“Don’t … touch me,” she pleaded, feeling the heat of his breath on her cheek, his lips slanting to press a kiss on her face. “I won’t let you do this, Rafe. I can’t.”
“Why? You’re my wife. You were willing enough before we were married. Remember?” he asked cruelly.
How could he steal her strength of will to fight him? Lacey cursed her traitorous body before he kissed her, taking her breath away. She reeled under the demanding onslaught of his lips, feeling the intense, insatiable need searching for an answer. He had taken her deep in a moment’s time to the fiercely wild heights he alone had shown her, but never, never like this. She tried to force herself to deny him, but her mouth was already parting in soft surrender. She hated him for the savage hunger that made her reach her arms up to clasp him closer, her fingers threading his hair, wanting more even as she damned herself.
His sudden release stunned her.
Lacey didn’t open her eyes. The sounds of their hard breaths mingled and filled her ears along with a roaring sound that left her weak. It was bitter to know that Rafe would always have this power over her. Only in his arms, with his lips sweetly silken or savagely tormenting her until she caught fire, was there any appeasement, and even then, she knew, it was only a short respite.
Controlling himself with difficulty, Rafe cursed her. He hated the pallor of her face, the strained look of her features, but he knew he had reached the end of his patience with her. She was a weakness inside him, heating his blood just by being near. He wanted to strip the gown he’d spent hours choosing for her and take her now. Heat ran like a fever through him, the need so strong he trembled like the woman he held in his arms. But Rafe found himself denying it and in doing so made himself taunt her unmercifully.
“That should prove what I’ll do if you dare me. Later my dear wife, I’ll begin the lessons in what I expect. Right now you’re going to come with me and show yourself before there’s more talk of your running off alone. I don’t want anyone raising the question of why you want to hide. Or,” he added with a sardonic twist to his lips, “we could explain you had a case of bridal-night nerves.”
“I don’t care what you say, Rafe, just leave me. I can’t face anyone now, and I don’t care what they think.”
“But I do,” he answered harshly, impatiently setting her hair into some semblance of order until she pushed him away.
He stood aside, a tiny half smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, and watched her walk unsteadily toward the small mirror hanging on the wall across from him. He had the damnedest urge to kiss her until the dejected, almost sullen look disappeared, but managed to fight it down. He knew how far he could push himself, and he had lost control once. The next time he might not hold himself back at all.
Lacey fumbled with the pins in her hair, thankful she had managed to put distance between them. He was right about them going back to face the others but not for the reasons he mentioned. She was aware of what would happen if she remained alone with him and knew she didn’t have the strength to fight him.
Narrow-eyed, she stared at herself. There was later to contend with, and she worried about him keeping his word. His threats clouded her thoughts, and she wished she had a gun. Her hate was strong enough to kill him. No, she would make this marriage her sweet revenge. Rafe wanted her, he had proved it. All she had to do was refuse to yield. That would be the first blow to his pride. She had to dismiss the thought of her own surrender to his kiss. Her mind whirled in turmoil, leaving her unable to concentrate, and she found his implacable face staring at her, his eyes dark, emotionless.
Deliberately she fussed with one curl, chancing another quick look, and saw he grew impatient. She didn’t dare risk his coming near her again, and that spurred her to hurry.
Lacey stepped back, realizing that she had done the best she could. While far from the elaborate style that Maggie had arranged, her hair was presentable. Besides, her veil would cover it. Turning, she flushed as she wondered if Rafe had read her thoughts. It unnerved her, for the flimsy lace was draped over his fingertips extended toward her.
Snatching it from him, she jumped just as someone knocked.
Rafe shot her a warning look before slowly moving to open it. She could see over his shoulder that Maggie stood there ready to knock again. In turn Maggie peered around Rafe’s shoulder as if to reassure herself that Lacey was there.
“We’ll be out in a few minutes, Maggie, just as soon as Lacey finishes fixing her hair.”
Maggie’s smile died under the hard flatness of his look. She knew Curt had something to do with Lacey’s disappearance, but she was worried about the tension she felt. “Well, then, let me by, and I’ll help her.”
“There’s no need. I managed myself.” Lacey knew she couldn’t handle Maggie’s knowing how wrong everything was.
Maggie glanced from one to the other. Lacey’s voice was brittle sounding, and Rafe had a forbidding look on his face that stopped her from asking questions.
“I only came lookin’ for the two of you ’cause folks are sayin’ it’s funny you both ain’t around. ’Sides, Rebecca brought out the cake she baked, an’ we can’t cut it without you there. After all,” she scolded, “it’s your weddin’ we’re supposed to be celebratin’.”
Lacey hurried to Rafe’s side, and he took her elbow as he urged her out the door. Maggie glared at them and then preceded them.
“Try and pretend you’re enjoying yourself, princess,” Rafe leaned close to whisper. “If you don’t, you’ll have them all wondering if the reason you’re being skittish is that you’re worried about tonight.”
He had, he saw in an instant, pushed her too far.
Beyond caring if Maggie or anyone else heard them or saw them, Lacey jerked her arm free. With a look of smoldering, insolent defiance, she mocked, “Perhaps that is exactly what I want them to think. Or I may, before I’m finished with you, have everyone wondering just who I’ll spend my wedding night with!”
