Desert Storm

by Nan Ryan

  Angie rose and rubbed herself dry with a thirsty yellow towel. Her body clean and relaxed, she neatly hung the towel upon the rack beside a gilt-framed mirror and winced at the sight of her nakedness. Face flushing, she guiltily stared at herself. Somehow surprised to see such full, jutting breasts, a waist so small, legs so long and shapely, she pivoted and hurried into the connecting room. Gratefully crawling atop the soft yellow bed, Angie slipped between the silky sheets. A cloud of yellow organza swirling around her, she stretched and wondered again if she were deep in a dream. Her emerald eyes began to close, her slender limbs sank wonderfully into the soft mattress, and very soon she was in a dream.

  The dream occurred as it so often did. A dark handsome man lay beside her on the yellow bed. His warm caressing eyes looked deeply into hers while a knowing hand slowly pulled the yellow silk down over her breasts, her stomach, her thighs. She held her breath and closed her eyes, waiting for the first touch of lean fingers upon her sensitive flesh. What she so desired came at last as his fingers spread upon her quivering belly and she sighed and opened her eyes to look up at him.

  Angie gasped her outrage. Her emerald eyes flew wide open and she bolted upright in the bed, clutching the yellow sheets to her heaving bosom.

  “No!” she said aloud to the dim, empty room. “No,” she breathed again and slowly sank back down. Wide awake, she tucked the sheet between her chin and shoulders and rolled onto her side, pulling her knees up. Waves of uneasiness swept over her. She lay huddled beneath the covers, her teeth chattering in the warmth of the bed. She was still very tired, but she dared not close her eyes again. Sleep would be disastrous. Angie gritted her chattering teeth. The dream that was usually so enjoyable had turned into a frightening nightmare. The pleasure had departed and fear had taken its place. The dark handsome man of her erotic dreams had taken on a clarity that was all too vivid. The swarthy, sensual face of the man in her dreams was unmistakably the presumptuous, provocative Pecos McClain!

  SOFT FLICKERING LIGHT from dozens of white tallow candles in silver holders bathed the dining room with a warm, honeyed glow. Crystal glassware and white china sparkled on the lace cloth and white roses floating in water-filled silver bowls graced the long table. Angie sat very erect in her chair, her back stiff, her throat tight. Her scarlet dress was too small and had a daringly low bodice that barely concealed her full pale breasts, unhampered by camisole or other restraint. Angie felt exposed and knew that she must be constantly careful lest she disgrace herself.

  The dress was forgotten as she became preoccupied with the worry of how to handle the silverware. Looking down at her plate, hands twisting nervously in her lap, she heard Barrett McClain say commandingly from his place at the head of the table, “Shall we bow our heads and give thanks.”

  Angie sat alone at the side of the table, to Barrett’s left. Across from her, Miss Emily, dark hair atop her head, eyes warm and friendly, slowly bowed her head. On Emily’s right, Pecos McClain, his buff-colored shirt open disgracefully low down his dark chest, toyed with a silver salt-shaker.

  Angie bowed her head low.

  “Thank you, Father, for this nourishment we are about to receive. Thy bounty is ever generous and we thy servants are grateful and unworthy.” Barrett McClain’s loud voice lifted in prayer, while Angie, eyes closed, tried desperately not to think about the way blue-black hair curled from the opening of the shirt on the dark, broad chest of the man across from her. “And, Father, we thank you, too, for delivering this fair, good child of God safely to …” The prayer continued, and continued.

  Slowly Angie’s eyes opened, though her head remained stiffly bowed. Across the candlelit eggshell lace, a dark lean hand still played with the silver saltshaker. Fascinated, Angie watched the fingers, long and brown, slide slowly from the shaker’s smooth rounded top to its weighted broader bottom and back up, repeating the action in deliberately unhurried strokes. Pecos’s hands were smooth, dark and well-tended. Angie felt heat rising to her face when the guilty thought ran through her mind that those male hands would probably feel good upon her. Hating herself for her weakness, she longed to raise her head and look at Pecos while his dark head was bowed and his eyes were closed.

