Sweet Savage Love

by Rosemary Rogers

  It almost seemed as if he knew what she was thinking, for she saw his lips curl in a derisive smile.

  “Don’t get your hopes up, Ginny! We’re going to El Paso for several reasons of my own, and one of them is that it’s the least likely place. Think I’ve lost that posse, but I’ve got to make sure, first.”

  Nothing she could do or say would induce him to tell her more, or to make her any promises. She went to sleep sullenly that night, thankful that at least he seemed to have lost his desire for her.

  They reached the outskirts of what Ginny thankfully thought of as “civilization” before it dawned on her that she herself hardly looked civilized, or even human.

  We are just like hunted animals, she thought furiously, hiding out in the daytime, riding at night. She turned against him suddenly, making the horse rear, hearing him curse.

  “What the hell’s the matter with you now? You trying to break your fool neck?”

  “I won’t be taken anywhere looking like this! I won’t be paraded down the streets as if I was some—some—”

  His anger gone, he laughed.

  “You look just like a little Mexican puta, a whore who got caught in a dust storm. Is that what you were thinking of, niña?”

  “Damn you! Oh, damn your soul to hell! You dirty greaser pig—you look worse than a savage yourself!”

  She felt his arm tighten around her breasts, making her choke with pain and rage.

  “Remind me to teach you some real swearing, Ginny,” he said. “The only words you seem to know are beginning to wear mighty thin!”

  He thought that she would probably swear some more if she knew where he was taking her. In a way, he even had some qualms, but he’d dismissed these earlier on. Lilas was about the only person in El Paso he could really trust, and he’d known her for years—used her place as a hideout before. She ran the fanciest place in El Paso, and kept it expensive and exclusive. It was a big house, off of one of the smaller side streets, with a saloon downstairs and a brothel up above. And it was the whorehouse he knew best. Lilas boasted that her girls were the best in the business, and the prettiest—he wondered how she’d react to the first sight of Ginny. Well, tonight he’d find out. And Ginny would be in for a shock. She was silent now, her body stiff with outrage, and he looked down at her, wondering what she’d look like when she was clean again, with her hair brushed out and shining. And laughing inside, he wondered how it would feel to make love to her in a bed for a change.

  Ginny was half-asleep, dazed with fatigue and hunger, when they rode into the outskirts of El Paso, late that night. She leaned against Steve with her eyes closed, hardly noticing the dark shape of the building that suddenly seemed to loom up in front. There were few lights in this part of town, and none at all at Lilas’ back door. The unobtrusive, unlighted back door was especially for the use of some of Lilas’ customers who did not want their comings and goings known. She catered to many married men—rich ranchers and businessmen—and even an occasional outlaw who wanted a woman before he rode on to wherever he was going, and could afford Lilas’ fancy prices.

  In order to “protect the innocent” as Lilas dryly put it, there was always a man on guard there—sitting at a small, open window with a shotgun to see that no one attempted to molest the madame’s customers. A policy that had paid off in added bonuses for the woman many times.

  Now Steve Morgan rode boldly and directly to the door he’d used so often in the past, and hitched the black to the rail there alongside two other horses. Later, Lilas would see that his horse was taken to her own small livery stable to be fed, rubbed down and settled for the night. He studied the other horses carefully, noting the brands they wore, but recognized none of them.

  He felt Ginny stir against him and kept a tight hold of her arm as he helped her down.

  “Try making a fuss or screaming and I’ll break your pretty nose,” he warned her softly, and hearing the hard note in his voice she believed him and stayed silent.

  The door opened inward on well-oiled hinges, even before he had time to knock.

  “Hola, Manuelito,” Steve said as casually as if he’d been there only a week before. It had actually been almost a year, but the fat man who stood there with the shotgun under his arm recognized him and stepped back, his face wreathed in smiles.

  “Señor Esteban! It has been a long time! Will you wait a moment? I must tell madame at once, or she will be very angry with me. Wait…”

  When the man had disappeared through another door, concealed by velvet drapes, Ginny turned furiously on Steve.

