by Nadia Aidan
“You like that, don’t you?” Shane breathed. “You wish it was my cock, don’t you?”
She couldn’t form a word; she could barely breathe. She cupped her breasts, tugging at her nipples until they were stiff. She gasped when Shane reached around her and grabbed one full mound in his hand to massage her soft flesh. His face was buried into the crook of her neck, his breathing coming in choppy pants as he fingered her harder and deeper, his thumb working her tiny nubbin in lazy circles.
She was powerless against the onslaught of pleasure that swamped her. The smell of Shane filled her burning lungs, pure, raw, masculine, and when the image of him materialised before her closed lids, of him above her, his bare skin sliding against hers as he thrust into her tight channel, she splintered apart.
“Shane,” she screamed his name as she stiffened. Water sloshed over the edge of the tub as he worked his finger inside her harder, her wet release coating his digit.
She’d barely come down from the pinnacle of her climax when he jerked away from her. Her eyes popped open, and she saw that he stood now, his hand wrapped around his thick root as he pumped furiously. Her gaze clashed with his, the swirling blue depths of his eyes were filled with desire, and his skin was flushed, as the tiny vein in his neck jumped.
“Finish me, Cherie,” he pleaded, his voice deep and hoarse.
She scrambled out of the tub, heedless of her wet body and the chill that clung to it. She knelt before him and parted her lips, taking his stiff shaft into her mouth at the same time his hand cupped the back of her head and pushed her forward.
Her head bobbed as she worked her lips up and down his shaft, the moist, hot cavern of her mouth sucking him deep. She’d barely been down there a full minute when he jerked against her, his body stiffening, and seconds later, she felt his hot cream against the back of her throat. He groaned out her name, and she glanced up at Shane. His head was thrown back, his eyes clenched shut, as the muscles in his bronzed torso flexed.
She swallowed every drop of his essence and didn’t release him until he was completely soft. He tucked himself back inside his jeans as she stood. That’s when she finally noticed the bone-chilling cold of the room.
She wrapped her arms around her body when she began to shiver, her entire body tensing when Shane cursed.
“I’m sorry. I lost my head.”
She smiled through chattering teeth at his remark. They’d both lost their heads. Shane plucked a towel off a nearby chair and wrapped it around her. He rubbed his hands up and down her body to generate heat until her teeth stopped rattling so loudly.
He scooped her up into his arms, and with the utmost gentleness, he laid her down across his bed. The tender gesture didn’t go unnoticed by either, and an intimate look passed between them, before Shane abruptly glanced away as he cleared his throat.
“I need to get to work.” He shrugged on his shirt then tugged on his boots. His face was blank, his eyes devoid of any emotion, as if they hadn’t made love only moments ago. He crossed the room, and she thought he’d walk out without a word.
She let out a sigh. After last night, and everything they’d shared that morning, she’d hoped they’d somehow brokered a tenuous truce, but in the blink of an eye, Shane had transformed back into the bitter man who’d showed up on her doorstep a day ago, full of anger and revenge.
“I’ll be back by supper time,” he muttered then he disappeared out the room. Seconds later, she heard the front door shut.
As soon as the sound of hoof beats dimmed, she scrambled off his bed and donned her clothes, her movements jerky as anger coursed through her. She knew the score, knew their arrangement was purely physical and that he planned to use her body until he somehow figured he’d punished her enough. She didn’t like it, but she accepted it. She knew she deserved it. She also knew she deserved his callousness and his coldness, but what she refused to endure was an entire day idling about.
He had some nerve leaving her there, as if she had nothing better to do, then there was his audacity by mentioning supper. She snorted. His brain was addled if he thought she would be cooking him supper. She glanced around the room. It needed some tidying up, actually the entire home could use a woman’s touch, but she wouldn’t be that woman.
