A Lady of the West (33 page)

He kept his voice soft. “Victoria. The gown.”

She shivered, looking up at the determination in his eyes. The gown would come off, one way or the other. Slowly she reached down for the hem and began lifting it, revealing first her ankles, then her calves, her knees, the smooth columns of her thighs. He was as mesmerized as she had been watching him. The rising hem lifted higher, revealing the triangular patch of light brown curls covering her mound, then the gentle
curve of her belly, the small indentation of her navel, the dip of her waist.

She stopped, her hands visibly shaking as she stared at him.

“Do you want me to do it for you?” he whispered, and she gave a small, jerky nod. He went to her and put his hands on her hips, but didn't immediately remove the nightgown. Instead he pulled her to him, and took her mouth with his. The kiss was slow and drugging. She dropped the hem and put her hands on his shoulders, letting the fabric drape over his arms and hands as he stroked her buttocks.

She was totally pliant when he finally lifted the garment off and carried her to the bed. His naked body was hot as he lay over her and covered her body with kisses. He tasted and nipped and licked, bringing both of her nipples to tight wet peaks. He tasted the underside of her arm, the curve of her waist, her belly just above her pubic curls. He rolled her onto her stomach despite her choked protests, and kissed her calves, the backs of her knees, up the back of her thigh, then gently sank his teeth into one rounded buttock, not enough to cause pain but to let her feel a slight sting. Then he worked up her spine, licking and kissing, sucking her flesh up against his teeth, and by the time he returned his attention to her buttocks she was writhing on the sheets, moaning with pleasure. One soft, fragrant location drew him to another, and he lingered over her like a bee over nectar, trying to sate himself on the taste and feel and scent of her.

He turned her onto her back again, noting the glazed look in her eyes and the flush on her breasts, the way her thighs naturally fell apart to welcome him. He took advantage of the invitation to bend and kiss her, his tongue making a brief foray that had her arching off the bed, and he saw the shock that wiped the sensual daze off her face. Before she could do anything more than sputter incoherently, though, he
mounted her and stopped the protests with his own mouth as he carefully entered her.

It was a bit easier than before, but Victoria still flinched from the stretching as he squeezed inward. She couldn't decide if it was painful or so pleasurable that it bordered on pain. It didn't matter, her body was already so vibrant with yearning that it lifted, without conscious thought on her part, to his possession. He stroked her hair back from her face and kissed her, holding her until he had completed the penetration.

Victoria clung to him, wondering wildly if it would always be like this when he touched her. He did things to her that she had never heard of or imagined, and wouldn't have believed if anyone had told her. She was out of control, the gentility that was so much a part of her was forgotten in the tide of sensuality.

“God, sweetheart, you're so tight.” He moved slightly and groaned aloud at the sensation. “Like a glove. Feel how tight you are around me.”

She was panting, and her groan echoed his as he moved again. She dug her nails into his shoulders, her hips rotating as she asked, begged, for the relief she knew he could give her.

It was going too fast, but Jake couldn't slow it down. Her response drove him mad. He began thrusting into her in a hammering rhythm, rougher than he meant to be, but her hips thrust back at him with every motion in a frenzy that matched his. It happened fast, and hard, convulsing her in his arms and emptying him of both seed and strength. The satisfaction was shattering. Again.

Her body felt heavy and lifeless, so supremely sated that she didn't want to move. When Jake slowly withdrew from her she gave a wordless murmur of protest, but he rolled onto his side and pulled her into is arms, cradling her head on his shoulder. She opened her heavy eyelids for a moment; the lamp was still burning, but she was too tired to care.

He smoothed his hand down her body, slowly stroking her from shoulder to hip, reveling in her skin texture, in her graceful curves, everything about her. She drifted into a dream world brought on by exhaustion and pleasure, trying not to think, wanting not to think, even as the words escaped her lips: “If I hadn't married you, would I be dead by now?”

