Rafe had taken her in the bed and tub, in the chair, even against the wall. And that very morning…Sparkle blushed just thinking back to what he'd done that morning.
He'd pulled on his jeans and slipped downstairs before dawn. She'd felt him rouse. She'd watched him disappear, returning a short time later with a tray of oysters and a jar of apple butter. She'd remarked that it seemed an obnoxious combination to her. He'd laughed, a throaty low chuckle, and informed her oysters were said to enhance a man's virility.
"With apple butter on them?" she'd grimaced, thanking her lucky stars women weren't forced to eat weird foods to be alluring. Boned corsets and rouge were torture enough.
"Aw now, darlin'," he'd drawled as he caught her left wrist and lashed it to the brass bed frame with his blue bandanna. "You eat what you like and I'll do the same."
"Have you gone crazy? What are you—Raford Conley, let me up!" Shouting, kicking and bucking only proved she couldn't get free. Rafe caught her right wrist and tied it to the bed with his red bandanna, then stood grinning. Sparkle cursed and made unflattering comparisons between him and members of the ape, canine, and equine families. Rafe chuckled, stripped off his jeans and made her watch as he perched on the edge of the mattress and slowly ate every last oyster.
Even before he wiped his mouth with the back of a tanned forearm—even before his eyes lingered on her heaving breasts or his sensual lips parted, she'd guessed…feared?—what he'd inevitably say. "The apple butter ain't for the oysters, anyway. This apple butter goes on you."
She gasped, seeing the jar in his hand. She rued the night she'd met Alice and let herself be talked into rubbing cactus juice on his chest. She apologized for the incident, pleaded for mercy. But he hadn't forgotten and intended she never would. Not after that morning.
The rogue from her thoughts appeared behind her, starling her again. He scowled at the reflection that met his eyes now in the dresser mirror. Sparkle continued primping silently, hoping he wouldn't notice her high color or ask what she'd been mulling over as he came in. Perhaps he knew. She'd had difficulty meeting his gaze all day. She was too vulnerable now.
Rafe was thinking she looked every inch the high-toned strumpet. Slocumb would take one look and go stiff as a fence post. Just as stiff and randy as Rafe himself, even after a whole day in bed with her. He still saw her in his mind's eye, wrists tied to the bed frame, writhing and gasping as he'd traced apple butter over her nipples with his index finger. Saw her thighs clamped around his hips, eyes and puffy lips pleading as he'd run his tongue across her stomach, lapping at the sticky goo.
Jesus. Every man who walked into the Bold Adventuress that night would look at Sparkle and fantasize about doing similar things. Now Rafe questioned the wisdom of teaching her all he had. He'd told himself she had to make a convincing whore. How could she play the part of an exotic fallen angel if she'd barely spread her thighs for a man? Slocumb was a known goatish lout. Rafe had to be certain she wouldn't blush too easily. She had to be appear seasoned as any practiced doxy, nearly impossible to offend. She was Rafe's partner. Her safety depended on how convincingly she could execute her assigned role.
And it wasn't as though Rafe hadn't enjoyed every minute of her training. He had. Too much. Now it hurt. She wasn't the gal he'd met in Wichita any longer. That gal, though furious enough to rip her dress off and throw it at her boss, had paled at the mere suggestion of going upstairs. That little gal had been innocent, pretending to be worldly and tough. The person primping before the mirror now was a woman in every sense of the word…no longer an innocent, worldly in truth.
The sultry looks she flashed Rafe from her card table were enough to make him seize up and fight for breath. The damned velvet evening gown clung to every curve and had Rafe straining against his jeans. The dress and the black stuff painted on her eyes worried him. She didn't need to go that far to play the doxy, and he told her so. His comment had sparked a feminine giggle and a literal slap on the back of his wrist.
Rafe's scowl deepened, darkening with his mood.
There were grown men who'd sooner bunk with a rattler than touch Rafe's right arm. Their throats went dry if he moved that arm an inch during a poker game without visible cause. If Rafe didn't extend his right hand first, nobody who knew his name and reputation ever reached for it. You didn't take liberties with a mercenary's gun hand. Not unless you happened to be his woman and were out to show how far you could push him.