  Angie stole a quick glance at the white-haired, praying Barrett McClain and at Miss Emily. Both sets of eyes were tightly shut, both heads bowed. Angie was certain Pecos’s were also. Tentatively she lifted her head and bit back a gasp. His dark head was held disrespectfully erect and his gray eyes locked on hers. Brashly he winked at her and smiled invitingly, his white even teeth flashing starkly in his dark face. Beneath the table, a leather-shod foot toyed with hers, and she knew by the gleam in his eyes it belonged to him. Silently berating herself for not having her feet together, Angie felt that large foot slide between hers. Smooth leather touched her bare ankle and started slowly, brazenly inching up her leg.

  Jerking her eyes from his and shutting them so tightly they hurt, Angie again bowed her head. Barrett’s long-winded prayer continued, repetitiously thanking the Lord for all that he had. Angie said a prayer of her own. She prayed she’d never be caught alone with the wicked, irreverent man whose foot was tickling her leg.

  “Amen,” Barrett McClain finally said, and Pecos had the audacity to echo his own “amen.” Angie shot him a quick wilting look.

  Pecos laughed, undeterred, and slid his foot back where it belonged. “My Lord, I thought all us good children of God were in danger of starving, that prayer was so long,” he said, looking pointedly at Angie. “How about it, Angel? Feel like you’d eat just about anything that didn’t eat you first?” His laughing eyes dropped from her mouth down to the rise of her full bosom.

  At a loss as to how to handle the tormenting man, she swallowed convulsively and bit back the urge to shout insults at him. Feeling dangerously close to frustrated tears, Angie was relieved when Pecos’s father spoke to him in punishing tones.

  “Pecos, either keep a civil tongue in your head at this table or have your meal alone in your room. And either call Angie by that name, or call her Miss Webster. Your insistence on calling her Angel is much too familiar. I want it to cease at once.”

  Pecos didn’t bother to turn to look at his father. The smile never left his face. “Angel, you don’t mind, do you? After all, it won’t be for very long. Soon I’ll be calling you Mommy.”

  “Pecos,” Miss Emily scolded quietly, nervously eyeing Barrett McClain. “Dear, don’t …”

  The appearance of Delores carrying a large platter of rare roast beef eased the tension of the moment. Never one to argue before the servants, Barrett remained quiet, though seething, while Pecos continued to smile at the young blond beauty, wondering how long it would take her to lose her composure and to give herself away.

  “Would you like a glass of milk, my dear?” Barrett’s attention was also on Angie.

  “That would be nice,” she said, nodding appreciatively. Delores filled the glasses with cold frothy milk from a silver pitcher. She paused next to Pecos, her dark eyes sparkling at the handsome young man she had loved since his first breath.

  A brown hand shot out to cover the top of his empty glass and his other arm went around the thick middle of the Mexican servant. Squeezing her playfully, Pecos drawled, “No, mi amora, no leche.” Delores giggled when he pulled her up against him and held her there while he swung his gaze to his simmering father. Mocking the devoutness ever present around him, he said meaningfully, “When I was a child, I behaved as a child, but when I became a man …” He turned to face Delores. “Honey, I’m a man and I want wine with my dinner, not milk, comprende?”

  “Ah, sí, Pecos, sí” She plucked his long fingers from her thick waist and hurried to the butler’s sideboard, returning with a full decanter of Madeira. She poured a generous portion into Pecos’s crystal water glass and started to move away with the decanter. Pecos stopped her.

  “Leave it, Delores. I may want more, and Angel loves wine, don’t you, honey?” He raised the decanter in her
direction, his heavy black eyebrows lifting.

  “No … I don’t know,” Angie stammered miserably.

  No sooner had Delores’s broad, brightly dressed frame disappeared back into the kitchen than Barrett McClain’s irritation exploded, “I’ll not tell you again, Pecos! We’re going to have a peaceful dinner here, with or without you. The child doesn’t drink wine, nor will she ever. Now may we please begin our meal!”

  Servants appeared, to pass around bowls and platters of rich food. Angie, determined to forget the disturbing man whose rude behavior so shocked her, took a portion of everything offered to her and soon had a large plate so heaped with fine food she was embarrassed by her gluttony. No one seemed to notice. No one but Pecos.

