by Candace Camp
“No!” Victoria twisted away, but his grip on her arms was strong, and she could not break free. She dodged his questing mouth, panicky now. He was stronger than she was, and no one would come to her rescue in this place. No one would even notice that she was struggling!
She lashed out with her feet, kicking him in the shins, as she struggled to pull her arms from his grasp. He wrestled her closer. But then suddenly he went still. He released her, his arms falling to his side. Victoria turned toward him, astonished by the sudden change in his attitude.
The barrel of a revolver was pressed against the man’s temple. Victoria’s eyes followed the revolver up to the male hand holding it and up the arm to the man’s face, straight into Slater’s pale green eyes.
“Mister,” Slater said quietly, “I think you’re someplace you shouldn’t be. This lady is waiting for me.”
Her attacker’s face went a sickly yellowish color. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to poach.”
“That’s what I thought. Now, if you’ll leave, it’ll all be forgotten.”
“Right.”
Slater stepped back, keeping his gun trained on the other man’s chest as he stood up and edged around Slater. By the time he reached the front door of the saloon, her attacker was almost running.
Victoria sighed with relief, her muscles turning to jelly. “Thank heavens you came along.”
Slater holstered the gun and reached down to grasp her arms. He pulled her up so that his furious face was only inches away as his eyes bored into hers. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Victoria lifted her chin and tried to return his stare with a haughty one of her own. It was a little difficult, given the way she was dressed and what had just happened to her. “What does it look like?” she retorted, embarrassed when her voice had come out not defiant but shaky.
“Like you’ve lost all semblance of reason. That’s what it looks like.” He gave her shoulders a shake. “Damn it, Victoria, what if I hadn’t come along? Do you realize what could have happened?”
“I have a pocket revolver in my bag.”
“Wonderful. Victoria Stafford—arrested for murder in a saloon, dressed like a common prostitute. No doubt that would have made your family proud.”
Victoria flushed, and a saving anger flowed into her, washing away the fear and humiliation of the past few minutes. “Let go of me.”
“Gladly.” Slater released her abruptly, letting her drop back into her chair. He stood towering over her, and Victoria had to bend back her head to see him. She felt at a distinct disadvantage.
“You’re going back to your hotel.”
“No.”
“Yes—even if I have to throw you over my shoulder and carry you.”
Victoria glared at him. She had no doubt that he would, and she was no match for him in a battle of strength. But she had her wits. “And leave the man you’re following? I presume you have managed to follow him.”
“Yes, I’ve managed to follow him,” Slater mimicked her tone. “He’s playing cards about three tables to your right”
“He might not be here when you get back from delivering me to my hotel.”
Slater’s mouth got tighter, if that was possible. “Then be a good girl and go home on your own.”
Victoria smiled sweetly and was rewarded by the flare of anger in Slater’s eyes. “I don’t think so. I suggest that we work together.”
“Impossible.”
“First of all, why don’t you sit down and stop looking so fierce? You’re attracting attention. You wouldn’t want our friend to notice you, now, would you?”
Slater’s teeth clamped together so tightly that the muscles of his jaw jumped, but he pulled out a chair and plopped down in it. “Victoria, this is crazy. If you want me to catch the men who took your cousin, why are you doing everything you can to get in my way?”
“I’m not here to get in your way. I’m here to help.” She heard his low growl of frustration, but plowed ahead anyway. “I can identify him, and also the other two. And, as I told you, I have a gun with me, so I could help you if things got rough.”
“You would not help me. You’d be a hindrance. I’ll have to watch out for you, not just myself.”
“I think I’ve proved myself in that regard,” Victoria said steadily, holding Slater’s gaze until finally his eyes dropped.
“All right. I’ll admit that you’re better with a gun than I had guessed. But that doesn’t mean you should place yourself in unnecessary danger. I don’t need your help.”
“Yes, you do. If nothing else, I’d give you an excuse to be here.”
“What?”
