Cactus Flower

by Duncan, Alice

  “Yes, I know what the word means. I’m thinking.”

  “Don’t strain yourself.” She pulled the ostrich feather out of her hair, gently disengaged the pearls, and began brushing. When she’d brushed out all the tangles, she wound her hair into a soft knot and pinned it up.

  “You’re a real peach, you know that, Miss Gibb? Do you have to practice being rude, or does it come naturally?”

  “It comes naturally.” Eulalie picked up her corset, and an awful thought struck her. Blast it, she was going to have to ask him to help her lace up the wretched thing.

  “At least you admit it.”

  Nick Taggart sounded grumpy. Eulalie couldn’t really fault him much. She had, after all, been especially impolite to him.

  “There’s no reason not to admit it. I’m not ashamed to treat men the way they deserve to be treated.” She eyed the offending garment, wondering where her brain had gone begging when she’d laid out her clothes. She should have chosen the one that laced in the front. But she hadn’t, and there was no getting away from it. She certainly couldn’t appear in front of the men she’d just entertained sans corset, or they’d never believe she was interested only in singing for them.

  Of course, she could put her costume back on and go fetch the other corset from her trunk. She peered at the bright pink, and intolerably tight, garment she’d just removed and decided she couldn’t bear it. She sighed deeply.

  “You don’t even know me. How the hell do you know how I deserve to be treated?”

  “Simple,” she said, thrusting her arms through the corset straps. “You’re a man.” She might have to get his help, but she wasn’t going to give him more of a show than she had to. She paused to contemplate her conclusion.

  On the other hand, this might be a good test. If he seemed intrigued by the sight of her bare flesh, and if she decided she needed him further, this would give her a chance to gauge his reaction to her charms. If he was like most men, he’d react like a rutting pig. That was the result she determined she wanted to achieve.

  She stepped into her petticoats and tied the tapes at her waist. Then she walked out from behind the modesty screen, holding the corset to her bosom.

  Nick Taggart looked as if he were enormously peeved. He stood at her dressing table, frowning down at her makeup pots and fingering a powder puff. “What does being a man have to do with—”

  He made the mistake of turning before he’d finished his question. Eulalie was encouraged to see his mouth drop open and his eyes open wide. It looked to her as though whatever words he’d planned to say had been snatched from his head as if by a thieving magpie. She smiled at him, making sure it was one of her honey-was-no-sweeter-than-she-was smiles.

  “I beg your pardon, Mr. Taggart. I don’t believe you finished your thought.” She waited, pressing the whale-boned instrument of torture to her bosom in order to enhance her cleavage. This was the second—maybe the third—time today she’d found cause to be grateful to her rather large bosom. Men were so predictable.

  “What—” Nick had to stop and lick his lips. “What are you doing?”

  “I was trying to get dressed, but I find I need help. May I get it from you? My corset laces in back.”

  Nick stood there for several more seconds, watching her as if he suspected her of ulterior motives. Which, Eulalie knew, she possessed in abundance, although he couldn’t possibly know what they were. He probably thought she was trying to seduce him. Seduction, if it had to come at all, would come later. Eulalie planned to try every way she could think of to avoid it first.

  “Well?” she said, to encourage him.

  He straightened and took a step toward her. “Turn around.” It was a command.

  Eulalie obliged, although she still eyed him over her shoulder. She was glad to see he had to lick his lips again. “I’m sure you’ve had experience lacing up ladies’ undergarments, Mr. Taggart.” She made her voice go sultry. “And in unlacing them.”

  “I’ve had experience.” He didn’t elaborate.

  And then he touched her. Eulalie had prepared herself for at least a thousand contingencies before she’d set out for New Mexico Territory. She and Patsy had entered into this phase of their lives with their eyes wide open and with full knowledge of what they might have to do in order to escape from Chicago with their skins intact.

  The one thing they hadn’t prepared for was Eulalie’s reaction to the physical sensation of Nick Taggart’s hands on her bare flesh. She very nearly swooned on the spot.

