Wed to the Witness Read online

  He carried her inside the small house, then kicked the front door closed behind him. A weak wash of light coming from the lamp she’d left burning in her bedroom illuminated the small living room in silver light and shadow.

  When Jackson set her on her feet, Cheyenne discovered her knees were loose, her head filled with blinding light and colors. If he hadn’t shoved her back against the nearest wall and trapped her body with his, she knew she would have crumpled to the floor.

  Against her belly, she felt him pulsing with need.

  His breath a harsh rasp through his lips, he caught her face in his hands. “Tell me.” Eyes the color of the storm-tossed sea bored into hers, searching. “Tell me you want this, Cheyenne. You want us.”

  “Yes.” Her throat was so dry the word was barely audible. “I want us.” His warm, musky scent filled her head, made her heart thud. “I want to feel you.” Her unsteady fingers worked to free the buttons on his shirt, then shoved material aside. “Touch you.” Frantically, she tugged his shirttail out of his jeans, then rose on tiptoe to nip at the pulse in his throat. “Everywhere at once. Here. Now.”

  His eyes glimmered in the weak light as he fought the shirt off his arms, flung it aside. “You’ve got a bed—”

  “Now.” A hum of pleasure surged up her throat while her exploring hands slid across his chest, savoring the power of sinew and muscle, soaking up the feel of him. “Here, Jackson. Right here.” With a light fingertip she traced the swirl of coarse, dark hair that circled one nipple, then her mouth replaced her fingertip.

  He tasted dark and dangerous and so very male.

  “Holy…” Beneath her lips, she felt his heart jolt, then thunder.

  Wrapping her braid around one hand, he arched her head back to expose her throat to his mouth. He dipped his head, his lips scalding hot against the point in her throat where her pulse hammered.

  “All right, Cheyenne, here.” When he raised his head and met her gaze, she felt a shocking jolt at the burn in his eyes. “The first time, right here.” His voice seemed to throb the words across her skin, making the flames in her blood rage hotter. “We’ll find the bed later. And use it.”

  Lust clutched deep in her belly while he helped her fight off her boots. He shoved her shirt off her shoulders, down her arms, then to the floor. With an expert flick of his fingers, he unhooked her silk bra, dragged it off and found her flesh.

  “You’re beautiful.” Gazing down at her, he cupped her breasts in his rough, clever hands, his thumbs performing a slow, erotic massage of her nipples. “Perfect.”

  The flash of passion, the fury of need that darkened his eyes filled her with a sense of decadent power as she stood before him, naked from the waist up. Time and place became nothing against a hard, driving desire for him. Only him.

  Urgency made her fingers clumsy, and she fumbled with the button on his jeans. She whimpered when he caught her wrists in his hands, stilled her movements. “Not yet,” he murmured. “We’ll get to me.”

  Need raged, clawed inside her when his teeth seared a hot path across her exposed flesh. She drew in a sharp breath at the sensation of his mouth trailing down her ribs, then lower to the waist of her jeans.

  She felt the insistent tug of his fingers at the button, then heard the rasp of the zipper, followed by the exquisite torture of his mouth moving lower still. His hands stroked over her hips, slipping beneath the loosened waist of the jeans. Denim whispered against her flesh as he skimmed them off. Then he went down on his knees, his hands locked at her waist, and nuzzled her through the thin silk of her panties.

  Desire flooded her veins like flame leaping along a trail of gasoline.

  “Jackson…” Her knees threatened to buckle, and she had to cling to his shoulders for support.

  She writhed against the first touch of his tongue, the tender stroking, the feather-soft flicks. When he lightly nipped the crest of flesh where her lips joined she thought she would shatter into a million pieces. The pressure of his mouth intensified as his lips suckled her through silk. The air around her thickened; her breath snagged in her lungs while the wet pulse between her legs pounded.

  Inch by inch he peeled the heated silk down her legs, then pulled her to the floor with him. Beneath her back she felt the softness of the rug that pooled in the center of her living room.

  Her mind went hazy when Jackson leaned over her, blocking out everything else. Nothing existed for her but him. Only him.

