Gideon, Robin - Desire of the Phantom [Ecstasy in the Old West] (Siren Publishing Classic) (5 page)

He closed the safe, spun the dial, and returned the por
trait to its place. Easing off the bed, he waited until Pamela got off then smoothed out the wrinkles on the bed linen.

“How had you planned to get out of here?” Phantom
asked.

“The same way I got in. Over the front wall. But I’m
not leaving yet,” Pamela replied.

“That’s your great plan?” He was aware of the condescension in his tone. He could see that she was doing all she could to control her temper.
“You’re leaving now,” he said, moving a half step closer
so that his chest nearly touched her. “If you’re going
to be a thief, you’re going to have to know when you’ve stolen enough.”

“I’m not a thief,” Pamela replied, looking up into his eyes.
It was eerie how, with his broad-brimmed hat and his
mask, he could keep himself in shadow and darkness, yet
his eyes could gleam in the moonlight. She wanted to step
backward, but she didn’t want to appear willing to follow
his orders. “And you’ve still got my gun. I’d like it back now, if you please.”

The Midnight Phantom smiled, saying, “I don’t please.”

Pamela wanted to slap the smile from his face.

“Give…me…my…gun,” she whispered slowly through
clenched teeth, refusing to be intimidated, taunted, or aroused by him.

“Little girls shouldn’t play with guns. You’ll only get
yourself hurt.”

“I’m
not
a little girl!” Pamela snapped.

“Shhh! You’ve got to keep your voice down,” Garrett replied.

At that moment, he thought himself the most foolish
man in the world for standing in Jonathon Darwell’s bedroom
and taunting a woman into an argument. She was, without
doubt, the most—what was the appropriate word for
her?—
different
woman he’d ever spoken to. Her determi
nation and feistiness were unheard of in the wealthy social
circles Garrett frequented, where mothers groomed their daughters to be wives of wealthy men.

“Keep the damn gun then,” Pamela whispered heatedly
.

Stabbing him with her angry gaze, she turned on her heel and headed toward the bedroom door, but he caught her wrist.

“Don’t try to stop me,” she whispered. “After tonight,
Darwell’s going to have a thousand men watching this house.
I’ll never have the chance to get in here again, so I’m going for it all tonight.”

Garrett nodded after a moment, realizing the logic of her
statement. He really hadn’t intended on making any
money by breaking into the mansion as the Midnight Phantom. He
had been hoping instead to find documents that would
put Jonathon Darwell and his sons in prison. He wasn’t in it
for cash. Just the same, if the Midnight Phantom could cause
Jonathon to lose a night’s sleep, then the evening would be successful.

“Just do what I tell you,” he whispered in his flinty tone, the one that brooked no opposition.

Pamela was stubborn and proud, but she was also intelli
gent, and she knew that the Midnight Phantom was consid
erably more skilled at this sort of thing than she was. After
all, hadn’t he been tormenting Jonathon Darwell for nearly
two months, intentionally leaving behind a series of tan
talizing clues that seemingly led nowhere?

“Just don’t slow me down,” Pamela whispered, realizing it was nothing but stubbornness that made her say the words.

They made their way down the hall to Michael Darwell’s
room. Garrett walked over to the window. He quickly noted
all the latest little gadgets—among them a new alarm
clock with small soldiers that circled on a battlefield when
the alarm rang, and a cigarette-rolling machine—that the
youngest male Darwell apparently found so fascinating.

Pamela discovered a small wooden box, intricately carved and
held closed with a small gold lock, beneath the bed. She smiled broadly as she placed the box on the bed.

She looked up, about to inform him of what she’d found,
and for an instant, she lost her breath. To see the Midnight
Phantom moving in the shadows of the bedroom, half-
illuminated by the moonlight streaming through the balcony windows, touched Pamela in a secret, primordial place. Though she would never admit it to herself, she was conscious of her clitoris suddenly beginning to tingle, her nipples tightening, and the lips of her vagina swelling slightly. Whether she wanted her pussy to be conscious of Phantom or not, it was. In fact, her entire body was responding in one way or another to Phantom’s ostentatious virility.

He was tall, perhaps a little over six feet, with broad, powerful
shoulders and a thick chest, yet his waist was narrow. He
moved with the supple grace of a stalking cat. With each move, the long cape fluttered slightly, streaming over his shoulders and down his back. The mask over his eyes, though it continued to conceal his true identity, no longer
was frightening to Pamela. Rather, not knowing his true iden
tity, knowing him only as the Midnight Phantom, added something inexplicable to his allure.

