Cait London - Blaylock's Bride

She hurried to Mrs. Llewlyn’s room, soft with ruffles and floral patterns, the scent of lavender and roses hovering in the still air. Boone had said that she lived long enough for his return, then she had passed away. “Mrs. Llewlyn’s walnut wardrobe is missing. It’s huge and has drawers—like an armoire.”

“It needed repair and refinishing. It’s in the barn.”

“You just put it back.”

Her room was just the same, a single Jenny Lind bed, ruffles and flower prints and a brass vanity table and chair. Other girls had used this same room, layered with unfamiliar dolls and tea sets, and the other bedroom reserved for boys with model airplanes and trucks. The attic was stuffed with doll carriages and framed tintype pictures and memories. Kallista leaned against the door as layers of memories pressed painfully upon her. He’d tucked her in, placed a brand-new Raggedy Ann doll in her arms and told her that she was his. She’d never felt so safe—a horrible empty chill swept through her. “Oh, Boone...”

Downstairs, Roman waited for her, a well-loved, worn rag doll in his hand. “He wanted you to have this. When you calm down, there were other things he wanted you to have.”

“You’re not fit to sleep in Boone’s bed.” Kallista snatched the doll from Roman, holding it against her racing heart. One glance at the fringed Spanish shawl covering the huge steamer trunk and she knew where the doll had been stored. There would be other things in that trunk and she knew how to pick locks. She looked up at Roman’s impassive expression, and knew that she was going to destroy him. If Boone had stored her doll in the trunk, there had to be other things, perhaps something belonging to a relative who deserved Llewlyn House and the ranch. “You know, I think I’ll take you up on staying here—for the night.”

When Roman nodded solemnly, she added, “Don’t try anything. I can protect myself.”

An icy chill whipped through Kallista. She’d already proven that with one of her mother’s lovers—

Beneath his glossy black lashes, Roman’s eyes turned warm and amused, drifting slowly over her taut body and his deep drawl curled around her. “Now that’s quite an assumption, princess—that I’d want you. What would give you that idea?”

Two

After hours of denying that his body tensed every time Kallista’s very soft and athletic one tossed on the bed in the other room, Roman gave up on sleep. When he heard her creep from her room he reached beneath his bedside table to disconnect the alarms. With Mike’s romantic reconciliation underway, he wouldn’t want a second awakening at three o’clock in the morning. Roman stared up at the shadowy leaf patterns on the ceiling and listened to Kallista’s boots prowl through the house, built by Boone’s parents before the turn of the century. The rippling electronic sound downstairs said she’d turned on his computer, and after a solid fifteen minutes, another sound said she’d turned it off. A small beam of light lasered through the shadows beneath his door, and Kallista’s footsteps moved past Roman’s bedroom and up into the attic. He listened to the rhythmic creak of a rocker, too small for Boone’s size.

Roman placed his arms behind his head and waited, stretched out on the top of the bed, dressed only in his jeans, the waist snap unbuttoned. Kallista was the first of Boone’s “Innocents” on the list and if she was any measure of the rest... Roman shook his head; all he needed with his ranch chores and keeping up Boone’s silent business was a prying, nosy, bitter and sexy woman. He tossed in passionate, colorful and vibrant.

He backtracked to the “sexy,” and that long-ago kiss stung his lips. She’d been surprised, her sassy, full lips parted and the collision of their mouths wasn’t sweet, but rather all fire and storms and unleashed hunger, and for a moment she’d matched him. Kallista’s footsteps eased down the attic stairs and pushed into his room, stalking to his bedside.

Roman’s body leaped into heat, shaken by the passion in her slightly slanted eyes. Hands on her hips, she glared down at him. The rag doll peered at Roman from Kallista’s big leather shoulder bag. “Good. You’re awake. I want you to see me coming and know that I’m going to take Big Boone’s estate away from you, piece by piece.”

Kallista jerked a fat file from under her arm and slapped it on his chest. “Yes. I did pick the desk lock. You’ve been tracking me. Everything’s in there from my immunization shots that Boone started to every address where I’ve lived. It’s always wise to keep up with someone who might be a threat, isn’t it? You bet I’m a threat, Mr. Blaylock. You’re not the kind of man who should be taking care of Boone’s property.”

“Boone wanted to keep up with you. That’s his file. He’d want you to have it. It’s yours.” He was just getting worked up to tell her that he didn’t appreciate the invasion into his bedroom when the tears glittering on her lashes distracted him; inside Roman, a part of him slid into helpless mush. Then she reached out her hand and Roman reacted, grabbing her wrist and jerking her toward him. With a soft cry, she fell heavily upon him, and in that instant, in the soft whoosh of her curved body against his, Roman knew that he wanted Kallista. He whipped away the crushed file between them, urgent for her soft body against his. The next instant, he realized he was easy prey for her and the thought nettled; the old bed creaked as Roman flipped over, pinning her beneath him, his hands circling her wrists.

They stared at each other, breathing hard. Roman’s heart leaped into overdrive, his body instantly aware of the soft, feminine thighs cradling his own. Heat plowed through him like a steamroller, stunning him, upending his control. Her body taut, Kallista did not move, but looked up at him, the moonlight slanting on her smooth cheek and brushing her lips. She purred an insinuation. “Typical. Roman wants. Roman takes. But it won’t be easy and you’ll lose in the end. I’ll have an arrest warrant tacked to your skin so fast you’ll—”

A silky skein of hair slid slowly from his shoulder, a warm caress that startled and enticed him. He stared at her hair, spread across the pillow—black, long, fragrant and wild enough to make a man want to wrap his hands in it and tame. He sucked in his breath, aware of the soft curves beneath him. He hadn’t touched a woman in years—unwillingly, his gaze jerked down to her body, those soft thighs along his. Roman smothered a groan and pasted a growl over it. “That’s a lot of threats for a lady cat burglar who’s been prowling through my home.”

“Boone’s home,” she corrected, her black eyebrows fierce and drawn, her fingers curled as though if released, she’d dig into his flesh. “And you weigh a ton. Get off me.”

Pain shot through Roman, the memory of Debbie’s fearful glance at him. “You’re so...big...I can’t.”

He’d been ashamed then, of his size and power. Ashamed that the sight of him without his shirt made his delicate wife turn away, shivering in terror. But Kallista wasn’t frightened of him. Her narrowed eyes threatened; her fingers curled as though wanting to strike out at him. Fear wasn’t an element that Kallista experienced now... A steady hum of tension grew between them, and Roman slowly stroked the fine skin of her inner wrists with his thumbs, unwilling just yet to let her go. Her pulse rocketed to match his own, surprising him, but then, the woman was furious. He could feel the anger driving her. “I won’t take lightly to another slap, lady,” he said quietly, watching her eyes and wondering how they would look, meadow green and soft upon him.

“I was reaching for my picture. Boone took the snapshot. I don’t want you to have it.”