Page 123 of Charlotte's Reckoning
“I wasn’t referring to your funds or Fenton’s, but mine,” he drawled.
Charlotte blinked in surprise. “I didn’t realize hunting down fugitives paid so well.”
“It does if you’re good at it.”
Given that he consistently returned from his out-of-town trips with the man he pursued in tow, his claim wasn’t an empty boast.
“I’ve done all right for myself. The trouble is, I couldn’t carry it with me on the trail. That would have been asking for trouble. I have it stashed in a half dozen banks from Illinois to Texas.”
“How much is all right?” she inquired, feeling incredibly intrusive, but this was their future they were talking about.
“Let me see. Bringing in four or five fugitives each month at $100 each, with some paying five or ten times as much, spanning thirteen years...” He paused, his brow furrowing as he did his calculations. Then he shrugged. “I don’t have an exact total, but there’s more than enough to last us a lifetime.”
As he gazed down at her, she marveled at how truly handsome he was. His face would be the first and last thing she saw each day for the rest of her life.
Suddenly, he flashed a broad grin. “Well?” he prompted.
“Well, what?” she replied, puzzled.
“You’re tough on a man’s ego, love. It’s customary for a woman to answer—perhaps accompanied by a smile and, even better, kisses—when a man asks her a particular question.”
It came to her then; he had proposed. Although a hundred what-ifs ran through her head, she followed her heart, which was hopelessly in love with him. “Yes, Seth. I’ll marry you.”
He let out a whoop that made her jump nearly out of her skin. Then he tempered some of his exuberance, pulled her into his arms, and vowed, “I’m going to spend the rest of our lives seeing to your happiness.”
The kiss started slow and sweet, his hands cradling her face while his thumbs wiped the tears from her cheeks. Soon, his tongue traced the seam of her lips, seeking entrance, and passion flared to life, as it always did for them. Charlotte responded eagerly, her hands sliding into the thickness of his hair. The taste of him, a mix of mint and desire, sent a shiver down her spine.
Suddenly, he swept her into his arms. With his mouth on hers, he took a step toward the bedroom but muttered that it was too far away and carried her to the settee instead. He sat with her astride his knees and, with her help, rucked up her skirts to her waist. Then he leaned back and tore open his pants. With his shaft rising impressively between them, he lifted her, thrusting up as she sank onto him.
Leaning down, cradling his face for a change, she kissed him while undulating slowly, making it last, when what she really wanted was a hard, wild ride.
He stopped her, an arm around her waist.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Something’s poking me.”
“Um, shouldn’t I be the one saying that?” she drawled then laughed, giddy with joy.
“Yes, and I’ll get back to that in a second.” His arm flexed, holding her to him as he shifted onto one hip. With his free hand, he pulled her cloak from under him.
He looked up at her, brow arched in mild recrimination.
“Sorry. I spread it out to let it dry.”
Seth started to toss it aside, but stopped, bringing it closer. “This section of hem is stiff.”
“That’s not all that’s stiff,” she deadpanned. “Can we get back to taking care of it?”
“Minx,” he accused. “I’m serious. It’s not like the rest. Something’s off.”
“It’s old. I shouldn’t wear it.” In her haste, as she tried to take it from him, she heard a rip. “See what I mean?”
“Hold on. There’s something in there.”
“Um, Sheriff? That could be said about me, too.”
He chuckled but wasn’t deterred. To her amazement, he withdrew a rolled-up piece of waxed paper sewn into the garment.
