The Irish Devil

by Diane Whiteside

  “Dammit, woman,” he growled, his hips twisting and shifting.

  “Did I use the wrong term for this portion of your anatomy, William?” Viola asked, straight-faced, then swept her tongue over him again.

  He moaned again, louder, then choked out, “You used the correct word, sweetheart.”

  “Excellent. On your stomach now, please.” She backed away slightly, reluctantly.

  “What?” His head shot around to stare at her.

  She lifted an eyebrow. “How long do you plan to delay?”

  “Wretch,” he grumbled, but laughter sparked in his eyes. He obeyed, muttering something in Irish as he settled flat on the floor.

  “Splendid,” Viola approved. Magnificent, in fact, or at least her pussy thought so, judging by how it wept in eagerness for him. An opinion seconded by her womb, which clenched hungrily for him, and her breasts, which throbbed as if they hadn’t felt his touch for weeks instead of the few hours since morning.

  He turned his head to watch her but said nothing, his gaze fevered and intent upon her.

  She sighed and reached up to undo her hair, closing her eyes against the distraction he offered. A few practiced movements later, her pale hair fell over her shoulders. She shook her head until her hair swirled around her.

  William groaned something. She glanced at him, startled by his reaction since she hadn’t touched him. He closed his eyes, trembling, and his hips pulsed.

  He liked her hair that much?

  Viola trailed it over his back lightly. The lamplight reflected on the strands until her hair seemed part of the light.

  He groaned again.

  She could excite him with something as simple as brushing him with her hair. For the first time in her life, her body seemed an asset to catching a man’s attention.

  She purred and repeated the caress, pouring her hair over every line and fold of him, enjoying how the lamplight blazing from it highlighted his powerful body.

  He shuddered and moaned her name. His hands tightened on the rug. His hips began to rock rhythmically.

  She kissed his spine and licked his shoulder, fanning her fingers over his arms to gather his heat into every pore of her body. Her skin burned for him until she thought she might explode.

  “Bloody hell, Viola, do you mean to burn away my wits with excitement?” His rough, broken voice stoked the fire deep in her core. She was flushed, aching with arousal.

  She rolled away and fumbled to remove her clothing. Undoing the tunic’s frogs would take far too long, so she concentrated on the pants’ drawstring. Finally, they came untied and she stood up to strip off the offending silk.

  She was attired only in the silk tunic now, with her bare legs gleaming below and her hair streaming over her shoulders. She was available for anything, in heady contrast to the tunic’s rich cloth, and too excited to be embarrassed by her dishabille.

  “Dear God in heaven.”

  She stopped and looked back down at him. William had rolled over and lay at her feet, outlined against the rich oriental rug like an exotic delicacy. His brilliant blue eyes blazed as bright as a smelter’s fires, his skin was gilded by the lamplight, and his cock was fiercely crimson in its rearing impatience, its color deepened by the delicate film of his seed slipping over it.

  He closed his eyes as another tremor racked him. “Viola, sweetheart, fetch me a condom from the sideboard before I forget myself and grab you.”

  Viola threw her pants onto the pile of his clothes and did as he bid. He remained on the floor and slipped it on quickly, tying it with clumsy fingers.

  She crouched beside him and unconsciously licked her lips as she watched. Those thin sheaths that prevented pregnancy seemed a waste of precious time, compared to her urgency to claim him.

  He laid his head back and closed his eyes, as his hands fell away to his sides. “Do you mean to do something other than watch, sweetheart?” he asked softly.

  “Do you know how beautiful you are?” Viola whispered. She reached out to run a delicate finger over his hip. He was magical like this, a creature of earthly strength and carnal fires that made her very bones melt.

  He shivered and arched, fingers clawing at the rug.

  Compelled by an instinct older than time, Viola swung her leg over his hip, seized his cock, and mounted him. She sank home, her pussy welcoming him like a violin coming alive for its bow. His hips bucked to meet her.

  “Yes, oh yes, William,” she moaned.

