Wanton Angel

by Linda Lael Miller

  Bonnie had managed to free her hands, but she clasped them together in her lap, afraid of the violence she wanted to do. “I can imagine your horror,” she mocked, sniffling, “when you realized that you’d just taken your pleasure with someone other than me!”

  Eli rose to his full height and then sat down beside Bonnie again on the bed. The sunlight had faded away and the room was dim. There was a long, torturous silence.

  “Did you make her pregnant?” Bonnie whispered, when she couldn’t hold the question inside her any longer.

  Eli grasped Bonnie’s shoulders in a sudden motion and there was true and startling anger in his face. As well as in his rasped “No, damn you, I didn’t make her pregnant, but I ruined her for any other man, at least the way her uncle tells it, and I’ve been supporting her ever since! Are you happy now, or do you want to torment us both by asking to hear every last detail?”

  Somehow Bonnie broke free of his grasp and shot to her feet. She’d already slapped Eli—her hand throbbed with the force of the blow—before she even became conscious of the impulse to make him hurt the way she was hurting.

  He made no attempt to retaliate, to restrain Bonnie, or even to rise off the edge of the bed.

  “Why did you tell me this?” she whispered, her hands clasping each other. “Why, Eli, after all this time, did you tell me?”

  “Someone found out about Consolata and tried to use the information to blackmail me. I didn’t want you to hear the story from anyone else.”

  Bonnie felt sick and covered her mouth with one hand for a moment, before going on. “Who? Who was blackmailing you?”

  The look Eli gave her was at once scornful and wry. “It wasn’t Durrant or Hutcheson,” he ground out, “so don’t worry. Your circle of admirers is unbroken, Bonnie.”

  “I can always ask Seth.”

  He stretched out on the bed then with a weary sigh, his hands cupped behind his head, his golden eyes closed. “If it’s that important to you, Bonnie, you go right ahead and ask him.”

  At that moment Bonnie was fairly convulsed with rage. She flung herself at Eli like a furious animal, all claws and teeth, and all the while she was sobbing because the pain was beyond bearing.

  Eli grappled with Bonnie for several seconds and then subdued her by clasping her wrists in his hands and flinging her onto her back beside him. Still she struggled, kicking as hard as she could, and Eli finally pinned both of her legs beneath one of his own. There were long, angry scratches on his face and tears in his eyes.

  “I’m sorry, Bonnie,” he choked out. “I’m sorry.”

  Eli’s hands were still holding her wrists and she arched her back in an effort to be free of him, curses she didn’t remember learning hissing past her lips. The shock was a jolting one when he kissed her, and the sensation was not all rage.

  She squirmed, now more furious with herself than with Eli, but he subdued her by stretching out upon her, the kiss unbroken.

  His weight was crushing, and yet Bonnie no longer sought to be free of it. Eli had released her wrists and, in a last-ditch effort to save her pride, she tangled her fingers in his hair, fully intending to pull it out in hanks. Instead she took frightening pleasure in the silky texture, pressing Eli deeper into the kiss.

  With a groan that made Bonnie’s embattled tongue and the whole inside of her mouth quiver, Eli ground his hips against hers. Through skirts and petticoats and drawers, Bonnie felt the awesome, heated length of him and her body raged to be appeased.

  Gasping, Eli escaped the kiss, and Bonnie saw bewilderment in his eyes, along with a nearly ungovernable passion. Her hands meshed in his wheat-gold hair, she forced him back to her, meaning to consume him in her anger and her love. She wasn’t thinking, only functioning on the most primal level of her femininity, and there was no pain, for that had been thrust aside by the fury that drove her to take and be taken.

  A violent tensing of muscles as hard as tamarack told Bonnie that Eli was not going to be conquered willingly; he was too used to conquering. He tore his mouth from hers and rolled onto his back, his chest heaving as he fought to breathe. “Bonnie—” he said in a rasping attempt at reason.

  She knelt beside him, slowly unbuttoning his shirt, her hands hungry for the warm feel of his chest. His eyes aglitter with warning, he clasped her wrists in his hands, but she freed them easily and bared him to her touch.

  Bonnie’s palms tingled as they made soft, fevered circles on his flesh, brushing over the mat of golden maple hair glistening there.