  Good Lord, this was terrible. She’d never had this reaction to a man’s touch before. Perhaps it was merely because she was exhausted after enduring a long, tiring trip, awful worry, terrifying stress, a full day fraught with lumbering polka dancers and drunken louts, and her first performance in a strange and alien and half-civilized place. Not to mention near starvation.

  Whatever the reason for it, she felt a tingling, goose-fleshy sensation spread over her skin as soon as Nick Taggart’s large, rough hands brushed her shoulders. She gasped slightly, and barely thought fast enough to turn her gasp into a cough.

  He smoothed his hands down her arms. He shouldn’t be doing that. Even in its present scrambled condition, her brain knew that much. Eulalie opened her mouth to tell him so, but couldn’t get the words out.

  Good heavens, this was awful. She was the one who was supposed to be in control of this situation, not Nick Taggart. Nick Taggart was a rough-hewn man of the territories and, therefore, beneath Eulalie Gibb’s contempt. She was a sophisticated actress; he was a lout. She, not he, was supposed to maintain the upper hand in any potential sexual dalliance.

  So why, when his arms went around her, did she not resist? Why, when his fingers closed over hers and he pulled the corset away from her breasts, did she not utter a sharp protest, using the acid tongue for which she was justifiably famous in some circles? Why, when his hands covered her breasts and he gently squeezed them, brushing his thumbs over her puckered nipples, did she go weak in the knees?

  “You want me to do what?” His voice was like roughened velvet. He drew her to him until her bare back rested against his chest and her bottom pressed against his thighs. He was fully aroused, hard as an oak log, and almost as big.

  Eulalie, who had been fighting awful battles all by herself for a very long time, experienced a fierce desire to turn in his arms and have him hold her. She wanted to rub the juncture of her thighs against the bulge in his trousers.

  No, no, no. This was not the way things were supposed to proceed. She had Patsy to think of.

  “If you will please unhand me, sir, I believe you’ve made my corset fall to the floor.” Eulalie was more proud of the tone she achieved—ironic and slightly humorous—than she was of anything else she’d done all day.

  She felt his hot breath on her neck a second before his lips touched the skin of her shoulder. Oh, Lord. Oh, Lord. Eulalie’s sexual experience was not vast, but just then she felt an intense desire to allow Nick Taggart to broaden her horizons.

  No! She couldn’t let a mere moment’s pleasure ruin her plans. Patsy. She had to remember Patsy above all else.

  “Mr. Taggart?” Again, she strove for lightness and achieved it. Eulalie was, first and foremost, an actress of the highest caliber. “I believe you’ve lost track of our purpose here.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  If he didn’t remove his hands from her breasts, she was going to scream. Not, unfortunately, in distress, but in pure, lust-crazed pleasure. When she’d made love with Edward, she’d been deeply in love, but she hadn’t felt this pure animal desire. She hadn’t really even believed women could feel this kind of overwhelming passion.

  No. No, no, no. Patsy. She had to remember Patsy. And Gilbert Blankenship. And poor Edward.

  “Mr. Taggart, I’m going to faint here and now if you don’t stop that and feed me.”

  “I’ll feed you. I’ll stuff you full.”

  Trust a man. On the verge of panic, Eulalie
spoke sharply. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it. My body is not for sale, Mr. Taggart. Unhand me.” His warm breath on her bare skin was about to send her over the edge. For the briefest second, Eulalie wished she could just give in to the sensation; to give herself, however briefly, to the keeping of this strong, warm, protective male.

  By this time in her life, however, Eulalie knew such delicious feelings were only transitory—and in her case, they might well be deadly. No one would ever rescue her. She was on her own. She and Patsy.

  It took an almost superhuman effort, but she slipped out of Nick’s embrace, knelt, and scooped up her fallen corset. Then, her fingers trembling, she pulled it on again and dared turn and peer at Nick.

  Mercy, he was something to look at. Tall and broad-shouldered, his torso tapered to a slim waist and narrow hips. The bulge in his trousers was huge, as were the massive, muscular legs supporting the rest of him. Eulalie would like to see him naked. And aroused. As beautiful and warmhearted as Edward had been, he’d also been kind of scrawny. As purely as Eulalie had loved Edward all those years ago, she still wouldn’t mind seeing Nick Taggart naked.