“I mean, here you are, trying to look inconspicuous while you’re waiting for that outlaw to do something. It could take a long time, and in the meantime you’re sitting here with nothing to do. If he were to see you sitting for hours in the same place, just twiddling your thumbs, don’t you think it might make him suspicious? But if you were talking and flirting with a woman of dubious character…”
Slater stared. “You never cease to amaze me. I thought it was the limit when you were determined to ride after Brody’s gang. Then you decide to dress up like a—a lady of the night, so you can spy on an outlaw in a saloon. But this beats everything. You want me to pretend to make love to you in Charlie Coney’s place.”
Victoria colored. “Well, I didn’t say actually—well, you know. But we could dance together, and we could sit here and pretend to drink and talk and…you know…”
“Yeah. I know.” Slater’s eyes went to her lips. She had removed most of the rouge, but the scrubbing had left her lips rosy and faintly bruised looking, as if she had been kissed hard. His gaze slid downward to the exposed expanse of her chest. She appeared to be on the verge of popping out of the cheap blue dress at any moment. It was so tight that her nipples were visible against the satiny material. Her breasts were shoved upward, luscious, quivering white mounds, pressed together and almost spilling out of the neckline. It wouldn’t be any problem to kiss and caress her as if he wanted to persuade her into his bed. The problem would be stopping.
Victoria felt Slater’s gaze all through her. She thought about him holding her, thought about his lips nibbling at her neck, his hand caressing her breast. She was suddenly hot, her mouth dry and her hands sweaty.
Slater sighed. “Sometimes I wonder if you really have a father. I think you must be the Devil’s spawn.”
“Does that mean you agree to my plan?”
“I must be insane, but yes, I’ll agree.” He pointed a forefinger at her warningly. “As long as you agree to get out of sight if things get nasty.”
“Like a good little woman?” Victoria simpered, the gleam in her eyes spoiling her imitation of a vapid girl. “Why, of course. What else would I do?”
Slater didn’t believe her for a moment, but, as usual where she was concerned, there was nothing he could do. He couldn’t force her to leave without calling attention to himself, and that was the last thing he wanted. Even if he did manage to haul her out of here without his quarry getting suspicious, the man might be gone by the time Slater returned.
He decided to accept defeat with as much grace as he could. “Let’s dance.” He grabbed Victoria’s hand and led her out to the dance floor.
A waltz was playing, and Victoria was surprised to find that Slater guided her around the floor as gracefully as if they’d been in a ballroom. It was strange to stand so close to him as they moved to the music, to feel his hand on her waist and his other hand curled around hers, to be in his arms. Except for when she had held him while he shivered with feverish chills, she had never been this close to him. Her arm lay against his; her hand rested on his shoulder. She could feel the warmth of his body, the tightness of his muscles. His strength was intimidating, but the flutter in her stomach wasn’t of fear. A woman wanted a strong man, she thought—both physically and mentally. Slater was the first man she’d met who was strong as
she was.
The thought flustered her. Slater was not a man to whom she could give her heart. It was ridiculous, impossible. He thought of her as a nuisance, an annoyance. To distract herself from her thoughts, Victoria tried to start up a conversation. “You dance well.”
“You sound surprised.”
“A little.”
“Contrary to popular opinion, I was not born on a horse with a pistol in each hand.”
Victoria smiled. “That’s a relief to know. Where were you born?”
“In a bed in a house,” he teased her, and his teeth flashed beneath the thick brush of his mustache. Victoria noticed that he had a wicked smile. She thought that under normal circumstances Slater would be what her friend Daphne termed a heartbreaker.
She dug her fingers into his shoulder, and his grin widened. “Stop. I yield. I grew up on a ranch in South Texas, not far from Corpus Christi. My mother actually managed to drill some etiquette into me—as well as a few dance lessons.”
“Do your parents still live there?”
The amusement left his face. “No. They’re both dead.”
“I’m sorry.”
He shrugged. “My father was killed in the war, and Ma was lonely without him. It’s probably better that she went, too.”
“Do you still have the ranch?”
