by Sasha Gold
Clarice interrupted her thoughts. “I think you got a special place in your heart for Dylan Ford. But then again so do half the women in Colter Canyon.”
Before Ellie could argue, Clarice was distracted by a cowboy looking for one of the girls. Clarice flirted with him, teasing him about how it was his third time in two days to come looking for that particular girl.
Ellie was certain Dylan had a special place in her heart. He was her knight. He swooped in to help her. Often and reliably. It got to where the shop girls teased her about having a guardian angel – or perhaps a guardian devil.
When she tried to thank him, he became sullen and shut her down. He always left her wondering what she’d done wrong. Dylan…she sighed and rubbed her temples. She could never think about Dylan Ford without a pang in her heart.
Clarice excused herself from the table, telling Ellie she needed to show the cowboy to a girl’s room. Ellie watched them ascend the stairs and tried to imagine what it would be like to do the work Clarice had done for twenty years now. She cringed to imagine Dylan finding out she was here talking to Clarice. He already treated her with cool disdain.
Deep down she knew why he was so standoffish. Her family had nothing. She was a mere seamstress, and he owned half the town. She was nineteen. He was thirty. Her life was one mishap after another. Both mother and brother were sickly, and father run off ten years ago.
Dylan, on the other hand, had the air and confidence of a prize fighter. An undefeated prize fighter. His granddad started the Ford Ranch, and his father tripled the size by the time he passed away. Dylan had tripled it again, six months after taking the reins.
Dylan was Midas, and he knew it.
Clarice returned from her errand upstairs and sat down beside her. “You’d better sew yourself something a little prettier than what you’ve got on. Men who pay big money for a special girl expect her to be in something other than a muslin dress. It should be soft, delicate.”
Ellie thought about all the outrageous get-ups she’d created for the Magnolia girls. Now she’d have to make one for herself. Her mind spun with shock. It would have to be lace and silk. It would have to show off her curvy hips and full breasts, parts of herself she kept hidden under loose-fitting dresses.
Defeat crashed down on her shoulders. She took a long, trembling breath. “Oh Clarice…” It was all she could say when she considered what lay ahead of her.
“You better just think this over, sweetie.” Clarice patted her arm.
“I don’t have time. Ben needs to get to the clinic in Warm Springs. Doctors didn’t expect him to live past ten. I’m looking for a miracle. I’m willing to do whatever it takes.”
Clarice drew a deep sigh. “A girl like you might get as much as a hundred dollars, but for that much money a fella is going to expect plenty of tricks.”
Ellie nodded her head, hoping she appeared confident. A hundred dollars was a fortune. “I have tricks.”
Clarice arched a brow. “You do?”
“Of course I do. I might be young, but I’ve been around.”
What Ellie didn’t add was that the sum of her experiences came from conversations with Clarice’s girls when they came by the shop. While Ellie fitted them for gowns or lacy underthings, the girls told her scandalous details. They never named names, but they told stories, and what struck Ellie was how straightforward they made it sound. The girls claimed they simply counted to ten – maybe twenty and the whole ordeal was over. They swore it was easy money, and she was desperate, desperate enough to consider letting a stranger take her to his bed.
“I want to do this,” Ellie said. “I really do.”
Clarice shrugged. An expression of weariness flitted across her features, but it was gone just as quickly. “I have a few fellas I know will be interested. I’ll put the word out. They’ll most likely want to meet you at the Grand Cypress. I’ll send a note.”
“Not the Cypress.” Ellie felt a wash of panic. “Dylan owns it.”
“So?”
Ellie tried to think of a way to argue out of this, but couldn’t. There was no other place to arrange a clandestine meeting. A knot formed in her throat. Just one night, she told herself. One night and she could get Ben the treatment he needed. She didn’t need to worry about pregnancy because the girls knew how to prevent what they referred to as complications. She’d do this thing and then put it out of her mind. Ten seconds. Twenty at most. It would be unpleasant but nothing like struggling to breathe. One night was all it would take. It would mean her brother might be healed.
Ellie dug her fingernails into her palms. “The Cypress will be fine.”
Chapter Two
Ellie let herself into the hotel room and stood in the doorway. The room was dim but light from the hallway spilled in through the door and illuminated a grand room. Urns over-flowed with lilacs on the mantle. A fire crackled. Bookshelves lined the walls. A pair of ivory couches flanked the fireplace and between two windows stood a four-poster bed with a canopy.
Go to the top floor of the Cypress. You will be in room number one. Arrive at seven o’clock. He wants you to keep your dress on. Sometimes men enjoy watching the girl undress, or sometimes they want to undress her themselves. Your hair should be down of course. Your man is going to love that mass of blond ringlets…
The note, sent to her shop that afternoon, made her blood run cold. When she imagined what the night would entail, touching, undressing, the inevitable act itself, her mind rebelled. Instead, she imagined the good she could do with the money. Ben. She imagined Ben, happy and healthy. A blush of color on his pale face.
“Come in.”
A deep voice startled her. He was already there. Standing with his back to her, he waited by the window.
