by Roxy Harte
“Construction starts in the spring. I'm here to make certain my field agents did their job right. I own the railroad.”
Lucy stared at him. He owned the railroad? Belatedly she realized he was completely nude. Ohhh. Ohhh.
“I actually prefer it if you stay clothed.” He smiled, blushing. “At least while you thrash me.”
Thrash? The vision of Ezra's scarred back filled her mind as the man lay facedown on the bed. Lucy blew out the breath she was holding and ran from the room in a panic. She bounced into Madalena, who was just leaving the room across the hall. Lucy squeaked on impact. “Sorry. So sorry.”
She knew what Madalena must be thinking. Imposter. Making eye contact, she tried to straighten her shoulders and lift her chin, but Madalena had already pulled her into her arms, and Lucy was blubbering. “He wants me to whip him. I c-can't do that. I c-can't hurt him.”
Madalena stepped back from her and cupped her chin. With her free hand, she brushed a fringe of hair from Lucy's eyes. “You are so young, so innocent. How did you ever end up here?” She kissed her on the cheek and took the riding crop from her. With a wink, she slid into the man's room.
“Miss Lucy has informed me you have been a very bad boy. I am Madalena, and I will beat you now.”
* * *
Daniel found Lucy leaning over the porch railing, retching. She was wearing one of the dresses they'd saved from the wagon train. It was dark navy blue velvet with beaded cap sleeves. She wore an elaborately embroidered corset over the velvet. He'd wanted to tell her how beautiful she looked the moment he'd first seen her, and had planned to, knowing she would eventually join he and Thunder at their table, but then the dandy had cornered her.
There was a moment when he'd almost stood, but the sheriff had put his hand on his shoulder and held him in the chair. Daniel'd caught his gaze, understanding in that moment that Rages Like Thunder loved her too and was probably feeling just as possessive. He didn't understand why he'd cared. He'd never been a jealous man before and couldn't honestly believe he was becoming one.
When she finished, he took her shaking hand in his, pulled her to a rocker, and made her sit. He knelt in front of her, still holding her hand. “You could not perform?”
Lucy's eyes went wide.
“You left the saloon with a man. Now you're here.” He shrugged. “No man is that fast.”
“Madalena is with him. He wanted me to hit him with a riding crop. Why would he ask me to—”
“It is a game. Men like to play.”
“Game? Play? I have seen a man's back—” She choked on the next word.
“Scarred?”
She nodded rapidly, a tear sliding down her cheek.
“A slave punished cruelly is not the same as the games men and women play.” He handed her the glass of whiskey he held in his hand. “Take a big swallow and then come with me. I think it's time we start your lessons.”
* * *
Lucy faced Daniel across her bed. Her eyes grew wide as Daniel produced a riding crop.
“This is what he wished you to use?”
Lucy nodded.
“Take off your clothes and lie across the bed.”
“I-I…”
Daniel closed the distance between them and touched her cheek with the riding crop. She shivered when he drew the leather tip over her cheekbone.
“I'm not going to hurt you, and if I do hurt you a little bit, I promise you will enjoy it.”
She took a deep breath and looked into his dark eyes, getting lost in the intensity of emotion she found there.
The room and its dark furnishings disappeared, the sounds from outside—men laughing, gunfire, a woman singing—all muffled, leaving her with only the sound of her heartbeat exploding in her ears. Daniel teased the crop down her jaw to her throat. He pushed just hard enough against her larynx to make her realize she was swallowing. His eyes glimmered mischievously.
“You're going to enjoy this?”
“Of course.”
“Will other men want to do this to me?”
“Probably.” He turned her to face the bed and unlaced her corset. He lifted the heavily boned garment away from her body and waited for her to unbutton her dress.
Her fingers shook as she slid each button through a loop. “I don't want to do this, Daniel.”
“Only by experiencing it will you know if you can enjoy it.”