  His mouth began feasting on her flesh, his greedy hands racing over her quivering body in ruthless exploration. Heat pumped through her blood; she felt herself going warm and soft, melting into his touch, becoming one.

  Her hot, hungry mouth nipped his neck, his chest. Her nails dug into the hard ridge of his shoulders. She couldn’t get enough of him, of his taste, his touch. He seeped into her, pore by pore.

  She whimpered when he eased away to pull off his boots; her fingers tangled with his as he stripped off his jeans and briefs.

  In a heartbeat of time, she gazed at him through the dim, silver light. His body was beautiful, tanned and strong, with muscles that rippled and tightened as he moved.

  He came back to her, his greedy mouth claiming one breast to feed, suckle, devour, his teeth scraping erotically over her aching, budded nipple. Words strangled in her throat, images exploded in her brain and she arched back, her fingers digging into his shoulders. Minutes, or maybe hours, later, his mouth shifted to her other breast and reworked its torrid magic.

  He fanned his long fingers low over her belly then cupped her, his hand molding against her already sensitive flesh with intimate possession. She writhed under his touch, her hands raking into his hair, fisting. His fingers moved against her wet heat, relentlessly driving her up, the need for release building, clawing viciously inside her.

  “Look at me,” he said when her eyelids fluttered shut. “I want to watch your eyes when you become mine.”

  “Yours.” The shadows around them seemed to shift while his fingers stroked. Sensation slid over sensation, building inside her in trembling, shuddering layers, then exploded. Her vision grayed; his name tore from her lips in a half sob.

  Strength gone, her hands slipped from his shoulders. She lay motionless, sweat slicking her flesh, helpless to do anything else but gasp for breath.

  One of his hands slid beneath her, his fingers splaying at her back to lift her hips.

  His body was like iron over hers.

  A sob of pure, overwhelming pleasure eased up her throat when he pushed inside her. Her body opened to his, joined with his. Arching, she buried her face in the hollow between his neck and shoulder and brought him in deeper. She gave herself over to him completely, moving with him, welcoming the deep, smooth strokes of his body inside of hers.

  In that fleeting moment before they plunged together into the roaring dark, Cheyenne understood that she was his. There would never be room for another man in her mind, in her heart. Jackson was the one. The only one.

  Eventually, they found Cheyenne’s bed. And made good use of it.

  Now, hours later, Jackson lay awake, propped on one elbow, watching her sleep while the heady scent of her drifted through his senses. They’d turned out the light earlier after he had lit the candles scattered around the bedroom. The flames had since drowned out in their own wax. The only light left was from the moon, pale streams of it slanting over the bed, turning Cheyenne’s skin a warm, seductive gold.

  She lay sprawled on her stomach, her breathing slow and even, her hair a glorious blue-black fell on the white pillow. He reached out, grazed his palm along the length of her body.

  A sigh rose up her throat.

  Even now that he’d had her, he was half-wild to get his hands on her again, to feel her under him.

  Emotions that he was helpless to put a name to or understand surged through him. Before tonight he had accepted he had feelings for her. But he hadn’t known, couldn’t have known, that a woman’s touch—this woman’s—could sever
the knots of his control so quickly. Thoroughly.

  They had known each other only a short time. Before that they knew of each other, walked around the edges of each other for years. That was why he had carried with him the faint memory that something was different about River’s shy little sister. Something mystical.

  He understood now what those secrets were he had seen in her eyes. Visions, he thought. Much more than mere wisps of intuition—she had proven that today when her actions had saved Johnny Collins’s life. The power she possessed seemed something more akin to subconscious dreams rooted in some sort of surreal reality.

  Frowning, Jackson blew out a breath. He had no true understanding of what powers she possessed. But he did recognize that, by telling him about the gift of her heritage, she had pushed aside caution, exposed herself, made herself vulnerable. For that, he was responsible. He watched her, lying curled beside him, warm and soft and trusting, and hoped to hell he could handle the responsibility.

