2a748f08-49ec-41d8-8e72-82e5bc151bc0-epub-67710b16-8d2a-4caa-be30-f5ebeb130f9c

by Rebecca Paisley

  Her suggestion and the way she was teasing him with those lush white breasts of hers… Santa Maria, how the outrageous minx got to him! “No matter what, imperviousness rules the night.”

  “Lemme git down now.”

  Anxious to see what she had planned, he gently lowered her to the ground, then prepared to dismount himself.

  But what she was doing stopped him. Unable to take his eyes off her, unable even to blink, he stayed glued to the saddle.

  Smiling broadly and humming sourly, Russia squirmed out of her dress, shoes, and underthings. Her long red-gold hair her sole covering, she sashayed to her cart and removed a sliver of soap from her bag. “Wanna wash with me?”

  Her question was a dare, and he knew it. Challenge radiated from her beautiful eyes like beams spreading outward from a glorious sunset. Muy bien. Fine. If it was a duel of desires she wanted, he was more than happy to accommodate her. With one fluid motion, he dismounted and stood before her, waiting to see what she would do next.

  Russia sensed his arousal. Could see it. Could even smell it. As if it were a tangible thing, she felt it flow toward her, into her, becoming a part of her.

  She knew at that moment that she wanted whatever this night would bring. The something wrong with her just didn’t seem to matter anymore. Just being in Santiago’s arms and feeling the rugged male splendor of him next to her would be enough for her. Anything at all he could give to her, that she could give to him… God, whatever happened would be enough.

  Her hair brushing her thighs with each step she took, she walked toward the sound of the bubbling stream, her woman’s instincts assuring her that he would follow.

  He did. “The water will be cold,” he warned, loving the way her honey hair swept over her ivory body.

  “Then we’ll jist have to find some way to keep warm, won’t we?”

  Her answer set him aflame. Would she let him make love to her tonight? he wondered. Would he be able to pleasure her tonight?

  Santa Maria, what a night tonight would be.

  Arriving at the shallow stream, Russia dropped the soap to the edge of the water and waited for Santiago to join her. Her wait consisted of all of two seconds. “You ain’t bare-assed nekkid yet, Santiago. Y’ain’t thinkin’ about washin’ with your clothes on, are you?”

  Rendered mute by his stabbing hunger for her, he shook his head.

  “Then why ain’t y’takin’ ‘emoff?” she asked sweetly. “Maybe y’need help?” Without waiting for his reply, she reached up and unbuttoned his shirt, then spread her hands upon his hard brown chest. “I’m impervious to whatever feelin’s it’s possible to feel while touchin’ your chest like this, y’know,” she informed him, nearly giggling when she heard his sharp intake of breath. “I reckon you’re purty impervious to ‘em, too.”

  Lord, the man had nice skin, she mused while pulling his shirttail from his tight black breeches. Soft, but hard underneath. She began to wonder who was going to win this game of imperviousness, then decided that even the loser would be a winner.

  “Hold onto that tree branch while I take off your boots,” she instructed him. He obeyed, but as if the boots were nailed to his feet, it took her quite a while to tug them off. The last one gave her such a time, she began jerking at it with all the strength her slender body held, and squealed in surprise when it suddenly came off. She was knocked off-balance and felt herself falling.

  He moved so fast, he was a blur as he caught her wrist before she tumbled to the ground. “You might be impervious to my touch,” he told her, his voice brimming with desire, “but I doubt you’re impervious to the pain caused by jagged rocks slicing into your bare and tender bottom. And, uh…plumb nelly nekkid as you are, that’s exactly what would have happened.”

  His words, the feel of his big hand wrapped around her tiny wrist… She was astonished by the sense of security she felt. God, it felt so good. That someone cared about her well-being, that someone made the effort to protect her… It filled a lonely void inside her.

  She moved closer to him. Peering up into his smoldering gaze, she knew in her heart that she would never forget Santiago Zamora. No matter the distance that separated them, no matter the years, she would remember him all her life.

