Fires of Paradise

by Brenda Joyce

  This was very bad news.

  Shoz sent another telegram, this one to Havana, Cuba. He would not receive a reply until that night or the next morning. He refused to worry. The deal was firm, but obviously something had arisen and the sale would have to be postponed. He hoped, fervently, that his buyer hadn't wound up in one of Cuba's dark Spanish dungeons. This was a distinct possibility, and then the deal would be delayed indefinitely or even canceled until someone else could be found to take his place. Hopefully his buyer was not in prison and he would arrive in Houston soon, so the sale could take place as scheduled, in a few days.

  It wasn't that he minded sitting on the stolen guns. He did not feel like killing time in Paradise. His instincts warned him to evade its strange allure. This was not his kind of place. Nor did he relish riding back to Death Valley and then returning again.

  At the hotel he sat down to a late lunch in the refined dining room amidst white linen, crystal goblets, and ribbed columns supporting high ceilings. The restaurant was considered the finest in town. He'd just dug into his plate of roast beef when they walked in. When she walked in. He put his fork down without taking a bite. They hadn't seen him. Despite the hour, the restaurant was crowded with business lunches and groups of women while he sat unobtrusively in a corner with a view of everyone. He stared, his senses spinning.

  He had misjudged the princess. She was a princess, a spectacularly beautiful princess, and he could not take his eyes off her.

  He didn't notice what she wore, nor did he care, some bronze-striped dress with a matching parisol. What he saw was her face, her perfect oval face with its sheer ivory complexion, dominated by her too full mouth and her too blue eyes. She was a heart-stopper, all right, and he wanted her.

  She had sat down with an old, elegant woman and Joanna, laughing and chatting nonstop, enthralling her audience, regaling them. He smiled. Maybe it would be amusing to spend a few extra days in Paradise. After all, they'd never finished their business, had they?

  He recalled what she'd said. That he'd have to rape her if he wanted her, and that she'd set her Bragg family and the law on him. He didn't doubt that she would, not for a minute, not if she was angry with him. And she was angry, because he wouldn't play the role she'd assigned him and every other male she laid her eyes on. She was spoiled and self-absorbed and used to getting her own way one hundred percent of the time.

  The last thing he needed was the law—or her powerful family—breathing down his neck.

  But he liked a challenge; some even said he liked danger. He knew he could seduce her, make her want it, take her willingly. He could play the role she wanted him to play— temporarily. There would be a risk, of course, the risk that when he left her, she'd cry rape anyway and he'd be hunted down. The question was if the risk was worth it. If she was worth it.

  He didn't have to think about it for very long. All his senses were alive, keenly tuned like those of a hunter. He watched her. She was his prey now. He enjoyed the feeling, and it was very sexual. After a moment she stopped talking, looked around with confusion, and saw him. She froze.

  Shoz smiled and lifted his wineglass. She gritted and put her nose high in the air before turning her head aside. He sipped.

  He left before they did, deliberately walking past their table. His gaze remained on her as he stalked her, and he savored every second. Her shoulders were stiff. He knew she knew he was approaching. He could sense her fear— and her anticipation. He paused when he was abreast of her and she could see him. "Hello," he said, very politely.

  Lucy gave him a bare, rude glance. "Hello."

  Joanna smiled shyly. "Hello."

  The elegant old woman stared. "And who are you, sir?"

  He smiled at her. She didn't soften, but he persisted. "I escorted these two young ladies to town." Miranda's stare hardened.

  Lucy reached out to touch her hand. "He's the one with the mules, Grandma. The one I told you and Grandpa about."

  "Yes, I see. Thank you, Mr. ... ?" "Shoz Cooper," he said, using the alias he had assumed seven years ago when he had escaped prison. "Thank you, Mr. Cooper."

  He eyed Lucy. He wondered what she had told her grandparents. Nowhere near the truth, he suspected. Otherwise this proper little woman would not be sitting here saying thank you—not if she knew the two girls had been unchaperoned with him for two nights.