  Which was nothing to the purpose. “May I depend on you not to overstep the bounds of propriety again, Mr. Taggart?” She smiled at him; a cool, aloof smile that cost her virtually all of her remaining composure.

  “I can pay you.” Nick looked as though the words had been pulled from him against his will and better judgment.

  Eulalie shut her eyes for a split second. If only life were as simple as that. “My body is not for sale,” she repeated softly, wishing things could be different, wishing she’d never had to leave New York, much less Chicago.

  He watched her for a while longer, his eyes narrow, an expression on his face that Eulalie couldn’t quite define. She lifted her chin defiantly. “And what’s the matter with you, Mr. Taggart?” In truth, Eulalie knew exactly how he felt—both voluptuous and resentful—because she felt the same way about him.

  “I don’t like being teased, Miss Gibb,” he said at last.

  Oddly enough, Eulalie was a little ashamed of herself. She, who had planned her campaign ruthlessly, refusing to consider the feelings of anyone in the universe save herself and Patsy—and for good reason—felt guilty about having tempted Nick Taggart. She wouldn’t let on.

  “I’m sorry you feel that I teased you, Mr. Taggart. I was at fault for setting out the wrong corset, although it was an oversight.”

  “You were just trying to get me stirred up.”

  She didn’t want to fight about it. He was right, and she was right, and they were both utterly wrong. “If you’d care to leave the room for a moment, I can fetch my other corset, fasten it myself, and we can avoid this discussion. I need to get some food in me, or I’m going to get a headache or faint, or both.”

  Nick huffed once. He still looked both angry and frustrated, but Eulalie sensed any danger was over for the time being. She had a more desperate feeling, however, that danger to herself and to her self-control would never be any farther away than Nick Taggart.

  “Turn around,” he said again. “I’ll lace you up.”

  She eyed him for another moment or two, trying to judge if he meant it. She decided he did, turned around, and he laced up her corset. Her reaction to his touch still shocked her, but she didn’t show it.

  “There. Go get dressed. I’ll wait here. Then I’ll walk you to the chophouse down the street. Vern stays open late.”

  She could tell he was still unhappy, even angry, and didn’t know whether to be glad of it or not. “Thank you, Mr. Taggart.”

  * * * * *

  Nick wasn’t accustomed to being outmaneuvered by a woman. Not as an adult, he wasn’t. When he was a kid, he’d had no choice but to put up with their constant demands, fainting fits, and feigned helplessness. They’d nearly driven him crazy.

  But he wasn’t a kid any longer, and he didn’t like this feeling of having been manipulated one little bit. The women in his adult life had been simple, often foolish, creatures, whom he could twist around his little finger with ease. He’d always been able to make females do what he wanted with them, which was why he only consorted with a certain type. No sense ruining virgins. Not only was it a dastardly thing to be doing, but it invariably got a fellow in trouble.

  Not that he was ever mean to a woman. Hell, he had half the ladies in Rio Peñasco, married and unmarried, in love with him because he was always fixing things for them and so forth. But Nick never, ever, let himself get tangled up with one of them. He’d learned about women the hard way.

  Since he’d grown up he’d never, not once, been manipulated by a female—until tonight, when he’d had the misfortune to become involved with Miss Eulalie Gibb, damn her soul to perdition. But that body. And that sassy way she had. He couldn’t have resisted if all the angels in heaven had held him back when she turned around and he saw all that bare skin. She was as smooth as silk. And her breasts … Well, Nick wished he could stop thinking about them, was all.

  His mood was as black as the night sky as he walked next to her down the dusty boardwalk to Vernon’s Place. His thin gaze held everyone they met at a distance. Not that they met many people. Thanks to Dooley’s worries about riots breaking out in the Opera House, there was a back door to the establishment. That’s the one Nick had led Eulalie through when they’d exited. Nick didn’t want to even try to imagine what might have happened if they’d walked out through the saloon itself. All the men Miss Gibb had stirred up with her performance wouldn’t think twice about attacking her—or of shooting him to get at her.

