Selena Kitt - Beauty

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Silas had never really been afraid of anything. When he was young, his father had labeled him “fearless,” and he was. It wasn’t always a good thing. He took risks others wouldn’t, especially when an injustice was involved. Bullies ran the other way when Silas came along.

Tyranny or inequity in any form raised his hackles, and often his fists. He’d discovered that fighting fire with fire, and fighting dirty if he had to, was a good strategy, even if it wasn’t the most popular, honest or lawful one.

He’d faced down everything, from bullies to criminals to black bears. Once, in a bar, he’d taken a bullet that missed his spine by inches. It had been meant for a woman he didn’t even know, but the man who fired the gun had punched her before pulling out his weapon-and that was all the information Silas had needed. He couldn’t count how many times he’d faced death or the possibility of death, and even that didn’t frighten him.

But he was afraid now. He was afraid of the hundred-and-twenty pound woman in his house, who had taken over his life and the way he lived it, in so many ways. She terrified him, that tiny slip of a girl. He hadn’t thought about another woman since Isabelle, hadn’t even considered the possibility. There was no reason to-Isabelle had been the perfect woman, perfect for him in every way, and you couldn’t improve on perfection.

But Jolee had been thrown into his life, had found her way into his heart, and he couldn’t deny it anymore. In the midst of protecting her, caring for her, guarding her against the possibility of his brother’s harm-and he had to admit, part of him had been thinking about Isabelle when he was doing those things-he had fallen for her. The ghost of his dead wife had faded in the light of Jolee’s smile, her quick temper, her soft hands and, last night, her lush, full body.

It wasn’t Isabelle he thought about anymore when he neared home, a little extra speed in his step, carrying his bow over his shoulder. It was Jolee-the woman who had made curtains for the cabin windows and stuffed pillows to sit on for the wooden chairs, the woman who appreciated his subtle sense of humor, who teased him about his slow, fastidious ways, who spent a night with him in the stable when Anna was sick, petting the cow’s head and singing to her in a native language he didn’t speak but spoke straight to his heart.

He’d left early this morning, trembling at the thought of meeting her in the hallway, going off instead to find things to do outside-milking the cow, gathering eggs, straightening the shed, repairing his trap lines-too afraid to face her, too afraid to face what he might be forced to acknowledge.

Since Isabelle, he’d wanted to die, and when his survival instincts had gotten him out of the fire and he’d found her gone, he’d been determined to finish the job Carlos had started and join her-or, barring that, at least end his own suffering, although part of him still felt he deserved the pain he lived in for not saving her.

He’d tried to end it all several times after the fire. If it hadn’t been for Abe, he probably would have. After the fire, the old Indian had found him crawling on his hands and knees in the dirt, calling Isabelle’s name, and had made a litter to drag him back on. The time he’d spent at the Bad River reservation had been healing-and informational. They all knew about Carlos and the mines and the logging camps.

And, of course, Abe had passed on the information Carlos was telling everyone-that his brother and his wife had died in a fire. That was the darkest time of his life, when he’d realized that Isabelle was gone and he understood he could do more good dead than alive.

And it was his hatred that kept him going, in spite of Abe’s efforts to sway him. The only reason he’d stayed alive was to thwart his brother’s efforts to rape and pillage the land their father had left behind. And in the spring, he was finally going to get the chance to end it all-his brother’s shady business and his own pain. Jolee had been a complication at first, but he only had to keep her here, safe until spring, he reasoned. Then she would be safe wherever she went.

Now she was far more than a complication and the plans he had so carefully and meticulously outlined seemed ridiculously simple-and horribly final-in a way they never had before. For the first time, he was questioning his decision, and Jolee was the reason. For the first time since Isabelle had died, life seemed worth living.

Well, he decided, hanging his mended lines in the shed and heading out, he didn’t have to decide anything today, and he couldn’t hide out here forever. Besides, he was getting hungry.

The house was warm from the woodstove and the smell of bacon made his stomach rumble. He could hear her in the kitchen, singing to herself, and he smiled, stopping to listen. The words weren’t in English-her father had been part Chippewa, she’d told him, and had taught her some of the language, many of the traditional songs-but they were lovely.

“Is that you, Silas?”

He heard the edge in her voice. Mostly she felt safe, he figured, but there was still a part of her on guard, waiting for Carlos to find her here-and there was always a part of him waiting for that as well.

“It’s me,” he confirmed, taking off his boots and coat, but leaving on his mask. The damnable thing was too warm inside, but in spite of his lapse the night before-how had he forgotten to lock the door?-he had no intention of taking it off in the light of day. Of course, if he hadn’t forgotten, she wouldn’t have come to his room, and he wouldn’t have had the glorious opportunity to have her. Christ, just the memory of being inside her made his cock jump.

He stopped when he came around the corner, seeing her standing at the counter, plating up eggs and bacon-mountains for him and little rolling hills for her-wearing nothing but a pair of panties. She turned to look at him over her shoulder, her hair a dark waterfall down her back, and smiled, a new, shy smile he’d never seen before that made his heart lurch in his chest.

“Morning.”

He’d seen her naked in the beginning, forced to undress her when she was unconscious, but he had tried to block it out, to not pay attention to her in that way. Not that it had worked completely. But in all honesty, he had never imagined she could be so beautiful. His imagination couldn’t have stretched to those limits, even if he had, yes, okay he had fantasized and thought about her. In the darkness she had been all softness and heat. In the light she was long, tawny limbs and supple flesh and he found himself far hungrier for her than he was for bacon and eggs.

“Morning.” He cleared his throat, trying to keep his eyes focused on hers. “Don’t you think that’s a little dangerous?”

“Cooking breakfast?” she teased, moving past him to the table. He followed both the scent of the food and the sight of the goddess in her plain white cotton panties bending over to put the plate down in front of him as he sat.

“Cooking breakfast…” he agreed, swallowing a dry lump in his throat as he now found himself on eye level with the fullness of her breasts, her nipples dark, the areolas lighter, a stunning contrast against her skin. “Naked,” he finished faintly. “Grease has a tendency to splatter…”

“It does,” she agreed, sliding a sleek thigh across his and settling herself into his lap.

Silas kept his hands at his sides, knowing if he touched her, just for a moment, he was lost. “But I thought you could kiss my boo boos and make them all better.” His cock throbbed against his zipper, feeling the heat of her through her panties and he looked up into her eyes, seeing the lust there. God, he wanted her, more now than he had last night. Not touching her was killing him. She searched his eyes with hers, the only part of his face, aside from his mouth, that she could see, and he wondered what she was thinking.