Rafe could swear Sparkle was torturing him on purpose. She didn't really want to help catch Slocumb. She'd been emphatic about not helping with Rafe's business. It wasn't really the money, either. She could have turned whore for Hard Case Frazer if it all came down to cash. Rafe had begun to suspect she liked dressing the part. Liked leading customers on, because it drove Rafe insane. She knew he watched her, knew how jealous he felt. She smiled at the men and lowered her lashes just to drive Rafe loco.
He was halfway deranged already. Had to be. He'd never thirsted like this over anybody, never craved looking at her or talking to her or being with her, screwing her. He stood between Sparkle and the door out of the panel crib. "Let's make sure we're straight on what to do."
"We've gone over this every night," she said in an exasperated tone. "I know what to do."
"You square on what not to do?"
She recited the litany. "I don't let him undress me and find my garter knife. I don't let him get close to the sliding panel or the windows. I've got it."
She reached for the doorknob. He wouldn't step aside. "You don't let Slocumb do more than you absolutely have to until his guns come off. No foolin'. I can get that panel open without makin' a sound. I catch you playin' up to him—"
"Are you suggesting I'd want a murderer pawing me?" she demanded, eyes wide. "Are you drunk, Rafe?"
His lips thinned into a hard line. "Nope, but I'm recollectin' how much you like our romps. How steamed up you get with a man's hands on you." His fingers clamped on her wrist. "Likin' it with him would be a real serious mistake. Maybe even your last."
"You know, you were right," she hissed, jerking free. "you do say horrible things because you're a horrible person. You just threatened me."
"I say horrible things when folks make me think 'em." His eyes narrowed. "I told you I love you, but you ain't said anything like that back to me. I think and say horrible things when I'm played for a sucker. When it seems my woman don't give a crap. Like if it wasn't for a thousand dollars and a train ticket, she'd have left by now."
"I don't like it here. You know that. I never wanted to come to Dodge. If we were in Wichita…"
"You'd tell me you love me if we were standin' in Wichita? What kind of horseshit is that? Either you love me or you don't."
Sparkle pushed a pin deeper into her hair. "We really shouldn't have this conversation right now. Both of us are on edge. I'm nervous every night, and you're jealous for no reason. You know I care about you, Rafe."
"I do, huh? Damned amazin' how you're so sure of that. But hell, I forgot. You're the fortune teller. Why don't you point out the big clue, cause I missed it."
Sarcasm laced his words, and Sparkle faltered, sensing this anger was somehow different from his aggravation on previous nights. "It's not necessarily any one thing."
"You thanked me for savin' you from kidnappers. Was that a sign? Did that mean you love me?" came his harsh demand. "You pant and shout my name…Now, of course, so does every other female under this roof, if she can remember the payin' customer's name. Is that the big clue? Or should I assume you must love me, account of me bein' the one who took your maidenhead? You were savin' yourself all those years, just waitin' for me to come along. Is that right?"
Sparkle closed her eyes. She wouldn't lie, not after all they'd shared. She refused to lie to him, even though he was on a rampage and the truth wouldn't be pleasant for either of them.
"No. I wasn't waiting for you, or anybody else. There's…someone else, a man I've known for years. I was saving mysel
f for him, but he doesn't see me the way you or the men downstairs do."
"What?" The question was a slow hiss.
"I liked you from the first. I like the way you kiss, the feel of your arms around me. The tarot said you were someone special. I hated the hurt and loneliness inside you. We could talk and…trust each other. To a point, anyway. I let things progress beyond talking. Maybe that was wrong, or my reasons were. I'm sorry. You know I don't have much experience. I didn't know any better."
"You're sorry?"
She swallowed and dropped her gaze. "Only because you're not happy. I thought…I was fairly certain you'd realize you're important, that of course I do care, but…" She sighed. "I have to go downstairs."
She slipped past him and out of the room. Once in the gaming parlor, she tried not to let the confrontation destroy her spirits. She needed to appear vivacious. But tears burned behind her eyelids. She forced a smile when a stranger asked for a tarot reading. Her fingers took over shuffling and laying out the cards. Her lips formed the standard words of explanation. But her mind was still upstairs, still trapped in turmoil.