  Overwhelmed by tender feelings, and yearning to touch the man who’d created them, she wrapped her arms around his waist and laid her cheek against his bare chest, thinking that his heartbeat was surely the most beautiful sound in the world.

  Her embrace almost sent Santiago to his knees. In an effort to control his spinning emotions, he looked at the ground, but saw Russia’s hair instead. It flowed over his pistol.

  Black-and-silver iron. Red-and-gold tresses. Hard. Soft. Dangerous. Gentle. Man. Woman. The sight made him think of contrast after contrast.

  And it made him want her even more. “Russia.”

  Every part of her responded to the way he said her name. She could think of nothing but holding him, being held by him, heartbeat to heartbeat, whisper to whisper…woman to man.

  She stepped away, the need to please him the strongest thing she’d ever felt. Wetting her lips in anticipation of giving him everything she had to give, she undid the straps that kept his guns secured to his thighs, then unbuckled his gun belt and dagger sheath. Reverently, she held the weapons in her hands, marveling at the way they felt. How heavy they were. And how lustrously they gleamed in the pale silver moonlight. Gently, she laid them down on a small patch of grass that grew well away from the water.

  Santiago swallowed tightly when she knelt and he felt her hands at the fastenings of his breeches. The few seconds it took her to undo them and roll the pants down his legs seemed like several eternities. Desire pumped fire through his veins, and it took every shred of his willpower to keep from taking command of the encounter.

  But when he felt her press her lips into the thick mat of hair between his thighs and brush him with kisses, he could contain his emotions no longer. Groaning with fierce need, he took her by the waist and lifted her high off the ground.

  Her hair cascaded all around him, cloaking him with warm, melted gold. “Russia,” he murmured, looking up into her softly shining eyes. “God, Russia.”

  Lowering her into his arms, cuddling her next to his chest, he took her into the water. Without loosening his tight hold on her, he sank to his knees and reached for the sliver of soap.

  “You were right,” she whispered to him, sliding her fingers through his long black hair. “It’s cold. Colder’n a cast-iron outhouse on the shady side o’ a iceberg.”

  He smiled. “Aren’t you exaggerating just a bit?”

  She shook her head. “Warm me up, Santiago. Yeah, make me warm, real, real warm.”

  He planned to do more than make her warm. He wanted to catch her on fire. Pressing the soap against her shoulder, he began to wash her.

  She caught his hand and removed the soap from it. After breaking it in half, she gave his piece back to him. “You wash me, and I’ll wash you,” she explained. “We’ll do it together.”

  They started with their hair, each relishing the softness of the other’s. Then flesh. Every inch of flesh they could find on each other. No hidden crevice, no tiny part of their bodies went unfound, unattended. Water, soap, hands, and moonlight covering them, they explored each other hungrily, with endless fascination and boundless patience, searching for and discovering every physical thing that made them who they were.

  And when at last their quest was over, when at last no part of them remained overlooked, they both knew what the outcome of the night would be.

  “Russia,” Santiago murmured, his body hard with desire, “I want you.”

  Her slow smile echoed his words.

  Though sheltered in his arms, Russia shivered when he carried her out of the water. “Santiago, let’s build a fire,” she suggested as he arrived at her cart. “A really big one.”

  His gaze moved to the distance, in the direction of Rosario, where Wirt Avery was. “No fire to
night, paloma.”

  “But—”

  His kiss silenced her protest. It was a wild and hungry kiss, untempered by even a hint of gentleness. Raw with need it was, and savage enough to seek, find, and claim exactly what he wanted from her.

  She gloried in it. She felt possessed, taken wholly into him. Passion shot through her like firebolts bursting in the sky.

  “Tonight,” Santiago began, his lips still clinging to hers, his voice dark and fluid with sexiness, “Russia… Tonight I’m going to make love to you. Not once but twice, and then again, and once more. Tonight. Santa Maria, now, right now.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Sensing his desperation and seeing it reflected in the depths of his eyes, Russia wondered if he was even aware that their bed would be hard dirt, pebbles, and cactus. Quickly, she slipped out of his arms. To her delight, he helped her lay the blankets on the ground, his sultry gaze never leaving her.

