Sarah McCarty - Ace's Wild

Letting go of her arm, he faced her. He was still standing too close for Petunia to catch a decent breath. And with his shirt flapping open like that, he was still too much temptation for her mind to focus the way she needed it to. She wanted to run her fingers through the dusting of hair on his chest to see if it was soft or wiry. She also had an incredible urge to bite his right pectoral. To leave her mark on him.

Clenching her fists at her sides, Petunia reached for focus. It stayed just out of reach. The circular scar just to the left of Ace’s breastbone was far more tempting. She wondered how he’d gotten it. She wondered how it’d feel. Were the edges soft or rough? Was his skin warm to the touch or cool? How would he taste?

With a growled curse, Ace yanked his shirt closed. “So what was so important that you had to come storming into my bedroom?”

“I did not storm.”

He sighed. “I’ll rephrase. What was so important you had to wake me from a good sleep and put us both in peril of a shotgun wedding?”

She wanted to stomp her foot. “Will you stop harping on a wedding?”

The muscles in his jaws bunched. His tone when he spoke was more even. “What was so damn important?”

“You were at a card game last night with the father of one of my students.”

“I was in a game last night with a lot of fathers of a lot of kids.”

“Terrance’s father is Brian Winter.”

“Ah, that one.”

“What does ah mean?”

“He drinks too much, has too many tales and bets more than he can afford.”

“That’s why I’m here. I want you to give him back what you won.”

He blinked. “You want me to do what?”

“I want you to give him back what you won.”

“Why in hell would I do that?”

“Because he lost more than he can afford to.”

“Not my problem.”

“He took out his frustration on his son. And without a home the Winters will have to leave...”

Ace’s expression didn’t change.

“Terrance is a good student with an inquisitive mind. He deserves a chance to grow up to be a man who can use that mind.”

“Nobody ever said life was fair.”

Now she wanted to growl. “Life might not be fair, but people can be.”

“And you think it’s fair to ask me to give back my winnings?”

“Yes.”

“You do realize this is how I make the majority of my living?”

“Yes, I realize you make money this way, a lot of it. Enough that you can afford to give him back his.”

Ace leaned back against the building and folded his arms across his chest. It was a position that spoke of confidence and power. Her knees went weak.

“What’s in it for me?”

“The knowledge that you bought a little boy some time.”

“You think because I give this money back, Brian won’t go back to that table again?”

“Giving the money back isn’t enough.”

“Not enough?”

She shook her head. “You can’t gamble with him anymore.”

Another of those slow blinks. “I can’t?”

“No.”

“Honey, I’m a grown man and so is he, and your nose, cute as it is, is sticking where it doesn’t belong.”

That was too much. Very calmly, very precisely she said, “This morning, Terrance, my student, came into my classroom with a black eye and a split lip asking for my help because he’s being put out of his home. That being the case, I’m here to appeal to whatever shred of decency that still exists in your body to give that horrible man back his money so that little boy will have a home tomorrow.”

Ace pushed his hat back and rubbed his forehead. In the late-afternoon light, she could see the paleness of his skin, the tightness of his expression. He was hungover.

He sighed. “That’s a hell of a lot of words to throw at a man before coffee.”

She looked at him. “I’ve got more.”

“Save them.”

“Then just say you’ll do it, and I’ll let you go get your cup of coffee.”

“That’s a fool’s mission.”

“You’re Hell’s Eight and a Texas Ranger. There has to be honor in you somewhere.”

“That’s a common myth.” Taking off his hat, he ran his hand through his hair again before asking, “He beat the boy?”

“He beats Terrance every time you take his money.”

His hands dropped to his sides. “I don’t take his money. He loses it.”

“That’s splitting hairs.”

“Not in my book.”

“Fine, I’ll rephrase. Every time he loses at your table, he takes it out on his son. His eight-year-old son,” she added for emphasis.

“Fuck.”

She really needed to learn to use that word. It conveyed so much with so little. “I’ll thank you not to use that language around me.”

This time the look she got wasn’t so sympathetic. She didn’t push, just waited. After a minute he said, “I’ll do it on one condition.”

She knew better than to say “anything.” “What’s your condition?”

“I want a kiss.”

“A kiss?”

Pushing off the wall, he took a step closer. She took one back.

“Just a kiss.”

The wall brushed her shoulder. She melted against it, her gaze hopelessly dropping to his lips. Just.

The word with all its implications lingered in her mind. Just the feel of his breath on her skin. Just the touch of his lips to hers. Just that slight pressure. That gentle parting. Just that hot claiming...

Ace reached out, and she flinched. He smiled, a devil’s smile that promised so much as his finger grazed her temple in a featherlight caress. In a rough drawl, he murmured, “Don’t.”

Such a soft, seductive order. A shiver snaked down her spine. When she would have leaned away, he shook his head and issued another. “Stay.”

She did for no other reason than he was the one who issued it. He increased the pressure ever so slightly—just enough—drawing his fingertips down her cheek and along her jaw, finding the sensitive skin of her neck. She gasped as sensation gathered. Goose bumps sprang up. His nostrils flared. She didn’t move and, for an instant, neither did he. They just stood there in the alley with the warmth of the sun heating the air between them. “What do you say, schoolmarm? Do we have a deal?”

“I think you want a lot.”

He shrugged. “You’re asking a lot.”

Placing her hand on his chest, savoring the flex of hard muscles and the soft hiss of his indrawn breath, Petunia stood on tiptoe, intending to kiss his cheek. He shook his head and smiled, and that finger, that oh, so tantalizing finger, traveled to the corner of her lip, teasing the delicate skin there, coaxing forth another airy gasp and more goose bumps.

“I want a real kiss.”

The raspy tone melted into the heat of his touch, melted into her. Her gaze dropped to the sculpted beauty of his mouth. That mouth with those full lips she’d always fantasized about sliding over hers, parting hers. Oh, yes, a real kiss... She wanted that, too.

With a subtle pressure, he tipped her face up. She didn’t resist. Why would she?

“Like you mean it,” he added.

That jerked her gaze to his, and she caught something in his expression that challenged everything feminine in her. Doubt. He didn’t think she’d do it, she realized. He probably thought she was too prim, too proper, too much on the shelf to kiss a man. He probably assumed she didn’t even know how. He probably thought he was scaring her. With a shake of her head, she leaned back and smiled.

He had another think coming. Ace Parker was one heck of an inspiration.

CHAPTER THREE

HE WAS TOO old and too experienced to shudder at the touch of a woman’s hand, any woman’s hand, but when Petunia’s settled as light as thistledown against his chest, Ace did just that. Desire started deep in his gut and climbed upward right along with her fingers, rolling like thunder through his resistance, making a mockery of the dare he’d laid before them. This wasn’t a game. This was real. And he didn’t want it. Not the desire. Not the weakness. Not her.