He was, she thought then, absurdly handsome. In reality
she could not see very much of his face—just his eyes
and his beautiful smile—so she certainly couldn’t say that
he was handsome. But her intuitive self knew that he was, and it was her intuition that her body was listening to.

His hands were beautiful in the moonlight as he handled
the letters on the small writing table near the windows.
She’d watched them masterfully work the dial of the wall
safe and had guessed them to be extraordinarily dexter
ous. And she had felt his firm right hand over her mouth,
holding back her scream of protest.

He’s an outcast, just like me, she thought.

She flinched at the thought. Never before had she believed there was anyone like her, with the singular exception of her brother, Jedediah, the bounty hunter.

Her movement caught Phantom’s eye, and he turned toward her. She pointed to the carved
jewelry box on the bed and grinned.

“It’s locked,” she whispered.

As he approached her, his ebony silk cape billowing around him, she flushed. She thought he looked like a gigantic bird of prey. Would he devour her?

He knelt on the floor beside her, inspecting the locked
box. For the first time, with moonlight shining upon his face, Pamela saw him closely.

He
is
handsome,
she thought.

“This doesn’t look like much trouble,” the Midnight Phantom said, reaching inside his cape. “Where did you find it?”

“Under the bed.”

“That’s where the best secrets always are.”

And what’s that supposed to mean?
Pamela wondered.

Phantom removed a slender leather case from an inside pocket. He opened it to display a series of small, silver instruments that, to Pamela, looked like those a dental surgeon would use. He extracted one of the long, slender
instruments and inserted it into the gold lock. A moment
later Pamela heard a soft
click,
and then the lock opened.

“As I said, no trouble.”

“You’re arrogant,” Pamela whispered. “But I am impressed with your skill.”

“I’m confident. There’s a difference.”

“Not with you,” Pamela said, wondering if the Phantom was interested in her and trying her hardest to convince herself that she wasn’t interested in him
.

The locked box contained letters from a woman working in a bordello that, from what Pamela and Phantom could
glean during their brief perusal, Michael Darwell either owned or frequented.

The box was returned to its place beneath the bed, and for an instant, Pamela and Phantom were both on their knees,
their faces close together.

“I…I’m sure there’s more here…somewhere,” Pamela whispered, her throat feeling tight with the closeness of the Phantom. She was more conscious now of her clit tingling. It was an unprecedented response to a man’s nearness.

“We’ve already gotten quite a bit. How much is enough?”

Pamela looked into his eyes, realizing for the first time
that they were dark brown, and in them was a hint of
playfulness that told her the Midnight Phantom had a boyish
side to him that, perhaps under other circumstances, she might find it entertaining to bring out.

“I don’t know how much is enough,” she said finally.

Phantom took a lock of her hair and curled it around his
index finger. “It varies with each person,” the Phantom ex
plained, and Pamela suspected he was not talking about stolen
cash. “For myself, I can, on occasion and when truly in
spired, become quite greedy and never get enough. But even
in the midst of my greed, I never forget to share.” He released her hair. “You see, sharing is very important—vital, even. Because, when you share, you actually get more in return, which makes you want to give more, which makes you get more…and so on, and so forth. It makes life much more gratifying.”

Pamela watched Phantom’s lips moving as he spoke. They looked to her, at that moment and in the eerie glow of the
moonlight, delicious.

Delicious?

She’d never before thought of a man’s mouth as delicious, but that was how his lips appeared to her at that moment. And she wanted to taste them.

Angie Darwell’s voice sounded in the hallway outside Michael’s bedroom, shattering Pamela’s libidinous thought. She crouched
lower, hiding herself behind the bed. The Phantom, however,
did not flinch.

“That’s Angie. She’s still complaining to the man she brought up here to the second floor. She won’t come in.”

Pamela felt a prickly sensation running through her sys
tem. She looked at Phantom and thought,
He recognizes the
Darwells’ voices and knows where their bedrooms are.
Who the devil is he?

“How did you get in?” Phantom whispered, his hand rest
ing lightly on her shoulder.

“I jumped over the wall then climbed the ivy brace to
the second floor,” she answered as softly as she could.

“And nobody saw you?” Phantom sounded surprised.

Pamela shook her head.

“Follow me. I’ve got a better way out.”

He took Pamela’s hand in his and led her out to the balcony.
Her fingers laced with his, her own hand dampened with
fear and a little trembly, his dry and strong. She wished his confidence could seep through his palm into her.