  Taking her into his arms again, Santiago lowered her to the place where he would love her. Kneeling beside her, he bent to kiss her, but the tight expression on her face stopped him. He smiled. “Russia, you’re trying too hard, and we haven’t even started yet. Relax.”

  “Tell me what you’re gonna do first, and then I’ll be able to relax. Y’see, if I know ahead o’ time, I’ll be able to git ready fer it. Or better yet, why don’t I do you first? Yeah, I could do you, and then—”

  “Do me?” He let out a deep, throaty chuckle. “Russia, we’re not doing each other. That sounds terrible.”

  She bit her lip, remembering all the men who’d ordered her to “do” them. She’d thought that was the correct expression.

  Santiago’s gentle reproach told her it wasn’t She felt uncertain. The only sexual experience she had to draw on was that for which men rewarded her with money. Santiago hadn’t hired her. This…what she was about to do with him wasn’t a paid performance.

  He sensed her nervousness. “You’re afraid again, aren’t you, Russia? I’m not going to hurt you, paloma.”

  “Oh, I know you ain’t. But—well, it’s jist that I ain’t sure I know how to act. How to be. How to do what I’m supposed to do.”

  Here was the innocent Russia, he mused. The untouched one. The one who’d never experienced any of the pleasure he so wanted to give to her. Santa Maria, how he loved what that thought did to him!

  “You don’t have to do anything,” he said, trying to make her understand. “Nothing but lie there and feel.”

  He placed his open hand on her thigh, smiling knowingly when her flesh quivered. Slowly, he moved his hand, his fingers nestling into the red-gold softness that curled over the mound of her womanhood. “Forget about everything in the world but this, Russia. Everything but this…”

  He stretched out beside her and gently parted her thighs. One elbow between them, the other next to her hip, he leaned over her.

  She felt his warm breath whisper over the pulsing heart of her femininity. Lord, was he going to do…that to her? Did men do that to women? Was he going to—

  Her questions ended with a surprised gasp. She felt his mouth touch her like no other man’s ever had. A flame of embarrassment tried to take hold, but the blazes of exquisite desire engulfed it instantly. Beyond anything except what Santiago was doing to her, she abandoned herself to mounting pangs of pleasure, lifting her hips in sweet offering.

  Aroused to the very pinnacle of desire by her response to him, Santiago settled his huge frame upon her, shaking with violent longing when he felt her long, silky legs circle his lower back and her nails dig into his shoulders. With one smooth, powerful thrust, he buried himself within her.

  Russia cried out with pleasure, surprise, and profound need. Forget about everything in the world but this. His instructions blazed through her mind. Lie there and feel.

  Feel. Him. Santiago. What he was doing to her. The way he moved. With such strong, steady strokes, in perfectly controlled measure. He was slick. He was hard, he was patient, he was so good, so good.

  Minutes passed; she kept feeling him. What he was doing. “I’m tryin’,” she whispered, her lips at the warm hollow of his throat. “Santiago, I’m—”

  “Shh,” he quieted her. “I know, Russia. I know.”

  She began to sense his need for his own release. The minutes kept passing. She could almost hear them marching on and on and on. She concentrated harder.

  “Russia.” Her name escaped him on a sigh of contentment. She felt wonderful; his bliss heightened, but it pleased him enormously to hold it back.

  When she heard him whisper her name, she felt his body quake with the all-consuming need to satisfy his own desire. She knew then that he had every intention of continuing no matter how difficult it was for him to do so.

  The pleasure that teased her so unmercifully melted into a tenderness so deep, she couldn’t understand where it came from. All she knew was that she wanted to give Santiago everything he was trying so hard and unselfishly to give to her.

  That she could do. Yes, that she knew exactly how to do.

  Santiago gasped incredulously when he felt her tighten around him. With muscles deep within her, she squeezed him in such a way that he felt tide after tide of acute pleasure wash over him. Struggling to contain the ever-rising bliss, he slowed his pace.