  That he didn’t know for sure didn’t come as a surprise. Responsibility meant commitment—where relationships were concerned, he had always involved himself in straightforward affairs, no gray areas, no untidy emotions. No woman had ever made him feel the need to dip below the surface. With Cheyenne, at some point when he wasn’t looking, he had gone fully under.

  Reaching out, Jackson stroked his fingers along the silky softness of her hair. Logic told him that his being the suspect in two attempted murders was reason enough to keep their relationship as it was now—no strings attached, with walking away an option. The thought of her doing that had his fingers clenching in her hair. It didn’t seem to make a difference that he didn’t need more complications in his life right now. All that mattered was that Cheyenne James wasn’t just any woman. She was his woman.

  To his profound amazement, he was beginning to think he meant to keep her.

  Cheyenne woke just after dawn feeling achy and sated…and totally decadent from having spent most of the night being ravished and ravishing. Stretching like a contented cat, she shoved her disheveled hair out of her face. The corners of her mouth lifted at the memory of Jackson loosening her braid, working his fingers through the long, thick strands, then fisting his hands in her tangled tresses while he eased himself into her wet depths.

  Twin surges of fulfillment and excitement swam through her. She and Jackson had shared more than passion during the hours they’d spent together. There were feelings that ran deep below the surface, too. How deep, she wasn’t sure. All she knew was that they existed. Eventually they would have to be faced, then dealt with.

  Turning her head on the pillow, she gazed through the weak dawn light. Jackson lay asleep on his side, his face half turned toward her. Against the white pillowcase, his face looked deeply tanned, shadowed by jet-black stubble. His hair was a rumpled mess, his mouth slightly open, his lips relaxed.

  Thoughts of how that mouth had destroyed her control sent a shudder of pure longing through her. Easing out a trembling breath, it was all she could do to keep from reaching out and raking her fingertips through the dark hair that dusted his chest, then letting her hand slide lower….

  She closed her eyes. It wasn’t just passion she felt stirring in her belly, she realized. Last night Jackson had accepted her as no man ever had. She had opened both her body and her soul to him and he had not turned away.

  He had touched her heart simply by understanding, by seeing what was inside her. He had seen, and he had accepted.

  She loved him.

  Her eyes widened as the realization settled around her. Oh, God, she was in love with him! It was that simple. That staggering.

  That terrifying.

  Although she’d shared her body with Jackson, given him her trust, she wasn’t sure what to do about sharing her emotions. Gnawing her bottom lip, Cheyenne thought back to their youth, to the seemingly unending stream of high school girls he’d entertained during weekends and summers at the Colton ranch. Then there was Sophie’s comment about the number of hearts Jackson had reportedly broken after he’d moved to San Diego. Cheyenne knew it wasn’t his nature to want to hear a woman’s declaration of love. Most likely it would put the fear of God into him.

  It came close to doing the same to her.

  Swallowing past the tightness in her throat, she slid out of bed. She needed time…and space to think.

  At one point during the night when they’d taken a breather from pleasuring each other, Jackson had gone into the living room and retrieved their clothes. Now Cheyenne stepped shakily around the pile where he’d dumped them, grabbed her robe, then padded across the hall to the shower.

  A sharp hammering noise woke Jackson. With his face pressed into the pillow, he could smell Cheyenne. Her soft, seductive scent brought a dreamy image that both aroused and soothed.

  The hammering grew louder.

  His mind still hazy, Jackson shifted, reached for her—and discovered he was alone in bed. Raising his head, he caught the sound of running water. Cheyenne, he reasoned, was in the shower.

  Another burst of ungodly noise brought the realization that someone was banging on the front door. Blinking, he decided if the racket was going to stop, it was up to him to see to it.

  “Hold on,” he muttered.

  Groggy, he sat up, raking a hand over his stubbled jaw. He retrieved his jeans off the floor where he’d piled them last night, pulled them on. On his way down the hall, he tugged on his hopelessly wrinkled white shirt.

  “I’m coming,” he said as the thudding continued. Jackson reached the door and yanked it open. His heart stopped.

