Return of the Fox

by Pamela Gibson

  She looked into his eyes and saw remorse. It twisted her heart.

  “You did what anyone would do who was rotting in jail and perhaps even facing a noose. If you’re looking for forgiveness, then you have it. I forgive you, Gabriel, but I will not forgive you if you put yourself in danger for my sake. You did not ruin my life. You owe me no debt.”

  His arms came around her, and he drew her close, wrapping her in warmth, squeezing her so tightly it was hard for her breathe. Then he let her go and rose. “I think it’s time for me to show you my gratitude, querida.”

  He led her into the bedroom and closed the door. After removing his valise from the bed, he pulled back the covers and faced her.

  “I promised you pleasure, and pleasure you shall have.”

  Isabella watched his deft movements, arranging the covers at the foot of the bed, lighting a single candle on the washstand, taking out a handkerchief. His methodical attention to detail was mesmerizing, and all the while her body thrummed in anticipation.

  Removing his coat, waistcoat, and boots, he faced her in shirtsleeves and trousers. Her eyes traveled down his body to see if he was aroused.

  “Do you see something you like, querida?” He wrapped her in his arms and pressed her breasts to his chest. “Ah, that does feel better.” The hard ridge of his pants against her stomach told her he was more than ready.

  Was she? If they consummated their marriage, they would have to lie when they petitioned for an annulment. The Americans wouldn’t care, but to her, lying to a priest was a serious matter. Right now she didn’t care. All she wanted was to lie down with this man, to feel his lips on her, to take him inside her body and wash away the past, even if it meant her eternal soul was in jeopardy.

  He reached for her, pulled her roughly to him, and whispered in her ear, “You’re thinking again, my love.” His mouth covered hers in a slow, sensual kiss that robbed her of breath and sent heat all the way to her core. She’d wanted this since the night he invaded her bath, and knowing what was to come made her writhe with need. She opened her mouth to his probing tongue and whimpered as he deepened the kiss. All the while his hands were roaming over her shoulders, working the buttons at the back of her gown.

  Lips as soft as dewdrops drifted along her cheek, back to her ear. “I’ve been thinking, too. I think you have too many buttons on this damn dress.”

  He turned her around and made short work of the buttons. Pushing the dress off her shoulders, she pulled her arms out of the sleeves while he loosened her stays, then removed the corset and unfastened her petticoats, leaving her in her shift.

  Reaching around from behind her, he filled his hands with her breasts, pulling her against him. The ridge of his erection nestled against her bottom while he kneaded. “You’ve filled out quite nicely, querida.”

  She sighed, loving the feel of his hands on her.

  His breath warmed her ear. “I cannot wait to taste you.”

  He turned her and kissed her breast through the gauzy cloth, sucking her nipple until it puckered. The pleasure shot clear to her core, making her gasp. Sucking the other breast, he gently unfastened her shift and pushed the garment down her arms until it slid to the floor.

  He stood back, and she let him look his fill, relished seeing his eyes heavy-lidded with passion.

  “You still have too many clothes on.” His voice was thick and deep. With satisfaction, she stepped out of her pantalettes, standing before him naked, but for her stockings.

  His eyes fell to the curls between her thighs. He reached out and gently touched her there. She longed to press against his hand. She wanted to feel him stroking her the way he had in her bath.

  But she waited.

  They had all night.

  “It’s my turn, Gabriel, to remove your clothes.”

  She swayed toward him, touching his shirtfront. Using both hands, she lifted it over his head and dropped it to the floor. His hands reached out to touch her, but she moved back.

  “No, you must stand still, as I had to.”

  His lazy grin fueled her. She touched the hard ridge of his trousers and was rewarded by his gasp. She released the buttons and peeled the pants down his legs until he kicked them away, followed by his smallclothes. His cock sprang free, and she traced its length with her finger, loving its silky feel.

  “You’re destroying my willpower, querida.” His voice was choked, and she smiled as seductively as she could while she moved closer, nipping his shoulder with her teeth and pressing his cock between her legs.

  With a fierce growl, he locked his arms around her while his mouth devoured hers, his tongue stroking hers in a searing kiss.

  She held him tighter, his buttocks firm beneath her kneading fingers. Fire licked its way through her body, across her skin, consuming her thoughts.

  Breaking free, she scampered up on the huge bed, settling herself in the center, her arms behind her head. His cock still stood at attention, a soldier ready for action, as he climbed into the bed beside her. He lay on his side and stroked her face, her neck, her breasts, and her thighs. “You are so soft, querida. That’s what I remembered about you on cold nights. Your softness.”

  He followed his hands with his lips, licking and sucking, until he reached the curls at the apex of her thighs. Isabella closed her eyes and let sensations take over . . . cool air on her hot skin, gentle fingers and warm breath on her thighs, a gentle throbbing between her legs. Parting her, he licked with one long stroke.

  Fire consumed her, the pleasure making her clench and moan. She spread her legs as his hands settled beneath her derrière, lifting her for better purchase.

  “You’re wet and ready for me, querida.”

