by Amy Faye
Jason snorted at the joke, and Isaiah's head turned subtly to acknowledge it.
"Fine." Sarah sighed in frustration, hoping to seem as if she had resigned herself to her fate. If they weren't going to let her go, then it was just a matter of time until she could lose them in the craziness.
The one thing that she was sure of, though, was that they were absolutely crazy, and she needed to get away as soon as possible. Then Isaiah reached out and grabbed her hand.
The feeling of his skin against hers reminded her of the night before. The way that he'd laid her down, then what had come after, the ecstasy that he'd shown her…
She closed her eyes. She couldn't have this kind of craziness. Couldn't deal with the baggage that they came with, no matter how they looked. No matter how they made her feel.
Someone else, some day, would come along and she'd wonder why she had ever thought that Isaiah and Jason were so breathtakingly good-looking. Only… they'd both been interested in her. At least, they'd talked to her, and kissed her, and saved her life. How many other men were going to be able to stand up to that comparison?
She let them pull her into a car and drive her along the streets, but her mind was somewhere else. There had to be a way to have it both ways. Maybe they could be cured? But how? And how would it affect their work? Would they even agree to something like that? Would they thank her?
She tried to stop that line of thinking. There was no future with these two, she told herself. Nothing to look forward to, so there was no reason to try to think too hard about "saving" them, either from their curse or from anything else, for that matter.
As long as she was with them, she was in danger. She repeated it to herself again to make sure that it stuck. The car slowed to a stop and then Jason was coming around to open her door and offering a hand to help her up out of the back seat.
She didn't know how long they'd been driving, but it couldn't have been more than twenty minutes. It was amazing that houses like this existed so close to the city. She'd thought most people lived in those little suburban homes, or apartments if they wanted to live downtown, but never something… this size.
The three of them walked around the estate in a group, Jason's arm entwined with her own. When she followed the line of their eyes, she saw a back door, almost hidden from view. They started to walk, pulling her along with them.
The door was large and heavy. She could tell more from the sound of it when it closed than any struggle on Isaiah's part when he opened it. It seemed to open easily and moved silently until it closed behind them with a dull thump.
If the outside wasn't misleading, the place was at least three stories tall. It looked as if there were two wings of the house, which was absurd. Who could possibly need so many rooms for themselves?
"Should we split up? It'd be better if we caught Victor before he caught wind that we're inside."
Isaiah seemed to weigh the options for a moment before nodding.
"You take the east wing, I'll take Sarah with me to the west wing."
"Wait," she cut in, sensing an opportunity. "What if he's in the basement? You can see the stairs leading down right there."
She pointed them out. Sure as can be, there was a set of stairs leading down into the darkness. It seemed exceedingly unlikely that anyone was down there, she thought. She hoped.
Again, Isaiah seemed to take a long moment to contemplate whether or not it would help, and the expression on his face seemed to suggest that he was going to refuse. Then, at the last moment, he nodded.
"Good thinking." Sarah smiled to herself. That was all she needed. A chance to get away from them both. Once she went down a little ways, and they went their own separate ways, she could double back and be out of there lickity-split. "But you don't have a way to get in touch with us. If you find anything—I mean anything, Sarah—you scream and you come running. Is that clear?"
Sarah blinked to cover her eyes involuntarily rolling. As if she was going to run into anything in a darkened basement. "Of course."
"Good. Be safe, both of you. I don't need this turning into trouble."
"Or what, you'll suck my blood?"
Isaiah's jaw twitched. She'd hit a nerve. Sarah tried not to let her pleasure show on her face. "Just stay safe, alright?"
"You got it, Dracula." Another twitch, this one stronger. She struggled to bite back a smile.
"Get to it," he growled, turning on his heel and not waiting for a response.
Jason's gaze lingered on her for a long moment. He seemed almost like he wanted to say something. Then he, too, was going. She thought she saw him looking back to check on her as she turned to go down the steps, but then she was around the corner and headed down.
It was a long staircase, and Sarah was beginning to realize that this was no average basement. After the first few steps her eyes started acclimating to the darkness, but it was still surprisingly difficult to see. She couldn't make out the bottom of the steps until she was nearly halfway down, and well more than twenty feet into the darkness.
She'd made a mistake, she realized. If there was any place that he'd be, it would be down here. She turned to look back up the steps. It was only a little way back, and she'd be free and clear by now. She took a tentative step back up.
A sound made her stop. What was that? She didn't want to know, didn't want to think about what it could possibly be making a noise behind her. She strained her ears to hear, but no noise came. Sarah shut her eyes and tried to be reasonable, taking another ginger step up.
The noise came again, clear as can be. Something behind her, and closer than the last time. She needed to leave. A sick feeling filled her; a feeling that if she didn't get out now, she wasn't going to get out at all.
Going back up was harder than coming down. Her breaths came in short puffs as she moved as fast as she could up the darkened stairs. Every single step she raised her knees higher than she thought she needed to. The terrified feeling in the pit of her stomach told her that she couldn't afford to miss a step, to stumble on the lip.
