A Lady of the West

  Jake kept Victoria at his side. As darkness blotted out the sky the bright Mexican lanterns cast their magic over the courtyard and the laughter ringing out eased Jake’s tension.

  Without a word he put his arm around Victoria’s waist and eased her against him, moving her into the slow shuffle that was all he knew how to do. She gave him a quick, startled look, then relaxed in his arms. Her head dropped onto his shoulder and she sighed, but he thought it was a sigh of contentment, or at least relief.

  She felt so delicate in his arms. Her bones were as slender as a child’s, her shoulders straight but still only a little more than half as broad as his. Her head tucked neatly under his chin, and the sweet, faint perfume of her hair elusively teased him. Her breasts were soft against him; he remembered how round they were, how pale and delicately veined, and how he had rubbed his face against them. Her slender thighs moved gracefully against his as they swayed together in dance; last night they had clasped around his buttocks in eager passion.

  He had been half-aroused all day, unable to keep his thoughts from returning time and again to the night before. Now his erection pushed painfully against his pants, and he stifled a groan as he unobtrusively moved her in a hidden caress against his swollen groin. She looked up at him, and he saw her swallow. Her blue eyes were shadowed, but she made no protest, and after a moment she returned her head to his shoulder.

  Ben leaned against one of the posts, watching Jake dance with his new wife. He liked Victoria, but then he should have known that Jake never would have planned to marry her if she’d been a shrill, condescending sort. He didn’t know what they would have done, but marrying her would have been out.

  He looked around the courtyard and caught sight of Emma dancing with Lonny, of all people. Ben would have sworn that Lonny had never even seen a dance before, but there he was, whirling and stomping and having the time of his life. Emma was laughing. Ben stiffened, his eyes narrowing as he stared at her. She wouldn’t even look at him, but she’d dance with every clumsy cowhand who asked her.

  Lola brought out refreshments, doughnuts and some squares of plain cake. The men swooped down on the doughnuts, which they called “bear sign,” with yells of delight, and the dancing momentarily stopped. When it started again, Ben noticed that Emma laughingly declined all invitations in favor of some much needed rest. She found a seat on a bench at the opposite side of the courtyard from where he stood and contentedly watched the others dance. Most of the men were dancing with each other since there were so few women, but it made no difference to the mood of celebration.

  Ben made his way around the courtyard and came up behind Emma. She didn’t know he was there until he propped his boot on the bench beside her, and leaned forward to rest his arm on his raised knee. “How long are you going to run away from me because of what happened?” he asked in a cool, hard voice.

  Emma didn’t look at him. “Nothing happened, Mr. Sarratt.” Her voice was as cool as his.

  “The hell it didn’t. You got me hard, and we both enjoyed it.”

  She hitched her shawl higher on her arms, but still didn’t look at him. “I think, Mr. Sarratt, that you must be used to a different type of female. I’m not responsible for your—your body, and neither do I enjoy being treated like a slut who would welcome your rubbing.”

  Ben’s voice got even harder. “What I think, Miss Gann, is that your personality would be a lot sweeter if you had more rubbing.”

  Though Emma knew it was dangerous even to continue this wildly improper conversation, let alone make it even more personal, she couldn’t prevent herself from sneering, “From you? You flatter yourself.”

  Ben straightened, a little shocked, then stepped over the bench to stand in front of her. Without a word he caught her wrist and pulled her to her feet, then dragged her out of the courtyard. Emma cried out a protest, but there was so much noise that no one noticed. When they were outside he whirled her around and flattened her against the wall, holding her there with both hands clasping her rib cage. Only a few inches separated them; he smelled hot and faintly sweaty, and she trembled with primitive response.

  Out here it was dark, although light and music and gaiety were just on the other side of the wall. A peculiar bubble of silence surrounded them, broken only by the raspy sound of his breathing.

  He bent his head. Emma pushed her hands against his chest and said sharply, “Don’t you dare!” but her protest was useless. His mouth covered hers, and when she tried to turn her head away he shifted his hold on her so that her head was anchored against his shoulder, his hand clenched in her hair to hold her still. The hard pressure of his mouth bruised her soft lips. Desperately she bit him, her teeth sinking into his lower lip. He cursed and jerked his head away, and wiped at the blood that smeared his mouth.

  “Do that again and I’ll blister your bare ass,” he snarled.

  Emma found that she couldn’t free herself from his tight grip. She threw her head back as she faced him defiantly. “You were hurting me! Was I supposed to do nothing?”

  He paused, then said, “I guess not.” He lifted his fingers to her lips and lightly rubbed them. Even in the faint light spilling over the wall he could see that they were already getting puffy. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  She could barely breathe, though she struggled to draw air into her constricted lungs. She wished he would release her, wished she couldn’t feel his hard body pressing against her from breast to knee. She pushed against his chest again and found that the effort still had no effect.

  He was still looking at her mouth. “We have to do something about this,” he said under his breath.

  “No, we don’t,” she quickly replied.

  He gave a soft laugh. “That’s what you think, girl.” Then he kissed her again, claiming her lips with hunger, but no longer with violence. He moved his tongue into her mouth, penetrating deeply and drinking her taste. Emma jerked in his arms, then the tension abruptly drained out of her body and she sank against him.

