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  Runaway mail-order bride Layla Powell is terrified when she is captured by two powerful cowboys purporting to work for her fiancé – the mysterious Mr Jackman. At first Layla fights tooth and nail for her freedom, but Charlie and his lover Etu have their own erotic methods to subdue their feisty captive…

  In fact Charlie is really Layla’s fiancé, she was supposed to be his wife in name only, but he and Etu like what they see. They are sure that just one night of being pleasured by them both will be exciting enough to convince Layla to abandon her plans to run and keep her in their bed forever!

  Also by Molly Ann Wishlade

  Trying Too Hard…

  Coming Soon

  Scandal

  Menage

  Bound

  Molly Ann Wishlade

  www.CarinaUK.com

  MOLLY ANN WISHLADE

  has always been an avid reader and writer of stories. She regularly indulges her love of romance and passion by getting lost in the delicious worlds created by romantic novelists. When not reading, she’s busy with her current WIP, usually her next highly erotic tale about hunky heroes and their lady loves – and sometimes their gorgeous male lovers too.

  She wants to take readers on the rollercoaster that is life through the creation of loveable characters, exciting relationships and vivid worlds. She has a soft spot for a HEA.

  She loves to hear from readers.

  For my family. Thank you for your love, support and patience. You are my motivation and my world. xxx

  Contents

  Cover

  Blurb

  Book List

  Title Page

  Author Bio

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Extract

  Endpages

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  “Don’t you move a muscle!”

  Layla stiffened as a hand covered her mouth. She blinked hard and tried to peer through the gloom.

  Panic seized her. Where was she? What was happening?

  Her arms were pinned to her sides. There was a weight crushing her chest, restricting her movement and her breathing. She wriggled instinctively, her mind still foggy with sleep.

  She was trapped!

  “Now listen up, missy,” the deep voice continued. “Stop your struggling! I’m gonna remove your Stetson but you better keep still, ya hear?”

  That was why she couldn’t see! She had pulled her father’s old hat over her eyes so that she could get some sleep. The afternoon sun had been hot, even through the trees. But now…someone had discovered her.

  Would he hurt her?

  She squinted as the cover was removed from her face. It didn’t make much difference. It was pitch black. She must have slept through the whole of the afternoon. Darn it! She’d only intended on taking a quick nap. She tried to focus on slowing her breathing but she was only able to catch little breaths.

  The man straddling her chest pushed Layla’s hair back from her face with a callused hand and she frowned. As her eyes adjusted, she could just make out the outline of his head, a dark silhouette against the stars above. He moved and the hand covering her lips exerted more pressure. Her teeth dug painfully into her lips. Her heart thudded against her ribs and she felt sure that he must be able to feel it hammering beneath his muscular thigh. Fear surged through her and a red haze flooded her brain.

  She had to get away. She had to escape.

  She forced her mouth open then bit down on the flesh of his palm. It was instinctive, a physical reaction to a physical situation. She was consumed by terror. If he was going to hurt her then she’d inflict pain upon him first. However she could.

  He growled and whipped his hand away but his weight remained in place. Crushing. Constricting. Impossible to displace.

  “Now then, missy.” He pressed his mouth against her ear. She winced, expecting to smell unwashed man and to feel his stubble graze her cheek but instead she smelt potash soap on clean-shaven skin. Even with her sleep-addled brain, the scent reassured her as it brought with it images of civilisation and safety. Of a long-ago childhood. So he wasn’t a bandit. He hadn’t been out here for days or weeks. Perhaps he was even respectable. But that was probably too much to hope for. And as she knew all too well, even a man who appeared to be respectable could be hiding a darkness. A hidden side that would lead to pain, degradation and heartbreak for a woman who fell for his charms.

