Rhys bounded out, looking fit and fancy as she’d ever seen him in a finely tailored black coat and trousers. As his feet hit the ground he gave a tug to a vest of leaf green brocade and turned that nettling half-smile of his on Teddy.
She found her heart up in her throat and her temper ablaze as she stared at him in surprise and open suspicion. “What in all of hell brings you back?” she said.
He raised his brows. The pale blue eyes beneath them shone brightly and seemed to touch her everywhere. “Why, Teddy. I thought you’d be happy to see me.”
“In a pig’s eye,” she retorted. “Now spill it out. What brings you back?”
“I’ve a few reasons for being here,” he said. “There’s the matter of our marriage to be dealt with. And there’s the matter of our babies.” Aware that, squared off on the street, they had begun to draw the whole town’s attention, Rhys caught her by the arm and tugged her toward the office.
“It’s about time you remembered,” she told him.
Her besieged heart slammed back into her chest where it belonged as she and Rhys slipped through the doors of the stage office, but now it beat so fast she felt lightheaded. Her arm tingled as if burned where his fingers lay against it. The tingling sensation slowly spread, not ceasing when he let her go. It flowed over her body like a warm wash of rain. She felt her resistance to him, which she had been stoking and building all the months he had been gone, washing away like fallen leaves before a flood.
She felt the old yearning for him sliding in. Whether she wanted to or not, she remembered how his touch had moved her, how his hands had slid with gentle determination over her skin, how even the lightest kiss from his lips could rouse her, how he filled her. And, dammit! She wanted him. With all her heart she wanted him and had since the day he had gone away.
None of it was supposed to be like this. She had thought she would want to shoot him on sight but that wasn’t at all what she wanted.
He didn’t love her, she reminded herself bitterly. And she didn’t know why he had come back.
They were inside the small office. Rhys noted that it had changed little in the months he’d been gone. The floor was crowded with crates and boxes, the desk littered with tickets and papers. A new schedule hung tacked to the wall, an indication not quite everything was the same. She had added another run out of the mines, which meant business was good. He was glad.
“I never forgot about you, Teddy,” he said. “I never forgot about anything.” His voice had lost the taunting edge. “You may have heard my circumstances have changed since I left.”
Teddy braced herself and scowled. “I heard you got yourself a title and enough money to salt down a gold mine. And I can see you spent a pretty penny on those dandy duds. Anything I’m leaving out?”
He nodded. She wasn’t making this reunion easy in the least and he was finding it awfully hard to sit and be civil when what he wanted was to sweep her in his arms and tell her that she was his wife and that he loved her from the depths of his heart. He needed to hold and touch and taste her, feel the provocative warmth of her body around him. He needed her. Always.
“I got myself cleared of murder,” he said. “So you can add a good name to the list.”
Teddy rested her hands on her hips. “About that name. Knox, isn’t it? Am I expected to change my name and that of the babies to Knox?” She cocked her head to one side. “Teddy Knox,” she spoke the name thoughtfully. “Can’t say I like the sound of it.”
“You plan to keep my name then?”
“Knox?”
“Delmar.”
She smiled and nodded. Her world was changing again and she was heartily glad of the direction it was going. “Seeing that you paid so much for me to take it, seems only fair I keep it.”
“And me?” Hope surged inside him.
Her hands slid off her hips and she gave him a shove that rocked him back on his heels. All his hope evaporated until, in the next instant, she grabbed him and wrapped her arms around his waist.
Teddy felt a shudder rake through him as her arms closed about him. She was trembling too as, eyes darkening, she raised her face to his and answered softly. “I could use a fancy man around. If he’s good with his hands.” She brought her mouth against his. “And with his lips. And—”
“And?”
“And if he loves me.”
“He does, Teddy. And he’d very much like to see his son and daughter. And he’d like to show their mother what else he’s good at...if she’s willing.”
“She is.”
