Chapter 8
A sizzling rush of defiance flashed through Miranda.
Yes, defiance—at the ridiculous restrictions she’d been raised with, at the lifeless lady she’d forced herself to be all these years, and at the part of herself that had held onto that for so long.
It wasn’t even the whiskey at work. She’d deliberately taken smaller and smaller sips as the game went on.
Her head was spinning, but not from that kind of intoxication.
Uncle Buford had done a wonderful thing.
He’d given her the means to free her true self from the chains polite society had wrapped her in, to stop comparing herself to Vicky and pretending to want the things her sister wanted.
Now was the time to unwrap the gift of who she truly was.
She threw herself across the scant space between her and Randall, reaching for his head so that she could pull him close and claim the kiss she’d wanted for what felt like an eternity.
His arms closed around her, pulling her closer still, and a relieved groan welled up from his chest as their lips met.
It wasn’t a teasing, coquettish kiss either.
She opened herself to him in a way that wouldn’t have been possible just days ago, her tongue meeting his with an urgency that was almost comical.
She’d never kissed with tongues before. She’d only ever heard whispers that it was done.
Fortunately, Randall knew what he was doing.
He tasted her deeply, one hand shifting to caress her breast through the layers of fabric she suddenly wished weren’t there.
He nibbled on her lip, slanted his kiss so that he could suck the air right out of her.
Then he moved on, planting hot, damp kisses along her jaw and down her neck.
“Oh, why did we wait so long to do this?” she sighed, tugging the hem of his shirt out of his trousers. As soon as his shirt hung loose, she spread her hands across the heated flesh of his abdomen. Waves of excitement shivered through her.
“Because we were under the mistaken assumption that we had to behave ourselves,” Randall answered, his breath hot against her neck.
“We’re in a saloon,” she sighed, leaving his skin to work the buttons of his vest loose. “No one behaves themselves in a saloon.”
“What were we thinking?” Randall agreed.
He straightened, and his gaze focused on her chest, or rather her clothes.
As she finished with the buttons of his vest, giving him a moment to shrug out of it and drop it to the floor, he studied her blouse.
She wasn’t wearing anything fancy, just a simple blouse and skirt with a wide belt, as had become the fashion. But he seemed confused.
“They’re in the back,” she panted, then turned, lifting her hair—which was only half up, the rest free down her back—to show him a row of buttons.
“Thank heavens.” He breathed out and reached for the fastenings of the wide belt first. “For a second there I thought I was going to have to rip the clothes from your body, and that’s not as easy as it sounds.”
She couldn’t help but laugh, at the absurdity of his comment and the entire situation.
But also at the wriggling pleasure that filled her as his hands made quick work of the buttons down her back.
Her blouse and then her skirt sagged loose.
Cool air kissed her warm skin, and as soon as Randall had pushed the lightly puffed sleeves of her blouse down over her arms, he kissed her as well.
A shudder hit her at the brush of his lips against the back of her shoulder, and she sighed loudly with the joy of it.
Who would have thought that the simple act of a man kissing her and smoothing his hands along the stiff fabric of her corset from behind could provide such scintillating bliss? It wasn’t nearly enough, though.
She went to work on the hooks of her corset, and as soon as it dropped to the floor, she spun to settle herself back in Randall’s arms again.
“It’s not fair for me to be the only one undressing,” she whispered, glancing up at him with a new kind of impishness.
She unfastened the buttons at the top of his shirt, but before she could make it through more than a few, Randall pulled his shirt off entirely.
“You’re right.” He tossed the shirt aside and went to work on the fastenings of his distinctly tented trousers.
Never had undressing or watching someone undress felt more like unwrapping a Christmas present.
Maybe it was the alcohol working its magic that banished every bit of self-consciousness, though she suspected it was much more.
She licked her lips and watched hungrily as inch after inch of Randall’s skin was revealed, broad chest, flat abdomen, strong thighs, and, at last, an impressive staff that sent expectant prickles dashing through her.
