In the Marshal's Arms — Emma Jay

Blurb:
Marshal Rhys Burgess always gets his man. To catch a notorious bank robber, he seeks out the man's sometimes-mistress Maddy Colby. She lives on her own on a farm that needs a lot of work. He presents himself to her as a handyman...and waits.

As he waits, he gets to know Maddy, who is nothing like he expected. Isolated on the farm, shunned by the townspeople because of the choices she's made, Maddy is smart, generous and hard-working--and lonely. Every day he finds her harder and harder to resist...until a snowstorm strands them alone together in the tiny cabin.

Then Rhys needs to discover...is getting his man worth losing his woman?

Excerpt:



Rhys was stiff with cold when he entered the little house several long minutes later. Every chore had taken twice as long because he had trouble moving his fingers. A fire roared in the fireplace, but the heat hadn't permeated the room. She bent over the cast-iron stove, poking at another fire there, and he thought he smelled coffee. She still wore her coat, though her bonnet hung by the fire, dripping on the wood floor.
When she heard the door close, she looked up, then crossed to him, unbuttoning his coat, pushing the damp cloth from his shoulders.
“You need to get out of your wet clothes. You'll catch a chill. I can't get it warm enough in here.” She crossed to hang his coat with her bonnet, then came back to him to rub at his cheeks. “Take off your boots and come to the fire. I have some wool socks you can wear.”
Good, because his feet were blocks of ice inside his boots, and he fumbled to remove them. She bent quickly and urged him to lift one foot, then the other, so she could help. Before he could protest, she'd stripped off his socks, too.
She was so lovely, so sweet, so giving, so vulnerable. Every rule he'd ever followed, every rule that led his actions every day of his life, fled as he looked down at her kneeling before him.
“Your clothes are wet, too,” he said when she dragged a chair from the table, placed it in front of the fire and pushed him into it.
“I didn't walk through the snow back to the house.” But she did take off her coat, then shivered. “Coffee's brewing, and I'm warming our dinner. Once we get something warm inside us -- ”
She broke off when he caught her hand and pulled her sideways into his lap, chafing her reddened hands between his. The weight of her on his lap felt good, felt right. He had only intended to warm her, but the way she snuggled into him made him remember how long it had been since he held a woman in his arms.
“Take off your boots,” he urged, his hand sliding down the front of her skirt to assist.
“I should get those wool socks,” she said, a touch breathless as he lifted her foot and unlaced the boot. She shook it loose and it fell to the floor with a thump.
“I can't reach the other one,” he said, and watched the skin of her throat quiver at the touch of his hot breath. What would she do when he touched her?
“I'll get it. And the socks,” she said, but made no move to leave, only nestled closer. “You're warmer than I expected.”
He chuckled softly as all the blood rushed from where it was needed in his extremities to the place right where her hip rested. No doubt she could feel the rise of his cock, even through the layers of her skirts.
“I have bricks warming for the bed,” she murmured, turning her face toward him shyly. “No sense you sleeping on the cold floor.”
Blood surged to his groin so quickly he was dizzy with it. “Mrs. Colby,” he managed, sliding his hand up her thigh, over her skirts.
“Maddy,” she corrected, her gaze on his mouth.
“Maddy,” he repeated. “Call me Rhys.”