Blind Tiger by Sandra Brown

When he drew her nipple into his mouth, she closed her fingers, clutching at his hair. He tilted his hips and began moving against her. She arched up to meet the evocative thrusts.

Air stirred against her skin as he raised her nightgown up over her hip. He cradled the back of her knee in his palm, squeezed it with strong fingers, then began stroking her inner thigh. His touch was gentle but bold, dictating adjustments in position as he worked his hand up to where she lay open.

His exploring caresses brought her into stunning awareness of her own feverish, full achiness, of how wet she was. When he pressed a finger into her, she flinched. But reflexively she clenched, signaling a desire for more. He withdrew his finger, but where he touched her next caused her body to jerk in response.

He began drawing fluid circles upon that spot. When at the same time, his mouth tugged on her nipple, her body began to tingle throughout. It was wonderful. It terrified her.

She gasped, “What are you—?”

And then all control spun away from her. Her throat arched, her hips came up off the bed, seeking the cursive design of his strokes. If he stopped, she would die. If he continued, she would die. She ground against his hand in her desire to be engulfed by this tidal wave of sensation, even as she feared being drowned by it.

She panicked and cried out, “Stop!”

He did so instantly. He pulled his hand from beneath her nightgown and braced himself above her on one arm. “Laurel?”

“Don’t.” Using hands and heels, she madly pushed herself from beneath him, moving all the way up to the brass headboard. She crammed the hem of her nightgown into the vee of her thighs, grabbed a pillow and held it against her bared breasts. Her nipples were pinpoints of sensation.

Thatcher was looking at her with bewilderment and concern. “What?”

She couldn’t speak for the currents that continued to ripple through her. Even as they ebbed, her breathing remained choppy.

“Did I hurt you?”

She shook her head and managed a gruff “No.” She pulled down her nightgown to cover her legs. “I’m not like the French girls, that’s all.”

He frowned. “What?”

“I know about them. Derby told me. He admitted that he had been with a few women while he was over there. Only because of the horrible things he saw. I couldn’t hold it against him, could I?”

He opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off before he could.

“He told me the girls over there do things that are unheard of in America. Against the law, even. Not only prostitutes. Regular girls. I’m sure you had your share of them.”

He looked down at the floor and ran his hand around the back of his neck. “Laurel—”

“Of course you did. That’s none of my business, just don’t expect me to be like them and do…things.” She raised her chin toward the bedroom door. “Please be enough of a gentleman to leave now.”

He looked like he wanted to argue, to say more, but he exhaled heavily and turned away from the bed. He picked up his hat and put it on, then pulled on his jacket. He went to the door but didn’t open it. Looking back at her, he said, “I didn’t finish my story.”

“I don’t want to hear it.”

“Well, you need to.”

“It doesn’t concern me.”

“I hope to God not. I really hope to God not, Laurel.” He paused. “See, when we got back to the jail, the sheriff left straight for home. I volunteered to escort Elray inside and lock him up. Deputies were piling out of the other car. Some lit up smokes and jawed about the expedition, others went inside. I hung back with Elray and seized the opportunity to ask him in private what he’d been lying about.”

“He’d told you the truth.”

“But not all of it. I knew he was holding something back about Wally’s murder, something that had recently come to light. He hem-hawed around but finally told me that a tip had come from none other than Gert. According to her, a competing moonshiner had done Wally in.”

“That’s not at all surprising.”

“I didn’t think so, either. But I sensed that Elray was still withholding something. I kept pressing him about the identity of this bloodthirsty competitor, and he finally gave up what he knew.”

“Which was?”

“It’s a woman.”

Laurel’s breathing was suspended for a full fifteen seconds before Thatcher continued.

“I doubted him. I told him that either Gert was lying or she’d been misunderstood. Elray swore he was there when Gert named the culprit to his great-uncle Hiram. Naturally, I encouraged him to give me her name. And I believe he eventually would have. Except that somebody shot him through the head from the roof of the bank building.”

Laurel exhaled in a burst. “Oh, my God, Thatcher.”

He stared at her for several beats. “He was standing no more than a foot away from me. I saw his eyes go dead before he dropped.”

She covered her mouth with a shaking hand. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, so am I. He wouldn’t have been there if it weren’t for me.”

He put his hand on the doorknob and addressed it rather than her. “Sheriff Amos predicted that there was going to be a bloody moonshine war. He said he could use an extra deputy and offered me the job. I turned him down, told him it didn’t have anything to do with me, that it wasn’t my fight, and I wouldn’t be taking sides. That’s the thing that changed tonight.”