  His mouth found her core, and she gasped at the pleasure. He licked and sucked on the little nub while she clutched the iron rungs of the headboard above her head to keep from writhing. Burying his face in her curls, he worked magic with his tongue while his hands held her still.

  “Gabriel . . .”

  “Do you like this, querida?” He angled her so his tongue could simulate the sexual act.

  She nearly came off the bed. “Yes!” It was more a hiss than a word, but thought was lost in pure feeling.

  A gust of heat engulfed her while tiny spirals of fire tightened in her womb until one fierce suck on her nub made them spring loose in wave after wave of sweet release until she cried out.

  Gabriel moved up her body to drink in her cries.

  Her sated body sank into the feather mattress. Gabriel gave her a quick kiss on the shoulder and rolled off the other side of the bed.

  Where is he going?

  He stepped behind the screen, and she heard him moan. A quick rush of his breath told her what he was doing.

  Dismayed, she propped her head on her open palm. Why did he not take his own pleasure when he gave so much to her? Didn’t he know she was ready to release him from his absurd promise?

  He came back to the bed and climbed in, pulling the covers around them. She tucked her head against his shoulder and waited for him to explain.

  “Sleep now, querida. You’ve been tense with worry far too long.”

  “Why, Gabriel?”

  He hesitated long enough that she thought he’d gone to sleep. A slight shift in his chest told her he was still awake.

  “I made you a promise that I would give you pleasure without consummating the marriage. Years ago I made a vow I couldn’t keep, and I swore to myself that I would never break a promise to you again.”

  “How could I hold you to this one, Gabriel? It’s not right.”

  He moved back so he could see her face, his eyes bright, his expression solemn. She wanted to smooth away the tight lines around his mouth. Instead, she listened.

  “There’s nothing I want more than to plant my
seed in your body, over and over again, until we are spent.” He reached up and traced a tear she felt creeping down her cheek. “But I cannot. This is a matter of honor for a man who has been too long without it. Can you understand, querida?”

  She didn’t want to understand. She wanted to be the woman in his life who made him weak with need, who brought him to fulfillment, who gave him children. As soon as she’d discovered he was willing to put himself in danger for her, her independence was no longer the most important thing in her life.

  Gabriel was her priority now. She knew without a doubt that she loved him more than life.

  But she sensed he needed a particular response at this moment.

  She snuggled back into his arm and closed her eyes.

  “I understand.”

  Even though I really don’t.

  Chapter 24

  Gabriel wrapped his arms around the woman he loved and cuddled her while she drifted off to sleep.

  He couldn’t stay here in her bed. He was already getting hard again.

  Isabella’s lush curves pressed against his side reminded him of the intense pleasure he’d felt when he brought her to climax.

  He’d waged a campaign of seduction to get her to this point, but he could take it no further. His own emotions were a tangled skein of lust, guilt, and pride, and if Isabella wanted to remain married, he must be able to provide for her.

  People think I married Isabella for her worldly goods.

  The misconception had served a purpose. Her enemies thought him to be the spoiled, black-sheep son of a rich hidalgo who had to marry money because he had no property of his own. Once the danger was past and the criminals brought to justice, he would ask his father to carve out a piece of his rancho for him, just as he had for Sorina’s mother. Then he would woo Isabella properly.

  This time, they would be married in the church.

  Her breathing was steady and deep. Gabriel inched his arm out from under her, gazed one last time at her beautiful face, and slipped out of bed. Finding his clothes, he dressed quickly and took his valise back to the room he had rented when they’d arrived. Pablo was snoring in the bed, and Gabriel tiptoed quietly around him, changing his clothes into something less ostentatious. Tonight he needed to blend in.

  A wisp of red floated to his feet as he pulled out a shirt. The negligée. Folding it carefully, he placed it inside an unused towel and put it on the small desk in the room. Finding quill and ink, he scribbled a quick note. “This is almost as soft as you are, querida. I thought you might enjoy having me rip it off you some night.” He put the folded note on the parcel and woke Pablo.

  “I’m going out.”

  The man scrambled out of the bed, thin legs sticking out of his nightshirt. “Catalina said you had moved in with your wife, señor.”

  “Go back to sleep, Pablo. But be ready to depart at dawn.”

  “Sí, señor.”

  Gabriel grabbed his hat and gun belt. “And see that you pack that towel on the desk.”

  A bewildered expression pinched Pablo’s features. “A towel, señor?”

  “It’s a gift for my wife. I had no other wrapping.”

  He left through the back door to the kitchens, a route he’d used before so he wouldn’t be noticed leaving.

  The night was young, and activity would just be starting at the rough saloon favored by gringos. Perhaps he would find Logan and his friends there. After all, Lita was singing tonight.

  A poker game was in progress when he arrived, and the stage was empty. He made his way through the crowd to the bar, taking in details of the crowd and the saloon’s layout. He knew the woman in a provocative blue gown who sat on a cowboy’s lap. And he knew the cowboy, too.

  Slade and Lita.

  She’d always favored the wild ones. Gabriel had been one of her favorites for several weeks in Santa Barbara, until she discovered he didn’t have money and moved on. He’d never loved her, but she’d been a welcome distraction. Now, as he had suspected, she was distracting someone else, someone who might be promising her riches. That knowledge might be useful.