Rhys bound Teddy to him with his arms and kissed her with all the fullness of his love, drinking her in like sweet, cool wine, slowly, deeply. He had all the time in the world. And this was a beginning.
###
About the Author
Andrea Parnell is the award-winning author of eleven novels, short fiction and numerous articles. Her stories of love and intrigue include Gothic, Colonial and Western historical romances as well as contemporary romances. Several of her books are set in her home state of Georgia.
Andrea has received both the Maggie and Romantic Times Reviewer’s Choice awards for her writing. She is a member of Novelists, Inc. (NINC) and past president of the Georgia Authors Network. She is fond of cats, travel, overgrown gardens, and old houses with lots of nooks, crannies and interesting shadows.
Please visit her online at AndreaParnell.com to share your thoughts about this book and to learn what she's working on next.
You can also sign up to receive an email notice of new books by Andrea: Click to sign up for Andrea's newsletter.
Twitter: @andreahparnell
Facebook: Andrea Parnell
And now please turn the page for a preview of Delilah's Flame, a Guns & Garters Western Romance...
Delilah’s Flame
A preview of the sizzling Guns & Garters Western Romance by Andrea Parnell
California, 1872
Too late. Lines of disappointment creased Tabor Stanton’s brow as he entered the Broken Spur Saloon in Crescent City. Delilah’s sultry voice, hot and seductive as a torch’s glow on a dark night, rang out the words of her last number.
Listen to me, stranger, whatever your game,
I’ve come here to warn you of Delilah’s flames.
Stripes of silver sparkled in her black costume as she spun slowly across the stage. The usually rowdy saloon crowd sat and listened as quietly as a passel of mice waiting for the cat to get past.
Flames. He could almost feel them in the room. He could almost see them in Delilah’s fiery red hair. She was the most talked about entertainer around. Remarkably so, since no one knew much about her. Last year he’d caught her act when he’d made a trip north, seeing her perform once in Yuba City, once in Chico. He had tried to catch up with her again, but learned her short tour had ended.
Propped against the back wall, Tabor eased a leather pouch and a pack of papers from his shirt pocket. He could have used a drink, but the barkeep had quit pouring until Delilah finished her song.
She’s no redheaded angel, don’t you fall for her smiles.
’Cause the devil taught Delilah how to use her wiles.
The black plume pinned in the red curls fluttered as Delilah pranced her way to the front of the stage.
Jake, barkeep and manager of the Broken Spur, used the corner of the once-white apron covering his ample belly to wipe large beads of sweat from his brow. He contemplated asking Delilah to stay on a few more days. It sure would be nice if she did. Normally he’d be worried about the lapse in drinking. This one, though, wouldn’t hurt his business any. Delilah had a way of building up a powerful thirst in a man. Ten minutes after she left the stage, his customers would pour down the liquor like it was the last day any of them would get a drink.
While Delilah rolled her hips and winked at her audience, Tabor rolled a smoke and struck a match against the rough surface of the wall. A tiny flame flared up in the darkened room. Onstage Delilah momentarily divert
ed her eyes to the source of that light. Her smile deepened. Not for him personally, he was sure. After all, for Delilah he was just another cowboy in a sea of faces. He had to hand it to her, though. The lady knew how to hold a crowd. He couldn’t help wondering why she wasted her talent in mining and cattle towns when she could play any hall in San Francisco.
Nobody knew Delilah’s real name, nor any more about her than was told by the handbills advertising her act. Rumor was that she was British and spent only a few months each year performing in the States. He’d heard men speculating she was a baroness or duchess keeping up one of those large British estates gone penniless. He could believe that. Delilah was as fine a woman as he’d ever seen, certainly not the usual dance hall doxy. Everything about her bespoke class, and that custom-made costume she wore would cost six months of a cowboy’s pay.
