Fiery Possession (28 page)

Rosa, an attractive raven-haired Italian with a slim figure, had huge breasts that nearly fell out of the plunging bodice of her red dress. She fell in love with the little “bambino” and wanted to sing him an Italian lullaby.

“I come from da big family, sixteen brothers and sisters.” Her voice, though heavily accented, sounded cultured, and Jo wondered why she had ended up working in a brothel.

Katie, a pretty Irish girl, had a bubbly laugh. “Very popular with the young men,” Glory confided.

Francy had wonderful, corn-colored hair and violet eyes. She would have been beautiful except for a permanent petulant droop to her lips.

She and Rosa were in a constant state of warfare. Rosa, hot-blooded and volatile, cursed the blonde girl in virulent Italian. Francy sneeringly referred to her as 'the countess.'

Yasmin, an exotic dancer, claimed to have spent time in a sultan's harem. Jo felt skeptical about this, as the girl spoke with a broad English accent. When she took to the stage later on in the evening, Jo vowed to watch from a discreet corner. Except for Rosa and Francy, the others got along quite well with only a small amount of friendly bickering.

Saturday night was the busiest of the week, as the stock hands and men from the outlying stations came in for relaxation. George, a fat jovial man who ran the bar, explained about the cover charge for service in the private lounge, which kept ordinary working men out. They normally availed themselves of the facilities in the outside bar where girls were employed on a commission basis.

What a huge operation!  No wonder Glory made money faster than she could spend it. The money coming through the books for the last few months amounted to hundreds of pounds.

They all ate their meal in Glory's private sitting room, roast duckling in orange sauce. Jo tucked in with a hearty, unladylike appetite, as did the other girls except for Francy, who nibbled at her food like a fussy little bird.

The baby didn't seem to mind his change of environment, content to be fed and changed at regular intervals. A whimper would have one of the girls or Glory at his cradle in next to no time.

When the girls left to go about their business, she missed their banter. A few short weeks ago, if anyone had suggested she might be working in a brothel, even a high-class one like this, she would have thought them crazy.

The loud clapping, intermingled with Arabic-type music, finally had her putting the ledgers away. Ten o'clock was later than she needed to work, as Glory's instructions were to ease into the job. Jo stood inside the doorway of the bar room, where she could see yet not be seen.

Yasmin wore scanty, almost see-through harem pants and a minute top. The way she swiveled, lying back so her head almost touched the stage floor, caused Jo to wonder why she did not lose her clothes, break her back, or even both. Yasmin captivated the male audience, with every eye in the room riveted on the stage.

Glancing around in the subdued but adequate lighting, she could not believe the number of upright men from the town sitting at the various tables; Mr. Griffith, even the birdlike Mr. Kilvain. You hypocrites, castigating me, yet frequenting a place like this.

The tables seemed full except for one. Francy and a man sat at it. She recognized the arrogant carriage of his head. Luke! Shock froze her to the spot. A sickening sensation churned in the pit of her stomach.

He watched Yasmin intently. When Francy’s arms encircled his neck, and she brought his mouth down to meet hers, a sharp pain stabbed Jo’s heart. She didn't want to watch this little seduction scene, but somehow her legs refused to move.

“Why should I care what he does?” she muttered, “I hate him after the way he’s treated me.”  Maybe he felt her staring, perhaps it was pure coincidence, but he raised his head and locked gazes with her.

She turned and dashed into her office, banging the door behind her. Leaning against it to recover, she desperately hoped he hadn’t seen her. A sudden hungry wail came from Mark. A hasty glance along the hallway showed it to be empty, so she scuttled into the bedroom. The baby's cries filled the air. He had kicked his covers off, and by the time she reached him, his little bare legs threshed wildly.

“Don't cry so, my darling.” She cuddled him close, loving the sweet smell of him. She sat on a cane barley sugar twist chair, inlaid with mother of pearl, to loosen her bodice.

The hungry little mouth clamped around one rose-tipped nipple and started sucking strongly. She stroked his downy hair. It was black and stuck out in the front. Her back was to the door and she did not hear it open.

“What the hell are you doing here?” At the sound of Luke’s enraged question, she jerked her head around.

“I’m working.”

“Since when?”

“I started today.”

He made to lunge, then noticing the baby his upraised arm fell to his side. Standing near the bed, he stared down at them. The initial fury in his eyes gradually subsided as he watched the baby suckle.

“How long before he's finished, Jo?”

“It depends.”

“On what?” he snapped.

“How hungry he is.”

“Why are you working here?” he growled.

“I need the money.”

“I'm sending supplies over, there's no need for you to come here.”

“I'm to be satisfied with that, am I?  To accept your grudging charity.”

An angry hiss escaped him. “Why do you continually and deliberately goad me? I would have thought that Yankee pride of yours would have been trampled into the dust by now.”

She stiffened her spine and held her head proudly. “No one breaks me. I'll walk down any street in this town and carry my baby with me. You thought to shame and degrade me. Well, I can stand anything you or the pious populace of this place can dish out.”

The baby, giving contented little snuffles, was half asleep. “Leave me alone. Go back to Francy. I'm sure she's willing to entertain you for a price.”

He came to stand beside her. “What's your price?” he asked softly.

“My price?  You couldn't afford to pay it.”

“I envy our baby.”  He squatted down on his haunches, and his hand moved to touch her exposed breast.

“Go away.”

She stared straight into his face. Sheer animal hunger burned in his eyes. A pulse convulsed at the side of his jaw. Anger or desire, she couldn’t tell which.

“I'll double the normal fee.”

“Get out. I'm working here as a bookkeeper.”

Luke’s kneading fingertips on her upper breast flashed heat around her body. “He's asleep. Put him in his bed.”

