It was Diablo who looked down at his wife sleeping, not Chavez. That it would take time to rid himself of the outlaw was something he had considered. Though now, after tonight, he wondered if it was even possible he’d be entirely rid of him. Or even if he wanted to. Diablo did things most man wouldn’t consider doing, but then the need—the will—to survive often made distasteful decisions necessary.
Still, he wanted a different life, had wanted it for some time, and even more so since he had met Crista. She filled a deep-rooted void in him. A void so deep he feared he’d live his entire life with it empty.
He looked at his wife sleeping peacefully. Her one hand was bandaged, her palm completely covered and the sight stirred the anger that was already boiling in him. She had tried to wait up for him, a dwindling, burning candle on the stacked chests next to the bed proof of that. She grew more beautiful each time he looked upon her. Several strands of her dark hair rested over her cheek, her rose-colored lips held a dewy moistness, and though her eyelids were closed he could vision her dark eyes, bold in their deep color and full of intelligence. He wondered how he had gotten so lucky to have her enter his life, to have her love him—the notorious outlaw.
No blanket covered her and her white gossamer nightdress allowed a faint peek of her soft nipples, his hands itching to tease to life, and he wanted desperately to run his hands over her slender curves and feel her smooth, silky skin. He turned away abruptly when his eyes spotted the thatch of dark hair beneath the light material and walked away from the bed to step out onto the terrace. He took a deep breath of the warm night air. An overwhelming desire to wake her had him to the point where he wanted to rip off her nightdress and take her hard and fast, hear her scream out his name in pleasure, lose himself in her. He shook his head and gripped the railing, fighting to gain control of his heated passion.
It was a couple of hours until sunrise and his ranch had quieted, yet remained busy, cleaning up after the attack and seeing to the wounded.
He had gotten no new, pertinent information from the three men his vaqueros had taken captive. He was sure of it since he had used his whip on them. It hadn’t taken many strikes for the men to start talking, the fear rampant in their eyes when he had stepped out of the shadows of the night fully garbed as Diablo, the whip coiled in his hand.
Vega was behind the attacks, but Diablo didn’t understand why the man was making it seem that Diablo was responsible for them. Vega was an outlaw with his own evil reputation and proud of it. Why impersonate Diablo?
What troubled him even more then that was the way he had so easily resumed his outlaw ways. He had thought nothing of whipping the men, but then he had been filled with a burning rage when he realized the men had been sent to abduct Crista. Vega still wanted her, but why? He had first thought her abduction was due to Vega’s hatred for her brother Esteban. Now though, he wondered if he’d been wrong and there was more to the reason Vega wanted her.
Whatever the reason, he didn’t think it was over. Which meant he had to stop Vega and prevent any harm from befalling his wife and unborn child.
He tightened his grip on the railing, his knuckles turning white as the anger spiraled, twisted, and churned at his gut. The fight tonight, going after those men, his wife fleeing from the men who were there to abduct her, and her hiding with the servants and working beside them to save her new home ripped at his heart and fired his anger even more.
He heard a sound and turned, his hand shooting out.
Crista’s eyes burst wide at her husband’s hand gripping her throat, though it wasn’t Chavez she saw. It was Diablo. He might be minus the shroud and his dark hair wet from a recent washing, but his face contorted in anger told a different tale as did his bare chest. Every muscle that ran along it and his arms were taut, ready to fight, to crack his whip, to have people obey him without question.
His hand fell away from her smooth neck. “Go to bed, Crista.”
“What’s wrong?” she asked and stepped closer to him.
“I said go to bed,” he snapped.
Her response was like a resounding slap. “No!”
A rumble started in his chest and a low growl surfaced before he spoke. “I am in no mood to argue with you on this.”
“Then don’t,” she said.
“It is not the well-mannered Chavez you speak with tonight,” he warned.
“I know who I speak with and I stopped being frightened of Diablo once I discovered how much I love him and he loves me. So warnings or threats will not affect me.”
He walked over to her, leaned his face down until it almost touched hers and through gritted teeth said, “Go. To. Bed. Now.”
“Not without you,” she said a defiant gleam in her eyes.
He shut his eyes trying to hold on to sound reason, trying to ignore how his shaft had grown so hard that it hurt, trying not to look at her slender, naked body silhouetted beneath the white gossamer nightdress she wore, but by the way she challenged him not out of stubbornness—though that was there in her dark eyes—but more from the love she had for him.
She raised herself on her toes and pressed her cheek to his and whispered, “I love you, Diablo. Come to bed with me.”
He let out a low, slow groan. “You don’t know what you ask.”
“I do know. It’s Diablo I want to feel slip between my legs tonight and bury himself deep inside me.”
Crista gasped, her arms rushing around his neck, shocked by how fast her husband had lifted her off her feet and into his arms. Her feet barely touched the floor beside the bed when he ripped her nightdress off, tossing it aside. He pushed her back to fall on the mattress as he stripped off his remaining garments and boots.
She was trying to work her way into the middle of the bed to make room for him to join her, when he suddenly grabbed her by her ankles and yanked her back to him.