Her heart crashing against her ribs, she stepped into the room, closing the door behind her. The latch snapped shut.
“Lock it.”
She obeyed and waited. Silence stretched the distance between them and she wished he would fill it – say anything to her.
“It’s snowing,” she said softly.
Ridiculous. A harlot with talents probably didn’t discuss the weather. That sort of woman would ease herself up behind the man, wrap her arms around him and whisper something carnal and scandalous.
But the early cold snap only underscored the urgency of what she did. Clarice had already given her the money plus extra – enough for Ben to stay at Warm Springs for the winter. It seemed a miracle. Now all she had to do was get through one night with this man.
She went to the fireplace and set down her things, a small bag with an extra dress that Clarice had advised her to bring. Ellie picked her finest dress to wear the next morning, telling herself she’d leave looking her best, chin held high.
The man turned to face her and even before she saw his face she knew. It took only one terrifying instant to tell her who the he was.
“Dylan…” She gripped the couch for support.
“Eleanor.” He crossed the room, closing the distance between them, and stopped in front of her. Standing just a foot away, he towered over her. His blue eyes bored into hers. A muscle ticked along his square jaw. From a distance, she’d always thought him handsome. Up close, he was devastating.
She shook her head and opened her mouth to speak. The only thing that came out was a small cry of distress. Something inside her broke, pieces crumbled. Only one man’s good opinion mattered to her and now he saw her as the worst sort of woman.
His mouth twisted with fury. “I’m sure you hoped I would never find out about this part of your life.”
“How…” She tried to continue, but the words lodged in her throat.
“Clarice. She thought I might be interested.”
He stepped closer. He radiated anger. His scent slammed into her, masculine, powerful and pure danger. Standing so close, his leg brushed her dress.
“How long have you been doing this?” he demanded.
She shook her head.
He lifte
d his hand and drew his knuckle along her jaw. His gaze held hers. “A good whore doesn’t shake like a leaf.”
The words hit her like a blow. She hadn’t realized she was trembling. Never before had she heard him speak in such coarse, vulgar terms.
He took her coat and slipped it from her shoulders, tossing it to the chair. Then he took her wrap. Underneath the layers she wore a dress she’d sewn just for this night. She couldn’t have imagined standing before him in such a revealing frock. Of all the things she’d sewn for Clarice’s girls, this had to be the boldest, most sensuous bit of lingerie.
The bodice was gauzy silk, whisper thin. It hugged her breasts, displayed them. The dress molded to her hips, the skirt stopping at the cuff of her boots. Clarice had advised her on the dress, assuring her with her coat, no one would be the wiser. Men liked a girl who arrived dressed for a night of pleasure.
“Look at you,” he said. “That’s some dress.”
She wondered if she might faint. Wondered if she could beg him to let her go. He ran his finger under the edge of her bodice, stroking the swell of her breast. His touch burned a current of unbidden desire through her. She coaxed a breath of air into her lungs, trying to will away the yearning.
It was no good. His touch was heaven.
“I didn’t believe it when Clarice offered you. She said you knew how to show a man a good time.”
She fixed her gaze straight ahead, focusing on his shirt button, recognizing her own handiwork. Panic wrought havoc to her thoughts. The tip of his finger trailed along the lacy trim of her dress.
“I c-can show you a good time,” she said.
“You’re just a girl.” His voice was laced with anger.
She bit her lip. A girl? That girl had to grow up overnight, long ago. “I’m not just a girl. Not anymore.”
A low rumble of disapproval echoed through his chest.
“Untie that top lace,” he said, his voice soft. “Don’t you know you’re supposed to tease me a little?”
She swallowed hard and moved to comply, tugging at the silk ribbon between her breasts. It had formed a knot, refusing to give. She stared at the knot helplessly, fairly certain this didn’t happen to girls with tricks. Pulling again, she managed to tighten the knot even more.
She looked up at him and spoke in a whisper. “I can’t seem to undo it.”
His lips curved into a predatory smile. He cupped her shoulders and brushed his lips against her ear. “You are good at this.”
He pulled her close, scooped her in his arms, and nuzzled her neck. She bit back a cry of surprise. One moment, she had been standing before him. The next, she was in his arms.
He brushed his lips down her neck, along her chest to her bodice. His face held the short burr of a beard, abrading her skin. The sensation was erotic. He kissed the curve of her breast, the kiss sending waves of pleasure rolling across her. She trailed her fingers through his hair, willing him to kiss her more, but he moved to the knot tied between her breasts. A small tug was followed by a rip as he tore the knot with his teeth.
“I like your games, Ellie.”
He carried her to the bed and set her on the edge. Tugging her skirt back, he ran his hand along her thigh and down to her ankle. Her breasts tightened to aching peaks. His gaze wandered down her body.
She looked down. She was the picture of wantonness. Her breasts spilled over the top of her ripped bodice. Her skirt was gathered around her waist and one of her garters had sprung loose from her lace stockings.
“Damn, you’re sexy.” His voice was a growl.
Her mouth fell open. Dylan was always the perfect gentleman. Remote. But always he spoke with solemn politeness. His words felt like sparks hitting her skin. The lust in his eyes sent a dizzying current through her.
