First Kiss February – Texas Outlaw by Adrienne deWolfe

Today’s Special First Kiss February featured guest is Adrienne deWolfe, author of historical romance Texax Outlaw, Book 1, Wild Texas Nights series.  Welcome Adrienne, my fellow Love Historicals author!  Here’s the first kiss between Fancy and Cord.

“All right, woman. Out with it. What did you do to Zack?”

Fancy hiked her chin. She swore that Cord grew more handsome the harder the sun beat down on him. She couldn’t remember ever seeing teeth so dazzling or eyes so verdant. His six-day growth of beard made him look more ruggedly virile, not grizzled and crusty the way most men would look. The man was simply gorgeous. And that meant war.

“What did I do to Zack?” She donned the smile that always rubbed him raw. “Why don’t you ask the boy yourself?”

“Because I’m asking you.”

“Really, Marshal. I’m surprised at you. You can’t hope to get a straight answer from me. I’m a lying, cheating thief, remember?”

His jaw hardened. She was amazed to see the proof of her score. Something must really be eating at him for her to have taken the advantage so easily.

“You tried crawling into my brother’s bedroll, didn’t you?”

She started. She hadn’t expected this line of questioning.

“Why, I do believe you’re jealous, Cord.”

“Just answer the goddamned question.”

“What lady could refuse such a charming request? And yet if I tell you no, you’ll think I’m lying. And if I tell you yes, well… you’ll wish that I was.”

He stalked forward, reminding her of a puma, all muscle and menace.

“Now you listen to me.” He pushed his face into hers. “You keep your claws out of my boys. Got that?”

Fancy steeled herself against her rising indignation. She liked to think she had a few redeeming qualities, and refusing to seduce innocents was one of them. But she wouldn’t let Cord Rawlins know that.

“Come now, Cord. Where’s your sense of humor? A girl like me isn’t accustomed to”—she leaned closer, walking her fingers up his chest—”all these lonely nights.”

He pinned her hand. She felt his heart hammering beneath her palm. For a moment, she knew a bittersweet triumph. She’d piqued him. That was all she’d really wanted.

“Think you’ve won, do you?” he growled.

“Don’t I always?”

His arm dropped to her waist. She gasped, too surprised to protest when he pulled her length against his. Wiry musculature folded around her, molding her softness to his ruggedness. It was unsettling to admit how good all that potent masculinity felt. Rallying her wits, she grabbed for his Colt, but he caught her hand with the speed of a gunfighter. She scowled.

“Yep,” he taunted. “Just as I figured. Call your bluff, and you get all skittish.”

“Skittish?”

“Sure. What would you call it?”

“One breath shy of suffocation!”

“Well now.” His lips twitched, betraying his dimples. “I surely do apologize, ma’am. Reckon I might have been a bit careless at that.”  He leaned forward, his eyes aglow with mischief. “You just tell me where it hurts,” he whispered, pressing his lips to her temple. “Here?”

She tensed in reflex.

“Or here?” he murmured, his lips touching hers.

It was the barest caress, but she felt her pulse leap. For a moment, she couldn’t decide whether to protest or yield, but he had already shifted, nuzzling the corner of her mouth. Her lips turned traitor. When they parted, she felt him smile, victorious. Still, he ignored her invitation. Teasing with featherlight persistence, he trailed kisses along her jawline, down to her pulse, up to her ear. He nibbled leisurely on the lobe, making her belly flip. But when his tongue flicked inside, shooting sparks to the base of her spine, she couldn’t bear his assault any longer. She hiked her shoulder to nudge him away.

“You’re just one hot little tease, aren’t you, Fancy?” he whispered, his mouth hovering a bare inch above her own.

She drew a ragged breath. “Amateur.”

“Oh, I reckon I am — next to you. Think you’ve got something to teach me?”

She hid her uneasiness. What had happened to Marshal Do-Right? Still, she was the mistress of gaming. She’d make this one showdown Cord Rawlins would never forget.

Rising on tiptoe, she touched her lips to his. She expected him to stiffen; instead, his mouth slanted, demanding more of her kiss. She obliged. Gripping her buttocks, he ground his hips into hers, and she gasped, feeling his manhood strain hot and hard against her thigh. His heat was electric, shooting up her spine, charging every nerve.

She told herself she had no business liking the way her flesh tingled, or the way her nipples grew taut in response, but desire was like a firecracker bursting in her brain. Her limbs trembled, and her breaths rasped. The thunder of her pulse drowned out the last cries of her reason. Arching up, she pulled him closer, eager to feel her breasts flatten against his chest.

Cord, too, felt his reason slipping away. He wasn’t supposed to be liking this. He wasn’t supposed to be enjoying the pert nubs of her breasts as they rubbed and teased, just begging him to taste them. He tried to remind himself this was a lesson. A payback. He’d wanted her to forget about Zack — and Wes. He’d wanted to set her blood on fire the way no untried boy could. He’d wanted to pretend he wanted her.

The problem was, he hadn’t had much practice pretending. Now he ached to be a part of her, to lose himself in the intimacy that grief and guilt had denied him for so long.

An amused “ah-hem” brought sanity crashing down around him. He raised his head, blinking dizzily as his surroundings swam back into focus.

“Hate to barge in on you, folks,” Wes said, rocking on his heels. He was grinning like a small dog with a big bone.

Suddenly bright red, Fancy rammed her boot into Cord’s shin. He cursed, hard-pressed not to hop as she fled from his arms. He wondered why a professional sinner like Fancy would give a hoot who saw her kissing him.

Unless, of course, she kind of liked it too.