  She bent her head to tempt one masculine nipple with the tip of her tongue and Eli tensed, groaning. He tried valiantly to resist the sensations Bonnie was creating with her fingers and her mouth, but at last his formidable will was broken. His hands grasped Bonnie’s hips and he thrust her onto her back in a single fierce motion.

  If she hadn’t been driven beyond good sense already, Bonnie would have been frightened by the look in his eyes. Kneeling astraddle her like a furious Viking, he ripped her dress from neckline to waist, and then he did the same with the camisole beneath. Her breasts swelled proudly, defiantly in his hands.

  “You wanted this, Bonnie,” he ground out. “Remember that when it’s over and you’re back to hating me.”

  Bonnie heard Eli’s words and at some level of her consciousness they registered, but she was consumed by her own aching need for the full and thorough loving of this one man. He moved sinuously into a position of interwoven subservience and mastery, and Bonnie gasped with pleasure as she felt his mouth close over her breast. Instinctively her fingers entangled themselves in his glossy, toasted-gold hair, caressing. He drew at her, now hungrily, now with a tormenting tenderness, until he’d taken his fill at both her nipples, and then he sat back on his haunches. His breathing was deep and uneven and his eyes were closed.

  Bonnie, still caught between his powerful thighs, shinnied upward until she was half reclining and half sitting up. A visible tremor went through Eli’s body as she undid his belt buckle and then the buttons of his trousers. He endured her caresses as long as he could and then lunged off the bed, pulling Bonnie after him.

  Glaring at her all the while, he finished removing his clothes and then proceeded to divest Bonnie of hers. They stood facing each other, like naked warriors about to do battle.

  Eli lifted Bonnie by her waist, setting her firmly upon his manhood. She wrapped her arms around his neck and tilted her head back in glorious submission as he glided slowly inside her.

  The room had long been dark, but there was no lamp burning. Bonnie feigned sleep when Eli left the bed, breathing evenly and keeping her eyes tightly closed. There was moisture along her lashes, but he couldn’t know that.

  Eli dressed quietly; she heard the jingle of his belt buckle, the change in his breathing that meant he was pulling on his boots. When the doorknob turned, Bonnie could no longer keep up the pretense.

  “Eli, wait,” she said, through the wall of pride that was threatening to smother her.

  He was silent, but Bonnie sensed that she wasn’t the only one struggling to hold dangerous emotions in check. She sat up in bed, drawing the covers over her breasts even though the room was pitch dark.

  “Where will you go?”

  Eli sighed raggedly. “San Francisco, I think,” he answered. “There’s a shipyard there that I might buy.”

  Bonnie was ever so glad that he couldn’t see her face in the gloom. She needed to hide her despair and her hurt and her shattered pride. She would always love Eli McKutchen, right or wrong. For all of this, her words were a flippant taunt. “So you’re tired of the smelter works already. I guess the challenge is gone now, isn’t it, Eli? It’s time for a new toy.”

  There was a muffled curse as he left the door and collided with the footboard of the bed, and then a match flared. His face grim in the crimson flicker, Eli lifted the globe of the lamp on the bedside table and lit the wick.

  The springs creaked as he sat down on the side of the bed and ran one hand t
hrough his hair in a typical gesture of frustration. Bonnie used those brief moments to gather her dignity.

  She needn’t have worried that he’d see her reddened eyes, for Eli was studiously looking in the other direction. “That’s what you think the smelter is to me? A toy?”

  Bonnie was breaking apart inside, but she shrugged and her voice was light. “It was broken, you fixed it, and now it’s time to play with a shipyard.”

  The pale amber eyes sliced to her face, menacing and despondent. Bonnie knew then that Eli had told her the truth about Consolata Torrez and about Earline, but it was too late for forgiving. Too late for loving. The damage was probably irreparable.

  “I think it would be better if Rose Marie stayed here with you.”

  Bonnie settled back on her pillows and closed her eyes. Please God, she prayed silently, don’t let me cry again.

  “All right,” she said, for there seemed no point in telling Eli that she’d never have let Rose Marie go without a fight.

  She felt the mattress shift, and Eli’s lips brushed hers. “1 don’t want you to dance at the Brass Eagle,” he breathed against her mouth, “and I don’t want you to be mayor of Northridge.”

