Defiant Rose

by Colleen Quinn

  “We’ll be going for most of the day and should reach Colorado by nightfall. I ’spect we’ll get to Denver within a week.”

  Michael nodded, so distracted by his work that he didn’t notice anything odd until he climbed inside the wagon. Usually he traveled in the front with Jake or Griggs; this time they had him cozily seated in the same wagon with one other occupant, and he didn’t have to look twice to discern who it was. “What the hell—”

  The door slammed shut, and he heard it lock. Damn them. They’d done it again, and this time they had him good. He was locked inside the wagon with Rosemary Carney, his face throbbing like a thousand bees stinging his wounds, his muscles screaming in pain from the fight. Yet he was as helpless as a fish in a tin, sequestered without a choice of neighbors. Banging on the door, he shouted, “Let me out, goddammit!”

  His only answer was the laughter of the clowns and the thud of the wagon as it started toward Denver. Furious, he turned to glare at Rosemary, who looked as confounded as he did.

  “You don’t think that I—”

  “No, I’m sure you knew nothing about this, did you? Just another Carney clown trick! Lock up the banker, tease him, torture him…what damned difference does it make?”

  “That’s not fair!” Rosemary got to her feet, then plopped down to the hay-covered floor as the wagon lurched on the dirt road. “I didn’t know anything about this! Do you think I’d ask to ride with you, of all people? What do you think I am, a glutton for punishment?”

  “What?” He stared at her in amazement, unable to believe she was sitting in a bale of hay, giving him a defiant stare, when she’d just tricked him again. It was just too much. “Rosemary, don’t you dare deny it—”

  “Why not?” she continued, looking magnificent as her hair tumbled around her and her legs curled up in the golden straw. “What are you going to do about it? You can’t hurt me more than you already have! I don’t have anything to lose at this point.”

  Her breasts heaved with exertion, and a reluctant smile came to his face. God, she was beautiful, and he was beginning to understand her. Rosemary never backed down when cornered; like a kitten, she came out, claws bared, spitting and fighting.

  “Don’t you? You seem to forget that I was the one who got beat up last night. What kind of woman are you, anyway? Cavorting at bars with the men, playing cards, smoking a cigar—”

  “So what concern is that of yours? You made it perfectly clear that you didn’t want any ties to me. So what do you care what I do?”

  “Because I do!” he thundered. The admission came out before he could stop it. He stood over her, her body half buried in hay, her green eyes staring up at him like fathomless fairy pools. He caught her hand and pulled her to her feet, glad to see the stunned look of surprise replace her scorn.

  “Because I do,” he said again, surrendering to what he felt. “Rosemary, I’ve tried to keep you at a distance, but it didn’t work. And God only knows if I let you take control, I’m liable to wind up as elephant bait. I’m sorry, but it’s time to take matters into my own hands.”

  “What…what do you think you’re doing?” Blinking, she saw him smile as he took her into his arms and picked a piece of hay from her hair.

  “What you’ve been asking me to do again for the last few days.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about—” Fear flooded through her. Did he somehow know? Was he privy to her innermost thoughts and had divined the need she had for him? She watched as if hypnotized as his hand stroked her hair, then brushed downward to the curve of her breast. The nipple stood out, hard against her plain dress, reacting to her emotions and to him.

  “I think you do.” He smiled again, looking meltingly handsome with his disheveled hair and his fight-roughened face. Emotions swelled within her: relief, pain, apprehension, and overwhelming joy. What if he pushed her away again? What if he—

  “Rosemary.” He said her name like a caress, and a shudder passed through her. “What’s done is done. I’ve tried to stay away from you, tried to keep you as just another clown in the circus. I can’t do it. Last night proved that.”

  Hope sprang within her, ridiculous, giddy hope, and he smothered her questions with a kiss that sent showering sparks all through her and made her knees buckle beneath her. Her arms crept up around his neck, and she clung to him, loving the way his hard body felt against her soft one. Any apprehensions she still had quickly fled, replaced by the need in her heart for him, Michael Wharton. The aching in that region soon spread to other parts of her body, and her blood pulsed hotter, surging through her, making her feel deliciously on fire.

