hand to curve her spine into his chest. He nudged the paint into a canter. He didn’t think she breathed the whole way across the meadow. Resting his chin on her shoulder, he murmured in her ear, “I don’t bite.”
Desi jumped as if he just had. Then her spine pulled taut and that chin tilted up. “Would it make a difference if you did?”
The full-out attack knocked a smile loose. He did like a woman who didn’t duck, hide or play shy. “I’m willing to try it if you are.”
“Why?”
He took a deep breath. She smelled of sweat, fear and that tantalizing touch of lavender. “Because you’ve got grit and fire and are about the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.”
“You don’t know me.”
“And you don’t know me, but I promise you, I’ll keep you safe, and you don’t have to bargain with anything to make it happen.”
“You promised me out of Los Santos.”
“Don’t worry, I keep my promises.”
Her grunt let him know how little stock she put in that.
The pony stumbled. She lurched to the side and he yanked her back. The coat splayed open, giving him a clear view down between the plump inner curves of her breasts to the small indentation of her navel and the temptation below. He brought his hand up. She stiffened and grabbed his wrist. He let her cling while he closed the gap. They came into sight of the others while he was tucking in the lapels.
The dramatic gasps of the women drew a disgusted glance from Tracker who was repacking the saddlebags. Clearly, the three thought he’d been in the bushes making time with Desi rather than chasing her over every bump in the ground. The fact that they wouldn’t be far wrong stung his pride. Sam looked up from where he was covering the bodies with blankets and debris. The makeshift covering would hide them long enough for them to get clear of the area. More than that they didn’t need. Everyone knew where Hell’s Eight land began and ended. And if they didn’t, he and the men wouldn’t waste time making the knowledge public.
A mutter of whore drifted in on the breeze. Said in a feminine voice and laced with disgust, it hit Desi with the force of a blow. If Caine hadn’t been holding her, she would have doubled over. Hot color rose to flood her neck and cheeks until it finally engulfed her entire face.
If they were in a bedroom and she was dropping her clothing piece by piece, he’d probably find that blush damn charming, but here in the open, with the inspiration being the censure of three women he didn’t give two shits about, well, it didn’t sit well. “Sam, you got any of that salve left?”
“In the saddlebag.”
He slid off the horse, keeping his hand on Desi’s thigh. Even through the coat the firm curve tempted him to slide his hand down the six inches necessary to touch bare skin. She had very soft skin. “Bring it over along with some water, would you?”
“Coming right up.”
Murmurs from the women sidled across the distance. “Disgusting.” Followed by, “Even in front of decent women, he can’t keep his hands off her.” With every word, the muscles beneath Caine’s hand tightened. The paint grunted a protest as Desi squeezed those thighs in reaction to the insults. He looked up, expecting to find that chin set proudly. Instead, it was lodged somewhere down between her collarbone.
Shit. “Want me to cut their tongues out and leave ’em as buzzard bait along with the rest of the refuse?”
He had to wait a second but then her eyes met his. They were packed with a whole lot of anger and maybe just a touch of humor.
“I think that would just make the buzzards sick.”
Yup. Definitely a sense of humor. Fire, grit and humor, all wrapped up in a pretty-as-a-picture package. And he’d woken up this morning thinking it was a day like any other. Just goes to show how far off a man could be in his estimations.
“Now, I definitely think you have the right of that, ma’am.” Sam strolled up with that easy way he had, that smile that women fawned over on his too-handsome face and real warmth in his normally cold eyes. In his hands he had a poncho and the salve. Desi’s response was a minimal twitch of her lips, but that she responded at all nicked Caine on his tender side.
Caine angled in, cutting off Sam’s approach. Unlike Tracker, who’d accepted his claim with little more than a flick of an eyebrow, Sam stiffened. That was the thing about Sam and what had earned him the nickname “Wild Card.” There was no telling which way the man would jump, just a damn certainty that when the bullets cleared, he’d be standing on whatever side he’d decided was right. Sam tossed him a poncho.
Caine held out his hand for the salve and canteen. Sam hesitated another second, his gaze meeting Caine’s in a clear challenge. They’d known each other since they were ten, survived hell together, saved each other’s asses more than once, been the only thing either could depend on for the last fifteen years, but in that moment Caine knew the truth. He’d fight Sam for Desi. And he’d take the battle however far he had to in order to guard his claim. Hell of a thing for a man to realize in the middle of nowhere.
Sam held his gaze for a couple more seconds. Though he wasn’t pushing it now, the message was clear. He had every intention of being competition. Damn!
Sam tossed Caine the salve before turning to Desi with a smile and a nod of his head.
“Sam MacGregor.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Don’t let those biddies get under your skin, ma’am. There’s no one here who gives their opinions any weight.”
Desi took a slow breath as the handsome man made his interest known, concentrating on making that one breath perfectly even in a desperate attempt to avoid bolting. She didn’t want him to want her. Frigid water pouring over her foot ruined her concentration. She took another breath and tried again as Caine cleaned the area with the faded red handkerchief he’d removed from his neck. Through it all, the blond man watched her, studying her reaction.
Big as the other two, he was the handsomest of the lot, but that cold air of lethal efficiency he wore like most people wore a smile was scary. A woman would have no say in his bed. Metal popped against metal as Caine opened the tin of salve. Much as she was trying to avoid looking at either man, she couldn’t stop herself from looking at Caine when he pulled her foot away from the horse’s side.
If the other two men scared her, Caine terrified her to her bones. Danger lurked around him in an invisible shimmer, so much a part of his presence, she didn’t even think he realized it. She knew he could kill as easily as he changed his socks, and she knew he wouldn’t worry overly much about it when he was done. Survival was a matter of course to him. He was a lot like the land that way—rugged, deadly and uncompromising. Those who understood that and respected it would survive. Those who didn’t, would die.
She watched as he threw another silent challenge at Sam and held her breath through the outcome. Oh, God, there wasn’t a thing to stop them from taking what they wanted except maybe the presence and disapproval of Mavis and her friends. As a shield it was an extremely flimsy one and once they got to town even that would disappear.
She realized Sam was still looking at her, waiting on an answer, a slight frown putting a crease between his startling, slate-blue eyes. She blinked slowly, struggling for some sort of neutral response that wouldn’t increase his interest. The only thing that came to mind was “Thank you.”
She dug her nails into the leather pommel as he continued to study her. If these three succeeded in getting her back to town, the situation would only get worse. She knew what James would do. He was too smart to cross men like these. He’d give them whatever they wanted with a smile and an eye to survival.
She locked her gaze over Caine’s left shoulder, focusing on the winter-killed grass at the edge of the frigid stream. No matter what, she couldn’t let them get her back to town.
Sam was still looking at her. She could feel