He tugged off one of her boots, then the other. He unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it to the bed. His chest was broad, thick with muscles, his shoulders, massive.
He prowled over the bed, coaxing her back until she lay beneath him. “I tried to stay away from you,” he said. “Tried not to imagine this sweet little body, but you’ve been making me crazy since you turned eighteen.”
Her hand drifted to her mouth. Looming over her, he overwhelmed her senses. His admission stunned her.
“But all that’s changing. You need a man. A boss. Do you have any idea what sort of danger you put yourself in when you do this?”
He lowered and kissed her, gathered her hair in his fist and claimed her mouth. She moaned as he angled to deepen the kiss. He stroked her with his tongue and she opened beneath, offering her submission. Ecstasy swirled through her. Dylan, her Dylan, was kissing her, devouring her with slow drugging kisses.
Taking her hand, he set it on his chest. “A good whore touches, uses her hands, caresses her man. You’ve got a lot to learn. I’m taking you home to give you a little instruction.”
His chest was warm, muscles rippling under her fingers. He called her a whore. Pain squeezed her heart, but his other words sent her mind into a spiral of confusion. Touching him only made it worse. She caressed his chest, ran her fingers to his shoulders. Searching his eyes for approval, she saw nothing, his expression cast in shadow.
“Is this good, Dylan?”
“It’s a good start.”
His arms were powerful. She marveled at the sinewy strength. He spent most days working his land and livestock. His body was hewn by hard work.
“How many?” he asked.
His words drew her from her reverie. “What?”
“How many men?”
Coldness filled her chest and hardened into an icy block of dread. She’d promised experience, tricks and all sort of wonders that only a seasoned harlot could know. What would happen if she confessed? Explained how she’d duped the town Madame and him as well?
“I don’t keep count.” She hoped her words sounded confident.
He stilled over her. The space between them charged with an air of menace. She wished she could see his eyes.
He got up and offered his hand. When she took it, he drew her from the bed.
“Answer me,” he said. “How many men have you fucked?”
She shook her head. Her mind spun. She needed to evade this question.
“Why don’t you tell me how many times you’ve come to your own hotel for this sort of thing?”
“Never,” he growled. “The lady friends I’ve had in the past were just that – ladies.”
If his words were meant to wound her, she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of responding. “I don’t owe you an explanation.” She lifted her chin. “Mr. Ford.”
He wrapped his hand around her wrist, tugging her closer. “I like the idea of keeping you safe, having you in my bed. But you need to understand something about me.”
He clasped her waist, pulling her over his lap. She bit back a shriek and found herself face down over his lap, like a child who was about to be…no, it wasn’t possible.
She waited, her breath coming in short, panicked gasps.
“I protect what I care about. You go and put yourself in harm’s way and then sass me? That riles me.”
He lifted her skirts. She flailed, trying to free herself, but he held her down with one massive hand. He pulled down her pantalets.
“Dylan,” she cried. “Let me go.”
“Any of your men ever do this to you?”
“No!” She struggled, to no avail.
He caressed her bare bottom. A jolt of arousal hit her so hard, she moaned. She squeezed her eyes shut in humiliation.
“I like the idea of giving you a little pain with your pleasure.” His voice was gentle, belying the threat behind his words. “I’ll need to spank this gorgeous ass on a regular basis. Then I’ll teach you how to use that mouth for something other than backtalk.”
“Filthy man.” She wriggled in his grasp, desperate to get away from him and subdue the wicked thrill of desire inside her.
He brought his hand down on her bottom. She cr
ied out and went still, shock rendering her powerless. Twice more he spanked her, the sting sparking a heat that traveled straight to her sex. She moaned. Need pooled deep in her belly, drifted down and made her slick. Desire spun higher, making her yearn for something more. What that was, she didn’t know. She tried to wriggle, to squeeze her thighs, but nothing brought her relief. He spanked her bottom and the back of her thighs.
He caressed her, his touch on her stinging bottom, making her flinch.
“You like it.” His words were a statement not a question.
She shook her head, wiping a tear as it rolled down.
“You’re aroused.” His voice was gentle.
“No,” she whispered.
“No?” He lifted her in his arms. He kissed her, gently, scattering kisses across her lips and around her mouth. “You are aroused.”
Before she could deny it, he kissed her again, softly taking her down to the bed. His hand brushed her ribs and settled on her breast, squeezing her, pinching her nipple. She moaned.
More, she needed more from him. His hand skimmed her dress and gathered the material of her skirt, pulling it up. Cool air hit her above her stockings. She shivered when his fingers trailed the tender skin up to her sex. He stroked between her legs.
“I’ll prove it to you, Ellie.”
She guessed his intent but didn’t care. He could have anything he wanted from her. His fingers, feather light, stroked her.
“What’s this?” He feigned surprise. “Why Ellie Fentress, you’re wet.”
She closed her eyes and reveled in his touch. He wanted to torment her, that much was clear, but his touch was what she desperately needed. He caressed her softly and she moaned in dismay when he stopped.