She stomped out of his home and saddled up the other horse that was tied to the post beside his porch. As she galloped away, she didn’t spare Shane’s home a single backward glance. She was a madam, not a mistress and certainly not a wife. When he got home that evening to find her gone, maybe he’d come to realise that as well.
Chapter Six
Shane glanced up as Wayne sauntered into the Marshal’s office. His eyebrow lifted when he noticed the self-satisfied smirk on the older man’s face. His boss rarely smiled.
“How was your lunch?” Shane asked, wondering about the slight flicker of amusement in Wayne’s eyes as he plopped down in a nearby chair.
“Nice.” Wayne smiled. “I decided to go home and have lunch with my wife and sons.”
Shane nodded, not knowing what else to say, but then Wayne’s grin grew wider and he couldn’t pretend to ignore it any longer.
“What? I can tell you’re itching to tell me something so just spit it out,” Shane snapped.
Wayne leant back in his chair, his head resting on his clasped palms behind his neck as he propped his booted feet on top of his desk.
“Oh, I don’t know. I wouldn’t want to upset you.”
“Kincaid,” Shane warned.
Wayne Kincaid’s green eyes practically twinkled. “I thought your arrangement with Cherie specifically stated that she was to serve all your needs. My understanding was that she was to stay at your home and play wife and mistress until you got tired of her.”
Shane’s gut clenched at the mention of her, and he knew he wasn’t going to like the news that Wayne had to share when he heard it. “That’s my understanding as well.”
Wayne’s eyebrow lifted. “Really? So you left Cherie at your place this morning?”
Shane sighed. “Is this going somewhere, Kincaid?”
Wayne grinned. “Oh, it’s going somewhere, just like Cherie.”
Shane stiffened as he sat up straighter in his chair. He didn’t need to be a genius to figure out why Wayne was baiting him. If Cherie had skipped town, he swore he would show her no mercy and send her shapely ass straight to prison.
“Where is she?”
“Montgomery said she visited Cherie at work.”
“The brothel?” Shane shot up out of his seat. He was going to hurt her.
The slight nod of Wayne’s head was all he needed. He was already out of the door, so he barely heard Wayne’s laughter as he set his mount in the direction of Every Desire and galloped away.
* * * *
Maeve was sick, Cherie thought irritably, that was the only reason why she was doing this. She’d taken Maeve’s guest only after the girl assured her, old man Wilson only ever wanted massages. She rolled her eyes as she kneaded the man’s splotchy and wrinkled back. Who came to a whorehouse for a massage? It wasn’t her place to question Wilson’s needs. All she needed to do was finish this massage—she glanced over at her clock—and she only had about three minutes before she could send him on his way.
She was just rolling off of Wilson’s back when her door was kicked open. She didn’t hesitate. She reached for the pistol between her breasts and aimed. But when she recognised who it was, she let her hand fall to her side.
“What are you doing bursting into my chambers? You almost got yourself shot, you idiot,” she snapped at Shane whose furious gaze touched on her for just a second, before bull’s eyeing on Wilson.
She realised too late what he was about to do, and it took three of her girls, and her to pull Shane off of the bloodied and bruised man when it was clear Shane was going to beat him until he killed him.
Old man Wilson had to be dragged out of there. She was surprised he was still conscious as he cussed all the way out, threatening neve
r to return to Every Desire.
She slammed the door behind Wilson’s raucous exit, her furious gaze instantly landing on Shane, who stood there, his face twisted with rage, his knuckles bloody and raw.
“What the hell is wrong with you? Old man Wilson is a long time guest, if he never comes back, I’m—”
His hand shot out to grip her arm with lightning quickness. His hold was tight but not painful, and she was surprised given the pure rage that swirled in his eyes.
“Did you sleep with him?” Shane’s steely voice was little more than a whisper, and the chill that settled over the room was unmistakable.
Her eyes widened, realising for the first time why he was upset. She’d thought he’d been angry because she’d left and decided to take his rage out on Wilson, since she knew Shane would never lay his hand on a woman in anger. But with his words, it all made sense now, and she was furious with herself for not putting two and two together sooner, but she was even angrier with him.