He went still. Desperately Victoria wished the words unsaid, because if it were true she didn't want to know it. He had married her, and even if it was to gain ownership of the ranch, she was still his wife. He had made love to her with care for her own pleasure. She hadn't intended to stir up the ashes and make trouble, yet now she had.

He heaved himself up so that he stared down at her. “I'll tell you this just once, then I never want it brought up again. I don't intend to have that thrown in my face whenever you start pouting over something. You were never in any danger from me. Understood?”

She was surprised by the anger she felt. “I'm not supposed to question your motives?” she snapped, trying to bolt upright. He tightened his arms around her to prevent the movement. “You lied to me from the beginning, you went off and left me to deal with Garnet on my own—”

“I told Emma—ah,
shit!”
he snarled, falling back on the bed in disgust as he realized what had happened. Garnet had interrupted him while he'd been talking to Emma, and he'd never finished his explanation. Victoria had thought he had simply deserted her. No wonder she'd taken the other two and fled! “Garnet interrupted me before I could tell Emma when I'd be back. I didn't abandon you, I had to go meet Ben. I'm sorry for that, but it can't be helped.” He paused and gave her another hard look. “Now, did you understand what I said? I don't want to hear anything else about killing.”

“I heard Ben say—” she began raggedly, and he held up a warning hand to stop her.

So he hadn't planned to kill her. That was nice to know, but what she really needed to hear was that he had married her because he loved her, not because it was the only way he could get the ranch. Her throat hurt with the strain of holding back the words, but she wouldn't beg. “Yes, I understand,” she finally said. “You planned this from the beginning?” She swept her hand in a gesture that meant everything: the ranch, McLain … herself… everything he had done, even making love to her the night before. Had he thought that she would go more docilely to the wedding if he had already taken her to bed? If so, he had perhaps been right. She didn't want to believe that his passion had been calculated, but she couldn't deny that she felt irrevocably bound to him.

“Pretty much.” He saw no reason not to tell her. “I was thirteen and Ben was eleven when McLain killed our parents and took the ranch. He thought he'd killed us, but we hid, and somehow lived. Ben was shot up worse than I was, and I thought he was going to die, too. We planned this for twenty years, working, saving money, practicing for hours and days and years with guns so we'd be good enough to take it back. Nothing was going to stand in our way.”

“And nothing did.” She added softly, “I do understand. The ranch is more important to you than anything else.”

She waited, hoping he would deny it, that he would kiss her in that quick, fierce way of his and tell her that she was more important to him than any ranch. But he didn't, and she closed her eyes. It was a moment before she trusted her voice enough to speak again. “What would you have done if I hadn't agreed to marry you?”

He shrugged. “It didn't happen. No need to worry about it.”

A cold wave swept over her, making her shiver. He misinterpreted the cause and pulled her closer, stroking his hand up her side.

“Cold?”

“No.” Not on the outside. Inside, she felt frostbitten, but the words she needed still remained unsaid. “I'll get you warm.”

She heard the heat in his deep voice and her heart immediately began beating faster. Her body, it seemed, had already learned to anticipate the pleasure of his possession. She tilted her head back against his shoulder and gave him a pleading look.

“Jake .. .”

He didn't answer. He caught her thigh and pulled her leg over his hips, then angled inward. This time he entered easily, but her breath still caught in her lungs at the shock of penetration. The muscles in her entire lower body tightened and clamped down in eager anticipation, holding him, shaping themselves around him. She had no power to do anything else but cling to him.

Later, content, he lay on his stomach and went to sleep. Victoria stared up at the ceiling, the ashes of her very personal defeat bitter in her mouth.

The next day Luis entered the barn and caught sight of a bit of cloth as someone darted into an empty stall. He paused, waiting until his eyesight had completely adjusted to the relative dimness of the barn. Whoever it was had been near the stallion, Rubio, who was a fine-looking horse but also one of the meanest ones Luis had ever seen. Jake had big plans for that horse; he wouldn't take it kindly if anyone was foolin' with it.

Luis bent down and stuck a length of straw into each of his spurs to keep them from jingling. He silently pulled iron and eased down the center of the barn, cat-light on the balls of his feet.