“Yes. I tried living there after the war, but it didn’t work out. I was too restless.”
“So you just left it?”
He nodded.
“I can’t imagine that,” Victoria said.
“Why not?”
“My father’s land is so much a part of my life. It will be mine—mine and Amy’s--after he dies, and someday it will be my children’s. It’s like a trust, something that’s given to you for a few years to love and take care of. I’d never want to move away from it.”
“It’s easier for some of us. The war changed me. I couldn’t settle down.” He paused, then said, “I was with Hood’s Texans. Half my company was killed before the war was over. Some were boys I’d known all my life. Four of us joined up together. I was the only one who came out of it whole. You know, I’ve probably killed three times the number of men Sam Brody has.”
He stopped abruptly and led her from the floor. Victoria went with him without protest, her heart pierced by sympathy. Slater seated her at a table, then walked over to the bar to buy a beer. Victoria glanced at the table where their quarry sat. He was engrossed in a card game. The pile of money in front of him was smaller than the other men’s, and she had the impression he was losing.
Slater sat down beside her and took a quaff of his beer. “Sorry to wax so melancholy.”
“It’s a sad thing. My father was in the war, but he never talks about it.”
“It’s not something you like to talk about. I was young and stupid. Sure wouldn’t do it now.” He was silent for a moment, then forced a smile. “Come on, don’t pull such a long face. We don’t look much like a couple sparking.”
Victoria smiled back. “Is that what you call it?”
“In this context, no. But what I would call it is something I can’t say in front of you.”
“I thought you were convinced I wasn’t a lady.”
“No. I’m convinced that you’re insane. But no doubt genteelly so.”
She giggled. Slater pulled his chair up against hers. He looped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her nearer and lowering his head until it almost touched hers. “Is this sufficiently lover-like?”
“Yes, I think so.” Victoria’s voice was stifled. She was inordinately aware of his nearness. She could smell the scent of his shaving soap and see the texture of his weather-roughened skin. He was so close that she could also see that his eyes were pure green, without a fleck of gold in them, and his golden brown lashes were thick, giving his eyes a heavy, slumberous look. His breath skimmed her face, and it sent shivers through her.
Sitting this way, Slater had little choice but to look straight down her dress at the swelling globes of her breasts. That dress ought to be illegal, he decided, at least on Victoria. She was more temptation that most men could bear. Slater wasn’t at all sure how much he could stand.
His hand itched to slip down and cup her breast in his palm. He thought about sliding his hand down the slick material of the dress, running it over her breasts and stomach and legs. He wondered what she wore beneath the dress—probably the demure white cotton of a lady. The thought was almost unbearably enticing. Lord, he was growing hard just sitting this close to her.
“He’s leaving the table,” Victoria whispered.
“What?” It took a moment for it to register on Slater that she was talking about the man from Brody’s gang. “Oh. Where’s he going?”
“He’s coming this way.” Victoria turned her face to his, leaning in. Her lips were only inches away. “Shouldn’t we look convincing?”
“Yeah.” He laid his hand against her cheek. His thumb brushed her velvety skin. “I’m going to kiss you. Don’t draw back.”
“I won’t.” Victoria’s heart was hammering in her chest. She wouldn’t have dreamed of drawing back from his kiss.
He lowered his head the short distance that separated them, and his lips touched hers. At first he just held his mouth against her lips, pretending to kiss her. Then he made an unintelligible noise, and his mouth moved against hers, soft and questioning, gently initiating her into pleasure. For a moment Victoria simply sat stiffly. It was strange and disquieting to be kissing a man in the middle of a crowd of people. But as Slater’s lips continued to work on hers, arousing a host of tingling sensations she had never before experienced, Victoria’s hands crept up to encircle his neck.
Slater raised his head, releasing her mouth. “Where is he?”