  She wouldn’t let him. Her hands on his bottom, she pushed him deeper. Knowing his end was near, too near, he stopped moving altogether. She didn’t care Her hips rose and fell so quickly, those special muscles of hers holding him so firmly, he found he was doing nothing at all, and still the ecstasy escalated.

  “Russia! Dammit!”

  She paid him no mind, but continued what she knew would soon send him over the brink. She lifted herself into him, pushing until she took all of him, then slid away, stopping only when he’d almost left her entirely before gliding up to take him again.

  “Santiago,” she murmured into his ear.

  Her soft, sexy voice, her small cries, drove him wild. And her body… Santa Maria, what she could do with her body! He had no doubt at all that she was intent on using every trick she knew to push him into losing what little control he had left.

  He didn’t want it to be this way, but he could resist the pleasure no longer. She was too good.

  Russia smiled when she felt him throb and spill his seed inside her. He’d found fulfillment. And though she hadn’t been able to share it with him, she discovered there was a deep satisfaction in knowing that he’d found his in her arms. “Santiago?”

  Even as pleasure continued to ebb through him, anger joined it. God, he felt so empty! Lifting his head, he glared down at her.

  She saw his dismay immediately and sought to soothe it. “No, it didn’t happen,” she confessed. “But I done tole you I wouldn’t care, and I don’t.”

  “I know it didn’t happen! But I do care!”

  Good Lord, he was beyond mere irritation, she realized. He was mad. Really and truly mad at her. She put her arms around him again. “Santiago—”

  “Don’t.” Breathing heavily, he pushed himself away from her, rose, and stalked a few feet away. “What you did tonight, Russia—to me… Why did you do that, dammit?”

  “What did I do?” She sat up, genuinely worried now.

  He spun on his heel, his hair whipping around his slick, heaving shoulders. “You performed!”

  As he shouted the word, his face contorted. Like he had a horrible taste in his mouth. Russia’s insides sank. “But—Santiago, I was only tryin’ to—”

  “I know what you were trying to do! And you did it! You did it so well, I couldn’t do a damn thing to stop you!”

  “But I could tell you was ready, Santiago! I only wanted to—”

  “I was ready! God, I’ve been ready ever since I first saw you! But did you think I wouldn’t have lasted tonight? That I couldn’t have controlled myself? I could have, Russia, but you didn’t let me! We could have gone on trying for a lot longer! But you—you and your…your craft! You’re
good, Russia, all right? You’re real good. But dammit, if I’d wanted a whore tonight, I’d have gone out and found one!”

  His words wounded her deeply. She’d tried so hard to please him. She had brought him pleasure; she knew she had. But instead of enjoying it, he was furious over it! Was it even possible to understand the man?

  And now he was going to rant and rave over the fact that she was a harlot. Why did he have to do this?

  Dammit! she raged. They were going to get this over and done with right now! Whatever deep and terrible reason he had for hating what she had to do for a living, she would find it out tonight!

  “All right, Santiago,” she said, trying to sound firm but failing miserably. “This is it. You and me’s gonna talk, hear? Why do you hate whores? Tell me.”

  “You’re damn right this is it!” he thundered, refusing even to consider answering her question. “If you want to be a whore tonight—if you want to practice all your little tricks on some slobbering son of a bitch—I’ll take you back to Rosario so you can run into the arms of Zeferino Sanchez!”

  “What?”

  “You heard me! I saw him give you money, Russia. I saw you count it and put it into your pocket! If I hadn’t gotten you out of Rosario, you’d have—”

  “I would not!” she screamed, thoroughly enraged by his accusation.

  He dragged his fingers through his hair and gave her his back. “You deny it now because—”

  “I deny it on account o’ it ain’t true!” Flying to her feet, she stormed to where her dress lay and snatched it up from the ground. She fumbled with it for a moment before withdrawing from the pocket what Zeferino had given her. “Turn your suspicious self around and look what Zeferino give me!” When he didn’t do as she demanded, she flounced over to where he stood and lifted her hand to his face.