by Candace Camp
“Yes, I do. Purdon was evil. He gave me the shivers.”
“Yeah. He’s evil. But he’s the same kind of man as me.”
“No.” Amy shook her head firmly. “You’re not like that.”
“I am. I grabbed you because I wanted to have you. I wanted to take you.”
Amy’s breath shortened. She sensed now what he meant, though her understanding came more from the hungry look on his face that the meaning of his words. She moistened her lips and saw his eyes follow her movement. His grip on her arms tightened.
“Is that wrong? To—to want me?”
“I wanted to…use you, like those men did to my mother. But at least they paid her. At least she chose that life, even if she hated what she chose.”
“But you didn’t do it, did you? You protected me. You didn’t let your men hurt me.”
“That wasn’t from nobility. Nobody takes what’s mine.” He reached up and smoothed his hand over her cheek. “I haven’t let you go. I won’t. And I don’t know sometimes if I’ll be able to—” His hand trembled against her skin. “Amy, I want you so bad. I want to kiss you and touch you and—” He clamped down on his words.
Shyly, Amy placed her hand against his cheek. His skin was tough beneath her palm; she liked the feel of it, so different from her own. “I’ve never been kissed. I mean, not really. Not by a man. I think I’d like for you to.”
She heard the change in his breathing, felt his skin suddenly flame with heat, and it made her own heart begin to hammer inside her chest. She waited, gazing up at him with anticipation and trust.
“Christ…don’t look at me like that.” She could feel the heat radiating from him, the tension vibrating in his hands. “Damn it, I’m a son of a bitch,” he murmured. “But I can’t stop.” Brody bent his head and kissed her.
His lips met hers gently. Amy felt their warmth and softness. His breath touched her face, and she tingled all over. Her hands came up unconsciously and curled into the front of his shirt. His arms slid around her, pulling her into him. He was hard and flat, all bone and muscle and sinew. His arms were like iron; she knew she could never break his grasp. But the idea didn’t scare her. She had no desire to get away.
He kissed her harder, moving his lips over hers. Amy’s arms went around his neck, and she went up on tiptoe, returning the pressure of his mouth. She liked this feeling. She’d never known anything like it. Everything inside her seemed to be jumping around, and her skin felt strangely hot, as if she were blushing, but it was far more exciting.
Sam made a noise, and his mouth widened, opening her lips. His tongue edged her lips farther apart, and Amy drew in her breath, startled. His tongue crept into her mouth, surprising her even further. She tried to draw back, for suddenly everything seemed too foreign, too fast, but Sam’s hand came up and cupped the back of her neck, holding her head immobile. His grasp was harsh, but his tongue and lips were seductively soft. His tongue slid gently over her teeth and caressed the roof of her mouth, then twined around her tongue. Amy trembled and relaxed, her surprise changing to pleasure.
When at last he broke their kiss, lifting his head and breathing in gulps of air, Amy leaned her head against his chest. She felt almost too weak to stand, as if the kiss had melted her bones. But it didn’t matter, for his arms were hard around her, holding her up. She ran her tongue over her lips, tasting him on them. He kissed the top of her head, burying his face in her hair, and squeezed her hard. Then his arms loosened around her, and he stepped back.
Amy looked up at him, smiling in the shining way she had. “I liked that. Can we do it again?”
Brody groaned. “Amy, don’t.” She was so innocent that she didn’t know what her sweet lips did to a man. She didn’t understand how the passion was racing through him after only one kiss. If he kissed her again, he knew he would have to touch her, and then he wasn’t sure that he would be able to stop. And he would have to stop. Making love to her wasn’t something that could be rushed. She would stiffen and get scared, as she had tonight when his tongue went into her mouth. She needed to be handled gently, to be led gradually. It had to be good for her; it had to be right.
Sam Brody had never been an unkind lover; he had too much sympathy for the women who had to make a living as his mother had. But neither had he concerned himself with whether a woman enjoyed herself. He had paid them and that had been all there was to it.