“He needs changing.”  She eased the baby's mouth from her nipple and stood up. Luke did not move so much as an inch. His fiery gaze followed every movement as she laid the baby on the bed and proceeded to change him.

“I thought you might have come over to see us,” she said, keeping her eyes lowered.

“Why should I?”

“He is your son. Aren't you interested in how he's progressing?”

“Babies hold no interest for me; it's a woman's job to tend them.”

“You unfeeling brute.”

“When he's older, I'll make a man out of him.”  His flat statement left her speechless.

After tucking Mark up in the cradle she straightened up and made to draw her gaping bodice together.

“No.”  With a hand on either shoulder, he spun her around and into his arms.

“I’m mad for you,” he groaned hoarsely.

She fought him, stiffening in his arms, beating at his back and shoulders with clenched fists. If she didn't stop him now, it would be too late. Already her traitorous body, with a will of its own, had started responding.

He buried his face in the valley between her breasts. She tried to pull his hair, but her fingers became tangled in the crisp waves at the nape of his neck. Hating herself for wanting his passion, she became powerless to do anything to stop it.

He felt the wetness of her tears against his face, but was too inflamed to stop. He snuffed out the lamp before lifting her on to the bed, stilling her struggles with the weight of his body. Her breasts swelling against his hands aroused his passion until it raged out of control.

He removed her clothes before dragging off his own. He kissed, caressed and tasted the smooth whiteness of her skin, God, how he had missed this.  His manhood was rock hard with desire by the time he parted her thighs, thrusting deep into the warm moist core of her feminine recess. Only when his seed poured forth did the aching in his groins subside.

He grunted with satisfaction, rolled on to his back and brought her over on top of him. Keeping their bodies together with his legs locked over hers, he put his tongue out to taste her taut rose tipped nipples once more. He felt the shock waves shooting through her body as he caressed her. Jo’s heated response ignited his passion, turning it into a fiery inferno, unstoppable, rampaging out of control like a bushfire burning on a ten mile front.

His appetite was insatiable. No matter how hard he fought it, he couldn’t stop reaching for her, desperate to make up in one night for all the sex he had missed out on over the last few months.

Mark's hungry crying woke her from an exhausted sleep. Luke cursed as he jack-knifed into a sitting position. “What the hell.”

“He needs feeding.”

“At this bloody hour?”  He swung out of bed. “Cut out the bawling, you'll be fed in a minute.”

He came back almost immediately, thrusting the baby into her arms. “Shut him up, for God’s sake.”

He didn't return to bed. She heard him moving around then the lamp flared, lighting up the darkness. “I'll get dressed and let myself out the back way. I don't want to be seen leaving here in broad daylight.” Once dressed, he stood staring down at them. “How often do you come here?”

“I'll be coming every Saturday afternoon and going home on Sunday morning.”  She moved the baby into a more comfortable position.

“I'll see you Saturday night.”

The room plunged into darkness as he snuffed out the lamp. He left before she could even frame a reply. She fell asleep still feeding the baby. Insistent knocking roused her, and by the light streaming in through a crack in the blind, it was mid morning.

“Who is it?”

“Glory. Are you all right?”

“Yes, come in. I must have overslept.”

“You certainly did. Luke's gone?”

“Yes.”  Embarrassed heat burned her cheeks as Glory came in bearing a tray set up for breakfast. “How did you know about Luke?”

“Francy told me, none too happy, either. He ditched her the moment he laid eyes on you.”

“I feel terrible, Glory, the way I let him use me.”  Her lips trembled. The baby started whimpering.

“You love him?”

“No, no, I hate him.”

Glory sat down on the bed. She wore a burnt orange gown. Her hair looked brassy, the wrinkles more prominent because of her heavy make-up, yet her eyes were compassionate.

“Love and hate, the two emotions are closely related. It's hard sometimes to tell where one ends and the other starts. That dirty bastard.”

She followed Glory's eyes to the dressing table, where a crumpled pile of money lay. The taste of bitterness fouled her mouth. Once again, he had humiliated her.

“There's four pounds here,” Glory said. “Take it.”

She would have loved to be in a position to ride over to Kangaroo Gully and throw it back into his handsome, arrogant face. Because they needed every penny they could get hold of she made no demur as Glory put it in her purse.

The food almost choked her, yet she forced herself to swallow it. A maid prepared a bath for her, and Rosa and Katie hovered sympathetically, obviously realizing something was amiss. She felt too drained to do anything but accept their administrations.

“I’ll be here next week, Glory. I won’t let you down.”  Luke would never get the chance to lay another finger on her though. If she lived to be a hundred, she would never know how she thanked the man for driving them home without bursting into tears. As she dragged herself towards the homestead, an excited Fiona rushed out.

“He's alive!   He's alive!”

“What?”  She tried to understand Fiona’s excited gabble.

“Ian's alive.”

“How?  When?”  The tiredness and depression melted away. When she lay the baby down, Fiona grabbed her about the waist and they did a jig around the room.

“How did you find out?  Is he coming home?  What happened?” Jo’s questions tumbled out on top of each other.

“He wrote. He's been sick, lost his memory. When he got swept away in the river the others thought he had drowned, but the current took him downstream. Oh, I'm so happy.”  Fiona jumped up and down.

“Go on, tell me more.”

“Well, he wandered around for a couple of days, half dead, couldn't remember anything. A boundary rider found him and took him to the owner's homestead. Guess what?  He's been offered a job as manager there. He wants us all to go up to see if we like it. If everything works out, Mr. Jackson, the owner, might take him in as a partner. He's a widower with no children, so this could be a great chance for all of us.”