Where’s he leading me?
she wondered, not really caring
so long as Phantom was with her.

Chapter Four

They slipped through the drapes onto the balcony. The
Phantom climbed onto the surrounding railing, grabbed hold
of a drainpipe, and climbed onto the roof of the mansion. On his stomach, he stretched out, leaned over the edge of
the roof, and reached down for Pamela.

“Come on, you can make it,” he whispered.

She climbed onto the balcony railing, then, grasping
the drainpipe, started climbing, just as she had seen Phantom
do. Garrett’s respect for her increased as he watched her struggling, awkwardly inching her way higher.

He knew that she was scared, but her fear did not para
lyze her. Instead she overcame it through sheer force of will, through determination and desire.

“You can make it,” he encouraged in a whisper when
Pamela paused a second to catch her breath. She needed to
climb only another foot before Phantom’s outstretched hand could help her the remainder of the way. “Just a little bit
more.”

The toes of Pamela’s boots were jammed between the
bricks of the wall. She stretched her right hand out, reach
ing for Phantom.

“I can’t make it,” she said, feeling the strength in her fingers going.

“Just a little more and I’ll have you.”

She began to look over her shoulder. If her fingers gave
out, she would hit the railing and might fall onto the balcony or over the edge to shatter on the ground far below.

“Don’t look down,” Phantom whispered, and this time there
was urgency in his tone. “Just look at me, Pamela. Look only
at me, and I’ll help you.”

It was the first time he had used her first name since
he’d surprised her by recognizing her, and the sound of it
galvanized Pamela’s spirit. With a final contraction of the
muscles in her arms, she was able to raise herself just
enough for Phantom to catch her wrist. Moments later he
pulled her onto the roof of the mansion, folding her body
protectively into the safety of his arms.

“That’s harder than it looks,” she whispered
.

“You just haven’t had much practice at it,” Phantom re
plied. “Come on,
we’re vulnerable here.”

Phantom took her hand in his and helped her to her feet, pleased that this time she did not try to remove her hand from his.

He led her to the highest point of the roof, where there were several chimneys and ventilation ports. Far below,
the celebration continued. Pamela wondered what time it was,
how long it had been since she first entered the Darwell man
sion. From the moment Phantom had come into her life, she
had had more questions than answers.

From the ground came a loud exclamation, and one
man asked another to look up at the roof. At first Pamela did
not understand what exactly was happening, then it d
awned on her that they had been seen by one of the many
armed guards now gathering below.

Phantom’s reaction was instantaneous. He grabbed Pamela
by the arm and pulled her tightly against him, at the same
time wrapping his cape around her and pulling her head down
against his chest.

“Don’t move,” he whispered, pushing her so that her back was against the brick chimney. “It’s that beautiful blonde hair of yours, darling. It catches the moonlight.”

Pamela’s heart pounded in her chest. Were the bullets about
to fly? Her holster was still empty. Phantom hadn’t returned
her revolver.

What difference would that make?
she asked herself angrily. The guards would be armed with rifles, which were infinitely more accurate than pistols.

She inhaled deeply, trying to control her fear as each
agonizing second ticked by. She caught the smell of Phantom’s body, and in a strange way she couldn’t have anticipated, the scent of him pleased her. He smelled of a fresh
bath and expensive soap, yet also of male exertion. She felt the heat of him through his shirt, the strong beating of his heart against her cheek. She was distinctly aware of her breasts pressing and compressing against his solidly muscled boy.

Phantom will get us out of this,
she thought.
He’s never been caught before, and he won’t get caught now.

“Stay very still,” Phantom whispered.

Pamela could now hear the guards arguing among themselves on the ground, one saying that he’d seen someone
on the roof, the other saying it was probably just an owl hunting.

Phantom eased Pamela a little to her left, hiding her more
completely from view. He pulled away just enough so to
look down into her face, keeping her in the curve
of his arm, his cape hiding her long blonde hair.

“You’re trembling,” he said in that low, flinty, confi
dent tone of his that Pamela had learned to appreciate, even
though she knew it wasn’t his natural tone.

“I’m scared. I never thought it would be like this,” she
replied, shocking herself by speaking so honestly.

“You mustn’t be,” Phantom said softly. He touched the
tip of Pamela’s chin, turning her face up to his own. “I won’t
let anything bad happen to you.”

