He had wanted Heather to shed her ladylike primness in bed, and he’d succeeded far beyond his expectations. Making love, she was a wildcat, turning all sweet and hot in his arms, naked and vibrant and alive with need for him. But when he was locked deep inside her, mindless with sensation, he was as much at the mercy of his body as she was to hers.

He’d never been so hungry for a woman before. He couldn’t get enough of her. The depth of his need astonished him. With Doe sex had been uninhibited, but not wild and urgent and violent. With Heather he was ravenous.

It was crazy to feel as hungry and obsessed as he did. He knew all about obsession. For months after Doe’s murder, he’d been driven by the need for revenge. But this hot, fierce wanting that ate at his reason—there was no excuse for it. She had only to enter a room and lust began tightening his body. She had only to touch him and she brought him to instant uncomfortable arousal.

It was damned embarrassing sometimes. When he was on the range with the boys, the smallest things made him think of Heather—of falling into bed and easing into her or tossing her on the kitchen table and riding her hard and fast. He’d get so hard, he had to find some way of disguising it.

The hell of it was, Heather was getting under his skin. When he was away, he spent much of his waking hours fighting with himself. When he was near, he found it harder and harder to keep his distance.

And even if he got his craving under control, he wouldn’t be any less vulnerable to her. The truth was, he needed her. For his daughter. For his campaign.

For himself.

Heather had never before been inside a saloon, so her gloved palms felt damp with nervousness as she followed Caitlin through the alleyway to the back door of the Stirrup & Pick Saloon. It was midmorning, and they’d left Janna and baby Elizabeth in Sarah’s tender care at the general store.

The saloon was quiet. They made their way down a hallway to a barroom, which fortunately was nearly deserted, but which smelled of whiskey and cigars.

Staying close behind Caitlin, Heather found her attention riveted by the gaudy furnishings. A long gilt-edged mirror adorned the wall behind the liquor-stained mahogany bar, while on the opposite wall, beneath the stairway, hung a huge oil painting of a voluptuous, pink-fleshed female in a state of near-undress. There were also dozens of scarred poker tables and wooden chairs and a shallow stage that boasted red velvet curtains and an upright piano.