How could he think something so vile—so despicable? Okay, so she was a whore, but the sheets on his bed were barely cold. He knew she hadn’t slept with a guest in some time. What would make him believe that she would be so quick to jump into bed with one now, when she’d just left his?
She snatched her arm from his grasp. “Get out.”
“Get out?” His eyes darkened. “I’m not going anywhere, not until you tell me if you slept with Wilson.”
“What do you think?” she spat.
He advanced on her until she was trapped against the wall, and she noticed the tiny muscle in his jaw twitched. “I think I walked in on you rolling off of him, just as he was putting on his shirt—”
“And so you automatically jump to the conclusion that I’d just finished fucking him?”
The only indication he gave that he’d even heard her words was the thinning of his lips.
“After last night, how could you even ask me that?” She shook her head when her words were still met with silence, and her gaze dipped to the floor as a host of emotions gripped her.
Over the years, she’d hardened herself against the slurs people hurled at her, but with Shane, the accusation in his eyes, what he left unsaid was so much worse. Although she knew it was stupid, and that she’d wind up heartbroken, with her body she’d given Shane a piece of herself, a glimpse inside her soul. She’d thought he’d known that, but it was obvious that he didn’t, and despite his claim that he didn’t want a whore, she felt her heart clench at the realisation that ultimately that’s what he saw when he looked her—and no matter what, that’s what he always would.
Cherie pushed at his chest, her eyes flashing with anger when he wouldn’t budge.
“Move. I need to get back to work. I need to balance the books,” she added when his eyes darkened.
Shane finally stepped away and let her pass, biting back a curse when she slipped out of the room. He’d hurt her. With his accusation, he’d hurt her; he’d seen it in her eyes. His gut clenched as he recalled the expression on her face before she’d left the room, and he swore the look in her eyes would haunt him to the end of his days.
He’d been wrong, but how could she blame him? If she’d walked in on him as a woman was clothing herself, she would have jumped to the same conclusion.
He stomped out of the room, just as Cherie disappeared around the corner. He caught up with her at the doorway of her office.
She stood there, her face expressionless, her eyes empty. The apology was right there on the tip of his tongue, but at the last moment, he swallowed it. He was growing soft with her—this need to see to her feelings. He couldn’t afford to let her see that he was still weak when it came to her. They weren’t having some damned love affair. She was serving her time—and it just happened that her penance involved time spent in his bed.
“I expect you home by suppertime.” Fire leapt in her eyes forcing him to add, “And don’t make me have to come get you, either.”
He spun away from her and stomped out, feeding on his anger towards her, so that the softer, gentler emotions he felt for her didn’t creep back in.
For the rest of the day, he sat at his desk, ignoring a smirking Wayne, and all the while thinking of the punishment he would serve Cherie with as soon as she got home.
* * * *
Shane knew Cherie was purposely trying his patience when she arrived at his home when the moon was high in the sky. She’d walked in, barely sparing him a glance, and supper had been worse. She’d spoken maybe two words to him, but he couldn’t be sure, he wasn’t in the chattin’ mood, either.
He was furious with her. She had no right to tug at his heartstrings the way she was doing. She was supposed to be serving out her sentence. He was supposed to be the one punishing her, not the other way around. But with her wounded silence, he was the one regretting hurting her—he was the one with an apology on the tip of his tongue because he cared about her and her damned feelings.
He pushed his chair from the dinner table, the legs scrapping against the floor.
“It’s time for bed,” he said brusquely, stomping off towards the bedroom without so much as a glance back. This was going to end right now. She needed to remember her place, and that was as a prisoner in his bed. She meant nothing to him—at least, that’s what he kept telling himself with the hope that he would come to believe it.
He tugged off his boots and tossed them aside then sat down on his bed, waiting for her to enter the room. She dragged her feet all the way there, and when she entered his chambers, her face was so sullen, one would think she was on her way to a hangman’s noose.