  “I’m gonna remove my hand from over yer mouth. But you gotta promise not to scream.” He laughed. “Not that it would do you much good out here…but, well, to be honest with you…I can’t abide a woman screaming. You understand?” His voice reverberated through her chest, tickling beneath her armpits like a feather and making her nipples turn confusingly into hard little peaks. She had hoped to disguise herself as a young man by binding her ample bosoms tightly and donning trousers but it seemed she’d fooled no one.

  Layla nodded. She was stuck in a bad box, no doubt about it. She realised now that screaming would get her nowhere. Might even conjure up a few other wastrels who’d be intent on having their way with a woman fool enough to wander out into the Black Hills alone.

  Fool.

  What had she been thinking? But she’d been lost, alone, without a choice. She had acted upon the instinct to flee, too afraid to stay and meet her fate. The fate that she’d played a part in arranging.

  The man removed his hand and she moistened her lips with her tongue. She could taste wood-smoke and soap. This man kept himself clean. He’d also recently made a fire. Her belly growled and she silently cursed her human frailty.

  “You hungry, eh missy? We’ll have to see about getting you some victuals in a while then. But you gotta promise to behave.”

  “Who…” Layla tried to take a deep breath but the man’s knees crushed her sides.

  “Who am I?” He finished her question. “Well that’s for me to know…and for you to find out.”

  Layla gasped. “I…I can’t…bre…”

  “Oh!” He jumped to his feet. “Sorry…Didn’t realise I was squashing ya.”

  He grabbed her hands and pulled her upright.

  “Now remember what I said…” He kept hold of her wrists.

  “I remember,” Layla nodded. Black spots swam before her eyes and she staggered. The stranger caught her beneath her armpits with his large hands then scooped her up. She leant her head against his chest, momentarily too weak and dizzy to protest.

  “Now I’m gonna take you back to where I’ve set up camp then we’re gonna have us a little chat. Understand?”

  “Yes,” Layla whimpered. She cleared her throat. Better not to sound afraid. “I mean…yes, I understand.”

  What on earth did he want? What if there were more men there and he intended on sharing her with them? She glanced around but the trees were thick and the moon was a sliver in the sky. She’d likely break her neck if she tried to run off and she felt too weak to even attempt it. Better to wait and see what he wanted to talk about and maybe get something to eat. Build her strength a little so she could think. Clear her head. Then plan.

  “Can you walk?” His voice was laced with a tone she didn’t recognise. Was it mockery or concern? She didn’t trust herself to read him; men were too confusing. She’d gotten it wrong before and she couldn’t risk doing so again.

  “I think so. I just got up too quickly was all,” Layla replied. But confusion gnawed at her. She didn’t want him to put her down. His broad chest was firm, his arms strong and he smelt so good, like a grassy field after a rain storm. Ridiculously, she actually felt safe in his arms. As if staying close to this stranger and maintaining some sort of huma
n contact would keep her from harm.

  She blinked away tears. How could she allow herself to imagine that she’d be safe with this man? With any man? Offering her body, her heart and her dreams hadn’t kept Henrik close.

  They were all dangerous.

  Men.

  Especially strangers. Especially the ones you thought you knew well.

  He gently placed her on her feet but kept his hands on her upper arms. The heat emanating from him was such that Layla believed she would have scorch marks on her arms when he removed them. When she felt steady enough to stand alone, she nodded. As he stepped back, she felt the space between their bodies opening up like a desert canyon and the night air chilled her where the warmth of his body had just been. The sense of loneliness confused her as it enveloped her. Had it lifted for a moment, that constant companion that she would gladly leave behind?

  He led her slowly behind him, gripping her left wrist, like a man leading his horse. As if she were an animal not a woman. But then that was how most men viewed women, as possessions to treat how they desired. To be thrown away once they’d tired of them or beaten to a pulp if they were annoyed by them. She’d seen it all. Been through some of it.

  She walked carefully, keen to avoid tripping or falling into a hole. She couldn’t afford to be hindered by an injury.

  After about ten minutes of silent progress, she could smell smoke and hear the welcome crackling of logs on a fire. A horse whinnied in response as they ducked through some trees and entered a clearing.

