Megan groaned and collapsed full length on the mattress. It was hopeless. Even if she did manage to get away from Lucas, she had no way of knowing that the Adams Express hadn't already gone out of business.

  "Ready?"

  She sat up, startled by Lucas's sudden appearance. She hadn't heard the telltale grating of the key before he entered.

  Her brows knit. “You didn't lock the door, did you?"

  A grin lifted one side of his mourn. “Nope. Are you disappointed?"

  "Of course not.” She almost told him that she wouldn't still be sitting here if she'd known, but she thought better of it. No sense alerting him to the fact that she planned to escape. “I'm just surprised you trusted me."

  He chuckled. “Don't get your hopes up, sweetheart. I was just outside the door. I would have heard you if you'd tried to leave."

  "Oh."

  He held out an arm. “Are you ready to eat?"

  She put her hand in the crook of his elbow and let him lead her through the hotel. They met several other guests in the hall, all on their way to dinner. The dining room turned out to be average-size with dark wood paneling. Red-and-white checked cloths covered the round tables that crowded the room.

  Lucas chose a table in the corner, holding a chair out for Megan. She noticed that he purposely seated her facing the wall. He sat opposite her, keeping the entire room in view.

  "Do you expect trouble?” She had to call his name before he looked at her.

  "What?"

  "I asked if you expect trouble."

  He shook his head. “Old habit, I guess. I like to be aware of my surroundings."

  "Good idea. After all, you never know when the cook might come out and try to bludgeon you with a dead chicken."

  "Exactly,” he said, as if that were an everyday occurrence.

  An older woman came to their table, a pristine white apron tied at her waist. “What will you have?"

  Megan wondered why the woman bothered to ask, since evidently the only thing being served was chicken and dumplings. She looked up to see Lucas's mouth curved into a small smile. He winked.

  "Let's see,” he said. “I have a hankering for pot roast."

  "Mmm.” Megan went along with his game. “That sounds divine. With potatoes and carrots and thick, creamy gravy."

  "Lots of gravy,” he agreed.

  "We got chicken and dumplings,” the woman said, unmoved.

  "Well,” Lucas said, “if you pile on lots of gravy, I doubt I'll know the difference."

  "You want coffee with that?"

  He nodded. “What about you?” he asked Megan.

  "Please."

  The woman moved to the next table, getting that order more quickly than Lucas and Megan's.

  "Have you heard anything about Scott yet?"

  Lucas shook his head. “I think I'll take a walk over to the saloon later. Somebody may have seen him. If I can't find out anything there, I might have a word with the marshal."

  "I thought you didn't want anyone to know you were in town."

  "I'd rather they didn't, but it may be the only way I can pick up on Scott's trail. I can probably trust the marshal not to tell anyone about me."

  They had eaten dinner and were just finishing a healthy slice of apple pie when the clerk from the front desk came to their table.

  "Excuse me, Mr. Campbell” He nodded to Megan respectfully. “I forgot to send a paper up to your room. Here it is now, sir. Please accept my apology.” He placed an issue of the Wichita Gazette on the table, then hurried out of the dining room.

  Lucas stood, putting the paper under his arm. He held out his other for Megan.

  "You can be very charming when you want to be,” she said as they ascended the stairs.

  He gave a disbelieving snort.

  "I mean it,” she insisted. “When you're not strapping me to a saddle or dropping me in me dirt, you're quite a gentleman. You've been nothing but polite all evening."

  Lucas moved closer to whisper in her ear. “We're supposed to be married, remember? It wouldn't do for these fine people to think we're not getting along."

  "I don't believe that has anything to do with it. I think you're basically a very nice man. Certain situations just bring out your barbaric side."

  "Barbaric, huh?” They reached their room, and he opened the door, gallantly waving Megan in before him. “What barbaric act have I ever committed?"

