"Of course, my dear, for a woman of such inestimable value!" he whispered very huskily. His hands moved over her, skimming her ribs. Her waist, her hips. His lips continued to move over her bare shoulders. His hands moved lower, his palms pressing upon her mound, his fingers stroking lower against her thighs. She felt his mouth, moving downward, stroke by stroke, his tongue touching upon the vertebrae in her back. Unwittingly she leaned against him, arching like a cat to capture the exquisite feel of him. She'd promised never to give herself to him, and she'd kept that promise. Yet tonight she had a mission, and she was suddenly achingly glad of that mission because she so desperately longed to allow herself to feel, perhaps, to give ...
Suddenly he turned her within his arms, cupping her chin, raising her face to his. His kiss was fierce, his tongue forcing her lips apart, stroking and ravaging her mouth. He moved back slightly, ripping open his white shirt, then drawing her against him. Fire snaked through her. She rose up on her toes, hesitant, then daring, kissing his throat, tasting the bronze flesh with the tip of her tongue, instinctively discovering the right movements, savoring the heat of his bronzed chest. He wrenched the shirt from his body. She continued to move against his chest, her hair brushing his flesh, her lips, tongue and teeth teasing it. He threaded his fingers into her hair, lifting her face to his once again, finding her lips, kissing her with hot, open-mouthed passion as he kicked off his boots, then unbuckled his belt urgently with his free hand, dropping his pants. Still holding her to his kiss, he stepped from them. She drew from the heady force of his kiss, gasping and trembling, yet craving more. She touched him, moved against him, exploring each ripple and crease of his muscles, finding an erotic new power in the shudders she sent rippling forcefully through his body. There was a curious sweet pleasure in knowing him, in glorying in him, in realizing how finely honed he was, how perfect in his masculinity. There was that... and then a reckless, spiraling fever, a need that surged in her blood; she wasn't aware of anything but the heat enamating from him, the power of him, her need for him. Everything within her cried out to respond to the least suggestion from him. Instinct alone made her crush herself fully against him, rubbing her breasts and body down the length of his as she slipped to her knees. Her hands cradled the hardness of his buttocks. She nuzzled his thighs, the silk of her hair teasing him with her every movement. His fingers curled into the tendrils. A shudder ripped and tore violently through the length of her as she first tentatively curled her fingers nround his sex. Nothing had ever seemed so hot, so vivid, so filled with violent pulsing. His fingers dug with greater pressure into her hair. Crushed her against him. Again, instinct told her what to do. And the sensual fever that ran hotly through her body caused her to do it well.
She was suddenly all but dragged to her feet and thrown upon the bed. He caught her knees and forced them apart. She braced, her eyes closed, expecting the savage thrust of Ins body. Instead she felt his touch, parting her, opening her. Felt his hair brush her thighs, his fingers probe, caress, discover...
She gasped, tossing and struggling to be freed from his weight. She'd never imagined there could be such a tiny part of her body that created such agonizingly sweet sensations. Yet it was not over. The sensations built slowly, deliberately, until the whole of her body was wracked with them, the climax burning throughout her, so sweetly intense that the world seemed to blacken and pale.
And only then did she feel the force of him invade her. The fullness of his body penetrating her. She lay still, stunned at first, unable to move, aware only of the size and force and fullness of him. Then suddenly, it began again, friction that seduced. That created new fire, ignited her hunger again, the need again, the yearning. The desperate desire to reach that pinnacle again when the light of the fire seemed to burst, and to saturate her body with the deliciousness of it....
His climax was the catalyst to hers. The staggering force of him against her as he rained his seed into her brought the searing sensations within her to a peak. Her nails clawed heedlessly into his shoulders and back. Gasps and sobs were wrenched from her. She was drenched with perspiration, keenly aware of the wetness and sleekness of his body as well, yet once again the sheer intensity of the sensation seemed to create blinding light... and then a fall of gray shadows upon her...
Later, she was aware. Aware that she lay at his side, aware that the bed remained covered, that they both lay naked. The candles had burned down to nothing. They were in his room. She had come here. To do this.
Yet it didn't matter. She was still steeped in the extraordinary sensations she'd experienced. She'd tasted before the possibilities of pleasure she could have at his hands, but she'd never imagined how amazingly exquisite it would be. She wanted to close her eyes and savor the feelings forever, be cocooned within them.
At her side, he shifted. She opened her eyes and found him staring at her.
"Just how much money is it that you want?"
"What?" she managed.
"How much money. I'm assuming it must be a lot, for such a performance."
She stared back at him, shocked. The sweet cocoon around her seemed to shatter like glass.
"The amount will be intriguing. I'm supposedly a wealthy man, but I wonder just how often even I could afford an evening like this."
She closed her eyes quickly again, astonished at the depth of the hurt that filled her, afraid that tears would fall and betray her completely after this devastating humiliation.
Her eyes flew open. She cried and hit him, trying to punch him out of her way. She caught his chin, but he barely seemed to feel the blow. She nearly rose to her feet, but he grappled her back down, his countenance grim.