  Logan wasn’t there tonight, nor was his banking friend, but a British accent somewhere in the room caught Gabriel’s attention. He waited for the sound again.

  There, on the left side of the room.

  Two men sat with heads close together, a pile of papers in front of an oil lamp with the wick burned low. He didn’t recognize either one, but the voice of the tall one with thinning hair was unmistakable. Too far away to really hear the conversation, Gabriel eyed a table within earshot of the conspirators, but that spot would put him in Slade’s line of sight.

  He moved to the opposite side of the saloon, finding a place at the busy bar. Taking his whiskey to an empty table, he sat with his back against the wall where he could observe from the shadows. The room was a mix of military, cowboys, and a few Mexican vaqueros. No one from the hidalgo class was present, and there were only a few men dressed as gentlemen who might be newly arrived merchants.

  When Lita got up and sashayed toward the bar, she spotted him, paused, and then averted her eyes. The man he was most interested in seemed to be in an argument with his tablemate. He sincerely hoped it had nothing to do with Isabella.

  A commotion at the poker table drew everyone’s attention.

  A chair hit the floor, and all eyes focused on the center of the room where a man, obviously drunk, stood waving a gun in the air. “You damn greaser. You took every cent. You must be cheating.”

  “No, señor. I am merely lucky tonight.” The young man stood and faced his accuser.

  “Give it back.” Chairs scraped, and the others at the table moved back, giving the combatants room to resolve their argument.

  The young Mexican shrugged and reached beneath his serape. A single blast shattered the silence. He grabbed his chest and hit the ground.

  Slade sauntered forward, a gun in his hand. “He was reaching for a knife. You all saw it. I was protecting this gent.”

  The drunk sat down abruptly, clearly fuzzy about what just happened.

  Gabriel reached the young man first, keeping the brim of his hat pulled low. He was dead, shot through the heart. Gabriel glanced back at Slade’s booted feet a few paces away. One of his spurs was missing its rowel.

  Fury threatened to blind him. Not only had Slade ended a life needlessly, he was the one who set fire to Isabella’s storehouse, and who likely shot at her as well. He forced himself to breathe deeply, knowing he could not give himself away.

  Two others came over to lift the corpse, and together they carried it out to the street.

  “I’ll stay with him,” Gabriel told them. “Send someone to get the alcalde and tell him what happened.” Nodding, they headed back into the saloon.

  Gabriel didn’t recognize the young man but pulled the lids down over his open eyes and positioned his arms over his chest. He felt around in the pocket where the man had been reaching and pulled out a pouch of silver coins.

  He was going to give the drunk his money back.

  He’d known Slade was a dangerous man. Now he knew more. The man hated Mexicans and would welcome any excuse to kill them—or anyone else who got in his way.

  He tucked away that piece of information for future use. Baiting Slade should be easy, but he’d have to be ready with his own witnesses—credible ones—before he took him on.

  This young man had put himself at risk the minute he’d walked into this particular saloon. He hadn’t realized how foolish it was to flaunt your heritage in a town where memories of a war were still fresh. In places like this, Gabriel was careful to resemble an American cowboy. But it was his fop persona that would help him catch Isabella’s tormentors.

  One of the men returned with Señor Salazar, and Gabriel left, sobered by the
incident. He and Isabella were leaving town tomorrow, thank God. Mitchell would head out to Rancho Niguel a few hours later. Lance would be at Rancho de Los Lagos before he and Sorina left on their journey, if Gabriel needed him.

  It was time to hatch the plot, but he needed one other person to ensure its success.

  American officers stationed in the pueblo had taken over a large house once owned by a Mexican hidalgo. The man had taken his family to his ranch when the first shots of war were fired. In the California style, the house was a series of single rooms built around a central courtyard, and was located two blocks from the army post.

  The sentry who took Gabriel’s gun directed him to the dining room. Gabriel thanked him, using his best imitation of his late brother-in-law’s British accent.

  Standing in the doorway, he watched the card game in progress. When the hand ended, he sauntered in, hat in hand. “Captain Sutherland? May I have a word with you?”

  The man tilted his head, as if trying to decide who Gabriel was. Then recognition flared in his eyes. “Excuse me, gents. I’ll be right back.”

  Gabriel moved back into the courtyard, next to a lantern hanging from a post nearby, lighting the area where he stood.

  “Vega?”

  “Yes.” Gabriel stuck out his hand, and Sutherland grasped it briefly.

  “What can I do for you?”

  “Is there somewhere we can talk? I have an urgent matter to discuss.”

  “Sure.” He stuck his head back in the doorway. “Jensen, take my hand and don’t lose all my money.”

  They walked down the corridor to the end room. Sutherland entered first, lighting the room’s only lamp. “Have a seat.” He indicated a chair.

  “I don’t know if you heard, but Isabella and I were married this morning.”

  Sutherland’s back stiffened, and he frowned. “Then congratulations are in order.” He sat abruptly on the other chair, staring into space. Had the man truly cared about Isabella? Gabriel hoped so. He needed him.