His lips curled in a smile, and his voice held a note of suppressed amusement. “Still making threats? I thought we were finished with them. But I see by the look of you I was wrong. Another attempt to make me jealous? It doesn’t matter, Lacey. Before the night is over, we will both know where we stand.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I only meant that I don’t care for your empty threats, either. And if you think to stand guard over me every instant while you can be free to do as you please, you are the one who is wrong.” The blaze in his eyes went through her like a jolt. He slipped his arm casually around her waist, pulling her against him, forcing an unwilling admission. “I don’t understand you at all, Rafe.”
“Don’t you?”
“No. And stop kissing my ear when you lean so close to talk to me. People are staring.”
He saw that was true. Heads were turning as they reached the archway.
Lacey forced a smile in acknowledgment. She resented his composure as she risked a quick glance up at him. He tightened his arm warningly around her waist before he leaned down once again.
“I thought you didn’t care. I certainly don’t. Let them look. Perhaps the tender-hearted among them will think how much in love we are, and some women here might even envy you.”
“Envy me? If they knew you the way I do, Rafe, that’s the last thing they would feel.”
Rafe didn’t answer, and Lacey was forced to wonder if it was true. He seemed to go out of his way to be charming to everyone around them. Lacey automatically introduced him to the townfolk crowding them, offering congratulations. She heard the brittle sound of her voice, felt herself smile, and thought of it being someone else.
Yet, as the hours slipped by, she had no chance to carry out her threat, for Rafe refused to be drawn from her side. He wouldn’t give anyone a chance to detain them for more than a few minutes, just kept her moving from one group to the n
ext.
Now, as night fell, the brilliant flashes of the fireworks were over, spent shells from the guns that had roared in unison with them lay trampled in the dirt of the street, and Lacey along with Rafe mixed with the crowd outside. She had insisted he take her out there, and she couldn’t help but notice that he had been steadily drinking, although he showed no sign of it.
Small bonfires lit the street with a tawdry glow. From the saloons came wild yells and sporadic gunfire that punctured the tinny music from pianos and fiddles. Rafe’s whispered innuendos kept her in a fever-pitched state, alternating between anger, despair, and her own rising frustration. To combat the feelings his nearness caused, she began drinking more of the raw whiskey being passed around, disregarding his constant amused stare directed at her while he made no move to stop her.
Loud, boisterous music grated on Lacey’s ears. Flushed and feeling slightly dizzy, she was spun from one partner to another. Rafe, after the first few, refused to dance with her again, and she couldn’t have been happier with his decision. Her control was strained, having to bear his warm breath fanning her face as he held her far too close.
She caught sight of him now, lounging with a lazy grace that reminded her of a hunting cat, against the wooden post of the hitching rail, arms folded over his chest. His eyes, hooded in the shadowed light, never once left her. She was glad that he made no move to stop her. She was just drunk enough, just reckless enough to cause a scene, and perhaps her mood communicated itself to him, for her eyes taunted and dared him when she was swung past, and his gaze mocked her.
Barely able to grasp the next man’s hand held out to her, Lacey swore she didn’t care what he did, as long as he left her alone, and forced herself to concentrate on following the wild steps of her partner.
Glancing around, she suddenly realized that not one of the faces were familiar to her. They could have been men from other ranches or farms, but they were definitely men she didn’t know. In her reckless state she felt no fear, not then.
Not even minutes later when spinning wildly around until she could not catch her breath, she found to her disgust that she was suddenly locked in an enveloping bear hug that revolted her. Pressed against the soft, paunchy body of a whiskered, drunken cowhand, she tried yelling over the noise for him to release her. Struggling in earnest now against the desperate hold he had on her, Lacey knew her movements were slowed by the amount of liquor she had consumed. She tried to avoid his slobbering lips so determined to capture her own as he crushed her tighter. Her long, full-skirted gown tangled around her legs as if it, too, damned her for being so stubborn to insist on being out here as she twisted her head wildly.
Catching sight of Lacey on the far shadowed side of the rough circle of dancers, Rafe didn’t hesitate to move. She was, he knew, drunk and angry enough to get herself in real trouble. The kind, he thought, only a hell-bent witch like Lacey could invite from any man. Already pushing his way through the crowd, he couldn’t help thinking what a merry chase this unreasonable, prideful woman would lead him, and at the same time he cursed her for forcing him to make the first move.
Closer now, he saw she barely managed to avoid the man’s lips, her hands caught between their bodies. Another man appeared at her side, both pulling her toward the darkened alley, even as they appeared to be arguing over her.
Rafe was telling himself he should teach her a lesson and let her get herself out of this when he was forced to untangle himself from the two women who were dragging him into the dancing. He hated the thought of any man putting his hands on Lacey, even if he wanted to punish her. In the sudden break of the crowd a flare of light showed her eyes, frantic with fear.
Feeling capable of murder, Rafe shoved his way clear. He swore to himself that he let her get the best of his temper when all he wanted to do was keep her beside him. But this was the last straw. She had taken his carelessly spoken words as a challenge. With a slightly questioning lift to his brow, the mocking smile she hated creasing his lips, he finally stood beside her.