He heard a sound, only the slightest of rustles, and moved toward it. His thumb eased the hammer back. He looked between the slats of the gate and stopped, puzzled. What was that patch of material? It looked like a skirt.

With a sigh he returned pistol to holster and walked forward to prop his arms on the top of the gate.

“Miss Waverly,” he said politely. “Do you need help with something?”

The girl had been holding herself painfully still; he could see it in the taut lines of her body. Some game she was playing? But she jumped when he spoke, and the face she turned toward him was stark with fear.

“No,” she said, scrambling to her feet. Bits of hay clung to her skirt. She stood in the middle of the stall, and the fear didn't leave her face. She was like a cornered fawn poised for flight.

Luis, though only twenty-two, had been earning his way with his gun for a long time. He was as lethal as a diamondback rattler, as too many men had found out to their cost. He couldn't remember, ever, any softness or love in his life, but in his early childhood there must have been a loving mother, one who had cradled her infant to her breast and crooned sweet songs to him, because Luis loved women. He loved the way they looked, smelled, tasted, walked, sounded, felt. Young or old, whore or spinster, slim or plump, from giggly schoolgirls to bawdy saloon girls to starchy matrons, he reserved for them, one and all, his sweetest smile and most liquid voice. He was used to all of them responding to him, even if it was only an involuntary softening of the eyes.

So why was this incredibly beautiful young girl staring at him in terror?

It piqued him. It hurt his ego. It softened his heart, because he didn't want her to be frightened of anyone or anything. Women, to Luis, were put on earth to be enjoyed and cherished. He wanted to put his arms
around the girl and swear to her that everything would be all right, that he, Luis, would protect her with his life.

Instead he smiled, exerting his considerable charm, and held himself very still. “Were you looking at the horse,
chica?
He's beautiful, isn't he?”

Her eyes were dark blue, like the deep depths of the ocean. Luis had been to California and had seen that wonderful color. His entire body tingled in reaction to her beauty. But still she stared blankly at him, not responding to the warm reassurance in his voice and smile.

Luis moved back a step, giving her more room. “My name is Luis. Luis Fronteras.” He had no idea what his real last name was, but had chosen, when he was still a child, the name of the village where he lived in the streets.

Her eyes flickered a little.

“It was very brave of you to try to escape across such land,” he continued soothingly. “Three women alone, and at night! I admired you very much. I wished to tell you that you were safe now, that we wanted only to protect you, not harm you.”

“I wasn't brave,” Celia finally said in a thin little voice. “I was terrified. Victoria is the brave one.”

Ah, the older sister, Jake's new wife. She was indeed formidable, with her haughty chin and cool blue eyes.

“Yes, she is very brave,” he said with real admiration. “Where were you going?”

“We wanted to go south toward Santa Fe, but we knew riders were coming in from the south so we couldn't. Victoria said that there are Indians to the east, so we went west and were going to turn south in the morning, when we were well away from the ranch.”

A plan, Luis thought, that could well have worked if they had been more used to the land. He nodded his head and reached out to open the stall door, sweeping
it wide and standing back to give her plenty of room. “And the other pretty lady, the one with the beautiful brown eyes—she is your cousin?”

He knew well enough she was, but he wanted to keep her talking.

Celia nodded, taking a couple of steps toward the open gate but halting before she got too close to him. “Emma. She came to live with us in Augusta several years ago, during the war. Uncle Rufus and Aunt Helen had died, and Emma's fiancé was killed in the war, and she had nowhere to go. Emma is brave, too.”

“All three of you are very brave.”

She shook her head. “I'm not brave at all. I was so scared and all I wanted to do was hide. Victoria and Emma said we must leave, so that Garnet and the Major couldn't… couldn't hurt me.”

The blind look was back in her eyes and with a spurt of anger Luis understood. It was inevitable, really. She was so beautiful, how could any man look at her and not want her? Like everyone else in the territory, Luis had known McLain and Garnet by reputation, and he could guess what they must have put this beautiful child through.