  "Stage robbery, taking part in a kidnapping, then kidnapping me again.” She ticked off the crimes on one hand, quickly moving on to the other set of fingers. “Tied me to a horse, left me sitting outside a saloon alone and vulnerable.” Another long-suffering snort interrupted her. She frowned but continued with the list. “Dropped me to the ground from your horse—which was quite a distance, as I recall. Handcuffed me to a bathtub, tied me to the bed—"

  "Okay, okay.” He held up his hands in surrender. “I thought you were going to point out barbaric things I've done to other people. You don't count."

  Her eyes widened. “I don't count? And just why not?"

  He leaned toward her, tapping the tip of her nose with his finger. “You're my prisoner, remember?” He moved past her to one of the brocade armchairs situated before the window.

  She crossed her arms over her chest, pretending to be offended. When Lucas didn't seem to notice, she gave up and went to the mirror to unbraid her hair. Removing the yellow ribbon, she set it on the bureau. Only then, when she caught the reflection of the room in the mirror, did she notice that the tub was missing.

  "The staff at this hotel is wonderful,” she commented, turning to face Lucas, who sat reading the newspaper, his boots propped on the footstool. “They removed the tub without being asked, and the bed is made."

  Lucas spared the four-poster a glance before returning his attention to the paper.

  "Much nicer than the people at the Eat ‘n’ Sleep. It took them forever to retrieve the bathtub, and they never did make the bed. I swear, they looked at me as though I had a set of horns growing out of my head."

  "They thought you were crazy,” he said.

  She put a hand on one hip in an annoyed gesture. “Well, that's absurd. That first night, when you cuffed me in the bath, and I protested ... vehemently ... well, I can understand them thinking I was a little touched in the head. But after that, everything was fine, and they still gave me strange looks."

  "No,” he said, refolding the paper and setting it aside. “You misunderstood me."

  One side of his mouth quirked up in a grin. Megan had learned that that particular expression meant trouble. He knew something she didn't, and the half smile was a guarantee that she wasn't going to like it, whatever it was.

  "I mean they really thought you were crazy. Demented."

  "Why did they think that?” she asked warily.

  "Because I told them so."

  Her mouth fell open, and her tongue all but rolled onto the floor.

  "I knew you would put up a fuss when I cuffed you, and I didn't want them breaking into the room to set you free, so I made up a story to keep them out."

  "You did what?"

  He chuckled, remembering. “I told the maid you'd once been kidnapped by a band of vicious outlaws. And with your fragile disposition"—he made a face—"you never recovered."

  He started laughing. “You should have seen the poor woman when I told her you sometimes had to be restrained. I thought her eyes were going to pop right out.” He slapped his knee, overcome with laughter.

  Megan started counting. She concentrated on her breathing, imagined all the ways she would revel in torturing him. Nothing worked. The blood pounded in her ears a moment before she completely lost her temper.

  She picked up the silver-backed brush from the dresser and hurled it at his head. “You are the meanest, most vile creature God ever put on this earth! You disgust me!"

  She avoided the matching mirror but had no qualms about throwing the soap cup from his shaving kit. It hit the wall, pieces of thick clay flying in every direction.

  "How could you do something like that?” she ranted. “You kidnap me, drag me halfway across the state, and then have the gall—the gall—to tell people I'm unstable.” Darting across the room, she grabbed his saddlebags, heavy with the payroll money. Leaning back, she swung the leather at him with all her strength. The satchel hit him in the stomach, causing him to double over with a grunt of pain.

  A smile of victory spread across her face. “I hope you burn in hell. I hope the Devil himself comes for you. I'll cheer when you go. No,” she said, “I'll organize a parade. With elephants and tigers and a snake. Oh, but we can't have a snake, because you'll be gone. And you're the biggest snake of them all!"

  Lucas straightened, fixing her with an ice-cold glare. He took a step forward.

  She retreated, uncertain of what he might do. “You deserved to be punched in the gut,” she said. “That was a mean trick you pulled back in Topeka."

  He moved closer.

  He was intent on catching her, she thought. Heaven knew what kind of punishment he'd cooked up in that pile of dung he called a brain.