  Lucy twisted to face him. "I see you haven't left town?" she said, all sugared vinegar.

  "I'm enjoying the weather," he said. He saluted them and strolled on.

  At the front desk he asked for any messages. A reply to the telegram he'd sent to Havana hadn't come yet. "It's urgent," he told the clerk, giving him a dollar. "Please have me notified the moment it arrives."

  "It's urgent that you leave," Lucy hissed from behind him when the clerk had disappeared into the office.

  Shoz leaned an elbow against the counter, amused. She was red. "Hello, princess," he drawled, low and suggestive.

  "Don't call me that!"

  "Whyever not?" His gaze roamed over her. "You are a princess—no, a goddess."

  She was oblivious to his flattery. "I want you out of

  here!"

  "Oh, you do?"

  "Why are you here?"

  "I don't think that's your business."

  "When are you leaving?"

  "That's none of your business either."

  "You bastard!" She gave a worried glance over her shoulder toward the dining room. "Are you going to make trouble for me?"

  "Only if you ask for it." He smiled at his double entendre.

  "I'm warning you!" She raised a white-gloved fist at him.

  He grabbed it. She went rigid. His hold was firm, unyielding, but not at all painful. He pressed her small hand against his chest and he stared at her.

  She stared back, and for one moment, his heart pulsed against her palm.

  "Let's make peace, Lucy," he said, low.

  She yanked her hand from his with an inarticulate cry, gave him a look of utter disbelief, and fled.

  "Lucy, are you all right, dear?" Miranda asked.

  They were sitting in the smaller of the house's two living rooms, the cozy one with the walls papered in a multicolored tree-of-life design, the furniture plush and deeply upholstered in gold and forest green, the carpets thick underfoot. They were waiting for Derek before going in to dine.

  Lucy had been very quiet ever since leaving Paradise that afternoon. She attempted a smile and a nod. "Yes, Grandma, just worn out, I guess."

  "I hope you're not sick."

  Lucy didn't answer, she was too immersed in her thoughts. Why was that no-good drifter still in town? What was he up to? The sooner he left, the better for her in all respects! She wanted to forget what had happened, desperately, and if he remained, there was always the chance of someone finding out the truth!

  She must, at all costs, prevent this.

  There were two truths, and two lies. She had told a convincing falsehood to her grandparents—that Shoz had come upon them only during the day that they had arrived in Paradise. She had not let them suspect that they had actually spent two whole days and two whole nights in his company. Only Joanna knew the truth.

  She knew both truths. That not only had they spent two nights with Shoz, Lucy had allowed herself to be somewhat compromised by him.

  Shoz knew both truths, too.

  Lucy trusted her friend absolutely. She trusted him not at all.

  Derek had spent a lot of time shouting at her for her foolishness, and then he had sent some men to rescue her car and any surviving luggage. Lucy felt she had gotten off easily, and was very grateful. If either truth were known, however, she wouldn't get off so easily, she would be tarnished or completely ruined. In either case, Lucy was certain Shoz would wind up with one of Derek's bullets somewhere in his anatomy.

  Not that she cared, really, if he was shot, although it did seem a bit extreme.

  She resolved to take matters into her own hands. The f
ollowing morning, Lucy cajoled Billy into driving her into town for a so-called shopping trip—without Miranda. It wasn't really unusual for Lucy to go to Paradise without her grandmother, and this morning they departed without her knowledge. She wished she could also go without Joanna, but she needed her. Better Joanna be privy to what she was doing than Billy, who would try to accompany her everywhere if she were without her friend.

  They left Billy at the saloon after convincing him he would be bored watching them shop. Lucy's pace was brisk as she headed for the hotel with Joanna in tow. "What is going on, Lucy?'' Joanna demanded. "You're going to meet him, aren't you!"

  Lucy was stunned, but only slowed fractionally. "Joanna, it's not what you are thinking!"

  "You are using me so you can meet with him," Joanna said steadily.

  "It is not a lover's tryst."

  "I don't believe you."