  She shifted slightly, delighting in how her intimate folds nestled against his balls. She purred as she arched her back and discovered new places deep inside where his cock could delight her.

  “Bloody hell, Viola, you will make me lose my mind.” He caressed her sides and played with her nipples in just the way she liked. She leaned forward to encourage him.

  “Ride me like your favorite horse, sweetheart,” he bit out, and arched under her.

  Instinctively, she rocked her hips. She moved on him more and more, in response to his hands’ clever urging of her breasts and his hips’ steady motion. Soon she was plunging up and down on his cock, riding him like the reckless horsewoman she’d once been.

  She threw back her head and trembled with the sheer delight of life. An eager beat built in her loins and spine, reached out into her blood. His gasps and groans were pure counterpoint, a fugue building to a crescendo.

  Fire built with every motion, every wet slap of skin against skin, every gasp and shudder. Soon she could no longer remember why she waited, only that this man was wonderful beyond all others. His rough finger slipped between them and pressed her throbbing clit.

  Viola sobbed aloud as rapture burst through her veins. She came again and again, shattering into pieces in a world where the only thing of importance was William’s explosive climax.

  She collapsed on him afterwards, too spent to do more than cuddle as she slid into sleep.

  William’s face was calm as he dressed in the predawn darkness by a single candle. Viola watched him as she brushed her hair, desperately aware that Lennox could attack as soon as the supply train left. He should be warned.

  “Lennox arranged the riot yesterday at the depot,” she said abruptly.

  “I know, sweetheart.”

  “How?”

  He shrugged. “Probably the same way you do. He was entirely too smug when he watched me fight the O’Flahertys.”

  Viola nodded agreement. But William needed to know everything possible of Lennox’s villainy, so he could be fully prepared. “He killed Edward personally. He ran him through with that sword stick of his.”

  “Good God.” He came to her and gently took her by the shoulders. “Are you certain? For a man to court a woman whose husband he killed is unbelievable, even for Lennox.”

  She nodded. “He told me so himself.”

  “The murdering bastard.” William’s face was taut with suppressed violence before he calmed himself. He leaned down to kiss her and the Colt belted at his hip nudged her elbow.

  “I’m sorry you had to face that loss alone, sweetheart.”

  She clutched his shoulders, feeling his warm life flow into her cold fingers.

  He nuzzled her forehead. “Steady now, sweetheart. That villain will not catch me by surprise nor harm you, I swear.” He straightened up and slid a long slender knife into the sheath on his right wrist, then buttoned his cuffs. He seemed a warrior angel, ready for battle at any time. He deserved so much more than she could give him.

  “I should go to Lennox and tell him I’ll marry him.”

  William suddenly spun away from the dresser and dragged her up against him. She stared up at him, her heart racing at the look on his face.

  “No. Hell, no,” he snarled. “You promised me three months and I swore to protect you. By Mary and all the saints, you’ll not leave me until that time is up.”

  “It’s not worth seeing you killed.” Her throat was so tight she had difficulty getting the words out.

  William shrugged
impatiently. “He tried to shoot Morgan the other day but failed. There’ll be no peace in this town until one of us is dead, no matter whose house you live in. So you’ll stay with me, where you’re safe, even if I have to lock you in.”

  “You wouldn’t do that,” she protested.

  He lifted an eyebrow. “Don’t be silly, sweetheart. Of course I would.”

  Viola searched his face in the flickering light, all shadows and occasional flashes of insight. His expression was calm and inflexible. She sighed and yielded. If Lennox had attacked Evans, then there truly would be fighting even if she went to Lennox. “Very well, I’ll stay with you.” And I’ll pray, she added silently.

  “Good girl.” He kissed her quickly, then turned away to shrug into his coat.

  She wished she could help him somehow, do something to ease him. Perhaps something carnal.

  “William.”

  “Yes, sweetheart?”

  “Can we do whatever you want tonight?”

  He turned to stare at her. Primal hunger and intimate masculine knowledge flickered there for a moment before his thick eyelashes swept down to conceal his thoughts. Something in her melted and surged toward him.

