“I don’t know, but it’s how the world works.”
“It’s very unfair.”
He turned to look at her in the shadows. “I adore you so much.”
“But not enough to tell me what Rai meant?”
He laughed. “No, so stop asking me.”
She sighed.
“Don’t pout,cheri.”
“One more thing on the list women aren’t supposed to do?”
“If you were mine, I’d be on my knees right now, believe me.”
Not even the shadows could mask the heat in his eyes. He drew a slow finger over her bottom lip and her eyes closed. “May I kiss you instead?” he asked, whispered.
Val had no barriers left. “Yes...”
He brushed his lips over her forehead. “Were you mine, there’d be no secrets... only pleasure.”
He kissed each of her trembling eyelids, traced a slow blistering path down to the space beneath her ear, and gently teased the tip of his tongue against the edge of her lips. When they parted on her sigh, his claimed hers in a kiss that was moan-inducing, head-spinning, bone-melting. She’d never experienced anything like it, and then he slowly drew away. Floating on the sensations, it took a few seconds for her brain to restart so she could move. Opening her eyes, she saw him above her. She reached out and cupped his bearded cheek. The hellion in her leaned up and boldly kissed him again and thrilled to the sound of his groan. The pressure of his lips increased, his arms around her tightened, and she was eased closer, her softness flush against his hardness. Hot lips sought out the thin strip of skin above her high collar, while his large hand explored her back and spine. His lips covered hers again and the world began spinning. There was a yearning between her thighs. Her blood rushed. He then placed his hands on her waist, tore his lips from hers, and set her down a short distance away.
“You belong to another,cheri. You’re making me forget that.”
Val felt as if she’d just run a race. If this was passion, she wanted more.
“Let’s go inside.”
“Drake—”
“Come on. Otherwise you’ll be out here with your dress raised and me on my knees.”
Her eyes went wide.
He smiled and stood.
She stood, too. She’d never felt this with Cole or anyone else. “Thank you for the kiss.”
“You’re welcome.” He blew out the candle and walked her back to the house.
Inside it was as quiet as it had been earlier, but Val was not the same. Drake’s pirate kisses had opened a door inside herself that she wanted to fling wide open. She and Cole were to be married, but he didn’t leave her breathless or make her want to be kissed until dawn because they had no physical attraction to each other, and thus, no desire.
“Good night,cheri.”
“Good night.”
At two in the morning, Liam Atwater was awakened by the sounds of someone banging on his door. Thinking he might be dreaming, he ignored it at first, but when it continued, he sat up. His wife, Mildred, asked sleepily, “Is someone at the door?”
“Yeah. Go back to sleep.”
She rolled over. Dressed in a faded nightshirt that exposed his pale, bony legs, he stepped into his worn leather slippers and picked up the rifle kept by the bedroom door. The knocking continued. He hollered, “I’m coming, dammit! Keep your drawers on!”
He paused for a moment to look out the parlor window, but seeing nothing in the darkness, shuffled to the door and pulled it open. Strong hands locked on to his arms, scaring him badly. He struggled to free himself. They relieved him of the rifle and he yelled furiously, “Let me go! Who are you?”
He was forced to the edge of the moonlit porch. Out of the darkness came five mounted men slowly riding abreast. The wind whipped at the edge of their black capes. Their faces were hidden beneath black hoods and he shook with fear. He opened his mouth to scream Mildred’s name, but the gag was faster, tighter. The hood placed over his head plunged him into total darkness, and the terror made him soil himself. His wrists were bound behind him and he was dragged off the porch and down to the night-damp ground.
He lost a shoe, but his captors didn’t care. From within the hood, he cried, screamed, and, yes, begged, but the gag muffled it all. Liam was five-foot-four-inches tall. He weighed one hundred and forty pounds. The men from his nightmare had no trouble throwing him into the bed of a wagon. As it got underway, he heard Mildred screaming, but there was nothing he could do.
How long the drive took, Liam didn’t know, but not even the hood could mask the smells of rotting vegetation or the distinct song of the frogs and grunts of gators. They were in the swamp. The wagon slowed and stopped.
He was hauled out and placed on his now bare feet. For the first time, someone addressed him. “Liam Atwater, you’re guilty of the murder of Daniel Downs, and justice will be served.”
He wailed behind the gag. His arms were latched onto again. He tried to wrest himself free but was lifted and set down in what felt like a dugout.
The voice said, “You gave Daniel no chance, but we’re not completely heartless. Somewhere near you is a hunting knife. Find it, and maybe you can save yourself, but be quick. There are holes drilled in the bottom of the canoe. It’ll sink fast, and the gators will come running.”
Bawling, he felt the boat being pushed into the water. As it began to float, he frantically extended his bound hands in a desperate search for the knife, but felt nothing except the water’s slow rise dampening his nightshirt. Scooting around carefully but quickly, he finally felt the sheathed blade, and in his elation tipped the dugout over. Hands tied behind his back, he went into the water. Frantic, he tried to hang on to the boat, only to hear three large splashes. He froze. Gators. Screaming within the wet hood, he didn’t have to wait long before being dragged under and death rolled until he drowned.