When he kicked aside his trousers, standing tall, her knees went weak and a distinct part of her clenched with need.
“Now you’re the one being unfair.” His voice took on a new, silken, almost demanding tone. She pulled her eyes up from his manly bits in time to meet his eyes as he reached for the hem of her chemise.
He made quick work of the flimsy garment and of her drawers as well, leaving her in nothing but her stockings, her garters pinching in a way that made the rest of the sensations of her body that much more heightened.
Her initial instinct was to cover herself, but she fought that, reaching for him instead.
“You’re so beautiful.” His hands caressed her bare hips, dipped down to explore the curve of her backside, then ventured up her sides to test the weight of her breasts. “But then, I knew you would be.” He imparted his words against the line of her neck, followed them with soft, succulent kisses.
“You’re the most magnificent thing I’ve ever seen.” The words sounded deep and strange as she arched toward him, letting, no, hoping, no, aching for him to touch her in a thousand intimate ways.
He seemed to read her thoughts, brushing his thumbs over her nipples until they formed tight, aching buds. She let out a breath that could well be described as a whimper and spread her hands across his back.
As intoxicating as the moment was, there was too much strain in exploring each other standing up.
She felt it, and she knew Randall felt it too when he moved his hands to her waist and bottom and lifted her clean off the floor and into his arms. She wrapped her legs around him by instinct, then gasped at the sensation of that stiff part of him rubbing against the juncture of her thighs.
It was like kindling bursting alight. She knew that she needed much, much more of that.
Randall twisted and marched straight to her tiny bedroom, pushing the thin curtain aside with one hand and holding her against him with the other.
There was hardly space to turn around in the teensy room, so with one sharp pivot, he twisted to lay her on the narrow bed, then descended to cover her.
A whole new world of delight met Miranda as he nudged his way between her thighs and kissed her.
He guided her to lift her arms above her head, then left them there as he traced his fingers and palms down the length of her body.
The long, sensuous exploration left her feeling exposed and deliciously helpless. She was his, completely, and he seemed determined to make the most of it. His mouth followed where his hands led, and as he enveloped one breast, raking his tongue across her nipple, she gasped in delight.
“Randy.” She breathed out his nickname, all hints of the silliness it usually brought to mind replaced by pure intimacy.
He hummed in victory, leaving her breast to kiss his way down the flat of her stomach, around her navel, and lower still.
He scooted further down the tiny bed as he went, until with a sudden jolt he nearly fell off the end.
His eyes went wide in shock and he tensed as he balanced himself, then he broke into slow, luxurious laughter.
Laughter which only heightened Miranda’s feeling that she was about to explode into light.
“All right,” he said, crawling his way back up until his face hovered right above hers. “Looks like we’ll be saving some things until we have a larger bed.”
Miranda’s thoughts scattered in a thousand directions, caught between “what things?” and “you mean we’ll definitely do this again?” She couldn’t get a single thought to pass her lips, though, especially when Randall dipped down for another soul-stealing kiss.
When he broke that kiss, giving her a chance to breathe, his hand was already moving down across her hip toward her inner thigh. “We’ll just have to try this, then.”
The titillating hint of his words was followed moments later by the stroke of his fingers across the most intimate part of her.
Miranda gasped and arched, trying her best to wriggle her legs wider apart in the confined space.
Her efforts were a smashing success, and he delved deeper, sending bolts of pleasure through her.
He found and teased a particular part of her, and she gasped, “Yes, let’s try that. ”
Devilish laughter shook his chest, adding to the already unbelievable sensations his hand was producing. Her body thrummed to all of it, reaching higher and higher as he stroked and circled, until she hit a swelling burst of sensation with a loud, “Oh!”
The throbbing, shivering, electric feeling of utter pleasure and intimacy swallowed her whole, like nothing she’d ever experienced.
But as amazing as it was, she didn’t want to experience it on her own.
Instinct drove her to reach for Randall, to close her arms around him, hands reaching for his backside, nails pressing into his flesh, urging him to give her more.