  “I thought we always did what I want,” he drawled.

  Viola blushed scarlet but pursued her goal. “You’re always so very kind and considerate toward me. Are there activities you’d enjoy if you didn’t need to worry about me?”

  His face froze, shifted. He seemed to consider infinite possibilities. Then he shook his head. “No, don’t think about that, sweetheart. We do very well as we are.”

  “There are other games to play, aren’t there?” Viola persisted. “Games with a rope, or a little whip, or maybe something else.”

  She stopped at the look on his face.

  His eyes blazed brilliant blue. Her pussy clenched, anticipating the pleasures his expression promised.

  “What are you asking me for, sweetheart?” He tilted a finger under her chin. She met his fierce gaze openly. They were so close together she could feel his chest rising and falling under his proper suit.

  “To play the games you dream of, without worrying about me.” She gulped, then bravely finished with the truth. “I’m certain we’ll both enjoy them.”

  William swallowed hard, his cock a hot ridge against her belly. “Oh, sweetheart,” he growled, “tonight I will show you such fantasies as would make your head spin. I promise you’ll forget about everything else in the world.”

  Viola gulped. If they could both forget Evans’s departure, taking so many teamsters, and Lennox prowling outside like a ravaging beast hunting for an opening…

  William kissed her, long and hard, certain of his welcome. She threw herself into her response, eager to distract herself from the coming danger.

  William double-checked the powder wagon one last time, ensuring the knots would hold during the long journey ahead. The other wagons stood waiting on the desert just beyond, ready to leave for Fort McMillan with their cavalry escort. Most of his men would depart with them. He’d prayed for them that morning during his usual devotions at the Blessed Virgin’s shrine in the compound.

  He’d remain behind to prepare for the next supply train from Fort Yuma and to protect Viola from Lennox. He had few worries for his own fate but mountains for Viola’s future.

  His eyes lifted to find her, watching from the colonnade outside the office, an island of feminine calm in the depot’s hubbub. She smiled at him and he touched his hat to her, then returned to the knots.

  He wondered, not for the first time, why Lennox sought her so fiercely. Hurt pride from her repeated refusals? Maybe; heaven knows he had pride enough for a thousand men so he’d likely take poorly to being publicly crossed. But why did he want her to begin with? She was the only woman in this town from a fine family, but Lennox could hunt for a wife in other towns.

  Viola deserved better than Lennox’s cruelty.

  For a moment, William imagined Viola as his wife, not Lennox’s. They’d attend Sunday Mass together, dressed in their finest, and the bishop would give her a fond greeting afterwards. He’d take her home in a magnificent carriage, the matched team trotting fast enough to ruffle the feathers in her hat. She’d laugh and cling to his arm, eyes dancing as she anticipated the embrace he’d give her when they reached their house. The hours of passion afterwards would pass quickly as he showed her marriage was just a beginning, not an end, to their love.

  Bloody hell, William snarled silently, and wrenched himself away from that foolish dream. No daughter of America’s finest families would ever tolerate an Irishman as a husband, or the Catholic religion. No, Viola would leave in three months and he must make the most of the time remaining.

  By all the saints, he’d do his best to ensure she remembered this Irishman whenever she was with another man.

  “Ready, Donovan?” Morgan’s rich tenor interrupted William’s thoughts.

  “Ready.” He turned to face his friend.

  Morgan was dressed in his usual attire for the trail: well-worn flannel shirt and canvas trousers, a broad-brimmed battered slouch hat pulled well down on his forehead, and a pistol belt close to his waist with a Colt on each side, butts forward in the cavalry style. Leather chaps rose above high-heeled boots and Mexican spurs. His rifle was balanced Arizona-fashion on his saddle’s pommel and an old Navajo blanket rested at the cantle. His Indian pony could outlast almost any other horse in Arizona, and still be capable of a sprint at day’s end.

  Locals said Morgan could ride and track as well as any Apache. This morning, his appearance matched every bit of his reputation and more.