“You’re not going anywhere,” he said and lifted her legs over his shoulders, then grabbed her bare backside and yanked her toward him. “Keep your hands above your head,” he ordered sharply. “I won’t have you hurt your injured hands.”
She did as he said since her hands still pained her.
He poked his hard shaft at her entrance. “I have a harsh, hungry need for you.”
He was warning her that he would not be gentle, giving her a chance to stop him.
Her response was as sharp as his order had been. “Your hunger for me is not even close to my hunger for you.”
“It is not wise to challenge me tonight, Crista,” he warned. “You will not win.”
She grinned. “I already have.”
His eyes flared like a flame bursting to life, realizing the only way he could win was to walk away from her… and that wasn’t about to happen.
He plunged into her and she cried out with such pleasure that he almost spilled his seed there and then. But he wanted more from her. He wanted to feel her muscles close tight around his shaft as he grew even harder and thicker inside her, fitting ever more snug in her welcoming sheath.
Crista winced from the pain when her swirling senses had her arms lowering to her sides and her hands reaching to grip the blanket.
“Hands above your head,” he snapped, a groan following his harsh orders as he held her backside firm and slammed into her repeatedly.
He held onto his groan, letting it rumble deep inside him as he fought to keep control of his passion that was far too close to bursting. He loved the feel of her, loved being buried deep inside her feeling as if they were one, their souls and love forever united.
“Diablo.”
The outlaw’s name spilled from her lips like a prayer seeking salvation and it pushed him over the edge. He dropped his head back and roared as he exploded in a release that tore with exquisite pleasure at the very essence of his soul.
Crista watched with fascination and intense pleasure as her husband climaxed and she let herself go and spiraled over the edge with him.
Diablo slowed his thrusts as his climax began to wane and he shuddered as the last of the trickling, pleasurable sensation faded away. He dropped his head forward only then realizing that he hadn’t considered his wife’s pleasure and silently cursed himself.
He shot a glance at her as he went to move inside her.
“It’s all right. You satisfied me more than you know,” she said, through a labored breath.
He collapsed over her, though braced himself so he didn’t drop all his weight on her and the baby growing inside her.
The thought of the baby had him pushing himself up on his hands to hover over her, his eyes growing wide with worry. “The baby—”
“Rests snug inside me. You didn’t hurt either of us.” She placed her hand on his arm, forgetting her injuries once again and was too late in stopping herself from wincing.
He reluctantly slipped out of her, not wanting to leave the closeness he felt when inside her. He sat up beside her and demanded, “Let me see your hand.”
Crista didn’t bother to argue with him, though she said, “Help me to sit up.”
His hands went to her waist and with one lift he had her sitting up, plumping pillows behind her so she could rest comfortably against the wood headboard. He sat himself beside her and this time didn’t ask to see her hand, he simply took it gently in his.
He grimaced seeing the blisters along her palm.
“They’ll heal,” she assured him.
“You shouldn’t have—”
“I had to help. This is my home, my family now. I want to feel part of it all and I want all here to know we are family and that I am no different from them.”
He leaned his head down and kissed her gently. “I thank God every day for sending you to me.”
“Actually He sent you to rescue me and you did in more ways than one.” She placed a tender kiss on his lips. “Now worry not about my hands, they will heal, though,” —she smiled slyly— “I may need your assistant in helping me out of my clothes.”
He laughed. “You may regret asking me that, since I can be impatient about getting you out of your clothes.”
She laughed as well. “The faster the better, but tell me, for I am anxious to hear what you discovered from the men that were captured.”
“It is late. It can wait until tomorrow.”
“Don’t think you’re going to keep things from me,” she warned, settling in his arms with a yawn.
He hugged her against him more content than he had ever been and silently promising himself he’d never let anything happen to her. Now that she was in his life, he couldn’t imagine life without her.
“There isn’t much to tell. I learned no more than I already knew,” he said. “Vega is responsible for the attacks, though why he makes it seem that Diablo is the culprit, I don’t know.”
“Those men purposely came for me,” she reminded. “Why does Vega still want me? Does he hate my brother that much that he still seeks revenge against him? Or is there another reason we miss seeing?”
“I don’t know, but I will find out and put a stop to him,” he assured her.
Crista looked up at him. “We will find out together. Promise me you will keep nothing from me and don’t give me any excuses why you can’t. It will only go make me search on my own.”
“You will not do that,” he ordered.
Her response was a huge grin.
“I’m warning you, Crista,” he threatened.
“Then give me your word that we do this together.” She kissed his cheek. “Your only option is to surrender.”
“I never surrender.”
She laughed softly. “I believe I watched you surrender only a short time ago.”
He smiled. “You have become a wicked woman.”
She nibbled at his ear before whispering, “The devil taught me.”
She was suddenly on her back with him hovering over her. “The devil is about to teach you some more wicked things.”
She ran her finger over his lips. “It’s about time.”
The sun was peeking on the horizon when the couple finally got to sleep.