Lucy allowed the dress to slide off her shoulders. Pulling her arms out of the beaded cap sleeves, she bared herself to the waist. She thought he might kiss her shoulders. Daniel always kissed her shoulders before they…
He didn't kiss her. He touched the tip of the crop to her skin, making her jump nervously. He leaned near and whispered in her ear, “Easy, sweetheart.”
She trembled, feeling nervous and worried. Terrified. Curious.
He slid the leather thong down her spine. When he reached the fabric of her dress, he tapped. “Finish it.”
Lucy slid the gown over her hips and stepped out of the dress.
“Lie down.”
She did, on her stomach, as he'd asked her to do the first time, her curiosity outweighing her fear. He made her wrap her fingers around the spindles of the headboard. “Don't let go. Pretend you're tied there. I'll show you how to restrain a man after I finish; for now, it's enough for you to not move.”
Lucy's mind raced.
“The game will begin now. Pay attention to what I say and especially how I say it.” He stroked the tip of the crop down her spine, a slow, seductive tease over her flesh. “Naughty, naughty girl, I'm going to punish you now.”
His words were almost identical to what she'd heard Madalena say. She decided those words must be the signal the game had begun, though he wasn't yet punishing her. He was still talking. “To a man desiring punishment, seeing a woman with a crop in her hand is a very sensual image. It is a transfer of power from him to her and sometimes a man wants that—to be powerless—thus the restraints.”
Lucy looked at her hands; she was gripping the wood so hard in anticipation of pain, her knuckles had gone all splotchy. He didn't disappoint her. He tapped her ass with the crop, two sharp strikes that made her cry out. She didn't let go of her hold; she did suck in great gulps of air as she fought back tears. She didn't understand, and she didn't want to. Daniel didn't continue to hit her.
“You will need to watch your client's body language. Administer several strikes and then a long pause before more strikes. In between, talk to him. Tell him you are disappointed. Tell him he will have to do better from now on. Ask him if he understands. Tell him his only task is to please you.”
He struck her again, several times, demonstrating how it felt to be struck on her hips, thighs, back, shoulders, arms—first soft, then hard—saying each time, “You are so naughty,” saying it so many times, she started to believe it. Emotion rose in her chest, her heart swelling so she thought it might burst, and then she was crying, sobbing.
He rolled her onto her back, and her hands released the wood, but she immediately grabbed and held, mindful of her task. She couldn't look at him, thinking she might die of embarrassment if she did. He struck the front of her breasts, her belly, her thighs. “Feel it, every strike. Feel what a very naughty girl you've been.”
He pushed her ankles apart and swatted at the most sensitive place between her legs. She cried out, “No!” and covered herself with her hands.
Patiently he took her hands back to the headboard, making her hold the wood. She met his gaze and didn't feel embarrassed. She wanted to say the emotion surging in her breast was outrage, and it was, but the adrenaline speeding through her veins making her want to throw her arms around his neck and apologize was something else, a deep-seated need she didn't understand. She didn't want to understand it. She gritted her teeth and waited for him to finish his lesson.
She told herself the game was ridiculous. Why would anyone want this?
He hit her again with the leather thong. Again and again, fo
llowing the same path as before: breasts, belly, thighs. She held his gaze, knowing he was going to strike her between her legs again, and she thought she was ready, prepared, waiting. Smack.
“Oh God.”
He struck again and again, not hard; it was more surprise than pain, more spanking than thrashing. He was spanking her over her most sensitive, private place, setting a rhythm. “Oh God. Oh God.”
She knew what it felt like to find pleasure at Daniel's hand. She knew what the rise felt like—and she rose quickly—not believing she was.
After, she lay there—on the bed, spread and open, her arm flung over her eyes while knowing Daniel sat beside her, looking at her and waiting to discuss the lesson, but she couldn't formulate a single thought beyond, Oh my God.
Chapter Fourteen
For a second morning in a row, she awoke in Daniel's arms. It was almost like being on the trail again, except now they had the comfort of a soft feather bed instead of the hard ground—and she was a whore, not a runaway slave.