  Viola appeared beside him. “Please take care of yourself, Mr. Evans. I will pray nightly for your well-being.”

  Morgan’s face softened. “Thank you, Mrs. Ross. I promise you we’ll return as quickly as possible. A week, maybe less.”

  Viola nodded, her smile a bit tremulous. “Sarah has a splendid supper planned for your return.”

  She slipped her hand into the crook of William’s arm. He patted it reassuringly.

  “Take good care of her, Donovan. Otherwise, I’ll just have to look after her myself.”

  “The hell you will,” William retorted. Morgan laughed, and the tense moment was over.

  Morgan touched his hat to Viola, then wheeled and rode out of the depot, while William and Viola followed him on foot.

  In the street outside, Morgan waved his hat to the cavalry lieutenant. An instant later, a bugle sounded, setting the blue-clad horsemen into motion. The great wagon train uncoiled itself from the open plain and lumbered onto the trail. William and Viola, with the townsfolk and remaining teamsters, waved good-bye.

  Seven nights, at best, would pass before his men would return. Until then, he, Abraham, and his few remaining men would protect Viola from that scum Lennox.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Hal Lindsay climbed down from the stagecoach’s roof, grateful for escape from this particular form of torture, as Holbrook steadied the horses for the passengers to disembark. The coach’s height and width of little more than four feet were not designed to hold his big frame in comfort, even if he’d been the only passenger.

  That hadn’t been the case, of course, so he’d escaped to the roof as often as possible. And from there, he’d been privileged to help fight off more than one Apache attack.

  The headache gained in the Santa Fe attack had finally disappeared a few days ago, although he still wore the doctor’s carefully wound bandage. He badly needed a barber to restore his goatee’s usual tidiness. He was also both filthy and hungry, conditions he never tolerated while piloting.

  “Thanks for the help, Lindsay,” Holbrook called down to him, his gray eyes vivid in his weathered face. “We sure had our hands full during that last attack, ’til you cut loose with your Henry rifle.”

  “My pleasure,” Hal answered as he tucked the repeating rifle comfortably against his side. He’d bought it from another traveler just before Apac
he Pass and thanked God for it during every Apache attack since.

  He accepted his carpetbag from the station agent, a sturdy man with watchful eyes. He glanced toward the west and frowned at the setting sun. The last Apache attack had cost more time than he’d hoped. He stood little chance of reaching Rio Piedras today, if it was as far as men said.

  “Where can I buy a horse to ride to Rio Piedras?” Hal asked.

  Holbrook laughed as he, too, finally jumped off the stagecoach. “You ride out of Tucson alone and you’ll be dead before sundown, thanks to the Apaches. Waste of a good horse, if you don’t mind me saying so. No, you’re better off catching tomorrow’s stage.”

  “When does it leave?”

  “Pulls out of here at dawn and reaches Rio Piedras after noon. Makes a quick turnaround there so it can be back here before midnight. We run two stages on that route for safety.”

  “Thanks.” Hal surveyed the neighborhood around the depot and frowned. He’d heard stories of Tucson, especially as a den of villains. But this looked worse than he’d expected. “Any advice on where I can stay?”

  “Two hotels in town, and you’ll want the one at the end of this block. It has a good bathhouse and barber,” Holbrook added. “Spend some time there and they’ll get you fixed up right. Good food and beds, too. Don’t waste your money on any other place.”

  Hal nodded and started to turn.

  “One more thing.” Holbrook spoke confidentially. “You might want to exchange that bowler of yours for something better suited to keeping off the sun. Strange things happen when a fellow wears narrow-brimmed hats.”

  Hal raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

  “Fact. Those Rio Piedras fellows like to make sure no eastern headgear is seen in their town. All in fun, of course.”

  “A tough place.”

  “Makes Tucson look like a Sunday school, especially when those miners and teamsters start a brawl.” Holbrook’s tone held a wealth of caution.

  “Thanks for the warning, friend.”

  “Pleasure’s all mine.”