Honor Bound(13)

And what else could it be called? What other term applied to the way he slid his fingers up through her hair, holding her head still while his lips nibbled their way down her throat. Or the way he squeezed her upper thigh when the waitress delivered their beer. Or the way his lips were wont to play around her ears.

"Don't," she moaned once, when that particular caress caused goose bumps to break out over her arms.

"The moaning is good. Keep it up," he whispered as a pair of truckers moseyed past the booth on their way to the pinball machine.

He took her hand and slipped it inside his shirt, holding it palm down, against his skin. Aislinn made a feeble attempt to withdraw her hand, but Greywolf wouldn't let her. As long as she was forced to touch him, she submitted to her own curiosity. As unobtrusively as possible, she curled her fingertips into the hard flesh. Her thumb moved a fraction. It encountered his nipple. It was erect.

He sucked in his breath sharply. "Godamighty," he cursed. "Don't do that." His body had been tense all afternoon, but nothing compared to the rigid, still way it pressed against her now.

She snatched her hand back. "I'm just doing what you—"

"Shh!"

"Don't say—"

"Shh! Look. On the screen."

She glanced toward the TV. A Phoenix newscaster was reading a story about the search for the elusive prison escapee, Indian activist Lucas Greywolf. A picture of Lucas was flashed onto the screen. Aislinn stared at it, barely recognizing him. His hair was cropped short, almost shaved.

"Not a very flattering picture," she said dryly.

The corner of his mouth twitched with the hint of a smile, but his attention was riveted to the map of Arizona that was now being shown. As he had guessed, the media weren't doing the law-enforcement agencies any favors; they were pinpointing where roadblocks had been set up. Even though leaked news stories like this sabotaged police work, each television station's main goal was to scoop its competitors.

As soon as the announcer switched to other newsworthy events of the day, Lucas scooted to the edge of the booth. "Okay, let's go. And remember to weave. You've supposedly drunk several beers."

He offered her his hand, but his attention was diverted to the door as it was opened to admit another customer. Greywolf's curse was soft, but no less scorching, as a uniformed man came strolling in.





* * *





Chapter 3



Casually taking off his hat, the uniformed man ran his sleeve over his sweating brow. Aislinn sat up and took notice. His uniform was that of a sheriff, at the very least a deputy.

"Stella, get me a beer," he called out as soon as the door slammed closed behind him.

The blond waitress turned and gave him a wide, welcoming smile that indicated their level of familiarity. "Well, look what the cat just drug in." Leaning back against the bar, she propped her elbows on it. The posture displayed her huge bosom to its full potential. The sheriff showed his appreciation by giving her a lecherous smile.

"Missed me, didja?"

"Hell no," she drawled, curling her arm around his sunburned neck as he squatted on the stool next to where she was standing. "You know how it is with me. Outa sight, outa mind."

"For two days I've been chasing some damn Indian nobody's seen hide nor hair of. What I need is a coupla cold ones and some tender loving care."

"In that order?" The blonde leaned down and purred the question near his mouth. He kissed her, but then swatted her ample hip.

"Get me that beer."

Stella went to do the hunter's bidding while the hunted sat seething next to Aislinn in the booth. "Damn," Greywolf said beneath his breath, pounding his fist against his thigh under the table. "Just a few more minutes and we would have been gone. Damn."

He kept up the frustrated litany, all the while leaning over Aislinn in the corner of the booth as though they were petting. "Don't you dare do anything to attract his attention. Because to rescue you, sweetheart, he'll have to go through me."

"What do you plan to do?"

"For the time being, more of the same," he said, kissing her neck. "Maybe he'll leave."

But apparently the officer intended to make a night of it. His "coupla cold ones" turned into three, then four. Stella didn't move far from his side, unless forced to wait on other customers. They flirted outrageously, exchanging sexual innuendos, until their provocative banterings mellowed to soft, private whispers punctuated occasionally by Stella's low, sexy laugh. The sheriff's hands were never idle, but caressed her unceasingly. Stella never demurred.

Aislinn's hopes had flared with the unexpected appearance of the sheriff, but now she doubted that the law officer even cared whether the escaped convict was captured or not. There were a lot of people, Indian and Anglo alike, who had felt that Lucas Greywolf got a bum rap and had been in sympathy with his cause. This overworked sheriff might be one of them. He might look the other way if Greywolf crossed his path.

Still, the sheriff represented Aislinn's only hope of getting away from her kidnapper. She planned to use him, though she was sure he wouldn't thank her for ruining the evening he planned to spend in Stella's company.

"When the time is right, we're going to get up and walk out, got it?"