Page 166 of Westin

He draws close. He smells like sweat and horses. I slide my hands over his good shirt, soaked and scuffed with dirt. His clothes are ruined, but I don’t care.

“Do we need to talk?” he says, voice strained.

We should, but I don’t want to tonight. I shake my head, and he takes my hand, leading me barefoot to the gatehouse. He pauses before the door, unlatching it and pushing it open.

He takes his hat off and fits it on my head. Then, he picks me up and carries me over the threshold. My bare feet curl, and a delicious shiver moves through my body.

He sets me down and kisses me, forehead bumping against his hat. I take it off and set it on the table. He’s panting when he pulls back.

“Upstairs,” he says, spinning me around. “Now.”

Heart pounding, I pull my skirts out of the way and scramble up the stairs. I hear him lock the doors. Outside, the party is still going on. It’ll last as long as the liquor does. I go to the window and pull the curtain aside. At the crest of the hill, a bonfire crackles orange.

“Darling, shut that window.”

He’s in the doorway. It’s strange, but sometimes, I forget how handsome he is, and then it strikes me out of nowhere—glittering hazel eyes, deep chestnut hair, strong, muscled body. The other parts of him eclipse it, especially now that I know him.

His fire, his persistence, his fierce loyalty to the people he loves, his anger—for being such a calm man, he has a deep sense of justice. He’s so angry deep in his soul that the world doesn’t live up to it.

I think I love that about him.

I cross the room and put my hand on his chest. Maybe now that he has me, now that he has killed his enemies, he can be at peace. I want to see Westin happy, the way he was the summer we met.

“Darling,” he says, voice low and husky.

I take him by the shirt and push him back until he collapses in the armchair. His chest heaves as I straddle him and score his neck with my teeth.

“Do you know?”

“Know what?” I run the tip of my tongue up his neck. He tastes like salt and gunpowder.

“What I did tonight.”

I take his collar in both hands and rip it open, revealing the rough hair, the hard muscles. I rake my nails over the ridges.

“I know what you did,” I breathe.

His brows rise. “And you don’t care?”

His belt clinks under my fingers. “It’s not about caring, Westin,” I say, pausing with the leather gripped in my hands. Our eyes lock, and the air crackles. “I married you.”

He just looks at me.

“I never asked you to change,” I say, meaning every word. “I fell in love with the man you are, not the man you could be.”

Something shifts in him, like a heavy weight moves from his body. He leans forward abruptly and takes me by the throat, like I’m made of glass. His eyes roam over my face before he bends in. Our mouths brush, and I inhale the breath from his lungs.

Mine. My gunslinger.

“You go downstairs and shower in the bathroom there,” I say. “I need the bathroom up here for a minute.”

He groans under his breath. “I want you now.”

He pushes my skirt up, and his fingers graze my naked pussy. I didn’t wear underwear because my dress is so thin. His pupils blow in the firelight. I snatch his wrist to pull his hand out, but he resists me.

He cocks his head. “Don’t forget who you are to me.”

Arousal throbs down below, his fingers pushing into my pussy.

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