The doorway was getting closer. Closer. Any second now she would be up and into the sunlight. She'd be a short run to the outside, and then she'd be out.
Passing through the threshold and into the light of the morning sun was like being born again, the feeling of all her terror starting to slough off. Whatever was down there had gotten close. She'd felt it, heard the steps coming impossibly closer.
She didn't have time to enjoy the feeling, though. She needed to be gone, now. The feeling of relief was almost palpable. She was almost free, finally. Then a pair of powerful arms wrapped around her, squeezing the breath out of her.
Sarah tried to struggle to turn around, to see who had grabbed her, but the arms held her fast. Deep down, she knew. It was him. Victor. He'd come and grabbed her. How stupid could she have been to assume that she was safe? She'd known that she was in the house of a monster. A man who was powerful both politically and physically.
She'd assumed that Isaiah or Jason would have found him, though. That they would have done what they claimed to do best. They'd sounded so certain of their plan that as he pulled her back, down the steps, into the darkness, it almost didn't seem real.
Her eyes hadn't begun adjusting to the darkness when the arms loosened and another door closed, shutting off any but a tiny sliver of light from beneath the crack. Sarah was left in the dark, and the only thing that she was sure of was what was going to happen next.
She felt his mouth on her neck, felt the scrape of his teeth against her flesh, but he didn't bite down. Not right away. She shivered at the sensation, at the pleasure that it sent through her in spite of her terror.
She could almost make out the outline of his hands in the darkness as thin fingers started to work the buttons of her blouse, one by one. She tried to fight, but he was too strong. His body pressed against hers, the feeling of cloth against her skin, goosebumps raised from the cold and the fear that held her.
His l
ips came down on her throat again, and the sharp, sweet pleasure of the kiss was inescapable once more. She wanted him to… she tried not to think it. Tried to put the thought out of her mind, but as his teeth sank in, it didn't seem to hurt the way that she'd expected. No, it felt… almost good.
She let out an unsteady breath as her blood started to flow into his waiting mouth. His hands moved across her body, probing and touching and feeling. Sarah's body involuntarily pressed back against him, unconsciously daring him to do whatever he wanted. To take whatever he wanted.
Sarah let her eyes slip shut again as the strange feeling of peace settled over her. Whatever he wanted, that was right. That was what she wanted. She just wanted to go home. He would let her go, she knew. As soon as he was finished. She could wait just a little bit longer.
The door slammed open. Isaiah came first, with Jason quickly on his heels. Sarah laid on a counter in a daze, only barely lifting her head to see what was happening. She smiled at them. They were very good looking boys, she thought.
It had been a long day, and she wanted to go home now. The taller one, Isaiah, spoke first.
"What happened?"
Sarah smiled at him. Always worrying. His face was so serious. She just wanted to go back to sleep now. She let her eyes close. A stinging slap came across her face and another voice, Jason's, was shouting that she couldn't go to sleep. But she could. And as the sounds of the world drifted slowly away, she did.
Hot Gossip
Historical Western Romance
Amy Faye
Published by Heartthrob Publishing
If you want news about new novel releases, you can sign up for my mailing list here: http://eepurl.com/cmQY05
Here’s a preview of the sexy love story you’re about to read…
...He pulled away. "Last chance to change your mind," he breathed. It took a real force of effort to stop as long as he had.
She answered by rocking her hips forward. "Shut up and kiss me."
He intended to do a great deal more than that, though. He turned, her weight still suspended in his arms, and dropped her on the sofa. She bounced a little ways back up, and by the time she was settled he was beside her, working the buttons on her dress as quick as his thick fingers would allow.
Her skirt came off easily. How many layers did these proper ladies wear, he cursed. Then a wicked idea struck him, and his hand started to trace a line up between her thighs. There was one sure way to avoid too much trouble.
Marie was gasping for air, now, her breath coming in ragged spurts that had a little more voice to them than might have been absolutely necessary. His cock strained against his jeans, desperate to get out and join the game.
He found her already moist. His fingers barely grazed across her lips and she jolted in surprise, her hand darting down to stop him. She stopped it as he did it again, his fingers darting between the outer lips and finding the hardened nub at the top of her womanhood.
Her legs parted for him and he couldn't stop a smile from spreading on his face.
"Oh, you liked that?"
"Shut up," she said again. There was something erotic about hearing her using that kind of language.
"I'll shut up when I please," he growled. His fingers dipped lower and promptly thrust inside.
She didn't respond with heavy breathing or soft mewls, this time. She let out a full-throated groan of pleasure. His fingers explored the inside of her, her walls gripping him, pulling him in with the vain hope that he'll be inside long enough to complete some evolutionary need.
She let out a soft whimper when he withdrew his hands from her skirt. She needed something more, something that she hadn't gotten yet. Chris knew exactly what that thing was, even if she didn't. And he had every intention of giving it to her.
He worked his belt loose and opened the fly on his jeans. He settled into the place between her thighs, enjoying the way that they gripped around his hips, and lined himself up with her entrance.