  “Shall I hasten out to the pasture and slaughter another steer, Angel?” he teased, turning up his wineglass to peer at her from hooded eyes.

  “That does it, young man!” Barrett McClain slammed a fist down on the table, making Angie jump. “I will not have our guest insulted by your sharp glib tongue. Go to your quarters to eat.”

  Angie, her mouth filled with food, felt herself choking. Eyes watering, she looked fearfully from father to son, trying desperately to swallow a lump of food that hung in her tight throat.

  Pecos gracefully eased up from his chair and smiled down at her. “Angel, better take a big drink of water; we’d hate to lose you on your first evening in our midst.” His fingers closed around the neck of the wine decanter. Bending, he kissed the top of his aunt’s head and announced to one and all, “I’m not very hungry; perhaps Angel will eat my portion.” Scooping up her unused wineglass between two long fingers, Pecos strode leisurely from the dining room. The worrisome hunk of food finally slid down Angie’s throat and she breathed easier.

  Barrett McClain shook his white head and smiled at her. His eyes kind, his expression gentle, he said softly, “Don’t mind Pecos, Angie, dear. He enjoys making everyone uncomfortable, but you’ll not have to endure his company very often. Soon enough he’ll grow bored and leave; he always does. Why, if you’re lucky, you may not see him again.” He picked up his fork and began eating.

  IT WAS NEARING THE HOUR of eleven when Barrett McClain, nodding in his high-backed chair, jerked his head up at Miss Emily’s soft words. “It’s getting late, perhaps we’d all better retire.” She rose from the blue wing chair, her eyes falling on Angie.

  “Yes,” Angie quickly agreed, “I am a bit weary.”

  Rising, Barrett put out a hand to the pretty girl. “Of course you are, my dear. Sleep as late as you wish tomorrow. We’re very happy to have you here at Tierra del Sol. I shall look forward to our next meeting. Shall I call a servant to help you prepare for bed?”

  “No, please.” She shook her head. “I can manage.”

  “Then good night, child.” He released her hand, longing to kiss her but not daring to do so. He turned and left the room.

  “Shall I walk you to your room, Angie?” Miss Emily said, patting at her upswept dark hair and smiling.

  “Oh, no, ma’am, I can find the way. Thank you.” Angie smiled back at her.

  “Very well, the corridor is well-lighted so you’ll have no trouble. My room is upstairs, as is Barrett’s, so I will leave you now. Sleep well.”

  They parted at the foot of the curving staircase, Miss Emily daintily lifting her linen skirts to proceed slowly up the carpeted stairs. Angie, pressing a small fist to her mouth to quell a yawn, headed down the wide corridor and turned into the right wing of the house.

  She stopped abruptly as she turned the corner. Someone had failed to put the gaslights on in the gold-trimmed sconces lining the hall. It was eerily dark and Angie felt the hair rise on her neck. Inching her way slowly toward the second door several feet ahead, she felt foolish fear washing over her. She flattened her body against the wall and felt her way along with her hands. Her hand touched something other than the flat wall. Something hard. Something warm. Something alive.

  “Don’t scream, Angel.” Pecos’s deep voice caressed her and she looked up to see his eyes flashing in the darkness. Incredible warmth enveloped her as slowly, gently, he pulled her into his long arms. “Shall we start where we left off?” he murmured softly and swiftly covered her stunned mouth with warm, searching lips.

  Chapter Eight

  THERE IN THE DARKENED CORRIDOR of Tierra del Sol, Angie Webster received her first kiss. It was nothing at all like she’d imagined it would be. Time upon time she’d envisioned some bashful young man asking if he might kiss her; she shyly giving her permission; he then leaning near, his lips touching hers briefly, while his hands remained safely at his sides.

  Pecos McClain was no shy youth and he’d never asked for permission to kiss a woman in his life. Had he asked Angie, she would have said no, and she would never have known the wonder now assaulting her senses. Pecos had caught her by surprise and her lips were open. To Angie’s shock, his were also. Pecos’s mouth was open and she could taste the Madeira he’d drunk at supper. His lips were smooth and warm, and just when she thought she’d surely swoon with pleasure, her big emerald eyes flew wide open.

