary thought that he would take everything from her, but there was also a sense that he would give her the world in return.
It was heady and exciting. She let her hand reach into the fine strands of his hair. Her lips parted further, letting him plunder her mouth, rough, yet so, so tender.
She moaned and he drew in a big breath that swelled his chest against hers. His hand stopped moving on her back to press her even closer against him.
His whiskers were soft against her chin, his tongue questing in a lazy tease that sent webs of lightning sizzling through her middle, increasing her desire to move against him. She arched, filled with a sense of power while wanting him to press his weight over her.
Another one of those pleased rumbles resounded in his chest and he rolled a fraction more heavily onto her. His mouth opened across hers with more demand, consuming her and sending a flood of heat sweeping through her, so sharp it stung.
She was both excited and alarmed by the strength of her reaction. By her sudden thought that she wanted to be naked and feel his mouth on her breasts and his hands all over her skin. She had liked being intimate with Dewey. It had made her feel cherished and special. He had told her that allowing him those liberties was an expression of her love for him, and that’s exactly how it had felt, as though she opened her heart by opening her legs.
She hadn’t been special, though. He had been tallying stolen maidenheads the way Mr. Fritz tallied drinks on his slate.
With a gasp for breath, she pressed her head into the mattress and pushed her hand against Owen’s shoulder.
He pulled his hand from beneath her back and braced it on the mattress, so he still loomed over her, but wasn’t squashing her. There was a flush of color in his cheeks and his eyelids sat heavily over his lusty blue gaze. He rolled his lips together as though savoring the taste of her.
“We’re not doing this. I won’t.” She braced herself for the petulance that Dewey had shown the first few times she’d held him off.
Owen stayed very still, perhaps taking in that she wasn’t outraged or confused. She knew exactly what she was refusing, which made her feel as ruined as Adelaide had said she was.
She dropped her gaze to his Adam’s apple. Shame burned behind her breastbone.
“We’re only kissing to warm up. It doesn’t mean anything.” He fell onto his back.
His dismissal stung. She hadn’t engaged in so many kisses that they ceased to mean anything to her. In fact, she had learned that kisses led to things that were very significant. Life changing, in fact.
This kiss had been the most powerful of her life. To hear him brush it off was a good reminder that he was as inconstant and insincere as Dewey.
She tried shifting further away, but she was in a tangle of skirts and blankets, his big body on both.
“I would like to rise, please.”
“What is this, the army? The rooster isn’t even up yet.” He worked to lift his legs off her clothes without dislodging the blankets. “And yes, I heard the cock joke, but I’m too much of a gentleman to go after it.”
“Clearly,” she snorted. She managed to put an inch of space between them, but he was still firmly in her way. She would have to clamber over him if she wanted out.
As she lifted her head, she heard the distinctive clatter and clomp on the street below.
“That’s the milk wagon.” Which meant the town would be stirring, coming outside with their cups and bottles.
“You want to run out there and greet the day, have at it.” He brought the edge of the blanket up under his chin. “I hate being cold.”
She should’ve risen, but she didn’t want to leave the warmth of the blankets, either.
“I saw a lot of soldiers in Fort Kearney who were missing fingers from frostbite. I imagine it’s very cold in the army, sleeping outside.”
“You have to be cold on the inside, too.” Owen’s eyes were closed, but his brows gathered pensively. His expression became that forbidding one she’d seen when she had accused him of protecting a philanderer. “Virgil and I got out as soon as we could, did some trapping. I didn’t mind that work, but living rough is a cold, wet existence. Virgil wanted to work the steamboats, so we did that for a while, ’til I talked him into going to California.”
“Did you really not find gold there?” She curled her arm beneath her head, curious despite her wariness.
“God, no,” he scoffed. “None for ourselves, anyway. That’s why I laugh every time I meet these Darrys and Harrys who come along with that sparkle of ignorant hope in their eyes, as if they’ll find gold lying on the ground. Mining is work. If you want to get paid with any kind of regularity, work for a company. Of course, the more men that show up to work, the lower the wages. I would have stayed in California, though, even after we couldn’t afford to. It was warmer and drier than most places, but Virgil wanted to get back to his wife and children. I talked him into coming through here on the way. He was so mad when he found that nugget.” His mouth tilted in an amused grin.
“Why?” she asked, baffled.
“Because it meant we had to stay and claim it.” He opened his eyes. “And it’s so much damned work. Now we’re stuck here, gritting our teeth through these infernal winters. Does the cold not bother you?”
“Sometimes, but I’ve lived around the great lakes all my life. There’s no getting away from heavy snow and harsh winters. I’ve rarely been stuck outside for more than the odd day, though. Only if we happened to be on expedition, and that’s summer work. Oh, except, one time, when I was five, we were living with some of my father’s fellow professors from King’s College in Canada. The snow drift on one side of the house came all the way up to the window of my bedroom. I got it in my head that I could walk over to the neighbor’s roof. I climbed out and of course dropped straight down.”