Marie's breath came hard and heavy, her eyes halfway-closed with arousal. Then he started to press in, and they shot open. He pushed the rest of the way in and held himself there for a long moment, his lips pressing against the soft skin of her neck, enjoying the feeling of her body so close to his.
"Are you alright?"
She didn't answer right away. She was caught somewhere, he could hear, between wanting to take shallow breaths and taking them too fast, too deep.
"I'm alright," she said. He smiled.
"Ready?"
She nodded. Chris didn't need her to say it twice. His hips moved back and slammed forward again, thrusting himself as deep into her as their cramped position would allow. Her arms reached around his neck and pulled tight, but he didn't stop himself.
His movements were quick and powerful. Whatever concern for her well-being he might have had was gone, now, taking whatever he could get in order to sate his animal lust. Her voice in his ear drove him harder, faster, sending him onto the edge of madness as they fucked...
One
Marie Bainbridge leaned up against a post and tried to remind herself that she should have been pleased that Applewood Junction was finally getting back to business as usual. The last change away from the ordinary had been almost six months ago, and she'd been it.
That wasn't entirely true, of course. The previous schoolteacher, one Mrs. Whittle, had passed on in her sleep. The people of Applewood Junction wrote the territorial governor, and he, in turn, had ended up getting in touch with Marie through her father.
She'd taken the first stage out. She probably should have known well in advance, but that had cemented her place as the talk of the town for twelve weeks that followed.
It was almost flattering, at first. Everyone smiling at her, greeting her with a soft, "Howdy, Miss Bainbridge," and nodding as they passed. Watching her, going out of their way to talk to her specifically when she had to go out. Like she was a local celebrity.
That lost its color after a couple weeks, and mostly what she wanted was to be no different form everybody else, which she was quickly coming to realize was simply not going to happen.
But now, she would learn, they were getting back to their usual favorite pastime. The first thing that Ruby Gardiner said when Marie walked into Mr. Gardiner's shop—he'd been drinking, no doubt, which left his daughter in charge—was that there was something going on over at the saloon.
She was leaning up against the open window, watching, so Marie took a spot beside her and watched from the post.
A big man, well over six feet with shoulders as wide as anyone's Marie had ever seen, groaned as he took the slack out of a barrel, the iron banding gleaming in the sun. From the sweat that stuck his shirt to his chest, it wasn't the first such barrel.
Marie was a schoolteacher, and she was supposed to be a good example for her wards. More than that, she had learned plenty in school back east—not least the wickedness of alcohol.
There wasn't anyone likely to listen to an unmarried woman talk on the subject, so she kept herself to herself. But watching Christopher Broadmoor unload those barrels, knowing full well what they were full of, she couldn't help frowning.
If they'd diverted for a few months from their usual routine to gossip about her, then their usual routine, Marie had already learned, was gossiping about Chris. He'd apparently been the last surprise arrival. Nobody talked about it, not openly, but Marie gathered he hadn't come in on the coach.
He stands up, his face shining bright, between the hot sun falling on all of them and the heavy lifting he's been doing. Marie wonders idly how much that must weigh. Two hundred pounds? More?
He steps up into the wagon. He's a big man, but it barely lowers any further at the added weight. He tips one and she watches him strain under the weight as he tries to slow its fall.
Then he rolls it a little way and sets his weight full against it as he pushes it over the ramp. It doesn't help as much as she might have expected, only managing to slow the rush a li
ttle bit. It's a heavy push as he tries to move it up the stairs, and another man rushes over and between the two of them, it gets up and through the wide delivery doors.
Marie glances over at Ruby. She's got a look on her face that isn't immediately recognizable to the young teacher. And then, as the realization dawns on her, her face flushes red.
"You and Christopher Broadmoor?"
Ruby's eyes shoot wide open. "Don't even say that, Miss Bainbridge. My father would kill me dead right where I stand if he thought I was even imagining it."
"What? You might make an honest man out of him."
"I'm sure someone could," she says. She steps away from the window as Christopher comes back out. "But I'm not the one to do it."
Marie notices with a heavy disapproval that he's still got that pistol hanging on his hip, even as he works. It reeks of the wrong sort of person. Nobody in New Orleans needed to carry a gun with them all the time.
Marie circles around through the door, the spell of idleness broken. "Don't tell me you haven't thought about it, though," Marie calls out, just loud enough. "I saw the look on your face."
The schoolteacher sidles up to the counter with her list of supplies and pushes it across the counter. Marie leaves it.
"I won't deny that the Lord put the man together properly, but me an' him? Not in a hundred years. Not if he owned half the land in the Oklahoma territory."
"What's the story with him, anyway?" Marie leaned in on her elbows and spoke in a conspiratorial whisper. "Can't tell me there's no story. I know there is."
"I wouldn't tell you no such thing. Only a couple years back, he comes into town—" The sound of footsteps from behind her shuts her mouth up. "What was it you'd be wanting, Miss Bainbridge?"
An instant later, a man a couple inches shorter and Marie steps through the door. He's broad enough at the waist to strain his belt, and he hasn't shaved in at least three days.