  “Where are we? What is this place? I don’t want…”

  “Shut up!” he snapped at her, suddenly tired of her questions and her nagging. His fingers tightened cruelly over her arm, forcing her to grit her teeth in order not to cry out with pain.

  “Does it make you feel better to hurt me? Do you need to prove how much stronger than I am you are?”

  Half-ashamed of himself, he let his grip on her loosen, and at that moment, Lilas came to them with her skirts swishing, her arms outstretched in greeting—all rich satins and bleached hair, her perfume almost overpowering in the small space.

  “Steve! Steve Morgan! Well—I must say I’m surprised to see you back here of all places. I’ve been hearing things about you, you wicked, wicked man!”

  Feeling slightly sick, Ginny watched them embrace. The woman was obviously old enough to be his mother, and yet Steve kissed her full on the lips, hugging her, with every evidence of enjoyment.

  When at last he held her away from him, he shook his head almost imperceptibly when Lilas opened her mouth to say more.

  “Lilas, my love, I have a guest for you, if you’ve a room to spare. And don’t be misled by her appearance, it is a girl, and she’s even passably pretty when she’s clean.”

  Burning with humiliation, Ginny felt the other woman’s small eyes flicker over her, taking in everything.

  “Oho—so it’s like that! Well—better come upstairs with me quickly—most of the girls are busy in the parlor right now, and if I guess right, the fewer people who see her the better, eh?”

  Still talking, Lilas turned to lead the way. Ginny felt herself picked up in Steve’s arms and carried along in the plump woman’s wake, in spite of her feeble struggles. Her head whirled with shock and anger and yes, with embarrassment too! How dare he talk about her that way, as if she weren’t there, and couldn’t understand? And what kind of a place was this, what kind of woman was Lilas?

  She was being carried upstairs in Lilas’ billowing, perfumed wake—Steve’s arms holding her closely and easily in spite of her struggles. Ginny had a vague impression of thickly carpeted opulence—a long corridor that reminded her of a hotel, with doors opening off it. And Lilas, in her lowcut blue satin gown, reminded her of something—someone…

  She was being taken into a room that was dominated by an enormous bed—an elaborate dresser, covered with bottles and combs and brushes had three mirrors, and Ginny turned her face away from her own bedraggled reflection. Lilas wore rouge and bright lip salve. She flirted archly with Steve as she said she’d be sending a maid upstairs soon to fill the hip bath that stood behind a small, carved screen.

  “No need to stir yourself, little one—the bath’s right in front of the fire, and that’s been lit—I don’t stint on anything up here. And I’ll have one of my young ladies bring you some clothes later.”

  Her eyes went critically over Ginny, who could not help shrinking under their amused, inquisitive regard.

  “And as for you, Steve—I know someone who will be just dying to scrub your back for you, you handsome devil! Just knock at the door at the end of the hall—you know which one—whenever you can tear yourself away.”

  If only she could hide! Ginny tried to ignore the arch way in which Lilas looked at Steve, the way he smiled down at her. Huddled in a chair, she could find nothing to say. And in spite of her growing dislike for Lilas, she disliked even worse the prospect of being
left here alone with Steve Morgan.

  She told herself later that her instincts had been right. No sooner had the door closed behind Lilas than he was raising his eyebrows at her, ordering her to take her clothes off—ripping them off her body when she refused. And to make matters worse, she’d been forced to stand naked and blushing under the eyes of the shy, giggling Indian maid who brought in pails of steaming hot water and a large cake of heavily scented soap.

  Having a bath, which had been something she’d longed for and looked forward to for weeks, became a miserable ordeal when Steve had insisted on washing her himself, even her hair—heartlessly pushing her head under the soapy water when she balked.

  “I want to make sure you’re clean all over, my sweet,” he said laconically. And then, when she cursed at him wildly, he held her face steady and rubbed soap in her mouth until she gagged and choked.

  “Been meaning to do that for a long time,” he grinned. “Somebody ought to have told you that all that swearing and name-calling is hardly ladylike!”