  A fire blazed in the centre and another man sat in front of it, his back to them.

  “Didn’t take you long, Charlie,” the man chuckled.

  “She wasn’t hard to find. Clearly no idea how to hide her tracks.”

  The man at the fireside shook his head.

  Layla shivered. They were laughing at her. Just like he had. Taking her for the fool that she was. She’d been an idiot allowing herself to get caught. Caught by the heartstrings then caught as she fled.

  “Miss Powell.”

  Layla jumped at his use of her name. How did he know who she was?

  Charlie released her. “This is Etu.”

  She walked towards the fire and crouched in front of it, rubbing her wrist where he’d held it. The dizziness had passed but she could sure use a drink. Her mouth was dry as autumn leaves. She placed her Stetson on the floor next to her.

  “Hello.” She eyed them both. It seemed that there were only two of them unless there were more nearby.

  Etu’s face was hidden by a curtain of dark hair which fell to his shoulders but she assumed from his name that he was Sioux. He crouched forwards as if keen to avoid actually looking at her. It bothered her because, for some reason she could not explain, she was keen to get a look at him. But even though he hid his visage, she could make out strong broad shoulders and long-fingered hands. Those hands could be dangerous, no doubt, if he raised them in anger. But on the other hand, perhaps he would know how to use them to please a woman.

  Such thoughts at such a time. She was being ridiculous. The sun must have addled her brain.

  “Would you like something to drink Miss Powell?” Charlie asked, dragging her from her perusal of Etu.

  “Coffee’d be great, thank you.” She eyed him as he approached the fire and she had to force her mouth shut. He didn’t just smell good, he looked good. Even with his Stetson on, she could see his obsidian eyes shining in a tanned face. He had a strong square jaw and a full sensual mouth. She licked her lips. He was a handsome man. He had to be about six foot, give or take, and he looked fit as a wild stallion in his cowhide trousers and waistcoat. A fine figure of masculinity.

  But she knew that a handsome exterior didn’t make for a good man. He might look good on the outside but who knew what was going on inside that male brain? It must have been her exhaustion that led her body to react the way it did when he’d scooped her up in his arms. Pah! Her foolish, weak female body had responded to the first touch of a man, the first human contact, it had felt in a while. What was wrong with her? Physical weakness had led to trouble before and she should take care to ensure that it didn’t happen again. Were all women this weak or was it just her? Was she—as the pastor had said of women with carnal desires—in fact, a sinner? She shivered as she tried to brush the unpleasant thought away as she would an annoying fly.

  “Etu?” At Charlie’s use of his name the other man got up and went over to the saddles which were hung over a fallen tree near the horses. He rifled in their bags then brought out two small bundles. Layla watched him carefully.

  So Charlie was in charge. Etu must be his employee.

  As Etu returned to the fire and knelt opposite her, he pushed his shiny hair behind his ears and Layla swallowed a sigh. His skin glowed in the firelight, the colour of warm honey. He had Sioux features with his heavy brow and high cheekbones but his nose was thin and aquiline. His chin bore a dimple which she had a sudden urge to touch.

  He looked up and caught her observing him. His stare was hot and dark. Her stomach flipped. There was an intensity in his gaze that unnerved her. He reminded her of a trapped animal about to fight for its life. Ironic, she thought, as she was apparently the prisoner here. Yet something else burned in his eyes. It was more than fear. But just as primal. It made her heartbeat quicken and the tiny hairs on her arms stand on end.

  Etu leant forwards and handed her a pewter mug and she smiled at him. A habitual expression which she wished she could suppress. Some folks took friendliness for weakness. Better to be hard, harsh, without softness. But try as she might, she was none of those things. Etu’s face remained blank. He returned to his side of the fire and hunched over again. It was as if he bore the burdens of his people upon his shoulders or had spent his life trying not to be seen. Like he was accustomed to sinking into himself and disappearing from view. She understood the feeling of isolation that she suspected he must feel. Wishing that someone would just come along and scoop her up, carry her off on a horse and take care of her. That someone would see her for the special person she really was, not just a body for using and abusing.