“It seems you are in need of rescuing, princess,” he stated pleasantly enough while his gaze warned her to silence.
At the sound of his voice Lacey caught herself from letting the grateful smile spread further. She managed to remove the shocked, almost dazed cowboy’s hands from her arm. She glared up at Rafe, hating the grin he returned until the other man stepped between them.
“Go find yore own woman,” he drunkenly demanded, weaving on his feet. “This here one is spoke for. Ain’t she, Jacob?”
“I am not taken by either of you, or by him.” Lacey gestured pointedly at Rafe, knowing she sounded like a belligerent shrew. Through slightly blurred eyes she saw the move Rafe made toward his gun. She tried to remember when he had put it on, but her fuzzy mind wouldn’t clear. With one hand she held her head and raised her eyes to his face. Rafe was glaring down with a frightening intensity at the older man, who had also caught his deliberate move.
“Hell. Ain’t no cause for that. Silver Lady’s got plenty of girls jus’ like this one. Prettier, too, iffen you ask me.” Yet even as he slurred his speech, he took a step back, his own hand dropping down to his side, where it hung suspended over his holstered gun.
“You’re mistaken about the lady … She’s my wife.”
The deadly calm warning in his voice cut through Lacey’s befuddled state. “Rafe?”
“Hold on there. I ain’t lookin’ for trouble. Ain’t no way I coulda known.”
Lacey had the grace to blush, knowing what he was thinking, what they all must have thought with the way she was being passed from one man to another out there. Dancing and drinking just like the girls from the saloons, who even now, she saw, were drifting close to hear what was happening.
“Now you both understand,” Rafe murmured in that same tone. Without another word or glance he grabbed Lacey’s arm and pulled her away, ignoring the crowd and the whispers. “Damn you, woman! Do I have to put you under lock and key? Do you have any idea what could have happened to you just now if I hadn’t decided to get you? What’s more, do you have any idea of what the hell you look like? I can’t even blame them for what they thought.”
Her abrupt stop almost made him stumble. Sweetly then, she slurred, “Are you makin’ noises like a straitlaced husband already? I was havin’ fun. That’s right, fun—till you showed up. I wanna go have some more.”
“Hush up, Lacey. You’re drunk and—”
“…and I demand to know where you’re takin’ me.”
“Not where I’d like to, that’s for damn sure,” came his terse reply.
“I’m not done with celebratin’,” she insisted, pulling away from him. “Ain’t every day I get bought.”
Her harping on that made him clench his jaw. The deep slur to her words told him she had had more to drink than he had thought, and she was itching to fight with him again. He refused to answer. But she stood firm when he tried to grab hold of her to force her to walk along with him.
Suddenly so irritably tired of it all, Lacey tried to swing at him with her clenched fist.
Her hand merely grazed his shoulder. He wanted to laugh but instead caught her wrists. “Your hands are like ice. Come inside and I’ll find something to warm you.”
Lacey stared up at him. She managed to tilt her head, heard his calm tone, felt his almost impersonal hold on her arm while her heart was thudding madly and wanted to push him away. She couldn’t quite coordinate her thoughts to make her body obey. She dreaded the thought of being somewhere alone with him. “What’s inside? Where? I wanna go home.” She hated the note of desperation in her voice but couldn’t help it. “Rafe, take me home.”
“Stop struggling with me, Lacey. It’s no use. You know that. Now, be a good girl and walk along beside me, or I’ll be forced to carry you.”
“No. I don’t want your hands on me.” She was afr
aid of the sudden smile taunting her, and the quick jerk away from him made her aware that he knew it. “Tell me when we’re going back to the Reina.”
He didn’t want to get rough with her and shifted his gaze away, catching sight of the same two men who were ready to fight over Lacey standing off to one side, watching them. He puzzled a moment on their looks, but her darting move brought his full attention back to her. Lacey stilled under his look.
She couldn’t know he was realizing her elaborate curls were streaming wildly down her back or that her eyes glittered with desperation in the blanching face she lifted up toward him. And slowly, so that she would have no trouble understanding his meaning, he answered her.
“We’re not going back to the Reina tonight. Rebecca was kind enough to keep one of her rooms free for our use. Sort of a wedding present. Besides,” he added roughly, “you, my charming little wife, are in no condition to ride home.”
The dawning realization of exactly what he was telling her made Lacey wail. “You can’t mean that! You promised me. Oh! Damn you to hell, you devil’s spawn! You never … What are you doing?” He scooped her up into his arms until she felt her ribs would break. Hitting him, she cried out, “You never intended to keep that damn promise you made me, did you? You liar! You no-good stinking liar!”
They were already in the darkened alley between the boardinghouse and the dressmaker’s shop. She hated being held against him, hated the light scent of bay rum whirling about her head, hated the enticing warmth of his breath against her cheek, but most of all, Lacey hated herself for the seeping heat that formed inside her.
“Put me down this instant, Rafe.”
The sudden jolt of his doing just that startled her, but no more than the patient tone he addressed her with.
Western Winds Page 24