"What do you think you're going to do, go running through the halls naked? And what then? Do you think you can race to your room like some kind of princess and shut me out?"
"You are a—"
"You came for money! Admit it."
"I came for money!" she cried out, glaring at him, her eyes shimmering.
"How much, damn you? Let's see how much you think you were worth!"
"Sweet Jesu! Did you treat your last wife so?" she de- manded in turn. "Then surely, she most probably died to escape you!"
The fury in his eyes frightened her so that she closed her eyes, nearly crying out. But no blow fell upon her and she opened her eyes. A chilling dismay swept over her at the way he looked at her. She was the wronged party! she wanted to cry out, but her pride saved her.
"I—I don't understand you!" she choked out, barely able to hold back her tears. "No man leaves his wife with—with nothing."
"Damn you. I'm asking again. How much money do you need?"
"About a hundred dollars," she said warily.
He arched a brow, sinking back on his haunches. "You do value yourself, Lady Douglas!"
She ignored his mockery. "You asked me what I need!"
"For what?" he demanded.
"I..."
"For what?"
"My sister!" she cried out.
"Sister?" he repeated, amazed.
"Yes! My sister," she hissed. "I need to wire money to her for travel expenses. I want to bring her—here."
"You have one sister?"
"Yes."
"Older, younger? What's her name?"
"Two years younger. Sabrina."
"I see." What did he see? She had never been in a more miserable position, trapped, with him settled back on his haunches atop her, her hips caught between the lock of his thighs as he stared down at her, ready to make demands.
"Have you more siblings? Brothers? What of your mother and father? Other family? Will I be bringing scores of citizens westward?" He shrugged with a mocking glint to his eyes. "Such a procession could prove infinitely entertaining, I imagine."
She felt her cheeks redden, and she longed to strike out at him.
"Take care!" he suggested lightly.
"I have one sister," she snapped out, her lashes lowered as she self-consciously crossed her arms over
her chest, very aware now of both her nakedness and her vulnerability.
"No other family?"
"My parents are dead. I—" She broke off, fighting her temper and her unease. She stared at him and spoke as softly as she could manage and with all the dignity she could gather under the circumstances. "It is very important to me.... Please, I need to bring her out here."
He wouldn't deny her such a thing, would he?
But he shook his head. "A hundred dollars is much more than her journey here is going to cost her."
Skylar lowered her lashes again. "We—we have a few accounts that must be settled."
She looked at him. He seemed to accept that, yet still seemed somewhat amazed and puzzled by what he was hearing.
"You needn't think that my sister will be a burden to you. She won't be. She won't bother you. Or get in your way. I swear it—"
He lifted a hand. "Had you wished to bring half a dozen sisters into this house, I wouldn't have been bothered. I'm merely having a difficult time understanding you. All that you want is to send your sister money to come live out here. Have I got this right?" he demanded.
She nodded. It was mostly the truth.
"You little fool. Why didn't you just come right out and ask me? You could have saved yourself... this evening."
"You mean—"
"I'll see that the money is wired first thing in the morning."
"Oh ..." she breathed. "I don't want to trouble you. If you just give me the legal right, I can take care of everything. I don't want to ruin your trip, or delay it."
"The trip you're so concerned about me taking, right?" he demanded dryly.
"I understand it's important to you—"
"Yes, it is."
"Then I wouldn't want to interfere."
He watched her gravely, then smiled wryly, but there was little; humor in his eyes.
"You're the most incredible little liar."
"Damn you, I'm not lying," she inhaled, fighting back her temper, hating to acknowledge gratitude toward him in any way. "I'm grateful that you'll send for Sabrina, and I don't mean to delay something that's important to you. And speak of incredible liars! How you could ever fault me after the performance you put on when you pretended to attack the stagecoach—well, you've incredible gall!"
"Perhaps. But you'll understand if I find it difficult to trust you. I'll see that the arrangements are made."
She started to speak again, but he interrupted her. "I'll also see to it that you have a reasonable sum of money for personal expenses."
"I don't really want your money," she said uncomfortably. "I just—needed it."
"Women always need money, don't they?"
"Not necessarily. Not usually. I wouldn't have taken anything from you if. . ."
"If you hadn't felt that you had to?"
She refused to meet his eyes.
"So you really don't want to take anything from me, but earning it in your own mind is different?"
She had gotten what she wanted from him, nonetheless, it didn't seem to calm the tempest within her. At that moment, she wanted to slap him with every ounce of strength in her. But again she controlled her temper. Sabrina wasn't here yet.
She stared up at him furiously. "Have I earned it?"
"A down payment, at the least."
Temperance lost out. She gritted her teeth, striking out, then rueing the action because he had goaded her into it, and far too easily he caught her wrists, bringing them back to her sides.
He arched a taunting brow as he stared down at her; for the moment, she almost wondered which of them he mocked. He spoke somewhat harshly. "A man's wife is entitled to his resources," he said.
Startled by his words and manner, she felt again the tug of wounded pride. "I will be all right on my own," she told him. "Once you've sent for Sabrina, there will be nothing I want, and there really isn't anything I need here at the house."