  "Trust me," Lucy said, placing her hand on her friend's arm. "Please, Joanna, I need your trust."

  Joanna finally nodded. Both girls entered the large lobby of the Paradise Hotel. "Where would he be at this hour?" Lucy asked nervously.

  "It's only nine o'clock," Joanna said. "He's probably still in his room." She gave her a sidelong glance. "I can't go up there!"

  Joanna said nothing, while Lucy fretted. She grabbed her friend's arm excitedly. "You distract the clerk. Ask him to . . . ask him for a map. Ask him where Pete's Peak is, if it's nice for a picnic, and how to get there. I'll run upstairs— just for a minute."

  "How do you know which room he's in?"

  Lucy smiled. "He was asking for his mail yesterday— and the clerk looked in box 525. That's the suite Grandpa puts his best guests in on the top floor. Go now, Joanna!"

  Lucy watched Joanna approach the clerk and edged toward the newly installed elevator. Soon they were in a conversation—but the man was facing her. Lucy eyed the ceiling. Was Joanna stupid? She had to get him to turn away—and then he did, going into the back office. Lucy banged the button, the doors opened, she threw a look at the desk where Joanna stood alone, staring at her, and she leapt into the elevator. The doors closed just as the clerk returned—and she didn't think he'd seen her.

  Her heart was jumping madly in her breast.

  The Governor's Suite. It had been called that ever since the governor had first stayed there over thirty years ago. Lucy was surprised Shoz would even have the money to afford such accommodations. Then she thought, uncharitably, that maybe he didn't—maybe he'd skip town without paying his bill. She knocked.

  He opened the door immediately.

  He wore only his snug, faded jeans, the belt and snap open. His chest was bare and damp. His gaze widened.

  Before he could speak or even invite her in, Lucy rushed past him. "Close the door!" she cried. "Before someone sees us!"

  He closed the door, grinning.

  Chapter 9

  Shoz leaned against the door with his thumbs stuck in the loops of his Levis. His teeth were very white in his wide grin.

  Lucy was trembling. She stood only a few feet from him, and the suite, which was large, seemed close and confined. Suddenly the two of them seemed very alone. It was eerily intimate and highly disturbing.

  For a moment she forgot her resolve, forgot why she had come, and wanted to flee.

  Why didn't he put on his shirt?

  It was very difficult to concentrate on the task before her when confronted with his damp, shiny bare chest and hard belly. Her gaze dropped to the white threads of his denim fly and what was so suggestively and barely constrained there. His jeans were indecent. He was indecent.

  Shoz's smile faded and his gaze became strained. He levered himself off the door with a slight curse. "I didn't think it would be so easy," he said. "Come here, princess." His voice was husky, without any antagonism or hostility.

  Lucy was mesmerized by the sound, and by the proximity of his near-naked presence, yet somehow she realized what was happening. He had misunderstood everything! His hands were surprisingly gentle as they curved possessively around her shoulders, then they tightened. "I like how you look at me," he murmured.

  She had been staring at his mouth. She looked into his eyes and saw them smoldering. Her own chest was tight, her own heart racing, and there was that throbbing need she recognized—and did not want. This man did not like her.

  He had said so, he had made it very clear. This man had used her. This man might betray her. He was a bastard.

  "No!" She wrenched violently away.

  For a moment, surprise showed in his eyes, then the corners of his mouth tilted up. He stalked her. "Playing hard to get?" His tone was teasing, but she only heard the words.

  "Hard to get?" She laughed shakily, scooting around the back of the sofa as he lazily followed her. "I've got news for you, Mr. Cooper—I am one woman you are never going to get!"

  "Is that so?" He had backed her up against the bed and he was laughing; Lucy didn't find it funny, not at all. "Then what are you doing here? Couldn't stay away, could you?"

  His arrogance infuriated her, and she dug into her reticule and found the note and slammed it against his bare chest. "I'll show you what I'm doing here!"

  He caught her fist and held it. "What's this?"

  "Money."