The time seemed a lifetime ago rather than mere weeks.
He rubbed his fingertips over a small welt on her breast and pinched. A jolt of need raced from welt to twat, drawing her mind back to the pain and the pleasure of the night before. “I didn't mean to leave you marked.”
She found the tender flesh with her fingers, surprised that touching the painful mark could leave her pussy throbbing. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she drew him near. “Fuck me.”
His eyes darkened. “You fuck the others. I've only ever made love with you.”
Her heart seemed to rip open. Did he really love her?
He kissed her slowly and gently, moving over her to fill her swiftly. “You are mine.”
“What does that mean?”
Staying buried deep within her, he pulled back from her face to look deeply into her eyes. “You don't know?”
“No,” she whispered, suddenly fearful his possessiveness might cause him to ask her to give up the hotel. Or her freedom.
“Do you not feel as if you would do anything for me?”
No. No. No. Maybe.
His length throbbed inside her. “I would do anything for you.”
“You wouldn't stop droving for me. You wouldn't give up your gang for a lawful life.” She laughed but didn't feel the humor, and the sound came out sounding bitter as she fought to not remember the fairy tale she'd held in her heart during the mountain crossing.
“If you asked that of me, I would.”
She licked her lips, feeling cornered. Trapped. Had he tricked her into this? Did he want her to give up the hotel or her new life…in exchange?
“I would never ask that of you, because I know you live for the trail.”
He smiled wickedly, moving over her, pushing in and pulling out. Slowly. Confidently. He knew how to bring her pleasure. “And I will never ask more of you than you are willing to give.”
He increased his rhythm, pushing her higher. She closed her eyes but just as quickly opened them again. She reached the plateau, knew her plummet into bliss was imminent. “What would you ask?”
“Before I leave, I want to watch you with your sheriff. I want to know that you will be safe with him while I'm away.”
My sheriff? “You want to watch?” She slid, not a quick, bone-jarring spasm, but a slow, delicious glide into the most peaceful void she'd ever known. The serenity didn't last, because she woke up remembering what he'd asked. He no longer lay beside her, but she knew he was in the room with her. Opening her eyes, she found him dressed and sitting across the room in the soft chair by the window. She didn't have to ask; she knew he was waiting for her answer. “I am yours.”
“Yes, you are, and that's exactly why you will ask Thunder for this favor tonight.”
“You don't have to watch Thunder fuck me to know he will protect me. He's the sheriff, Daniel.”
“A man can tell a lot watching how a man makes love to a woman.”
“You have experience in this?”
Daniel gave her a long, hard look. “I'm not a good man, Lucy. Never said I was. Most of what I've done—what I'm ashamed of most—involved doing things to others that would make you unable to ever look me in the eye again if you knew the truth of it. Suffice it to say, I do have some experience gauging men's affections, whether those loves come in the form of women, family, money, or horses. In the past, I've needed to know what I could take from a man to hurt him most. Today I will be happy knowing he places you higher than anything else, and that when it comes time to protect something, you will be at the top of his list.”
Lucy couldn't dare think about Daniel's demand as he dressed for the day and left her alone. She couldn't think about Thunder either. Instead she focused her thoughts on the brothel and saloon, the hotel and restaurant. It seemed strangely odd that the original owner had made provisions for both under one roof…and extremely practical.
She'd never dreamed she could ever be free, let alone a business owner, and once she dared to believe she could be a businesswoman, she never dared dream what her reality was presenting. She needed help.
Running a brothel and saloon was one thing…
Rolling thunder announced a pending storm and was soon followed by the fat splatters of rain on the tin roof. She thought she might just lie in bed all morning daydreaming about what could be, but the intensifying storm made Lucy nervous, and the scent of fresh, hot coffee seemed the perfect excuse to lure her downstairs.
She didn't take the time to dress and wore only a camisole, bloomers, and a silk robe. Lucy hit the bottom step just as Thunder was storming out. It seemed the man's mood matched the weather. Her heart skipped a beat or two as she worried that Daniel might be the cause of his foul mood.