"Umm. You'd be happy as a lark with me out of it?"
"I didn't say—"
"You didn't need to." He suddenly rose, picking her nightgown up from the floor, offering it to her. "I do, however, insist you dress before going back to your own room."
She took the garment from him. Then she inched back on the bed, realizing that she was shaking as she tried to shimmy quickly back into it. But he wasn't watching her. He was pulling his pants back on.
"You're free to escape," he said lightly. "You've done what you came to do."
She flushed deeply, dismayed to feel that she was being dismissed.
"You can be very cruel," she told him, rising with as much dignity as she could muster.
"Can I? Well, you can be very secretive."
"You're a stranger."
"One you accidentally married for the sole purpose of coming here. And taking over Mayfair."
"Well, then, I suppose, as you have suggested, I will revel in it in the days to come!" she said lightly, turning to leave.
He laughed softly. She was startled by his hand upon her arm, swinging her back to face him. "No, I don't suppose!" he informed her.
"What do you mean? If your trip was so important—"
"It is."
"You mean that you're not going?" "I'm going."
"Then—"
"My love, you're coming with me."
She stared at him, then gasped, pulling free from his louch. "But you're riding out into the true wilderness for days. You're riding out to spend time among the Sioux. You—"
"Right. You're forgetting something I keep telling you. I met you as a Sioux. There was no charade in that. I am a Sioux. Just as you are Lady Douglas, mistress of Mayfair, you're also wife to Thunder Hawk, warrior of the Oglala Sioux. You've spent some time at Mayfair. Now you'll get to see a bit of the other half of the life you have chosen."
She continued to stare at him, convinced he wasn't serious.
"But—"
He put his hands upon her shoulders, this time prodding her toward the door.
"Go to bed; get some sleep. We'll have to start early to make the arrangements you want and still give ourselves most of the day to ride into the hills."
"Wait!" she cried, turning back to him, searching his eyes and looking for some hint that he was only teasing her. "I'd prefer to stay here—"
"Yes, I know."
"You're just being cruel again."
"I'm not in the least. I can't leave you here. I don't trust you."
"There's no reason not to trust—"
"Skylar, my mind is made up."
She slammed her bare foot against the floor. "This is America!" she informed him.
He laughed. "That's debatable at the moment! Skylar, go to bed. Get some sleep. You're going with me."
"I refuse—"
"Afraid of Indians?" he taunted lightly.
"Damned wary of them," she countered.
"Uram. But you've already been savaged and waylaid by one. Good heaven! You're married to one. What greater horror could befall you?''
"I'm fond of the hair on my head.''
"Actually, I rather enjoy your hair, too."
"You—"
"I assure you, I'll see that you keep it."
"Are you so sure you can keep your own?" she demanded.
"I know where I am riding," he told her. "You can ride with me, or I can bring you along the same way I did when I met your stagecoach."
"Attacked the stagecoach."
He shrugged, his arms crossed over his chest.
Oh, God, she thought with dread. He was serious.
"It's going to be a very early morning," he warned her, his eyes narrowing, "if you want to wire money east."
"You're bribing me!"
He shook his head. "I don't have to bribe you. You're going. That's decided. How you go is up to you, and actually, it doesn't make much difference to me."
She gritted down very hard on her teeth. He was going to send for Sabrina. He was going to give her the hundred dollars. That was what mattered.
/> "Fine!" she snapped out.
"Fine?" he said skeptically.
"Fine! I just said fine, I'll go."
"You're right," he said very softly. "You will."
"And you are a damned savage!" she hissed.
He laughed softly, suddenly pulling her to him. "You were wonderfully savage yourself tonight, my love!"
She tried to kick him, but he moved swiftly enough to avoid her toes.
"Bastard!" she cried, jerking free from him and striding to the door, which she slammed behind her with such force she was sure its reverberation could be heard throughout the house.
Then she spun, and ran toward her own room with all possible speed.
Thirteen
Everything was going to be all right. Despite the fact that she was far from thrilled by the prospect of riding into completely uncivilized country with Hawk, she should have had the easiest rest she had known since arriving in the Dakota Territory. Hawk was going to send for Sabrina first thing in the morning. Jimmy Pike at Pike's Inn would receive the wire and slip word to Sabrina. And she would be free as well.
Maybe it was her relief that brought that last incident rushing back into her dreams.
Dillman. Unchanged. After so many years.
Handsomely dressed in his dark suit, tall and trim. He spent hours each week at his club, boxing, shooting, fencing, perfecting his physique and his image. The ultimate politician.
With the local police in his pocket.
He'd had over a decade then in which to achieve the image. As a young child, Skylar had known only that he'd killed her father. As she'd grown up in what he had made into his own household, she had come to realize many things about the man and his motives. He had seen what her father had possessed, not just in material goods, but in
his home and family, and most importantly, his position in the very exclusive strata cf Baltimore society. By killing her father, he had won her mother, and when Jill, the granddaughter of a Revolutionary War hero, had accepted and wed him, he was well on his way to achieving all that he desired—power, social prestige, and wealth.
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