  Afterwards, he held her pinioned between his thighs while he dried her quivering body, taking his time over it—lingering over her breasts and belly and inner thighs.

  “Oh, stop it!” she moaned, “haven’t you abused and punished me enough? Let me go!”

  He tossed the towel carelessly away and continued to hold her captive.

  “Stop struggling, Ginny! You know it isn’t any use, don’t you? Why don’t you give in and try to enjoy our enforced companionship?”

  She knew her struggles were useless, she had reason to know he’d take whatever he wanted from her in any case, but his words goaded her to further squirmings, especially when he began to move his hands teasingly and very slowly over her body…she felt his lips follow his hands and cried out wildly that he must stop, and then, to her utter relief she heard the maid’s soft tap on the door.

  She brought Ginny a filmy, diaphanous silk wrapper that concealed nothing—and then, at last, the food that she had been longing for.

  Thinly sliced roast beef with a delicious gravy—baby peas and enormous baked potatoes swimming with melted butter. There was even a tall bottle of red wine and two glasses.

  Unable to help herself, Ginny ate hungrily. It would have eased her pride to refuse dinner, but the smell and the sight of food were too much—she felt starved, it was impossible not to stuff herself.

  Steve himself ate sparingly, and when she looked up occasionally she would catch his eyes on her, the amusement in them making her almost choke on her dinner. And she did notice that he drank considerably more than he ate—sending the maid for another bottle of wine when she came back to clear away. Ginny herself drank two glassfuls when he insisted, and she had to admit that it was palatable and made her feel warmer inside. But the coldness and misery came back when she saw him rise, stretching, and go towards the door.

  “You promised I should have some clothes! Where are you going?”

  “Is it possible that you don’t want me to leave you?” He took her chin in his fingers and laughed shortly when she flinched away.

  “I didn’t really think two glasses of wine would change your mind that fast, stubborn one. I’m going to have my bath now, and talk to a few old friends. But I’ll be back. You’ll wait for me, won’t you?”

  Her cheeks flaming, Ginny heard the lock click behind him, but in spite of it she tried the door several times, then pounded on it, hoping that someone might hear and let her out.

  Finally, after spending several minutes pacing around the room, Ginny decided against trying to hang herself with the sheets from the bed, and determined to get herself drunk instead. From what she had witnessed, getting intoxicated must be quite a pleasant, if not euphoric, sensation.

  With a stab of homesickness that went through her like a dagger she remembered how Uncle Albert and his friends had always seemed more jovial after they had been at the port for a while. And once, when Pierre had come home very late and had thrown pebbles at her window so that she would wake and let him in, he had hardly been able to stand for laughing.

  Sullenly, Ginny sat in the chair, which she pulled up in front of the fire, and began to drink. She got tired of using the glass and refilling it so many times, and drank from the bottle instead, as the bandits had done with their tequila. But did she really feel any different? She looked into the fire and wondered why it suddenly appeared so much brighter, and so hot. The bottle, surprisingly, was empty, and she got clumsily to her feet to tug at the bellpull which would summon the maid, and found herself unusually clumsy. Why did her feet stumble so on the rug? And why didn’t she feel happy? The room seemed to sway around her and she put one hand up to cover her eyes, wondering dazedly if the wine had been drugged. Oh, but she wouldn’t put that past him—he was capable of anything, anything at all!

  Amazing herself, Ginny began to cry. She felt very sad, and very sleepy. She tore the wrapper from around her body and threw it at the door that stayed closed. It was too hot for clothes—and what did it matter, he would take if off her quickly, if he pleased. Still sobbing, she fell across the bed and was asleep almost immediately.

  Steve Morgan came in later—so much later in fact, that the fire had burned down to embers, leaving the room in darkness except for the single lamp that burned on the dresser.

  He undressed quietly, looking down at Ginny’s sleeping profile that still showed traces of tears. So she’d been crying? Certainly not for his absence, he was sure of that much. The empty wine bottle, lying on its side by the chair caught his eye and he began to grin. Damn the little witch anyhow! She was drunk.