  She took a shaky breath.

  “So…uh…Charlie…” Layla spoke. She couldn’t just sit here silently waiting for them to do something. For something to happen to her. “You said we needed to talk?” She hoped that she sounded more confident than she felt.

  “That we do, little lady.” Charlie nodded then sat at her side. “That we do.”

  “What about?” She gripped the mug, savouring the heat searing the palms of her hands. For a brief moment, she considered flinging the hot coffee into Charlie’s handsome face then running off but she feared the repercussions if he caught her. Which he undoubtedly would. It might anger him and that wouldn’t be wise. And she bet that she wouldn’t feel safe in his arms then. An angry man could be almost as bad as an angry bear, especially when he had a gun. Then he was even more dangerous.

  “Well, for a start…I think you’d better explain what you’re doing out here in the hills all alone,” he growled.

  Layla shifted her position. She had to stay alert. She might have a chance to flee at some point and she couldn’t afford a numb leg. What on earth did these men want with her? The Sioux didn’t look like he would take the lead with her and Charlie seemed completely unfazed by her, if she was reading him correctly. So why bring her to their camp?

  “Well, I don’t see that it’s any of your business,” she replied, throwing a haughty tilt of her chin into the final word. In haughtiness, she could find some security. Like a protective shell, she could hide behind it, conceal the real her.

  “Well ya see, Miss Powell.” Charlie pushed his Stetson back on his head. “It really is my business…seeing as how you’ve reneged on a deal you made recently.”

  Layla bit her lip. How did he know? Had he been employed by Mr Jackman to find her? But she’d only been gone a day and she wasn’t even due to be collected until tomorrow. So they must have arrived early
in Deadwood. Darnit!

  Now she’d been caught, what the hell was she going to do?

  ****

  Charlie stared into the fire as he sipped his coffee. The bitter taste flooded his mouth and he savoured the heat as he swallowed. He needed this to stay alert. He’d thought he would have more trouble finding the pretty Miss Layla Powell but she’d been as easy to find as a wounded animal. An apt comparison, he mused. There was something about her that seemed wounded. Though she’d attempted to exert some kind of snooty attitude towards him, her eyes were wary and she just oozed vulnerability. He needed to be firm with her, to find out why she’d behaved as she had, but he was already struggling to remain aloof. He just couldn’t pinpoint exactly why.

  Now the question was…what would he do with her?

  He’d had a physical description of her in her letter but she’d not done herself justice. He glanced sideways at her. She was a real beauty. If you liked that sort of thing. Auburn hair tumbled down her back like a titian waterfall and even in the darkness he could tell that her eyes were the colour of emeralds. Her profile showed a small nose which turned up slightly at the end and a sweet full mouth like a rosebud about to bloom. That mouth would no doubt be delicious to kiss and the thought of it wrapped around his erect girth flooded his body with heat.

  He frowned.

  What was he thinking? He hadn’t kissed a woman in a long time and he rarely reacted to one in this way. Perhaps it was just the lateness of the hour and the excitement of finding her in the woods. A bit like the thrill of hunting. He’d been the hunter. She was the prey. As sweet and gentle as a doe. Although she hadn’t been as difficult to catch as some animals. But did his cock have to harden when he’d held her against his chest and breathed in her scent? His body had completely overreacted to her proximity and it was baffling the hell out of him.

  He had to keep calm. Be rational. Layla didn’t seem to realise who he was and he wanted to keep it that way for a while. Better to play the role of ‘good sheriff’ while he figured her out and found out if she really was the little swindler that her behaviour suggested she was. Surely a woman who could take a man’s hard-earned money then run off with it wasn’t the type of woman he wanted living at his homestead?