But now he wanted, more than he could remember ever wanting anything, for Amy to find pleasure in his kisses and his touch. He wanted her to welcome him, to take him into her eagerly. With some amazement, he realized that he desired her heart as well as her body.
So he stepped back from her. “I can’t. Not now. We—uh, need to get some sleep.”
“Oh.” The disappointment in Amy’s voice almost made him sweep her back into his arms. “All right.”
Amy spread out their blankets, and he banked the fire. They lay down, and Amy snuggled up next to him. “It’s nice to sleep with you. Then I don’t feel scared. Do you like it?”
Brody’s throat was suddenly too tight to speak. He swallowed. His voice came out low, almost whispering. “Yeah. I like it.”
Amy smiled and closed her eyes. She drifted easily into sleep; Brody could feel her relaxing against him. But he lay awake for a long time, staring at the stars, but not seeing them, aware of nothing but Amy’s soft body against his side.
Chapter Eight
The next morning Victoria found that Slater’s fever was still down. She got up and went downstairs for breakfast, not wanting to disturb his sleep.
Mrs. Miles and her two sons were sitting at the table, finishing their coffee, the remains of their breakfast in front of them. Dennis looked up and saw Victoria, and a broad smile crossed his face. His brother’s smile was almost as big. Victoria couldn’t imagine what they found so appealing, for after days on the trail and caring for Slater, she looked haggard and messy. She supposed that she should have been heartened by their obvious admiration, but, frankly, she didn’t feel in the mood to play flirting games with them, putting them off while not hurting their feelings. Luckily, they thought she was married to Slater and therefore they wouldn’t make any advances toward her. That made her even more glad that she had gone along with Dennis’s original assumption that she was married.
Mrs. Miles stood up, beaming at her. “Well, there you are. I hope you got a little sleep last night.”
“Oh, yes, thank you.”
“You look a lot perkier this morning.”
Victoria smiled. “I feel much better. Slater’s improved.”
Mrs. Miles looked surprised, and Victoria realized that the older woman hadn’t thought much of Slater’s chances. “Has he? Well, now, isn’t that wonderful? Here, come set down, and I’ll get you some breakfast.”
“Please don’t go to any bother.”
“It’s no trouble at all. I left some sausage warming on the stove for you.” Mrs. Miles went to the stove and carried back an enameled iron plate, using her apron to carry the hot dish. She set it down in front of Victoria, and Nathan passed down the biscuits, butter and gravy.
Victoria ate heartily, finding that the combination of relief and the hard work she had done the past few days had made her hungry. The two men sat and watched her, sipping their coffee, while their mother cleared the table.
When Mrs. Miles had stacked the dishes in a large tub to soak, she turned and said, “I think I’ll slip up and take a look at your husband, Mrs. Slater, if you don’t mind.”
“No, of course not. I’d appreciate it.”
She left the kitchen. Victoria continued to eat, wishing that the two men would do something besides watch her.
“Your mother’s medicine must have helped,” she said. “You finding us last night was a lifesaver, Mr. Miles. Thank you very much.”
“Call me Dennis, ma’am. I’m glad I came along.”
“Yeah. Wish I’d been there.” Nathan’s
speech was a little slow, and Victoria had the impression that perhaps his mind was, as well.
“Maybe later Nathan and me can show you around the place.”
Victoria suppressed a sigh. Perhaps the fact that they thought she was married wouldn’t be enough to discourage their attentions, after all. “Thank you, but I’ll spend the day looking after Slater.”
“Ma’ll do that for you,” Dennis offered.
“That’s very kind of her, but I wouldn’t want to burden her. Besides, I’d worry if I wasn’t with him.” Victoria smiled to take any sting out of her refusal.
Dennis frowned and sat back in his chair. For a moment the boyish cheerfulness disappeared from his face, and he looked older and harder. Victoria suspected that he wasn’t used to being crossed. Then he smiled and shrugged. “Reckon we’ll have to get to work, then. Come on, Nate.”
He rose, clapping his brother on the shoulder, and the two of them left the kitchen. Shortly afterward, Mrs. Miles bustled back into the kitchen, beaming, and told Victoria that Slater did, indeed, look to be getting better. Victoria started to return to the bedroom to watch him, but Mrs. Miles stopped her.