  For a second he was still, then he smiled again, this time without any mirth. He tightened his hold and she gasped and dropped the note. "Money matters later," he said. "We have old business to conclude first." He yanked her up against him.

  Her bare hand was pressed between their bodies, and the skin of his chest was like a smooth silk-and-steel wall to her touch. He had her anchored by the small of her spine. One of his hard legs had become jammed between both of hers, so that she rode him, and the hardness of a rapid erection ground against her hip. Lucy tried to press away, but her movement only fit her more snugly against him, only made her ride his thigh higher.

  Her palms, pushing frantically against his chest, tightened into fists. She pummeled him furiously, turning her face away to avoid his kiss. His laughter was soft on her ear, yet it sounded cold and angry, and then she felt his tongue there.

  Hot spirals of pleasure swept through her; she went very still. "Good girl," he crooned. His hand slipped to cup one buttock, his tongue delved lazily.

  Lucy closed her eyes, just for a moment allowing herself to feel the thrill of what he was doing. His mouth moved to her neck with practised expertise.

  "And you," she heard him saying as he rubbed her buttock languidly, "didn't have to pay for it. Usually I give it for free."

  Her eyes opened.

  His breath was hot on her neck. "But in your case, I'll make an exception."

  His hand insinuated itself up between her legs.

  His controlled voice, his methodical passion, the way he was touching her with cold calculation, began to dim the fires he'd raised, enough so that she could think. So that she could think that something wasn't right, something was more than wrong. He palmed her, his fingers fluttering over her. Despite the jolt of sheer pleasure, Lucy wrenched free of him and spun away, putting the sofa between them. She stared at him in confusion, breathlessly.

  He was panting. A slight sheen of sweat covered his torso, and the sunlight pouring through the open drapes made his skin glisten. He wasn't excited, not at all; he was furious.

  The desire he'd kindled died quickly. Lucy clutched the back of the sofa.

  "You little brat," he snarled. "At least the other rich bitches don't play power games, at least they have a few shreds of decency left."

  "What are you talking about!"

  "But if you want to pay for it, baby, go right ahead. I'll even make it worth your while, how's that?" She gasped.

  "You want to play games? You want me to chase you? You want to be raped?'' He was so mad, he would happily take her by force. Never, ever, had he been so insulted in his life. And he had not a doubt that she'd done it on purpose—to put him in his place.

  "Touch me again," she manag
ed, "and I will scream down this hotel. You are disgusting! You are crazy! In fact, right now there's nothing I would like more than to see you thrown in jail!"

  This silenced Shoz. Dark, horrible images of another prison and another time flashed through his mind.

  Lucy was clinging to the couch. She released her hold. "I did not come here to be pawed," she said stiffly.

  "No? Then what the hell did you come for? And what the hell is this for?" He bent and picked up the check. His hand shook.

  "That is my personal check," Lucy said shakily, gulping air. How could he have thought she was offering to pay him for... for... his body!

  He waited, staring.

  "My banker's draft," she added. He was starting to frighten her.

  He looked at it. "A thousand dollars." His gaze was ice. "I guess I should be flattered." He barely got the words out.

  "I didn't come here for... for... your body! I didn't come here to pay you to... to..."

  "To fuck?"

  "You do that on purpose!" she cried in frustration, the horrible word shocking her anew even though she fought for calm. She took a long breath. "The check is to insure your silence."

  He looked at her. "My silence."

  "That's right." She tried to smile; it was horribly difficult.

  "From gigolo to con artist." He crumbled the bank note.

  "What are you doing!" she cried, panicked.

  "Princess, you're not so smart. Why, a crook like me has no honor. You think I won't cash this in and then speak up?"

  She paled. "You wouldn't! Even you couldn't be so low, like a... like a.. ." "Like a snake?" "Worse!" "Like a breed?" She had no answer.

  He regarded her. Lucy tried to gaze steadily back. She forced a smile. "I know you can use the money. So that's settled. Now you can leave town." He smiled derisively.

  Lucy edged toward the door. "You have the money. So I suppose you'll be on your way?"