She saw Rafe glaring at her. She heard him fuming, informing her he detested seeing her in saloons. She pictured them together on the wide mattress, her fingers gripping the brass frame, Rafe's hips grinding as he rode her. Saw Rafe's wicked grin and unspoken promise as he'd savored those oysters. Imagined the two of them climaxing as she watched in the overhead mirror. Imagined Rafe that one morning, kneeling to catch that water droplet…
Before, during, afterward, that same lazy, heart-stopping grin. She choked back a sob. How would she ever get him out of her life or her blood, now that she'd let him in?
An hour later the saloon's main floor was still half empty. Tolover advised the weather had turned foul. A stiff wind kicked up, bringing rain their way, which might ruin their chances of luring Slocumb into town. Men out in the open would seek what shelter they could or head for high ground. Sometimes rain filled up the trailheads, other times it left them standing empty.
By the time slashing drops splattered the overhanging balcony, the saloon's poker tables had thinned out. Only a handful of gamblers remained. A few lone drinkers lounged at the long bar. Then a group of rowdies came stomping through the doors, soaked to the skin. Laughing crudely at the wall mural, they shouted for tall rations of Old Touse. Sparkle looked up and missed her shuffle. Cards exploded across her tabletop and onto the floor.
Sam Parker had given her the nod.
She didn't have to wonder which of the newcomers he'd recognized. As she slid off her stool to retrieve the scattered cards, she rose and found the most sadistic-looking stranger of the group directly in front of her. A lecherous grin split his face. His dark eyes glittered.
"This must be the new painted cat who tells fortunes. Fellas, have yourselves a few drinks. I'm gonna get me a nice French kiss." He hummed a ribald drinking tune as he bent forward to run his tongue over the exposed tops of her breasts, up the column of her throat to her lips. Sparkle stood rooted to the spot, too stunned to react.
"Nice powder," he announced. "Guess you don't respond with any feelin' till we get upstairs." He licked his lips and reached into a pocket of his sodden coat. "Heard tell there's high times to be had, if a fella can ante up. How much to see your room, French doll?"
She recovered enough to find her voice. It was surprisingly smooth and clear. Years in saloons had some value, after all. Poise might just save her life. "I was born in Paris, but have been in this country some years now. I do not have so much the accent any longer. Visit with me must be arranged with Monsieur Tolover." She pointed to him behind the bar, relieved to glimpse the implacable set of his features.
Tolover, Rafe, Parker, and Driscoll…you'll be well guarded, never really alone with him. Never in true danger.
"If you like my powder," she remarked with false assurance," there are other places from which to sample it. Places few men have tasted as you will, sir."
"Hot damn! You read tea leaves, the wrinkles on a man's balls, or what?"
"Tarot cards," she replied in a sultry hiss as she held up THE LOVERS.
"Ho, got some other tricks too, I hear. Want some more of your powder, French pastry. Now. Tell the boss I got a pocketful of gold eagles."
Sparkle offered a winning smile and sashayed across the saloon to the bar, where Tolover stood with his burly barman. "Send the men upstairs to fill the tub. I'll wait in the panel crib while you hash out price."
"The tub?" Tolover frowned. "But I just had Denny Rae and Marcus pull it out of there not two hours ago, on Rafe's orders."
"Our guest is wet and muddy," Sparkle whispered, winking. "Never met a man who wore his gunbelt in the bathtub."
"Good point." Tolover ambled over to Slocumb. Sparkle hurried to the kitchen to request the tub and hot water. She passed Driscoll waiting on the employee stairwell, as agreed. She announced their quarry had arrived, then continued up to the panel crib.
She nearly ripped the door off its hinges. "Rafe, he's here! Tolover's sending the tub back up. I'm going to insist on a bath. Slocumb's covered in trail mud, has to be cold and wet, and he'll have to take his guns off."
Rafe never answered. When the bedroom door opened, Sparkle was seated on the edge of the brass bed, loosening her hair and removing her earbobs. Saloon help carried in the copper bathtub and steaming buckets. Her "customer" stood watching beside Tolover. "Boss says you give some fantastic baths. Damn well better, for what I paid."
"She's worth it," Tolover assured him. "Last man she had up here said he'd never had better, and he's visited saloons from here to the Pecos."