“He’ll be asleep for hours yet,” she assured Victoria. “Fever like that leaves you weak as a kitten. Why don’t you set on the porch and rock a while? You need to get away from tendin’ him, or you’ll make yourself sick. Say, maybe you’d like a nice, hot bath.”
Victoria hesitated. “Well, actually, it would be nice to take a bath.” After two days on the trail and taking care of Slater, she felt grimy and sweaty. It would be heavenly to soak in a tub and wash the dust from her hair.
Mrs. Miles had her sons bring in the big washtub and fill it with water she heated over the fire. Mrs. Miles suggested that Victoria give her the dirty clothes she and Slater had on, and she would wash them, as it was her wash day. Victoria realized, embarrassed, that although she had brought another blouse, she had only the one riding skirt. Mrs. Miles would be bound to think that was odd, traveling with so few clothes. But she took it in stride, as she seemed to take everything, and merely lent Victoria a robe to wear until her clothes were dry.
Victoria went upstairs and changed into the robe. Mrs. Miles had already briskly stripped Slater’s clothes off to wash them, for which she was thankful. It would have been highly embarrassing for her to have to disrobe him, even though he was unconscious.
She went downstairs, where Mrs. Miles was waiting for her. The woman took her clothes and went out the back door, leaving Victoria to her bath. Victoria pulled the door to the living area shut. She wished she could lock it, but there was no lock on it, so she had to content herself with securing the outside door. Surely Mrs. Miles had ordered her sons to stay out of the kitchen while Victoria was taking a bath, so no one would be walking in on her. Still, it made her a trifle uneasy to disrobe and bathe in a strange house.
Telling herself not to be foolish, Victoria took off the robe and hopped into the tub. It was much smaller than the elegant slipper tub she was used to at home, but the water was hot, and it felt wonderful. She leaned back against the side, letting the warmth soak into her. After all that had happened the past couple of days, it was marvelous simply to relax.
Suddenly, her eyes snapped open, and she sat up straight, looking around. She had the eeriest feeling of being watched. It was obvious that there was no one there, but she still had the feeling so strongly that she half expected to see a leering face peeking through the doorway. She waited stiffly, her arms crossed instinctively over her chest. Nothing happened. No one came in.
Victoria shook her head. She usually wasn’t this skittish. It must be her fear for Amy, so great that it was overflowing into every corner of her life. She couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling, and she finished bathing and washed her hair in record time. She found that she was reluctant to stand up and dry off, as though she would be exposing herself completely to someone, and she had to force herself to do it. She dressed in the robe Mrs. Miles had given her and rushed back upstairs.
Mrs. Miles had also lent her a skirt, which, of course, was far too big for her, but she wrapped a belt around the waist and managed to keep it up. When she was dressed, she sat down in the chair beside Slater’s bed and combed out her wet hair. She toweled and brushed it over and over, moving her chair a little so that she was in line with the window, where the sun and the slight breeze would help the drying process.
“Beautiful.”
Victoria’s head jerked up, and she whirled toward the soft whisper. Slater’s eyes were open, and he was watching her brush her hair. For the first time in a long time, he looked at her clearly, his gaze untainted by fever.
“Slater!” A blazing smile burst across her face. “You’re awake.”
“And what a sight to wake up to.” She could barely hear him, his voice was so low.
The words pleased her out of all proportion, and Victoria sternly reminded herself that there was nothing she liked about the man. It shouldn’t matter a whit to her if he thought she was beautiful. That probably wasn’t even what he had said.
She went to the bed and bent over him. “How do you feel?”
“Like somebody poleaxed me.” Victoria’s long hair brushed the pillow and bed beside him. He took a strand gently between his fingers.
“Do you hurt anywhere?”
He shook his head. “Just my arm. And my head, a little. But I’m weak as a kitten. Where are we? I thought—” He looked puzzled and irritated, and his fingers released her hair. “Aren’t we chasing Brody’s gang?”