Tabor’s eyes surveyed every curve of Delilah and every detail of the costume. The rows of black satin ruffles on the sleeves made the mass of red hair tumbling over one shoulder look like a cascade of fire. Silver shoes drew his eyes to black stockings and lace garters. Delilah showed more leg in her dance numbers than most men ever saw on their wives.
As she propped her foot on a chair and swung her skirt up over one knee, Tabor exhaled a breath and threw his half-smoked cigarette to the sawdust floor. He crushed the smoldering butt with his boot heel, never taking his eyes off Delilah. Certainly no performer since Lola Montez had taken California with such intensity. Miners and cattle hands rode as much as fifty miles to see Delilah’s fire act and hear her sing. Not one ever complained the trip wasn’t worthwhile.
Delilah, hands on her hips, bent over the footlights and sang to a man at the table nearest the stage:
She’ll tempt you, she’ll tease you, she’ll raise all your hopes.
Then leave you standing with your arms full of smoke.
She bent lower, tickling the man’s nose with a feather-trimmed fan. A unified gasp rose up in the room as the rough crowd waited in hopeful expectation for Delilah’s bosom to fall free of the daring neckline of her costume. She shimmied provocatively, heightening the anticipation, then reached into her bodice and drew out a lacy black hanky.
With languid movements, Delilah trailed the scrap of cloth over the curves of her breasts. With absolute silence reigning in the room, she tossed the handkerchief toward a dusty cowpoke, who surged to his feet and caught it. A cheer boomed out from the crowd as the lucky man pressed the perfumed handkerchief to his lips and gave a whoop.
Tabor smiled a knowing smile. That fellow wasn’t the lucky one. He knew the way Delilah played her game. In a minute, as part of the finale, she would produce a small silver mirror from her pocket and reflect a beam of light into the room. The man that light settled on would be the one who received an invitation to join Delilah for the evening. Sometimes the invitation led to the privacy of Delilah’s hotel room—if the man was lucky. He’d planned on being that man and being lucky. As women went he had a weakness for redheads.
You think that if you hold her it would be paradise,
But if you love Delilah there’s a terrible price.
So listen to me, stranger, whatever your name.
You can get burned in Delilah’s flames.
The melodic strains of her voice floated through the saloon and gave every man listening the feeling of having a sweet, burning fire licking over his skin.
If she takes a shining to you and takes you to tame,
You’ll find you’ve been burned in Delilah’s flames.
On the last line Delilah pirouetted slowly, slipping the small mirror from her pocket as she turned. The light flashed on a portly man dressed in a blue serge suit.
“Hell,” Tabor mumbled beneath his breath. She usually went for the fat prosperous types. She had again. Damm it! His disappointment was enough to choke on. If ever he needed to lose himself in a woman, it was tonight. Scowling still, he glanced hastily around. The saloon girls standing back in the shadows looked like wilted roses with Delilah in the room. Several eyed the lean, handsome cowboy hopefully. Tabor gave them no encouragement. His gray eyes went back to Delilah. He’d settle for a soft bed alone.
Delilah smiled, made her bows, blew kisses during a couple of curtain calls as the Indian girl and a pair of dandies who rounded out the troupe joined her. A short while after she left the stage, one of the male performers delivered a note to the man in the blue suit. Grinning, the fellow fished a few coins out of his pocket and tossed them on the table, then hurriedly left the saloon.
“Pour me one, Jake,” Tabor called, having made his way to the bar ahead of the crowd. As he sent a shot of whiskey down his throat, Tabor Stanton told himself there would be another time. He’d have been lousy company anyway. Settling up his father’s affairs wouldn’t be a pleasant business. Frowning, Tabor flipped Jake two bits for the drink and headed next door to the Holman Hotel.
***
“Loo, help me with this screen,” Delilah, smelling freshly of expensive perfume, said in her soft but aristocratic voice.
Loo, Delilah’s half-Chinese companion, a woman ten years her senior, placed a decanter of whiskey and two crystal glasses on a small game table. That done, she helped Delilah adjust the dressing screen so that it concealed the door that opened into the adjoining room.