Surely he wouldn't ask him to let him watch.
A flash of lightning brightened the room at the same time as a crashing bang of thunder, making her jump. She hated storms, more so since being trapped oout on an open plain in the prairie schooner. Shaking, she hurried into the saloon, hoping to find company.
Georgie was already pouring her a cup of coffee by the time she reached the bar, and she took the hot mug from him gratefully. She also noted Daniel sitting in a corner by the window, drinking coffee and watching the rain. She turned her back to him, hoping beyond hope he hadn't mentioned his desires to Thunder. “I hate storms.”
Georgie nodded but didn't offer an opinion.
“Were you aware that the hotel and diner on the other side of the foyer are also part of my deed?” She caught her bartender's gaze.
“I assumed—”
She set her cup on the bar. “They need to open immediately.”
“I understand your way of thinkin', Miss Lucy, but you only just hired enough girls to do the brothel justice, and we still don't have a cook for the saloon and—”
“Excuses.” Lucy cut him off. “As of today, you are the barkeep and manager of the saloon and brothel. I leave it in your hands to hire a cook, additional bartenders, and a cleaning woman.”
Georgie scratched his chin. “I can assume additional pay will accompany my added responsibilities?”
She waved her hand dismissively. “The railroad is coming, and I want to be ready for it.”
“Then I suppose you'll need a separate staff for the hotel and restaurant.”
“Yes, yes. I remember once attending Emma before she joined Ollie for a celebratory meal at Randolf's Restarator. She was so very excited, and afterward she talked for hours about the linens and flowers, the artwork, and the menu.”
“Restarator, you say?”
Lucy lifted her steaming mug but didn't drink. “It would be a fine establishment.”
“The Colonel left most folks high and dry, but I'm thinking we could still roust interest. A nice place would draw the likes of Mr. Bale, Doc, the town's three lawyers, and of course any travelers.”
Lucy sipped her coffee. “Are you making fun of me for dreaming?”
“I never fun.” Georg
ie said solemnly. “Who could manage such a place? Not me. Not you.”
In the silence between her question and his answer, the only sounds were the rain pounding outside on the boardwalk and the deep, rolling rumble of nearby thunder.
“Mrs. Finkelstein. That's what I think.” Georgie said with sudden certainty. “She organized everything for Roland, right down to the silverware. She knows business. Husband brought her here from New York City. Before the mister died, the missus wanted to bring civilization to our wilderness and was a prime target for James's scheme.”
“He took her money?” Lucy gasped.
“He fueled her dreams, and she gave him a substantial sum.”
Daniel came up behind her and wrapped his arm around her waist. Lucy wasn't sure she appreciated the possessive feel of the gesture and pulled away, saying, “I'm discussing the expansion of my business,” in a “do you mind?” tone.
Winking, he shrugged. “Don't let me interrupt.”
Georgie slapped the bar top, rattling freshly shined shooters. “No free feels. Drink your coffee and be on your way, drover.”
Lucy didn't like the way Georgie said “drover,” and decided Daniel probably liked it even less, but the point was made, and Daniel tipped his hat and walked away. He didn't leave the room but rather walked to one of the front windows and went back to watching the falling rain. Once he was out of range, she whispered, “Thank you.”
Georgie nodded and kept gossiping as if Daniel had never interrupted.
She tried to pay attention, even after both Véronique and Madalena joined Daniel at his table. Listening to Georgie with one ear and hearing the women mooning over Daniel proved so painful that she forced herself to turn her back on the trio.
Georgie conveyed with certainty that Mrs. Finkelstein's dream to bring culture hadn't died with the disappearance of her funds, and if anything, he believed she would be even more determined to get the hotel reopened. Lucy didn't understand why, though.
“Have you ever been to a big city, Miss Lucy? It's quite addictive, and Mrs. Finkelstein cannot find pleasure here without the arts, theater, music, museums, the hustle and bustle, and the seasonal change of fashion to entertain her.”