  He leaned over her, smelling the fumes of wine, and the sweet curving of her uncovered, unconscious body made him feel something like regret. Perhaps he should have stayed with her tonight. But he’d had to talk to Lilas, make arrangements; and then Susie, a pert brunette whose charms he’d tasted before, had given him a bath, joining him in the large tub that was Lilas’ own. Susie had the cleverest hands and the sweetest little body—her mouth could do things for a man that could make him stay crazy-wild for her, hour after hour. They had drunk champagne, and one thing had led to another.

  It was good, having a woman who neither cursed nor struggled nor pretended she hated every moment, every touch, until the very last…and tonight, he hadn’t been in the mood for war, he’d needed to relax. Susie was good at providing just that.

  Steve got in bed beside Ginny, a smile touching the corner of his mouth. In her sleep, she moved instinctively closer, snuggling her body against his with a sigh. Shrugging, he pulled the covers up over them and put his arm around her. Habit was a funny thing. He’d grown kind of used to having her body up against his this way at nights. Her hair smelled sweet and clean, and although she lacked Susie’s opulent curves she was soft against him, her flesh warm and yielding for once. He realized to his own amazement that he wanted her—but not like this. Something that was almost pity made him tighten his arm around her. There was always the morning…

  Ginny woke first in the morning, her head aching, a horrible taste in her mouth. Without daring to open her eyes just yet she tried to move, and found her hair caught under the shoulder of the man who lay beside her with his arm and one leg thrown possessively over her body.

  Her eyes flew open and she stared at a ceiling ornamented with paintings that would have made her blush at any other time. But there, for a moment she had been dreaming that she was home, lying in her own room above Tante Celine’s, with fat Marie coming in to wake her with a cup of hot chocolate.

  But now, too soon, the moment of being caught between dreams and waking had passed, and reality came flooding bitterly back. Ginny could not repress a small cry of mingled pain and disappointment and the sound, coupled with her involuntary movement, woke Steve up.

  He opened one red-rimmed eye and gazed critically at her stiff, unyielding body.

  “Must you be so restless and noisy this early in the morning, my love? Or is this your way of te
lling me you’re impatient for the pleasure you were cheated of last night?”

  This time her gasp was filled with rage.

  “Ohh—you dirty lecher!”

  “I see that a good night’s sleep in a bed has done nothing to improve your temper,” he interrupted unfeelingly, opening both eyes and gazing into her flushed, angry face.

  With her hair all tousled and her green eyes heavy-lidded from sleep he thought she looked uncommonly desirable this morning. Reading his look, Ginny tried again, unsuccessfully, to move as far away from him as possible; and then she cried out with fury when he pulled away the sheet that covered her warm, naked flesh.

  “Beast!” she panted. “Oh, why won’t you just let me be?”

  “But you’d be disappointed if I did not notice how very alluring you look this morning—now wouldn’t you?”

  Leaning up on his elbow, Steve let his eyes roam slowly over her cringing body. And, as Ginny realized bitterly, there was nothing she could do to stop him, nothing at all. She felt hot, shamed blushes covering her face and neck as he studied her intently.

  “Open your legs, Ginny,” he said softly, and she thought for a stunned moment that she could not possibly have heard right. His hand moved teasingly over her belly, fingers pulling at red-gold curls.

  “I’m beginning to find out you have lots to learn, my sweet. Come on now, stop fighting me, for a start. Open your legs for me.” His voice was soft and wheedling, and she felt him press tiny, tender kisses along the side of her neck, but she was hardly conscious of it, for the rage that drummed in her head.

  “No! No, I won’t! I won’t give in to you, Steve Morgan. Whatever you want from me you’ll have to take by force, for I’ll never submit willingly, never!”

  “Don’t make promises you might not keep, sweetheart,” he taunted her.

  He tangled one hand in her hair and began to kiss her on the mouth, his lips bruising hers. She felt his tongue in her mouth, seeking, and felt his hand on her belly, sliding downward—his fingers on the soft inner flesh of her thighs. She struggled, pounding against his encroaching body with her fists. Tears streamed down Ginny’s face and she was choked by sobs of terror and frustration.