Meanwhile Delilah spread a white linen tablecloth over a larger table and hurriedly opened a traveling case. From it she took two English bone-china dinner plates, two silver goblets, and place settings of sterling flatware. Last she removed a silver candelabrum and four scented candles wrapped in blue paper. When all was as she wanted it, Delilah stepped back to the dressing table to splash a bit more scent on her throat and in the cleavage between her breasts.
“You’ll suffocate the man if you use any more of that,” Loo said.
“I wouldn’t want to do anything that kind to Hoke Newell. I want the old cuss to writhe and squirm with the agony of having what he wants most snatched away from him.” Delilah’s tightly clenched hands reddened. The muscles in her face tensed. All trace of the aristocratic British accent deserted her. “I remember my poor papa lyin’ in the dust, hurt and bleeding. And Hoke Newell sittin’ on his horse glaring and cursing. I remember it all.” Her fingers went to a point just inside the hairline on her temple. “I still carry a scar—”
“Hush,” Loo said. “You’ll spoil your looks if you get any angrier. I lost my grandfather that night. Remember?”
“I know, Loo,” Delilah’s voice softened and regained the cultured tone. “This is for all of us.” She filled her lungs with a deep breath. “Have Seth and Todd got the girl ready?”
“They’re ready. Calm yourself. You weren’t this nervous before.”
“I know. But according to the detective I hired to investigate those six, Newell was the leader. In a way, he’s more guilty than any of them.” She took another look in the mirror at her pink satin gown trimmed with yard upon yard of frothy white lace. The bodice, fitted with long loose sleeves, dipped as shockingly low as that of the black stage costume. To make her appearance even more tempting, she unfastened the top two of a row of tiny silver buttons. “How’s Dinah?”
Loo handed her a pair of pink slippers. “Fussing because she always has to go to bed early.”
Delilah stepped into the shoes. “Stay with her. I don’t want Newell to see her.” She glanced anxiously at the door. “I’m ready.”
Loo looked her over. “You’re very unsettling in that color.”
“I know.” Delilah smiled.
Normally pink was forbidden to redheads. Delilah, however, liked the clash of color with her fiery hair and the interesting effect pink displayed on her fair skin. Fortunately she lacked the florid complexion and freckles common to many with her hair color. Her younger sister, Dinah, hadn’t been as fortunate and bore a sprinkling of pale freckles from head to foot.
Delilah fought back a twinge of guilt as she thought of Dinah. Maybe she had been wrong getting Dinah
involved in this. She hadn’t seen any other way, though, and she really couldn’t take the time to worry about it now. She wanted to satisfy herself that all the preparations were complete and were flawless.
“You’ve forgotten the diamonds,” Loo said, and went quickly to the dressing table, where she opened Delilah’s embossed leather jewel case. Loo lifted out a necklace containing a central tear-shaped diamond centered in a setting of twenty smaller stones. With deft hands Loo fastened the gold chain of the necklace around Delilah’s neck. “Now you’re ready,” she said, smoothing a tier of fire-red curls back in place.
A knock sounded from the door. “And not a minute too soon. Newell’s here. I can’t wait to have the old coot squirming.” Delilah again squeezed her hands into fists. “I keep picturing Papa that night—”
“Hush,” Loo said, placing a finger to her mouth. “Watch your temper. Don’t lose it before the job is done.”
Delilah laughed lightly and pressed Loo’s hand. “You’re right. Now you’d better go.” Quietly she opened the door behind the screen. “And don’t forget to turn the light out in there.”
Loo smiled. “I know what to do.”
Giving her cheeks a pinch and taking a deep full breath, Delilah moved quickly to the door, where another soft knock sounded.
“Come in,” she said to the man in the blue suit, at the same time giving a nod to the two tall young men who accompanied him.
Devil Moon Page 34