pulse kicked up a notch, just to have him standing so near, eyes gleaming at her with humor and heat. “Oh, by all means.” She bowed and moved back and he did the honors.
Once every surface in the central room had been wiped clean of dust, they proceeded to the north addition, where the personal artifacts of life in Territorial and early-statehood Montana waited to be admired—and the cases that protected them, dusted.
Justin went straight to the tall case containing a mannequin in a faded red satin dress. Cinched tight at the wasp-thin waste, the dress had a deep neckline and lots of black lace trim. The mannequin wore several ropes of fake pearls around her neck, a thick bracelet of glittering jet stones and an ostrich feather in her pinned-up hair. In one hand, she carried a black fan edged with lace. The other hand held the red skirt high, revealing a froth of red and black petticoats—and a fancy black silk garter.
Justin wolf-whistled. “Love that red dress.”
Katie grinned. “That dress belonged to one of Thunder Canyon’s most memorable early citizens. The Shady Lady, Lily Divine.”
“Is this the part where I say, ‘Ooh-la-la’?”
“That would be appropriate, yes. Back in, oh, 1890 or so, Lily owned the Shady Lady Sporting House and Saloon. The building still stands at the corner of Main and Thunder Canyon Road, though the place is now a restaurant and bar called the Hitching Post. The original bar from the Shady Lady is still there, in the building. And a very risqué painting of Lily hangs above it.”
“Risqué, how?”
“In it she wears nothing but a few wisps of strategically draped semitransparent cloth.”
“I have to see that.”
“And if it ever stops snowing, you just might.”
He tipped his head toward the low case beside the mannequin in the red dress. “A few of Lily Divine’s things, I take it?”
“That’s right.” Katie moved in beside him. They looked down at the tortoise shell dresser set in a gold floral design studded with rhinestones, at the black lace gloves and the faded filmy undergarments. There was even a corset—a black one, dripping with red silk ribbons.
“It looks to me like the Shady Lady was a very fun gal.”
Katie shrugged. “So they say. And not only fun, but a suffragist, as well. Or so some accounts claim.” He looked up from the case and when their eyes met, she realized she never wanted to look away.
Back to the Shady Lady, some wiser voice in the distant recesses of her mind instructed.
She tuned out that wiser voice. “Oh, Justin…” The two words escaped her lips, full of hope and longing, and having nothing at all to do with either the notorious Lily Divine, or with getting the dusting done.
He whispered her name.
Her heart seemed to expand in the prison of her chest.
And at that moment, not to kiss him…
Well, that was impossible. It just wouldn’t do.
She set down her rag and her spray bottle on the glass case beside her. He did the same.
“Justin,” she whispered, thinking she should really try a little harder to resist the overwhelming urge to feel his lips on hers.
“Katie…”
A long moment elapsed. She looked at him and he looked back at her and—
“Oh, Justin, I think we’re in trouble here.”
He only nodded. His eyes said he knew exactly what kind of trouble she meant.
“We shouldn’t,” she whispered. “We told ourselves we wouldn’t.”
“That’s right,” he agreed, his voice rough and low. “No more kissing.”
“It’s not a good idea.”
“Things could…get out of control.”
“Easily.”
“It’s crazy.”
“Wild…”
“Dangerous…”
“Oh, I know,” she said.
And then he reached for her.
With a glad cry, she reached back. His arms went around her and all doubt fled.
Eager and oh-so-willing, she lifted her mouth to receive his kiss.
Chapter Seven
“We…have to…be careful…” He whispered the words between quick, hungry kisses.
She nodded. “Oh. Yes. Careful. You’re so right.”
His mouth closed on hers again, drugging. Magical. She slid her hands up his broad chest to wrap them around his neck, and he caught her wrists. He guided them down, so her arms were straight at her sides.
His fingers slipped over the backs of her hands and he wove them between hers, lightly rubbing—in and out and in again, never quite clasping, flesh brushing flesh, little tingles of excitement zipping through her with every featherlight caress. All the while, as his fingers teased hers, he kissed her, his tongue sweeping her mouth, his lips hot and soft and oh-so-tender.
She moaned as he finally twined his fingers with hers, tightening, curling his hands to fists, so her hands were cradled in his palms, her fingers captured between his. A thoroughly willing captive, she smiled against his lips as he guided her hands around behind her.
Their joined fists resting at the small of her back, he kissed her some more. She sighed at the wonder of it, and gave her mouth up to his.
After forever of the two of them kissing and kissing as if they would never stop, he began walking her backward.
She stumbled at first, surprised. A giddy laugh escaped her; he chuckled in response.
Quickly, she regained her balance, and, as he guided her, she backed up toward the open door to the central room. It was like a dance, a beautiful, slow, erotic dance.
He waltzed her through the open doorway, his mouth locked to hers. On they went, slow, delicious step by slow step, to the turn in the roped-off walkway, and then down toward the wide, high bed that had once graced a guest room at the Lazy D.
There, with only a stretch of rope keeping them from the waiting bed, he paused. She swayed in his hold, her mouth fused to his.
A small cry of loss escaped her when he lifted his head. He eased his strong fingers free of hers and stepped back.
“We should stop now.”
For a suspended moment, she gazed up into his gleaming eyes. And then, with a sigh, she rested her head on his shoulder. “You know, you