  Hell, and here he’d thought he was merely doing Dooley a favor by offering to protect her tonight. Dammit all, now Nick was the one needing protection—and from Miss Eulalie Gibb.

  It wasn’t fair, and Nick hated it. Not only was he as titillated as a bull pastured next to a meadow full of nubile young cows, but he had no way to escape. Eulalie Gibb wouldn’t allow him into her bed, and he was committed to guarding her tonight. That meant he couldn’t even relieve his lust with Violet.

  “You’re frowning, Mr. Taggart. Is something the matter?”

  Nick looked down at Eulalie. She’d taken that silly feather out of her hair, and now her hair was piled up in a soft plop, as if she were a demure, maidenly schoolmarm. If he hadn’t seen and felt her for himself, he’d never guess what alluring treasures lay hidden under that high-necked, prissy dress she wore. Lordy, he’d never realized how tempting clothes could be until now. At this moment he had a violent urge to pick her up off the boardwalk, take her home, and rip that dress right off of her.

  “Oh, no. Nothing’s the matter. I’m used to females flaunting their naked selves in front of me and then refusing to let me pay for what they’re flaunting. Happens all the time. I’m fine. Just fine.”

  “I don’t believe that for a minute.”

  “Why not?”

  “I have a difficult time imagining that you don’t usually get what you go after.”

  He squinted at her, wondering if she was making a play for him. If she was, why the hell hadn’t she accepted his money? “Yeah? Well, I didn’t get what I went after tonight, did I? Even after it was displayed in front of me, all ripe and ready for the picking.”

  She gazed up at him, a wry expression on her face. “That’s not really fair, Mr. Taggart. I wasn’t flaunting myself. I’d set out the wrong corset, is all.”

  “Sure it is.”

  “It’s the truth.”

  “Like hell.”

  They walked in silence for another few moments. Nick gazed up at the sky. The wind had died down when the sun set, which it generally did this time of year. The stars looked like tiny points of light pricking the darkness of the heavens, and they twinkled up a storm. Sometimes Nick liked to ride out onto the plains and just sit on his horse and watch the stars twinkle. Tonight he wished he could crawl into bed, pull a blanket over his head, and hide away from those damned stars and everything else. They looked
too blasted happy to him in his present state.

  “I’m truly sorry, Mr. Taggart,” Eulalie said after Nick had almost forgotten what they’d been talking about. “It wasn’t fair of me to tempt you, I suppose.”

  “You suppose?” All of Nick’s grievances against this woman stomped back into his head. “It seems to me I’ve been pretty nice to you today, Miss Gibb. I hauled my uncle away from you, kept Lloyd from attacking you right there in the saloon, prevented a riot from breaking out when Dooley told the boys you weren’t for sale, offered to protect you all night long, and I’m now taking you to supper. What do you mean, you suppose it wasn’t fair of you to tempt me? You’re blasted right, it wasn’t fair, and you know it.”

  She didn’t speak again for a moment. When she did, she sounded almost contrite. “Perhaps, after we’ve eaten and we get back to the Opera House, you can—ah—visit one of the other girls who work there. That one named Violet seems to be quite pleasant, and she’s very pretty.”

  “Violet’s all right. At least she’s nice, unlike some females I’ve met recently. But I told Dooley I’d watch out for you, and that’s what I aim to do.”

  “I can take care of—”

  “Yeah, I know. You can take care of yourself. Well, maybe you can and maybe you can’t, but I promised, and I don’t go back on my word.”

  “That’s very good of you.”

  He couldn’t tell for sure, but he suspected she was being sarcastic. “You’re really something, you know that, Miss Gibb?”

  She sighed. “I’m sure you have every reason to think so, Mr. Taggart.”

  “You’re right. I do.”

  They’d reached Vernon’s by this time. Nick opened the door and stood aside so she could enter the chophouse in front of him. She might not like him, and he might not like her, but Nick wasn’t going to lower his standards because of their mutual dislike. He was a polite man, dammit, and that was that.

  She swept past him like a queen, then stopped and looked around. Vernon’s Place wasn’t much; just a one-room eating joint in the territory that served steaks and beans and biscuits, but it was open, and she’d said she was hungry.