  Bonnie’s eyes flew open. “You’re coming back?” she asked, before she could stop herself.

  Eli nodded. “And I’d better not find you up to mischief when I do,” he said.

  Blood flowed into Bonnie’s face. “Here I sat, Eli McKutchen, with my heart breaking right in two, and all you were meaning to do was go on a business trip?”

  “That’s all.”

  “And you’re forbidding me to dance or serve as mayor, out of hand? Just like that?” “I am.”

  “You have your nerve,” Bonnie flared. “After all you’ve done!”

  “Ah, but you forgave me.” He arched one eyebrow. “Didn’t you?”

  “I couldn’t help it,” Bonnie admitted, dropping her eyes for a moment. “I love you, Eli, and that’s a fact.”

  He kissed her, lingeringly, sweetly. “And I love you. But I won’t have you working for Forbes, Bonnie, and I mean that.”

  Her cheeks throbbed. Pride, she found, was a hard thing to swallow. “I’d already made up my mind not to dance again,” she said petulantly. “I didn’t need you to tell me. And what does my being mayor mean, anyway? I’ve called twelve meetings of the town council and nobody came to a one of them.”

  Eli chuckled. “Then you won’t mind resigning.”

  “I’m not about to resign! I’m the mayor of this town until November, and that’s that!”

  Grinning now, Eli shook his head and moved to stand up. Bonnie caught his hand in hers and made him sit down again.

  “Stay,” she said.

  “Why?”

  Bonnie bristled again. “Because there’s no train leaving Northridge before tomorrow afternoon, that’s why!”

  Eli drew the blankets down slowly, baring Bonnie’s breasts to his full view. She shivered but made no attempt to cover herself, and when he raised one hand to caress her, she sighed and closed her eyes. The feeling was lovely.

  He fondled her gently, but Bonnie started when his hand moved beneath the covers to move over her belly in an ever-widening, unbearably tantalizing circle.

  With his free hand, Eli pressed her back onto the pillows. “You said it yourself,” he teased. “We have until tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Oh, but—we’ve already—” Bonnie arched her back as his fingers trailed down her abdomen. She clenched her teeth together, but a whining sound got past them all the same as he teased her.

  “I’ll expect you to stay close to this house while I’m gone,” he said distractedly. “I don’t trust those union people.”

  Bonnie was gasping for breath. “Oh!” she cried. “Oh, Eli—we’ve missed dinner and I’m—I’m hungry—”

  Eli looked concerned, but not overly so. “You’ll probably survive,” he said.

  Bonnie’s knees had parted and she was looking up at the ceiling now. “At least—put out the lamp!” she pleaded.

  Eli laughed and shook his head. “Why would I want to do that? It’s so much fun to look at you.”

  “You’re—enjoying this!” Bonnie sputtered frantically.

  “Aren’t you?” Eli purred solicitously.

  “No!”

  “You are a liar, Mayor McKutchen.” He stopped tormenting Bonnie just long enough to fling back the covers, so that she was entirely revealed to him. “A very beautiful liar.”

  “Eli, please—the lamp—my supper—truly I’m so very h-hungry!”

  “So am I,” he said, slipping to his knees beside the bed. “In fact, I’m ravenous.”

  Bonnie felt his fingers part her for pleasuring and shivered in anticipation. A wave of heat passed through her as she watched him bend his head toward her. His touch wrung a cry of lust from her throat and the lamp blazed on the bedside table, quite forgotten.

  CHAPTER 27

  THE DAYS FOLLOWING Eli’s departure for San Francisco were blessedly busy ones for Bonnie, even though she no longer had her store to work in and worry about. Preparations for Genoa’s wedding had begun in earnest, and she spent entire mornings addressing invitations and helping to plan for the reception that would follow the marriage ceremony.

  The cabins and the schoolhouse were nearly finished, and Genoa had decided that a celebration was in order. She and Seth planned to combine the formal announcement of their engagement with a grand picnic and a dance to follow. Everyone in Northridge, from the pot tenders at the smelter to the members of the town council, was to be invited, and the festivities would be held in the grassy clearing behind the cabins.

  A dance floor was built, fiddlers were hired, food of every sort was ordered through Jack Fitzpatrick’s mercantile. An air of busy anticipation overtook the entire town, and while Bonnie shared in the excitement, she also felt a certain disquiet, reminiscent of those rainy days preceding the flood.

