Page 33 of The Cowboy's Justice

“Once you start workin’ around this place you’ll soon forget about all that stuff, and you can invite Helen over whenever you want. Now take a deep breath. Your spine’s out. I’ll pop it back in.”

As he cracked her back, then worked on her arms and legs, the heavy emotion began to lift When he finally finished and climbed off the bed, she half-opened her eyes and watched him remove his clothes. Seconds later, when he stretched out next to her and brought her into his arms, she let out a long, grateful moan. He held her for long, marvelous minutes, then roamed his hands over her body, kneading her breasts and rubbing between her legs. Finally reaching past her, he retrieved a condom from his nightstand, sheathed his hardness, then moved on top of her and thrust into her warmth.

Though he began with slow, deep strokes, he soon quickened his pace, grabbing her arms and holding them over her head. As he expertly brought her to the brink then backed off, she found herself lost in a sea of sparkling sensations.

“Please…” she begged breathlessly.

It was all she could manage, but it was enough.

Moments later she was tumbling through the spine-tingling spasms, then collapsing, breathless and deliriously happy with her head in the hollow of his shoulder.

* * *

As Portia and Devlin were sinking into their post-orgasmic haze, William was downing the last swallow of an expensive whiskey.

He was filled with rage.

For the second time a plan he believed would be seamless was in chaos.

Portia’s broker bitch had questioned the Power of Attorney, and though he’d said all the right things she’d still called Portia to verify the instructions.

“Stupid cow,” William growled, suddenly hurling the cut crystal tumbler across the room.

At least the sale of his Corvette had gone smoothly and he had a briefcase full of cash. But it wasn’t enough for a private jet to a far away destination where he could settle into a new life.

He had to think of another way to get his hands on some of Portia’s fortune and lie low while he was doing it.

He smirked.

At least that part of his scheme was still viable.

Her house in Smoky Hill.

Leaving the basement door open had been a stroke of genius. Not only could he hide out while he planned his next move, she had an impressive collection of artwork and antiques. He’d pick through them and select those he could sell to his wealthy underworld friends.

But as he thought about her, a fresh frown furrowed his brow.

He still couldn’t understand how she had drunk half the cup of coffee and not ended up semi-conscious on her bed. The drug had never failed him before.

“I’m going to find out if it fucking kills me,” he muttered, but knowing he was pushing his luck and it was time to hit the road, he abruptly rose to his feet.

Picking up the bag he’d hastily packed, then lifting his precious briefcase from the coffee table, he hurried into his backyard, left through the back gate and marched towards the street. He’d bought an inexpensive sedan with his new fake ID and left it parked around the block. It was a short walk, and he was soon climbing behind the wheel and pulling away from the curb.

Though he was in a hurry and slightly panicked, he reminded himself to obey all the traffic signals, and not to speed, especially when he reached the country. The last thing he needed was a run in with Sheriff Cooper or one of his deputies.

The drive seemed to take forever, but he was finally rolling up the low bank across the street from Portia’s house and driving into the trees. Though it was annoying having to lug his bags back to the road, his car was well hidden. When he reached the side of the house and pushed open the basement door, he walked in, locked it behind him, then leaned against the wall, let out a heavy sigh, the smirked.

On the journey he’d concocted a new scheme.

A way to lay his hands on Portia’s money.

And get his revenge on the interfering cowboy.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Though Devlin was a little taken aback by the intense and sudden romance with Portia, he wasn’t about to rein it in. In some ways she was the stereotypical spoiled rich girl, but she also possessed a loving sweetness and a passionate soul.

“I hope you realize not every day will be like this,” he said, tightening his hold. “My ranch is a busy place, and you’re not allowed to distract me. I’ll be teachin’, and when I’m not teachin’, I’ll be working with horses in the round pen or ridin’ myself.”

---