  He pulled her closer to him, groaning at the innocent response that was so real, and so natural. His mouth eased from hers long enough for him to see her passion-flushed face, her eyes, gently half closed, their mischievous glint darkened into something more languid and erotic. Her mouth, moistly parted, was pink and perfectly formed. Rosemary Carney may have been a clown, but in his arms she was all woman.

  “What are you doing?” She felt his hands slide through her hair, loosening the red-gold tresses and allowing them to fall around her shoulders.

  “I’m making love to you. And by the time I’m through, my whiskey-drinking clown, you will be mine.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  ROSEMARY TREMBLED AT HIS WORDS. When she stared up at him questioningly, he took her mouth again like a starving man, his kiss devouring and sending delightful little shudders all through her body. His hands moved from her hair to her waist, then upward to cup her breast, his kiss deepening and sending her right over the edge into oblivion.

  It was so good, so unbelievably good. If Rosemary had deluded herself that their first act of lovemaking had been wrought from Clara’s potion, then the giddy sense of delight that rushed through her was a keen reassurance that this was not simply drug-induced pleasure. Michael sent slow, wonderful caresses down her arms, her waist, and thighs, his hands expertly stroking, lingering just long enough, then moving in a pattern designed to make her go out of her mind. Inexperienced as she was, Rosemary knew that what was happening between them was special and carried all of the emotional impact of any of their battles. It was suddenly very clear to her what he meant, that she had been asking him to do this again, and with new insight she saw that she had been asking him to do this from the beginning. Michael had seen her as a woman all along, and now he was teaching her the full meaning of the word.

  His hands lowered to the buttons of her dress, and he began the arduous task of undoing them, while she flushed in new embarrassment. There was no potion this time to envelop his actions in a foggy haze, and while that made the experience raw and new and unbelievably pleasurable, it also heightened her sense of awareness. But his amused chuckle at the row of obdurant buttons made it all so much easier, especially when he had to enlist her aid.

  “Where did you get this dress? Whoever wore it before you must have never taken it off.”

  “It’s a farm dress.” Rose giggled, struggling out of the dour cotton sack. “I couldn’t bail you out of jail looking like a Jezebel.” She stood in the sweetly scented hay, clad now in worn, inappropriate underwear, her hair tumbling around her as her smile died. The tattered chemise that Clara had lent her made her color deepen. But when she looked up, the passion and approval she saw in his eyes made her misgivings vanish, especially when he pulled her into his arms with a throaty rumble in his chest.

  “My God, Rosemary, whoever would have thought that beneath that clown suit you hid a body like this? You are so beautiful, so damned beautiful.”

  Relief flooded through her, coupled with a new surge of desire, as he kissed her again, this time more urgently. He released her only long enough to remove his own clothes. Rosemary sank down to the sweet-smelling hay, watching him come to her with a tingle of anticipation that sent her already inflamed senses on fire.

  He removed her chemise, then his mouth returned to hers with a kiss that made her reel. All lo
gic was gone; all reason a distant memory. Her senses came keenly alive, and she was aware of little things, the delightful prickle of the hay against her bare thighs, the incredible heat from his body, the steamy waves of pure pleasure that floated through her and grew more unbearable with each new touch or caress of his lips. It was even better than before, and she gasped with a sharp sense of passion as his mouth tugged on her breast and sent shuddering waves of desire all through her.

  This time she shyly tried to return the pleasure he gave her, uncertain even as she touched him if her hands could produce the same magic his did for her. His hoarse groan of encouragement gave her her answer, and with a heady feeling of erotic power, she stroked his hard body without inhibition. She was filled with a new sense of wonder as she explored the planes and contours of his chest and thighs, and when she shyly touched him where he was pulsing and hard for her, he pushed her onto her back and kissed her roughly. Her eyes opened and she saw the hot passion in his eyes, and she knew the time of waiting was at an end.