  “Detective,” he said evenly.

  Thad Law, dressed in a blue suit, blue tie and white shirt, stood on the porch, the morning sunlight sparkling clear behind him. “Mind if I come in, Colton?”

  “Would it matter if I did?”

  “Nope.”

  Jackson stepped back, pulling the door open wider. Law followed him in, his gaze flicking toward the dim kitchen, then across Jackson’s shoulder toward the hallway. “Where’s Miss James?”

  “In the shower,” Jackson said, although he no longer heard the water running. “Are you here to see me, or her?”

  “Both. I’ll get my business with you taken care of first.” As he spoke, Law shoved back one flap of his suit coat and pulled a pair of handcuffs off his belt. “Jackson Colton, you’re under arrest for two counts of attempted murder.”

  Jackson’s stomach knotted. “If you’re basing this arrest on the evidence you presented me a week ago, you don’t have a case. You and I both know that.”

  “New evidence has come to our attention.”

  “What new evidence?”

  “We’ll get to that. Downtown. Turn around and put your hands behind your back.”

  The knots in Jackson’s stomach turned to pure acid. He knew he had no choice but to do what Law said. The cop patted him down for weapons. When the cold steel bands snapped around Jackson’s wrists, his body gave a compulsive jerk.

  “You have the right to remain silent—”

  “I’m an attorney. I know my rights. I don’t need to hear them—”

  “Jackson!”

  With her hair wrapped in a towel and a white terry robe belted at her waist, Cheyenne darted from the hall. Eyes wide, her face pale, she looked at Law. “Why are you doing this?”

  “Why else?” Law asked. “I’ve got evidence that points to Colton’s guilt.”

  “Of what?”

  “I figure you have a pretty good idea, Miss James. Just in case you need it spelled out, the charge is the attempted murder of Joe Colton. Two counts.”

  She took a step forward. “I don’t care what evidence you think you have. Jackson is innocent.”

  “Doesn’t look like it from where I’m standing.”

  “Jackson.” She turned to him, her already pale face bloodless now. “Tell me what you want me to do.”

  “Call my Uncle Joe.” Jackson gritted his teeth. It was all he coul
d do not to jerk away when Law clamped his fingers around his upper arm. “Tell Uncle Joe I’ve been arrested, and the charge. Have him contact my cousin, Rand—he’s a criminal attorney in D.C.”

  “All right.”

  “I’ve got business with you, too, Miss James,” Law said. “I need a formal statement from you. After you make that call, get dressed and drive to the station.”

  Jackson saw something dark come and go in Cheyenne’s gaze. “After I talk to Joe Colton, I’m calling my attorney. He’ll be in contact with you, Detective Law.”

  “By all means, consult counsel. Bring him to the station with you. Just make sure you show up.”

  “Like I said, my lawyer will be in touch.”

  Jackson felt Law’s fingers tighten on his arm. “You don’t want to get on my bad side, Miss James. Trust me on that.”

  Frustration began to rise in Jackson, and with it anger. Cheyenne was playing with fire, trying to protect him. This was his problem, he needed to make her understand that.

  He met Law’s stony gaze. “Let me talk to her before we leave.” He dipped his head toward one corner of the living room. “Over there.”

  Law narrowed his eyes. “You’re an attorney, Colton, you know what I can do if she refuses to cooperate. You going to clue her in?”

  “That’s exactly what I intend to do.”

  A muscle working in his jaw, Law aimed a hitchhiker-like thumb in the direction of the living room’s far corner. “Five minutes.”

  As he moved, Jackson tried to block out the cold, desperate feel of the cuffs that secured his wrists behind his back. He couldn’t dwell on that. Nor could he lose himself in the rush of useless emotions—anger, outrage, a hated sense of vulnerability—that bubbled in his blood. He had only a short time to make Cheyenne see that she couldn’t protect him. That he didn’t want her protection.

  When they reached the end of the couch, she turned to face him. “Jackson—”

  “We don’t have much time,” he began in a low voice. “I need you to listen to me. First, do you even have an attorney?”