Sparkle fought to retain her fragile composure. "You'll be more than pleased," she told Slocumb, drawing him further into the spacious room. "We're to be good friends. I am Sparkle LaFleur. What do your friends call you, monsieur?"
"Ned." The door banged closed and they were alone. Sparkle prayed the erratic pulse in her throat wasn't visible. She gave her chin a haughty tilt and unfastened the purple velvet dress.
"Sparkle, huh?" Slocumb prowled the chamber. She didn't know whether to laugh or cry when he checked everywhere, even under the bed. Rafe's pack was hidden with him in the space behind the panel. Slocumb glanced at the steaming big tub. "Them sweet tits are gonna be real nice, wet and bobbin' under my hands." At last he seemed satisfied they had total privacy. He began shrugging out of his wet coat.
"Oh dear, but your things are so very damp." She was pleased by the petulance in her tone. "They will soil my big bed. Allow me to take them," she purred, stepping out of her gown and petticoats. Clad only in her corset and chemise, she took his coat over to the dark corner.
"This chair is for my visit. Your weapons and boots?" She reached out, palms up expectantly. "I'll fold your things neatly. Ah, but you'll be a changed man when you leave tonight, Ned."
Considering Rafe's mood, you might just be a dead one. Don't make a stand, please. Let us all live through this, Slocumb.
He unbuttoned his shirt, but seemed leery of parting with his gunbelt. "Want a good taste of them titties first. Without all the powder this time. Just sweet French skin."
She thought she heard a muffled curse, but the outlaw didn't react. He stood waiting with a distinct bulge at his fly. Sparkle reached back and untied her corset, then sidled over next to the copper tub. She made a show of removing her stockings, but didn't let him see her slip her garter knife into the stack of fluffy towels.
"There's no reason you can't enjoy my charms while you wash, Friend Ned. We will both enjoy ourselves much more after your hot soak. Please, get in."
Slocumb hesitated. Sparkle bent from the waist, offering her bosom through her filmy chemise over the tub's rolled copper rim. The holster dropped to the floor with his filthy work pants and underdrawers. He stumbled over the pile of dirty garments, sloshing into the bathwater. Sparkle fought her rising fear. In a few more seconds, Rafe could come out.
Slocumb yanked the fabric o
f her chemise down with grubby fingers, splashing water over her breasts with his free hand. "Oh yeah. You look mighty nice," he growled as her nipples hardened. "Want the talcum off. There." He leaned to fasten puckered lips over a dusky crest and Sparkle jumped. She barely noted his guttural response, ignored the discomfort as his teeth raked her hardening nipple. Her mind churned. Rafe's signal. She had to mention oysters.
"I'll ask Monsieur Tolover to bring us some wine and oysters," she announced gaily, in a clear voice. "You will need oysters tonight, yes?"
She tried to rise, but Slocumb had her chemise in his fist. "I've never needed oysters in my life, honey."
Rafe slid the panel open and emerged with his peacemaker trained on the man in the bathtub. "Conley!" the outlaw sneered. "Goddammit, you set me up! French whore in a fuckin' panel crib. Hope you plan on drillin' the slut, too. Then again, why waste a bullet on this tease?" he snarled as his fingers tangled in Sparkle's hair. "I'll drown her, save you the lead."
He jerked her face toward the waterline. She screamed and flailed with her right arm, frantically grasping for the towels.
The hall door banged open. Sam Parker entered, shotgun pointed at Slocumb's head. Rafe's voice was calm and reasonable. "Stop, Slocumb. You're done. Got more men downstairs. By now they've got your gang. Let her go. Paid the slut to play along."
Slocumb froze. Sparkle's heart thumped harder as she realized the outlaw was holding his breath. Inches from his face and chest, she should have felt his breath, seen his nostrils flare. He'd loosened his grip on her tresses, but he wasn't breathing. He ignored Sam, kept his eyes glued on Rafe. She knew what that meant.
She'd been trained by the previous owner of the Scarlet Lady how to deal with dangerous men. Forget where they looked. Some deliberately chose a focal point to throw opponents off. Stay calm, take a deep breath yourself. Use your head and live.
The Trailrider's Fortune Page 14