  When his arms snapped out, she shrieked and ran as fast as she could. She leapt onto the bed, skittering away on her hands and knees like a jittery colt. He stood at the end of the bed, ready to block any move she might make.

  "Don't touch me” she said.

  He advanced until the fronts of his legs came in contact with the footboard.

  She wiggled back several inches, the soft mattress and her skirts impeding her progress. “I'll scream. I swear to God, I'll scream so loud, the roof will cave in."

  "So scream,” he said. “I'll just tell them the same story I told in Topeka. My dear, distraught wife still has nightmares about being kidnapped by that group of ruffians. Is it any wonder I sometimes have to tie her to the bed? It's for her own good, of course. The townspeople would understand that."

  "You're a real bastard, Lucas McCain."

  "It's about time you figured that out."

  He lunged forward in a blur of motion. Megan opened her mouth to scream, but his hand quickly muffled the attempt. His body pinned her down, keeping her still.

  "I'll let go if you promise not to scream."

  She tried to tell him to go to Hell, but her words were indecipherable.

  "Tut-tut,” he said with a laugh. “I'm not sure what you said, but I know it wasn't nice. No wife of mine should talk like that."

  Megan launched into a string of curses, all of them cut short by his hand over her mouth.

  "I'm going to let you go, but you're going to behave yourself,” Lucas said.

  She managed to open her mouth enough to get a fair amount of his skin between her teeth. With a smile that he couldn't see, she bit down.

  He yelped. When he sat up to stare at his injured palm, Megan rolled off the bed and stood, her breathing labored.

  "That ought to teach you not to touch me."

  He cradled his hand on one thigh. “Oh, I think I've learned my lesson."

  She smiled, proud that she'd managed to get away. But her feeling of triumph didn't last long.

  With lightning speed, Lucas reached out and grabbed a handful of her bright-yellow skirt. Then got to his feet and backed her up against the wall.

  He stood over her, his hot breath on her neck sending shivers down her spine. She watched him, saw the raw emotion in his eyes. Still, at that moment, fear was the furthest thing from her mind. She no longer wanted to evade Lucas. She wanted very much to be here, up against the wall, his body pressing into her own. Her lashes fluttered as her eyes drifted closed.

  "You know I want you, Megan."

  The words blew through her like a cool summer breeze. Gooseflesh broke out along her arms.

  "Do you understand what I'm saying?"

  She understood. She wanted it, too.

  "I want to take you to bed.” His voice was low, strained. He put a finger under her chin and raised her eyes to meet his. “Will you let me make love to you?"

  Megan tried to smile. He talked too much. She wanted him to shut up and kiss her. She wanted him to make love to her.

  "Yes,” she whispered. “Make love to me, Lucas."

  Chapter Eleven

  A moment later, his lips descended to capture hers in a passionate, undisciplined kiss. His tongue darted into her mouth, caressing every inch of its secret recesses. Megan kissed him back, her tongue tangling like an errant vine with his.

  Her hands went to the buttons of his shirt, slipping them free until her fingers came in contact with the smooth, warm flesh of his bare chest. Her thumbs flicked over his tiny male nipples, teasing them to hard pebbles. His hands ran up her arms to her shoulders, kneading them a moment before he began unbuttoning her blouse.

  Her top and skirt soon billowed around her feet on the floor. She didn't feel the least bit self-conscious standing before Lucas in her stockings and camisole. She'd given in to temptation this evening and donned the silk leggings, feeling devilishly feminine as she put them on, securing them with pristine white garters. It wasn't often that she dressed up anymore, so she took great pleasure in wearing them on this rare occasion. She hadn't known at the time that Lucas would ever see them. But now, knowing that he would, her stomach fluttered, and a jolt of excitement washed through her body.

  Their kisses became fevered, hard and hot, until the world seemed to tilt on its axis, tossing her senses out of control. They broke apart, gasping for breath. Megan pulled the tails of Lucas's shirt out of his pants, shoving the material over his back until it joined her clothing on the floor. He yanked at her camisole until she feared he would tear the delicate material. She covered his hands with her own to help remove the impeding garments. She bent to her garters, but he stopped her.