  Of all the people she knew, only Lizbeth Simmons seemed to share her uneasiness. Bonnie was pragmatic enough to know that the pretty teacher’s wistful sighs and general absentmindedness had more to do with Forbes Durrant than any sense of impending doom. And she was sympathetic, missing Eli the way she did.

  Standing in the brand-new schoolhouse, with its shiny unscratched desks, its indoor bathroom, its fresh blackboards and wonderful books, Bonnie looked at Lizbeth’s forlorn face and decided to meddle.

  “It’s a good thing the world doesn’t turn quite so fast as you’re spinning that globe, Lizbeth, or we’d all be flung past the Big Dipper.”

  Lizbeth looked up from the beautifully detailed model of Earth that stood behind her desk and smiled thinly, her lovely face coloring with embarrassment. “I’m sorry—I should be outside helping with the decorating.”

  Bonnie sat down in a chair at the back of the room near the potbellied stove. She wasn’t above giving a weary sigh. “We’ve finished all that,” she said. “The Chinese lanterns are hung and the refreshment tables are set out and, according to Mr. Callahan, the fireworks will do quite nicely.”

  Lizbeth caught her lower lip in her teeth. “What an Independence Day this will be,” she reflected absently. “A picnic, a dance, fireworks.” Suddenly Miss Simmons burst into tears. “And an engagement!” she wailed.

  Bonnie stood up quickly and went to enfold her friend in an embrace. “Oh, Lizbeth,” she said, patting the young woman’s trembling back. “Love really hurts sometimes, doesn’t it?”

  Lizbeth backed away, sniffling. “Of all the men in this world, of all the decent and substantial men, I had to choose Forbes!”

  It was a strange feeling, this wanting to defend Forbes Durrant. “Forbes is decent, Lizbeth,” Bonnie pointed out quietly. “And if the ability to provide well for a family is what you mean by ‘substantial,’ he’s that, too.”

  Lizbeth dashed at her tears with the heel of one palm. She was trembling again, this time with the obvious effort to control her anger. “He’s a sa
loonkeeper, Bonnie! A whoremaster!”

  “I’m not sure there is anything so terrible about keeping a saloon,” Bonnie said. “Perhaps if you were willing to tolerate that much, Forbes would give ground on the other.”

  “I don’t know that I could do that,” Lizbeth whispered. “Forbes is an admitted rounder, a rogue. What kind of husband would he be?”

  Bonnie remembered the tenderness Forbes had shown her that day in the kitchen of the Brass Eagle Saloon and Ballroom. She remembered his kiss, too, though of course she didn’t mention it. “A very interesting one, I think. And certainly a passionate one.”

  Lizbeth’s cheeks went crimson, a good indication that she knew Forbes to be passionate, perhaps even from experience. “I love him so much, Bonnie,” she said after a long time. “I don’t want to need him, but I do.”

  Bonnie recalled what Forbes had told her about forgetting his name when he kissed Lizbeth and smiled. “Does Forbes feel the same way you do?” she asked, even though she already knew the answer.

  “He says he does.”

  Thinking of the time she’d wasted because of her pride, time that might have been spent with Eli, Bonnie went to the front of the room and gave the globe a perfunctory spin. “Did Genoa ever tell you about her first engagement to Seth Callahan?” she asked.

  There was a long pause. “Yes.”

  Bonnie turned and met her friend’s gaze directly. “She’s lucky to have a second chance at happiness, Lizbeth. And 1 don’t say that lightly—I made a similar mistake myself. Take a lesson, teacher, and spare yourself a great deal of grief. Pride makes for very poor company in the lonely hours of the night.”

  Lizbeth was looking at Bonnie very closely. “You sound almost as though you think you’ve lost Eli for good,” she probed softly. “It was my understanding that he was only away on business—Genoa expects him back any day.”

  Bonnie bit her lower lip. Eli had been gone nearly two weeks, not a long time considering the distance between Northridge and San Francisco. He had sent neither a letter nor a wire, but that wasn’t unusual, either, for Eli had never been inclined toward such gentle amenities. In the end it all came back to that strange, nebulous feeling Bonnie had that something was very, very wrong. Somewhere. She sighed and spread her hands.