Chapter 23 #3
“Listen,” he said. “It’s quite apparent you’re having problems tonight. But I’ll be damned if this is the way I’m going to spend the evening. I can take you back—”
“I’m fine,” she protested. She offered him a smile.
She had beautiful white teeth. She moved with a quick, supple grace.
She walked toward the door again, swallowing more whiskey.
This time, she didn’t choke. She shuddered.
Then she swallowed the rest of the whiskey in the snifter.
She hesitated by the door. Once again, he didn’t seem to have her full attention.
He brought the bottle to her. Poured out another few fingers of whiskey into her glass.
That would be about it. He’d almost done in the rest of the bottle himself.
“Thank you,” she said briefly.
“Cheers.” He clinked his glass to hers. She nodded, jerked her head back. Swallowed. All of it. Three shots of straight whiskey in just about three minutes. Saloon girls were good. They could cost their clientele by drinking down half a fellow’s bottle themselves.
This one didn’t seem to have much experience drinking as of yet. And he wasn’t going to pass out himself. He’d be damned if he’d have her doing so at this point. He took the glass from her.
“I think that’s enough.”
“No, I, umm…” She stared at him, moistened her lips, seemed to be searching. She started to take a step back, away from him. She faltered slightly, smiled. “I think I need another drink.”
“You’re weaving.”
“I’m—fine.”
“You’re trying to drink too much.”
“I’m not. Besides, you’re—”
“Drunk?” he inquired. “Halfway there. Actually, almost just right at the moment. All the edges are nice and fuzzy, but I’m not going to fail you in any way—or let you earn your keep too cheaply. And you’re not going to pretend I’m not Indian.”
“What?”
“I said you’re not going to pretend—”
She swayed suddenly, nearly falling, reaching out for something with which to steady herself. He caught her. She stared up into his eyes.
“Dizzy,” she said.
“No more whiskey. You won’t be worth ten cents.”
She laughed. The sound was a little hysterical. “Depends on who is considering my worth.”
“Me.” He looked down into her eyes. “I guess,” he murmured huskily, “you can pretend I’m whatever the hell you want me to be, hmm?” He didn’t remember wanting a woman so much. With such a fever. Such a demand. Now.
He lifted her off the floor. Her eyes closed. Her head hung back. The slightest smile played on her lips. He laid her down, wondering for a moment if she had passed out.
No. She was still smiling. “Dizzy,” she murmured. “I feel like I’m floating…”
“Floating. Umm. That’s just what I’m dying to do, too. Hell, yes.”
He pulled the satin ribbon on her corset. The garment fell loose. Another ribbon held her pantalettes. He tugged at it, then jerked the lacy garment down from her hips. The robe clung to her shoulders, but the rest of her lay naked beneath it. She was enough to rob him completely of breath.
No matter how beautiful she was, she was a whore.
Loralee’s new addition to the glamourless settlement of Gold Town.
Loralee had been right. All the tempest, anger, and passion in him was now directed on one object—this girl.
He unbuckled his belt and his trousers. Released his swollen sex.
There was no time for play. He caught her ankles, drew her down.
Caught her knees, parted them. Her eyes opened wide…
Energy and need pulsed through him wildly. He lay on top of her, his weight and length keeping her legs spread when she tightened them around him.
“Wh—” she began to say.
He barely heard her. He threaded the fingers of his left hand through her hair, pinning her head to the pillow as he hungrily found her mouth, his tongue thrusting into it.
His other hand slid along the length of her thigh, into the soft auburn down.
He parted her with his touch, plowed into her with the full force of his body.
The fever of his hunger had seized him with such startling force and fury that he swept into her again and again before he realized what he was encountering.
She didn’t scream, whimper, or cry out. She didn’t move.
The most merciful thing about the entire fiasco was that he’d been at such an all-consuming stage of desire that once he’d realized her total inexperience, he’d quickly allowed himself to climax, constricting, shuddering into her again and again—but then withdrawing immediately to rise above her and stare down at her.
Her eyes were closed. Her face was white.
He felt…
Duped. Used. Betrayed. Angry. With her. With himself. He’d been drinking, yes, hell yes, but was that any excuse for this?
Excuse? She’d come over as a whore. He was the one who had been taken…
She was the one trembling, biting into her lower lip, refusing to meet his eyes.
He caught her chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Look at me!” he snapped.
Her eyes opened, glittering with tears and fury.
“Was Loralee aware that you hadn’t the faintest idea of what you were doing?”
“What?”