Folding his hands behind his head, he leant back on the bed and pretended not to notice.
“Undress for me,” he commanded.
She held his gaze as she undid the ties of her dress, letting the ruffles of satin and silk pool at her feet. He sucked in a breath as her long ringlets caressed her creamy flesh, that hid beneath her sheer chemise. His body hardened at the sight of her, the moonlight shining behind her and illuminating her pale skin.
He ached to touch her, to kiss her, to cover her with his body and push his way inside her. But his desire cooled when their eyes met. She continued to remove her garments, her hands now pushing down the straps of her chemise. The slow reveal of her body should have been sensual, alluring, but it was none of those things. Her beautiful eyes were vacant, void of any emotion, and her movements were wooden and stiff. Where was the passionate fiery woman he’d made love to last night, up to the moment he’d left for work that morning? The woman before him was like a ghost, a whispery shadow of herself.
“Stop.”
Her hands stilled, and he shot off the bed to stand before her.
“What are you doing?”
Her eyebrows lifted. “I’m undressing as you just told me to.”
His eyes narrowed. “You call that undressing? You’re as lifeless as a ghost. I want you to undress like you mean it.”
A tiny ember of anger flared in her eyes. “But I don’t mean it. I’m not your mistress, Shane. I don’t want to be here, and we both know it. I’m your whore. More to the point, I’m just a whore in general—”
His hands abruptly gripped her arms, silencing her. “You’re not my whore. I told you that last night.”
She chuckled bitterly. “But I see you didn’t deny that I am a whore. Then again, we established that earlier.”
His nostrils flared as anger and a sense of helplessness filled him. Guilt washed over him at the dejected look in her eyes. God knew he hadn’t meant to hurt her, and the very words he’d sworn he wouldn’t say went tumbling from his lips.
“Damn it, Cherie, I’m sorry.” He gave her a small shake, forcing her to meet his gaze when her eyes dipped to the floor. “I was wrong today to accuse you of what I did. When I look at you, I see a beautiful, sensual woman, with smarts and a keen business sense. Believe me when I say, the last thing I see when I look at you is a whore, and that is certainly the last thin
g I want in my bed.”
Cherie felt herself beginning to cave with his words, and she wished she could believe he was sincere, but he’d hurt her earlier with his accusations, his lack of faith dredging up memories from her past where men only saw one thing when they looked at her. She’d expected better from Shane, which is why his actions had hurt worse.
He released her with a sharp curse, and she watched as he stripped out of his clothes, and got into bed.
“I won’t make love to you tonight or any other night, not like this.”
A mixture of anger and regret filled her. She didn’t know how he’d turned this back on her, but he had. Shane was a proud man, and the fact that his apology had been met with her silence must have stung.
She blew out the lamp beside the bed and slipped beneath the covers, staring at his broad back. Her body ached for him, even as her conflicted emotions beat at her. She wanted him, with a fierceness that took her breath away, but she was so afraid. She wanted to believe his words, but what if he was lying? The cruellest thing he could do to her would be to charm her with lies, until she let her guard down and let him in, only to have him reject her, as many men before him had. She didn’t think Shane was a cruel man, but he was bent on revenge, and she knew from experience, a man bent on revenge would stop at nothing until he had it.
With a long sigh and a heavy heart, she turned over, her back to him. For a moment, she’d let herself believe that what she and Shane shared between the sheets could one day grow into something more, that he could one day see the woman beneath the façade and let go of his past and the bitterness he carried inside his heart.
After everything that had happened between them and with all the years that had passed, they still shared an undeniable passion for one another. She’d been convinced that was because there were feelings between them that went deeper. But that had just been fanciful thoughts, and as she let her silent tears fall, she cursed herself for succumbing to them. Something she hadn’t done in a long time, and something she wouldn’t make the mistake of doing again.