“Who? What? Oh.” Reluctantly Victoria turned her head. “There at the bar. He’s looking around and drinking a glass of beer.” She moistened her lips. “Are we going to continue—I mean, pretend to—”
He answered her by kissing her again. His tongue traced her lips, startling her. She froze for a moment, but then, as he continued to trace the line between her lips with his tongue, she relaxed. Her lips parted, and his tongue probed inside. No man had tried to kiss her this way, and she was shocked. She was also pulsing with excitement. His tongue filled her mouth; it teased and stroked and explored. Great shivers of desire ran down through Victoria and burst in her abdomen. She pressed up into Slater, tightening her hold around his neck and pressing her lips against his. When at last his mouth left hers, she made a soft noise of protest at the loss.
Slater stared down at her, trying to collect his scattered thoughts. His chest rose and fell in deep, uneven breaths. Damn, but she was beautiful! Victoria’s head was tilted back, her eyes closed. Her lips were a deep rose color, moist and softly swollen from his kisses. There as an expression of bemused pleasure, almost wonder, on her lawless features. She was the picture of a woman lost in the throes of sensual pleasure. His gut tightened. He wanted her far more than was safe.
Victoria’s eyes fluttered open, and she gazed at him in puzzlement and regret. “Slater?”
It was time to stop playing with fire, he knew. He should draw back. Instead, he pulled her over onto his lap. His arm went behind her back to support her, and Victoria leaned against his chest.
“It’ll be easier for me to keep an eye on him this way,” Slater explained, but his hand stroked her cheek and his eyes gleamed down at her in a way that had little to do with practicality.
Victoria had seen desire in men’s eyes before, but it had never been this raw or this fierce. And it had never ignited an answering fire inside her as Slater’s desire now did. She raised her hand to his face. Lightly, her fingers traced the line of his cheekbone. He was so handsome. His skin was rough against her fingertips; touching it made her tingle. Victoria remembered the way it had felt when he kissed her. Her lips parted slightly; it was growing more difficult to breathe. Her fin
ger slid down to his chiseled lips, following the curve of each one. She could feel Slater’s chest rising and falling rapidly against her side, and she knew that he was not unaffected by her touch. Her finger brushed back across his lips. She wanted to taste them again.
Slater’s eyes were piercing, the bright green of sun-washed leaves. They held her as his face moved slowly, steadily downward, until finally she closed her eyes and sighed with satisfaction as his mouth fastened on hers. His kiss was long and slow and hard. His tongue played in her mouth. When Victoria’s tongue came forth to meet it, a shudder ran through him, and his arm squeezed her more tightly to him. She could hear his labored breath, and the sound sent tendrils of heat through her body. Slater’s mouth widened on hers, and he kissed her as though he would consume her. His hand plunged into her hair, destroying the artful curls that Gemma had put there. He stroked the silken strands and bunched them in his hand, wanting to caress and grab, all at the same time.
He left her mouth, trailing kisses like fire across her cheek and up to her ear. He nibbled at its lobe and his tongue traced its delicate whorls. Victoria moaned softly, and her hands moved restlessly over the front of his shirt. Slater bent her back over his arm, and Victoria let her head fall back exposing the long white column of her throat. His mouth moved voraciously down it.
Neither of them remembered the man at the bar. In fact, neither was aware of the roomful of people around them. They could have been on the steps of the Capitol at noon for all they knew, so wrapped up were they in a haze of hot, driving pleasure.
Slater’s hand slipped down Victoria’s neck and shoulders and curved around her breast. Her nipple thrust out against the soft, slick material of her dress, and his thumb circled it. His mouth moved lower until it reached the quivering tops of her breasts. He yearned to hold them in his hands, to kiss them, to pull the nipples into his mouth and make them harden and lengthen.
Victoria bent over Slater’s head, her hands clenching in his hair. She had never felt anything like his lips on her flesh. She was dazed by the bombardment of her senses. Her skin was on fire, and wild sparks shot out from wherever he kissed her. The heat he created collected low in her abdomen, growing steadily, and the soft feminine place between her legs was suddenly moist and aching. It didn’t seem proper to have that dampness there. But then, there was nothing proper about anything that she was doing right now. And she was enjoying it thoroughly.