She looked up at him. He now had the moon at his
back so that, while she knew her own face was visible in the moon
light, his features were completely hidden in shadows.

“I don’t even know who you are. Why are you helping
me?”

“Because you need it.”

She wanted to be angry with him, but she just couldn’t.
All Phantom had done was speak the truth, the painful truth.
She
did
need help, but she was far from helpless.

Pamela moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. Being in such close proximity to Phantom made her feel jittery all over. As never before, she was aware of a pulsing in her clit and an itching sensation in her nipples that seemed to transmit heat throughout her body.

“Will you let me see your face?” she asked, surprising herself at her own bravery. “I want to
know who you are.”

“It’s better for you if you don’t know.” Phantom looked away a moment, clearly uncomfortable with the conversation.
“There are people who would pay a lot of money to find
out my identity.”

“I would never betray you.”

“Perhaps not. But I also know that Jonathon Darwell is
an evil man, and if he thought you knew my identity, he
would torture you until you told him everything.”

“I wouldn’t break,” Pamela said with quiet, forceful deter
mination.

“Everyone has a breaking point. Even me.”

Below, the guards continued to argue, at least one still
convinced he’d seen someone on the roof.

“As long as we don’t move, they’ll never see us. The cape doesn’t reflect light,” Phantom explained.

Pamela leaned her head back against Phantom’s forearm and looked up at him. He’d been totally prepared to break into
the Darwell mansion, and despite the time she’d spent plotting and planning this evening, she had not been.

“I thought I would be better at being a thief than I am,”
Pamela admitted.

“It’s not a skill to be proud of,” Phantom replied.

She closed her eyes. There was nothing to do now ex
cept wait until the guards finally convinced themselves
there was nobody on the roof.
Just remain still, stay hidden
beneath Phantom’s cape, and wait.

With her eyes closed, she became very aware of Phantom
’s forearm against the back of her head, his body touching hers, his chest pressed lightly against her breasts. She
felt warm all over, and though she tried to convince herself
that it was the sultry evening air affecting her, she suspected it was something more than that. Or
someone.

“Promise me you’ll never again do anything as foolish
as this,” Phantom whispered.

“I can’t give you promises,” Pamela replied.

She refused to open her eyes, painfully conscious of
every sensitive place where her body touched Phantom’s. Their knees bumped, then the inside of her thigh rub
bed against the outside of his. Pamela felt herself creaming, and for a moment, she cursed her body for being so traitorous.

“Promise me,” Phantom said, more demanding than before.

“I don’t promise anything I can’t be sure of.”

Phantom’s hand cupped her chin. “Promise me,” he repeated.

Pamela recalled all the people she knew who had been
hurt by Jonathon Darwell and his family, and she shook her head, despite Phantom’s hold on her chin. His fingers tight
ened.

“I’ll never stop until Jonathon Darwell gets what he de
serves,” she whispered, her anger rising. “What’s wrong?
Can’t the infamous Midnight Phantom take the competition?”

“If you’re not careful,
you’ll
get what
you
deserve.”

“And what might that be?” Pamela demanded angrily. She
would not be intimidated by anyone—not even the Mid
night Phantom.

“This,” Phantom replied.

Pamela wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but it wasn’t Phantom
’s kiss. And once his mouth was pressed against her own, his lips firm and commanding, she certainly didn’t expect the response of her body to the kiss.

As though he were kissing her everywhere simultaneously, every fiber of her body came alive. The Phantom turned her, angling her head so that he could more completely dominate her mouth, and Pamela surprised herself once again by not resisting.

Her arms had been resting loosely at her sides, but now
she slipped them up around Phantom’s chest, sliding her
palms lightly over his silk shirt and over his jacket, under
his cape. When she did this, he leaned into her, forcing her more firmly against the brick chimney, his body pressed against her breasts.

The tip of his tongue teased her lips. Pamela knew what he wanted, and she resisted him for the first time. She kept her lips closed, turning her face away at last to end the kiss.

But Phantom was undeterred. He kissed her cheek then bent lower to kiss the smooth arch of her throat. To feel his lips then the sharpness of his teeth against her sen
sitive neck was perhaps even more stimulating to Pamela than
being kissed on the mouth.

“The guards…they might see us,” she whispered, not
knowing what else to say.

She wanted to push the cape off her head, to put some
distance between herself and the enigmatic masked thief
who could artfully steal away her better judgment. But a step in any direction, even uncovering her blonde hair, would put her in jeopardy, and that she could not afford.