  She had been intoxicated by a love potion before; this time he demanded her trust as he parted her thighs, that raw, male urgency devouring her. But as she looked up into his face, Michael’s face, saw every well-known line and feature, her doubts evaporated. She wanted this, wanted him. With the awesome and total surrender of a first love, Rosemary held back nothing and gave herself to him with a tenderness that he’d never experienced before.

  It was pleasurable torture, but he held back, keeping masterful rein over his starved senses, teasing her into a mindless wanting. He entered her slowly, one small bit at a time, giving her body a chance to adjust to his intrusion. Rosemary welcomed him into her, wrapping her legs instinctively around his hips, her hands memorizing every inch of bare skin on his back. Groaning with unadulterated pleasure, he withdrew and drove into her carefully, skillfully, bringing her with him on a wave of pure ecstasy. Rosemary cried out as he lifted her hips, increasing her pleasure, making her arch beneath him as need overcame everything else. Together they were fused in mind, body and spirit, man and woman, softness yielding to hardness, until the ultimate pleasure took them both with a white-hot explosion of sweet joy. Time ceased to be for those precious seconds, then slowly they drifted back to earth.

  Rosemary felt the heady passion subside, replaced by the wonderful warm afterglow of lovemaking. A delicious sense of well-being permeated her spirit. Snuggling closer to Michael, she giggled as the straw pricked her bare bottom and her breasts bore his weight. Lovemaking was marvelous, and being a real woman, incredible.

  The wagons didn’t stop until late afternoon, and even then just long enough to cook a decent meal and give the horses a rest. The clowns cautiously unlocked the wagon door where they’d trapped Michael and Rosemary, then they sprang back, as if afraid of what they’d find.

  Clara cackled gleefully as the young couple emerged, arm in arm, their hair tussled and their bodies visibly relaxed. Rosemary stumbled as she reached the ground, but Michael held on to her, keeping her from falling. She wasn’t even aware of her interested onlookers as she gazed up into Michael’s face with an expression of dazed adoration that made the clowns burst into applause.

  “What the hell—” Michael glanced around, seeing Griggs and Zachery, Clara and Rags, Biddle and Jake, all watching with open approval. He looked down at Rosemary, seeing her blush as she smoothed her dress and tried to fix her hair. Frowning, he turned to the clowns.

  “All right, who was responsible for locking us in there?”

  Each guilty face turned to the one beside him, until Clara laughed out loud, clapping her hands.

  “We all were. Had we left it up to you, you two would have murdered each other and us along with you. But I see you’re friends again, and that’s what counts.”

  Friends. Michael watched as Clara took Rosemary’s arm and led her toward the campfire. Rosemary gave him a warm glance before getting too far away, and it was a look filled with such uninhibited joy that he felt a rush of good old-fashioned guilt. In the throes of her first real relationship, Rosemary didn’t have the skills of more sophisticated women who would have hidden the glance or acted as if their dalliance did not have such meaning. But Rosemary felt everything with a passion he’d long admired, and didn’t know enough to play games or to pretend she thought him anything but wonderful.

  And that bothered him. Biddle joined him while the others prepared a meal. He heard the clowns’ jokes and Rosemary’s hooting laughter, Clara’s cackle, Rags’s guffaws. He could see her across the fire, her hair ignited by the flame, her profile innocent. She appeared…vulnerable.

  “It seems you both have made up,” Biddle commented dryly, handing him his flask.

  Michael’s mouth opened, then shut, then he drank deeply of the flask. His guilt cleared, only to be replaced by anger. He turned to Biddle, his eyes like cold steel. “You know, I don’t get it. You lectured me before that Rose has fifty fathers here, yet they lock us up inside that wagon for the better part of a day. What the hell are you trying to do?”