  His firm fingers brushed up the back of her leg. “Leave them on."

  So the stockings remained, increasing the eroticism of their encounter.

  "Come with me,” he whispered, pressing tiny, biting kisses along her neck and collarbone.

  His fingers dug into the back of her thighs, lifting her legs around his waist. The handles of his matching Colts pressed into her flesh, driving her higher above him. She looked down at him, liking this position, this feeling of power. Her hair fell all around them in a black curtain as she lowered her head for another soul-searing kiss.

  He took her to the bed, letting her body slowly arch backward to meet the mattress. He let go of her to remove his gun belt, and she moaned in frustration, wanting his hands on her every moment. He pulled off his boots and shucked his pants, his movements jerky and rushed.

  Megan rose up on an elbow to watch. He stood before her in all his naked glory, letting her look her fill. His clothes didn't do justice to the sinewy form beneath, she decided. Every inch of him was taut muscle and golden bronzed skin. She opened her arms, beckoning him.

  He came closer, putting a hand on each of her knees. She reacted to the slight pressure, letting her legs part. He came to lie between them, resting his weight on one arm. She wiggled nervously when he didn't touch her. Her whole being seemed to tremble with the need to feel him near.

  Staring down at her, he touched one nipple with the tip of a finger. It swelled and tightened. “You're beautiful,” he said.

  The fire he started in her breast spread throughout her body, settling at her innermost core. “Lucas,” she moaned. “Please."

  He claimed her mouth once again as his hands fondled and caressed her. His warm fingers teased her nipples into peaks of desire. He stroked her belly, her hips, her inner thighs, venturing closer to that center of her being that cried out for his tender attention.

  He brushed a hand over the crisp curls, making her strain toward his touch. She whimpered when one finger delved inside.

  "Oh, God,” he groaned. “You're so wet. I want you so much."

  Megan ran her fingers through his hair. “Please,” she whispered.

  He raised his head. “Are you sure?"

  She nodded.

  He pressed a soft kiss to her lips. His mouth trailed across her cheek, down her neck. His hands moved to her sides, and he held her still as he positioned himself above her. In one swift motion, he buried himself inside.

  She gasped at the painful, burning sensation that ripped through her. She was about to try to get away from Lucas when he stilled, tensing in her arms.

  He put his lips to her brow. “It's okay. Don't move, and the pain will go away."

  At that moment, she didn't believe him. But within seconds, the burning passed, replaced by the sensation of a deep, dark void she knew only he could fill. He pulled back slightly, and she dug her nails into his shoulders, wanting him to stay.

  "It's all right,” he whispered, brushing a kiss over her cheek. “I'm not going anywhere."

  His lips touched her own. First soft and tender, then more urgent as his tongue delved into her mouth, sweeping and sucking. Rough, firm fingertips caressed her stomach, the undersides of her breasts. Then he started moving. Slow, short strokes.

  Every nerve in her body sprang to attention. Megan moaned low in her throat. Of their own accord, her legs lifted to hug his undulating hips. She arched her back to meet his strong thrusts.

  Lucas trailed a path of hot, openmouthed kisses along the side of her neck. His arms wrapped behind her back, supporting her as their movements became more frantic. She let her head fall back as a desperate moan echoed through the room.

  Her need was like a fiery inferno, begging to be put out. But his damp skin on her own only added to the heat between them. His hard length throbbing and thrusting inside her only fueled the flames.

  An overwhelming pleasure washed over her, making her cry out. She threaded her fingers through his hair, clutching the damp tendrils in an attempt to ground herself.

  A moment later Lucas stiffened with a long groan before falling limply upon her.

  They lay there, motionless, for some time. Megan's fingers ran through his hair in a comforting, unconscious gesture. She smiled when she felt tiny kisses on her shoulder and neck.

  With another groan, Lucas rolled to his side, taking Megan with him. It took some doing to pull the sheets and bedspread from beneath them, but he finally got the covers loose enough to cover their naked forms.