“We were until you came down with a fever.”
Slater closed his eyes and rubbed a hand across his face in a weary gesture. “Yeah. I remember you helping me onto my horse, and we started riding. How’d we get here?”
Victoria told him briefly about Dennis Miles and how he had taken them back to his house. Slater was too exhausted to hear a long story. Already his eyelids were starting to drift closed. “Mrs. Miles put some soup on to heat for you. I’ll get you a bowl. You need to eat before you go back to sleep.”
“Then you’d better hurry.”
Victoria smiled. Hearing him try to joke, weak as he was, made her feel funny inside, as if she could laugh and cry all at once. She left the room and trotted down the stairs. She knew her face was stamped with an idiotic grin, and her feet felt so light she thought she might float. Slater was going to be all right! He was awake and talking, and all he needed was time and care to regain his strength.
There was no one in the kitchen when she entered it, so she went to the cupboard and found a bowl. She pulled the pot out of the fire and dipped about half a bowlful of soup from it, searching for several chunks of meat. Then she hurried back up the stairs to feed Slater.
His eyes were closed when she entered, but they fluttered open at the sound of the door. He smiled faintly. “Can’t seem to keep from drifting off,” he said, his words slurred with exhaustion.
“I think you have reason enough. But you do need to wake up and eat.”
Slater nodded and tried to sit up. Victoria set the bowl down on the dresser and went to help him, putting her hands behind his back and lifting. When her hands touched his skin, Slater stiffened, and suddenly Victoria was very aware of his naked chest and arms, and of the feel of his skin beneath her fingers. While he was feverish, she had become somewhat used to putting her hands on his bare skin, but now that he was conscious, it was different. Now he felt her touch. The thought made her uncomfortably warm and sent strange prickles all through her. Victoria stuffed the pillows behind him and stepped back quickly
“I—I’m sorry. Mrs. Miles took your clothes to wash.”
“It’s all right. I can eat without a shirt.” Slater studied her face, becomingly tinged with color at the moment. The lack of a shirt didn’t bother him, though he had felt it all through him when she’d laid her hands on his back. What bothered him were the vague memories floating in his head, memories o
f being horribly hot, on fire, and of a woman’s hands, cool and wet, moving deliciously over him. Had that been Victoria Stafford washing him? Her hands had been so soft and gentle, lingering on his burning flesh, that it seemed impossible it could have been Victoria. It seemed more likely that she would have been cussing him out for failing her, rather than taking care of him. Even now, weak as he was, desire began to swell in him, as he thought about those hands.
He pushed himself up higher on the pillows, using his elbows, and tried to dismiss the thought from his mind. Victoria picked up the bowl of soup from the dresser and sat down next to him on the bed. She dipped the spoon into the soup and held it to his lips, letting him sip from it. Slater started to protest that he could feed himself, but he stopped. Frankly, it was an effort even to hold up his head. Besides, it had been a long time since he’d been cosseted by a woman, and he found it a pleasant change—particularly when it was this woman. It was the last thing he would have expected from her.
The soup was good, and, as he ate, he realized how hungry he was. But soon he grew tired, and he turned his head away, sliding down on the pillows. His eyelids drifted closed of their own volition. Slater felt stupid for being so tired, yet he had no control over it. There was nothing he hated as much as being weak. Thank God that, if he’d had to depend on someone, it had been a woman like Victoria Stafford. That thought surprised him so much that it almost brought him back to consciousness, but he was too exhausted to think, and he let it go, sliding down into the darkness of sleep.
Victoria took the bowl downstairs and returned to Slater’s room to sit with him. He slept on and off for the rest of the day, and Victoria kept watch in the chair beside his bed. She wished she had some sewing to keep her hands busy, or a book to occupy her mind. As it was, all she could do was worry.
With Slater apparently on his way to recovery, all the fear for Amy that she had pushed to the back of her mind returned in full force. She’d been with those men for over two whole days now. Victoria couldn’t bear to think of what had happened to her. She pictured Amy, bleeding and broken, abandoned when they were through with her. Perhaps she was already dead.