  Biddle shrugged. “Rosemary wants you, and right now, that’s good enough for us. You see, we don’t have many of the same trappings and laws as your world. The circus life is too transient. Men leave the show, die from exhaustion, return to their farms, or just manage along like Griggs and myself. We’ve learned that joy is fleeting. It’s nothing more than a tumble in the dirt for the clowns, soaring from the ropes for the trapeze artists, hitting the target for the sharpshooters. All of us know that tomorrow it may be gone, so we’ve learned to take what happiness we find when and where we can find it. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.” Michael didn’t know if it was the whiskey, but he did understand. Two months ago he wouldn’t have had any idea what Biddle meant. But he’d learned that life in the show was very different from the civilized world it played to.

  “So you see, all I ask is that you don’t hurt her. She’s learning, you know. And you’re the first man in her life. You have the experience—Rose doesn’t.”

  “That I don’t understand.”

  Biddle smiled. “You’ll leave here soon, when the season ends, and you’ll be taking her heart with you. But she soon will forget. Perhaps in time she’ll meet someone more like herself, someone more acceptable. In the meantime, if she doesn’t see this out with you, she may delude herself into thinking that you were the only man for her.”

  Something about that didn’t sit right with Michael, especially the part about Rose being with someone else. But he didn’t have a rebuttal, especially with the deed already done. He’d tried to resist her, fought against it, but in the end it would have happened anyway, wagon or no wagon, and he knew it.

  “That’s better. I’m glad we see eye to eye.” Biddle saw the cloud clear from his face. “But remember, I don’t want her hurt. And if it happens, you’ll answer to me.”

  Michael glanced at Biddle, aware that the ringmaster had no trace of intoxication. The older man gazed back at him with clear unwavering eyes, and his expression was deadly serious.

  “Then I think you should have taken that into consideration before meddling,” Michael replied. “I’ve never lied to her and don’t intend to start. However, if she does get hurt, we’ll all bear a collective blame. Especially after today.” He handed Biddle back the flask, his eyes like ice.

  Biddle nodded as the tall, elegant city man walked away from him toward the campfire. He hid a smile as Michael was drawn into the circle of clowns and had to laugh at something Rosemary said. Carney the clown had a way of wriggling into the coldest of hearts.

  And he wondered, in the long run, who would have the most regrets.

  He was different when he came back to her. Rosemary had seen him talking with Biddle, and the intense, almost angry expression on his face when he returned. He didn’t look her way but helped himself to a plate of food and ate far away from her, as if he couldn’t stand to be near her.

  Crushed, Rosemary glanced repeatedly at
the ringmaster, wondering what the man could have said to create such a reaction. Michael had laughed shortly when she’d made a joke, but other than that, he didn’t respond to her at all. Yet Biddle seemed unconcerned and shrugged when she looked pointedly from him to Michael in a silent question.

  He didn’t ride with her that afternoon, nor later when they split up the wagons and prepared for camp. This time, beneath a starless night, he spoke softly with the men about business, going over figures and schedules, plans and implementations. Rosemary felt as if her insides were splitting as she tried to catch his attention and he studiously ignored her. She crawled into the wagon with Clara, choking down sobs, wondering what she did this time to create this distance between them.

  “It’s nae you, child,” Clara had said, her voice disgruntled beneath the tattered blankets. “ ’Tis guilt, nae doot. He doesna’ want to hurt you. The man thinks he’s doing the right thing.”

  “This is right?” Rosemary tried to stem the flood of emotions inside of her, feeling like she was trying to stopper a shaken bottle of beer.

  “Nae, but why don’t you go to him? There he sits by the fire. The world doesn’a come to those who wait. You know that from the circus, dearie.”

  Slipping down from the wagon was the hardest thing she’d ever done. Rosemary crossed the bare ground, feeling the cool Colorado dirt beneath her feet. He had his back to her, but he knew her as soon as she touched him. His shudder went all the way through her own body when she ran her hand along his shoulders. He looked up, his eyes dark and fathomless, his voice hoarse when he spoke.

  “You should go back,” he whispered. In the firelight she could see the conflict on his face. Hope sprang up within her and that made her bold. Stemming her fear of rejection, she looked him straight in the eye.

  “Why?”