KISSING WYATT
“Why didn’t you tell me that everyone knew we were married, Rachel? Why did I have to figure it out on my own?”
She stared at him. “You really don’t know?”
Wyatt said he didn’t, but as soon as the words were out, he wondered if he’d lied. “You wanted to avoid this.”
“This?”
“This.” Edging closer, he brushed her lips with his. “And this.” His fingertips ran along the length of her thigh, his palm came to rest on her hip. “Is that right?”
“Yes.”
He had to strain to hear her. “But you didn’t leave when you woke.”
She shook her head. “I seem to be of two minds.”
“Which one wants to kiss me?”
“This one.”
Then she leaned into him and gave him her mouth.
Books by Jo Goodman
THE CAPTAIN’S LADY
CRYSTAL PASSION
SEASWEPT ABANDON
VELVET NIGHT
VIOLET FIRE
SCARLET LIES
TEMPTING TORMENT
MIDNIGHT PRINCESS
PASSION’S SWEET REVENGE
SWEET FIRE
WILD SWEET ECSTASY
ROGUE’S MISTRESS
FOREVER IN MY HEART
ALWAYS IN MY DREAMS
ONLY IN MY ARMS
MY STEADFAST HEART
MY RECKLESS HEART
WITH ALL MY HEART
MORE THAN YOU KNOW
MORE THAN YOU WISHED
LET ME BE THE ONE
EVERYTHING I EVER WANTED
ALL I EVER NEEDED
BEYOND A WICKED KISS
A SEASON TO BE SINFUL
ONE FORBIDDEN EVENING
IF HIS KISS IS WICKED
THE PRICE OF DESIRE
NEVER LOVE A LAWMAN
Published by Zebra Books
NEVER LOVE A LAWMAN
JO GOODMAN
This one’s for every girl that crossed my path at Brooke Place.
I’m telling you now,
you inspired me more often than you made me nuts,
but some days it was really, really close.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Epilogue
About the Author
Prologue
Sacramento, California, June 1881
He could hear them arguing. It wasn’t the first time their voices carried as far as his bedroom. He tried to dismiss them, counting the gold tassels that fringed his bed curtains so that numbers occupied his mind, not words. That diversion had served him well in the past, but it was no longer as successful. Once he had counted and confirmed there were ninety-six tassels, divided them, factored them, identified the prime numbers, summed the digits, and finally calculated the square root to the ten thousandth place, he discovered that repeating the mental manipulations was not satisfying in the least, and more to the point, did little to suppress the voices. He considered placing one of the thick pillows that were stacked around him squarely over his face, but it was a childish gesture and the last thing he wanted was to be surprised in so infantile a response.
His distress would worry her. She would blame herself, convince herself there was something she could have done to put the argument away from him. There was, but it meant she would have to leave the house altogether. He hoped for that day, dreaded it all the same. Once she was gone, he would be profoundly alone. She knew that. It weighed heavily on her decision to remain, and he’d never found the words that could move her.
It was not that he was unafraid, but that his fear was not for himself. He feared for her, could not help himself, and she knew that, too.
He turned carefully on his side and raised his head a fraction. Her voice was muffled, insistent but not loud. The other, deeper voice remained unmodulated. Volume substituted for a well-constructed argument. Heat and anger underscored every word. She remained adamant. Her opponent threatened, then pleaded, then threatened again.
He imagined her circling the room, keeping her distance, blocking an advance with an end table, the divan, an armchair. She would be wary, rightfully so. She would be scanning the room for a potential weapon. A candlestick. A book. A crystal decanter. Not that she would use any of those things. These were the missiles that might be thrown at her head. She was the one who would have to duck and dodge.
The servants would not interfere. They knew what place they occupied within the house and no one would dare overstep, no matter that they were fond of her. Feelings of affection paled in comparison to their collective fear of the man she faced. There was probably none among them that didn’t wish for the courage that would permit them to come to her aid. It was common sense that kept courage on a tight leash.
Experience had taught him this. There was a time he would have cocked his head toward the outer door, hoping to hear the approach of footsteps, a preemptive knock down the hall. A diversion would have been welcome, but it never came. After a time, he understood that it would fall to him to save her, and that saving her meant she would have to leave him.
Now he waited, wondering if tonight would be the night she surrendered to the inevitable.
The crash startled him. He felt the vibration as a tremor in the bed frame. What had toppled? A chair? A table? A stack of books? There was a brief silence. He closed his eyes and envisioned the combatants catching their breath. Another sound, this time more of a thud. Heavy. Jarring.
He tried to rise and got as far as pushing his elbows under him. He willed his legs to move, imagining that he was pumping them vigorously while he watched the blankets to see if they shifted. There was a twitch, nothing more, and it was possible that even that small movement was only wishful thinking.
Falling back on the bed, he closed his eyes and concentrated on what he could still hear. It was only then that he realized there was