The Rustler's Bride by Tatiana March Read Free Book Online

rummage in the pocket of her buckskin jacket. “See?” she said, holding up the tightly coiled roll of tape. “A measuring tape. If you let go of my arm and turn around, we can get started.”
    Declan contemplated her for a long moment. Victoria felt her cheeks flush beneath his searching gaze. “Turn around,” she said sharply. “I haven’t got all day.”
    He released her and turned his back to her. Victoria’s hands shook as the uncoiled the length of tape with lines drawn across it to mark the inches. What had she come here for? Now that his knowing eyes were averted, she could admit the truth to herself.
    He’d been right.
    She’d come to tempt him.
     “I can buy my own clothes.”
    The abrupt remark startled her. She’d been standing still, the measuring tape uncoiled between her hands. Prompted into action, she stretched the tape across his back, shoulder to shoulder. “Don’t tell me you have money,” she said as she craned upward to read the mark inked into the tape. “Twenty-one inches,” she muttered, and committed the number to memory.
    “I have money.”
    “Rustling must be a profitable business. No costs, only revenue.”
    Declan stiffened at her tart tone. Victoria gathered the tape and reached both hands around his waist. As she brought the tape together in front of him, her body came into contact with his. Her cheek almost pressed to his shoulder blade. She could feel the heat that radiated from him, could smell the mingled scents of sweat and sawdust and soap on his skin. She could not move. She simply stood there, her arms around him, her breasts pressed against his back, the tip of her chin nearly resting on the ridged groove of his spine.
    “Victoria—” Declan’s voice was a strangled moan. “Don’t.”
    She yanked her hands apart, thumb and forefinger pinched over the tape to mark the spot. She lifted the tape to her eyes to read the measurement. “Thirty-two inches. Turn around,” she said, and heard the tremor in her voice.
    Declan turned to face her. His jaw was set. His eyes glittered cobalt blue.
    Victoria reached the tape across his chest. An expanse of lean muscle. A sprinkling of light brown hair. Two flat male nipples. A trembling seized her hands. She could feel perspiration beading on her skin beneath her clothing. Her breasts tingled. The blood in her veins moved in heavy, languid beats that made her drowsy and alert at the same time.
    She lifted the tape away from him and read the measurement. Twenty-one inches across the shoulders, same as at the back. “Lift your arms,” she ordered. When he did, she raised her hands to line up with those flat brown nipples and reached her arms around him. The motion brought her face right in front of his.
    “Ria…don’t…,” he groaned and closed his eyes.
    Ria. As if he lacked the strength to say her name in full. She tilted up her face, no longer even pretending to be occupied with taking measurements. Her voice deepened to a sultry, breathless murmur. “When the preacher wed us, he forgot the last part of the ceremony.”
    Declan stood absolutely still. His eyes flew open, but his gaze locked on the stacks of firewood that surrounded them. Heat sweltered in the windowless barn. In the far corner, a cat pounced after a mouse that squealed and scampered off in terror. Behind them, a trapped insect bombarded the timber wall, making popping sounds, like distant gunshots.
    But nothing could break the spell that had fallen over them as they stood facing each other, their bodies almost pressed together from breast to knee. Almost. Almost. Victoria knew that Declan could feel the thudding of her heartbeat as she felt his, that he could smell the lavender on her skin as she smelled the dust and leather and soap on his.
    “What?” Declan said finally. “What did the preacher forget?”
    Victoria lifted up on tiptoe and tilted her head. “You may kiss the bride.”
    Her mouth halted within a fraction of his. She could feel