  Pecos was gripping her waist tightly, slowly easing her down the dark hall toward her bedroom. The pressure of his mouth was increasing, and he placed the tip of his hot tongue at the left corner of her mouth and teasingly moved it across her lips. Angie gasped and opened her mouth a little wider. It was just what Pecos had intended her to do. His persistent tongue penetrated between her teeth and filled her mouth. She whimpered softly and her knees stopped working. It didn’t matter; Pecos had her firmly in his strong hands and she willingly let him support her.

  It seemed no part of her functioned any longer. Except her mouth. The world was centered there. Pecos continued to kiss her, his lips growing hard with passion, his tongue seeking hers. Angie didn’t need to be told it would increase the pleasure for them both if she put her tongue to his. Instinctively she knew. Eagerly she touched her tongue to Pecos’s and they both sighed simultaneously. Pecos’s strong arms tightened around her as he pressed her small soft body closer to the hard length of his.

  Angie’s hands slid upward over the smooth material of his shirt, feeling the warmth of the muscled chest beneath. She sighed and put her arms around his neck; her tingling fingers eagerly entwined in the blue-black hair curling over his collar. Vaguely Angie was aware that her useless feet were sliding over the heavy carpet and that one of Pecos’s hands had left her and was reaching for the bedroom door. But only vaguely, because his gentle, yet urgent mouth was still experimenting with hers, and little else could possibly matter when sensation after sensation was washing over her and she’d never felt half so wonderful before.

  Angie clung to him, suddenly realizing that the heat was no longer only there where their lips were joined. It was spreading to other areas and her entire body seemed to be on fire. The naked flesh above the low bodice of her dress was uncommonly warm. Beneath the dress, her breasts were swelling, the nipples becoming taut. Her stomach fluttered alarmingly, as though she’d contracted some strange illness. Most unsettling of all, a faint, unknown throbbing was beginning low down, causing her to press closer to the rock-hard body of the irresistible man holding her in his long, powerful arms.

  Angie’s eyes fluttered open when Pecos finally lifted his head. They were inside her bedroom, though how they got there she didn’t know. Pecos was pressing her against the bedroom door with his weight; his hand was flipping the heavy door’s lock. “Pecos, why …” Her voice was small and breathless.

  “Baby,” he murmured and kissed her again. His embrace tightened and Angie felt her heels leave the floor, his hands gliding persuasively from beneath her arms down the length of her back, finally coming to rest on her rounded hips. She stood on tiptoe and locked her hands behind his head, breathing deeply of his clean, masculine scent, glorying in the new taste of the wine and tobacco clinging to his mouth, delighting in the novel, heady feel of his long, male body touching hers from mouth to fee
t.

  Never a man to rush even the most jaded of women, Pecos stood in the soft glow of the lamp by Angie’s yellow bed, gently, slowly arousing her with a barrage of ever-changing kisses and caresses. Just when he’d have Angie hungrily twisting her small hot mouth upon his, eagerly darting her tongue between his lips with a passion she’d never dreamed existed, Pecos would gently pull away. While her breath came in excited little spurts and she murmured feverishly, “Pecos, Pecos,” and again sought his mouth with her own, Pecos withheld it from her, teasingly sprinkling warm little kisses over her face, her golden hair, her shell-like ears, her high, molded cheekbones.

  Her breathing would slow and she would sigh softly and close her eyes enjoying the tender touch of his gentle lips upon her face. Then he would aggressively take her mouth again, kissing her senseless, while the room around her spun out of control and Angie met his aggression with her own, hungrily kissing him with all the need that had built up through a lonely lifetime. No one was more love starved than the innocent girl so eagerly learning how to express that hunger. No man could have been a better tutor for her very first lesson in loving.

  In one brief encounter, Pecos had changed the novice, Angie, from a girl who had never been kissed into a yielding, flaming woman, shamelessly pressing her soft, heated body to his while her mouth welcomed every intimate thrust of his tongue. He had no idea such was the case. The knowing response of the sensual young woman in his arms left no doubt in his mind that she was as ready as he. He was tiring of the preliminaries; he was eager to make love to her.