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“Where are you, you Yankee rubbish?”
The icy voice slithered over Garth like a snake.
“We know you’re hurtin’. Y’all can’t hold out forever.”
Garth trembled, his skin a mass of chills. His fingers shook against Matthew’s throat. He wasn’t ready to die. Had to get back. Back to marry Lizzie. He looked at his friend struggling to hold on, to not bellow out in agony. Matthew had a woman at home. He’d already married her. He had a child, too. A baby girl he’d never met.
Would never meet.
Blood poured from Matthew’s stomach, soaking his blues with sticky vermillion. Garth didn’t try to staunch the flow. He couldn’t risk removing the blade from his friend’s neck. If Matthew yelled, they’d both be dead.
“Garth, please.” Matthew’s voice slurred into a nearly unrecognizable gurgle.
“Quiet!”
“Just…kill me. Kill me now, and save yourself.”
“I said be quiet, damn it!” Garth’s whisper left his mouth in a breathy fog. “Not another peep outta you, you hear me?”
Soothing hands slid across the back of his neck. Warm, enticing. He fought the desire to turn into their welcoming embrace.
“Wake up, Garth, it’s only a nightmare.”
No. No. Can’t leave Matthew. Can’t—
“Mr. Mackenzie, for goodness’ sake. Wake up. You’re having a nightmare.”
Caressing hands. Angelic voice. Not Lizzie, though. Different. But good. Oh so good.
Without opening his eyes, he reached toward that voice, gripped delicate shoulders, and pulled the soft feminine body atop him.
He inhaled—a touch of lemon and sweet soft woman. Not Lizzie. Lizzie was dead. This was Ruth. Beautiful, incredible, alive Ruth. Ruth whose midnight eyes held him captive.
He opened his own eyes then, and hers were wide as dinner plates. Her full pink lips parted and her throat bobbed. She was going to speak. To tell him to stop, no doubt. Before she could, he pulled her mouth to his.
His tongue slid easily between her parted lips. She tasted of new summer, of lemon shortbread, of home and hearth. He sighed and deepened the kiss. She’d kiss him back, wouldn’t she? She had before. She’d kissed like a temptress, and her image, her fragrance, her softness, had haunted him since.
Ah, yes. Her silken tongue met his. Perfect. The perfect kiss. For an unmarried lady, she had amazing instinct. She knew how to kiss him just the way he liked—lots of little sucks along his lips and just the right amount of tongue. Nope, he wouldn’t need to teach her how to kiss him. Goddamn, he didn’t want to stop. He could easily kiss her all night long. So beautiful, and so responsive. Such kisses were made for chasing away his demons.
When she began to pull away, he trailed moist kisses along her cheek to her ear. “Hold me. Please, Ruthie.”
“Oh…” The soft sigh from her lips drifted over his cheek in a feathery caress.
“Keep the bad dreams away.” He took her mouth again. The kiss wasn’t soft this time. Wasn’t gentle. He plundered her mouth with a possessive hunger, as though she were his woman. God, he wanted her. Wanted to sink inside her. Lose himself in that luscious body and stay there until all the pain had been driven away. His cock strained against his canvas britches, and he pushed upward, rubbing it against her.
Ruth ripped her mouth from his as he thrust. “Oh, my!”
“That’s me. Me wanting you. Tell me. Do you want me?”
“Mr. Mackenzie, please—”
“I can take you to heaven. God, I want to go to heaven with you.” He maneuvered her to her side and fumbled with the buttons of her bodice. One by one, they fell open and revealed the creamy skin of her neck and chest. Sweet Jesus. She wasn’t wearing a corset. He smiled and cupped one breast, thumbing her beaded nipple through the thin fabric of her chemise.
Ruth sucked in a breath, but a sweet sigh escaped. She liked what he was doing. His heart bloomed. She liked it a lot.
Such a long time since he’d had a woman. Such a long time since he’d wanted one. But God, he wanted Ruth Blackburn. Wanted her with a fierceness he’d never known.
He slid down the bed until his mouth was level with her nipple, and he tongued it through the thin material.