He started to rise. “I don’t like surprises. You were one hell of a surprise when you arrived, and you were one hell of a surprise just now. I don’t know what she thought she was doing, sending you over here, but it sure as hell is time for you to go back—”
“God, no, not now!” she gasped out. Her lashes fluttered over her eyes.
“Not…now.” Her voice trembled, quivered.
She sounded as if she could slip into hysterical laughter at any given second.
He gritted down hard on his teeth. She was probably afraid Loralee would fire her.
Maybe she had lied to Loralee. But damn…
She was shaking. Her eyes remained closed. “Sweet Jesus, don’t throw me out of here now after—after that!” she gasped.
He raised an eyebrow. After that. Her attitude was going to have to improve quite a bit if she thought she was going to make a living out here.
“Please, I can’t go now!”
Sighing, he rose, shed his clothing, and lay down beside her. She jumped when he touched her, drawing her against his naked body.
“What is it about your English I’m not understanding?” he demanded irritably. “Didn’t you just ask to stay?”
She nodded. “Yes!”
Her hair smelled delicious. Her body was hot, so perfectly curved, flushed against his.
He was tempted to touch her. Explore. She shuddered as if with a sob.
He shook his head, willing himself to dampen his growing ardor.
He knew enough about women to be damned aware she’d be hurting right now.
He made do with holding her and letting her sleep.
But he could make do no longer when the morning came.
She had tossed and turned. So had he. Her breasts—those which he considered to be so incredibly perfect, high, rounded, and beautiful—were directly in front of his face.
Too tempting to be ignored. Every whore had to start somewhere—he’d just never had one start with him before—and he felt both the temptation and the obligation to make her realize that her chosen profession could be damned enjoyable.
He meant to wake her slowly. Very slowly. He set out to do so.
He touched her lightly with his fingers, his lips, his teeth, his tongue.
As he moved against her, he shook his head, incredulous.
By morning’s light, she was more stunning still.
Her flesh was erotically soft, her breasts so firm, her nipples large and pink, swelling, hardening to his elusive touch.
Her belly was flat, her throat was long, her legs were wickedly long, curved, beautiful, the down between them was a dark and tempting fire.
She whimpered slightly, rousing. Slowly. Her body arched and writhed, easily manipulated to his desire, each supple rock and undulation arousing new hungers within him. She moaned, twisted. Writhed to the intrusive stroke of his tongue, dug her fingers into his shoulders, his hair.
She woke fully with a shuddering gasp, just as he rose over her. Her blue eyes were wide open. “Oh, God—no! I’ve got to go—”
“No, I don’t think so. All through the night, and you’re going to leave now?”
“Not on your life!” he promised her softly.
This time, she did cry out softly, her teeth clamping lightly into his shoulder. He moved very slowly, letting her take him all before stroking into her again, holding, moving, holding, moving again. Her fingers gripped his back.
“I can’t…” she whispered.
“You will,” he promised. She tossed. He kissed her throat, her breasts. Moved. Rocked. Hungered. Rose higher. Her fists slammed against his chest.
“Can’t, can’t…” She inhaled on a ragged sob.
She seemed to jackknife into a paralyzing constriction, gasping, shaking.
He smiled to himself and let the floodgates within him free.
Mindless moments of thundering rhythm racked him until he climaxed explosively within her.
He fell to her side, then rolled upon an elbow to look into her eyes, laughing. “You can’t, my dear, but you just did.”
To his amazement, there were now tears in her eyes. “Bastard!” she cried, slamming her hands against his chest. “You bastard!”
He caught her hands firmly. “I don’t care how perfect you look. You’re never going to make a living at this, behaving the way you do. For one thing, your typical miner is going to want you to arouse him, not the other way around.”
“Oh!” she shrieked, wrenching her hands free.
She leaped up, hugging her mussed, once elegant white robe around her.
He came up on an elbow, watching, puzzled, as she tugged at the bolt.
He rose, walking around the bed to the door.
Her eyes met his. Swept up and down the length of his naked body. Focused in panic on the bolt again.
He pulled it for her and stepped back. “Come again,” he said politely, and opened the door.
“Never! Never in this life, you arrogant oaf!” she charged.
And she was gone.
He shook his head. Strangest damned whore he had ever come across. She’d never make it.
Yet even as he turned away from the door, she was haunting him. And to his amazement…
Her image remained within his mind. His bloodstream. His being. And he wanted her again.
Impatient with himself, realizing that he had the thud of a hangover beginning to pound in his head, he went over to the room’s pitcher and basin, and started to wash and dress.