  A fine, heady madness welled up in her, born of the increasing pleasure she felt at his invasive kisses. She wound her arms around his neck and forgot about the protests she should make, forgot that no man could possibly respect a woman who let him kiss her like this unless they were engaged. Nor did she protest when he slid his hand to her bottom and arched her forward, nestling his hardness in the notch of her legs as he had done the day he’d wrestled her to the ground. Instead she whimpered, her head falling back to rest against the wall, and her legs parted even more in an instinctive yielding. Ben instantly took advantage, his hips moving in the slow grind and thrust of sex. He put his hand on her breast, kneading the soft mound through the barrier of her clothes. He felt her tremble, felt her legs give way, and caught her weight against him.

  He kissed her jaw and the soft hollow below her ear, his mouth hot and wet. “Have you had a man before?” he asked roughly, praying that the answer would be yes.

  But she dazedly shook her head. “No,” she whispered.

  He swore mentally for a long time, using every curse word he’d ever heard and coming up with a few new combinations. Damn, why couldn’t she have done it just once before? As soon as he had the thought, his mind rebelled against it with angry possessiveness. He didn’t want to think of another man sliding inside her, even though that would leave his conscience clear to do the same.

  There were only two kinds of women: good women and bad ones. A good woman let no man except her husband enjoy her favors, but all it took was one slip to turn her into a loose woman. A good woman was both respected and protected; if a man ever forced himself on a good woman, he could expect himself to be hanged as soon as he was caught. That was the way it was, and Ben would have gladly helped hang the bastard who forced any woman, good or bad.

  But other folks didn’t see it like that; if Emma went to bed with him, she would automatically be stepping over the line that divided respectable women from the unrespectable ones.

  The bar
rier was so black and white, so absolute, that Ben took a deep breath and stepped back. If he’d been thinking marriage it would be different, but Ben wasn’t inclined to marriage. He wanted Emma, but the decision had to be hers because the risk would be hers, and he refused to seduce her into it.

  “Then it’s your choice, Emma,” he said. The words were low and harsh; he could barely make his throat work. “We can go upstairs to my bedroom, right now, or we can stop. If you decide you want to go upstairs with me, I want it understood up front that I’m not a marrying man.”

  That was certainly honest, painfully so. Emma stared at him, bereft by the sudden loss of his touch, the pulse throbbing wildly at the base of her throat. In truth, her entire body was throbbing, hungry for more.

  She hadn’t thought of marriage, either. She had thought of nothing except first, the anger that had filled her, which she realized now was her protective response to the instincts he triggered in her, and then the wild urge to give in to those instincts. Marriage? No, that wasn’t what she wanted, she barely knew the man. This was only the second time she had spoken to him. And the second time she had felt him lying against her with heavy arousal.

  But his words were a slap of reality, showing her what she had been about to do. She could lie with him, but for no reason other than lust. And when she rose up from that bed, she would no longer be a respectable woman. If she ever married, and she hoped she did, she would have to explain to her husband why she wasn’t virtuous. The only other alternative would be to go completely away from her family and anyone who knew her and begin a new life as a “widow,” which would explain her lack of chastity.

  She had so much to lose and so very little to gain. A few moments of pleasure, weighed against a lifetime of respectability. If she had loved him it would be different, but she didn’t even have that.

  With the inborn dignity with which she faced every hardship, Emma braced herself and gave him his answer. “Nor is marriage what I’m looking for. Thank you for giving me this choice.”

  Ben smiled crookedly at her. “What’s the answer?” he asked, though he already knew.

  “No,” she replied, and walked away.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  At nine o’clock Victoria excused herself and went up to her bedroom. She didn’t know how soon he would follow, so she scurried like a madwoman to undress, wash, and cover herself decently in a nightgown. He had taken everything she had and she needed to regain part of herself, some small bit of modesty. She was only twenty-one and had twice been taken to wife, once for what she represented and now for what she owned, but not yet for love, for herself. She felt a need for whatever small defenses she could muster.

  She was glad she hurried because the nightgown had barely settled into place around her feet when Jake opened the door and walked in. He eyed the nightgown. “That was fast.”

  She didn’t answer, because it was obvious to him how she had hurried.

  He stripped his shirt off over his head and dropped it on a chair, then bent down to untie the leather thongs from around his thighs. She watched as he removed his guns and realized that he hadn’t worn them the night before. He had come to her unarmed, and she wondered if he had done so to prevent her from trying to grab one of his weapons and shoot him.

  His powerful brown torso rippled with muscles as he poured fresh water in the washbasin and bent down to splash it on his face. Victoria watched him, feeling her body already beginning to throb and come alive for him, and he hadn’t even touched her. Her gaze slid over him, loving the hard strength of his body. He had several scars, she noticed, some of them so old they were nothing more than white lines, some of them still new enough to be red. She ached to touch them, to feel his heated skin beneath her hands.

  He toweled his face and shoulders dry, watching her as she watched him. “Go ahead and take your hair down,” he instructed, and she lifted her arms to obey.

  Her hair reached her hips in silky waves when it was down. When she had all of the pins out, she went to the dresser and pulled her hair over one shoulder to brush it. Jake sat down to remove his boots and socks, but didn’t take his eyes off of her.

  “Good,” he said softly. “Now take the nightgown off.”

  She moistened her lips. “I always sleep in a nightgown.”

  “No. You used to sleep in a nightgown. You don’t now.” He stood and began unbuttoning his pants. She watched without blinking as he shed his clothes, her gaze locked on his loins. He was heavy and aroused. By the time he was naked, she still hadn’t moved.

  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.”