MIDNIGHT PLEASURES

by Amanda Ashley, Sherrilyn Kenyon, Maggie Shayne, Ronda Thompson

  Mora sashayed toward him, her silver jewelry flashing in the dark. "I had hoped to ride in your wagon tonight—had hoped we could do more than sleep."

  Sterling shrugged. "Maybe another time."

  She placed her hands upon her ample hips. "You always refuse my offers. Do you not like women?"

  Women were a nice distraction, Sterling admitted, but some said they were, for the most part, a curse to man. How well Sterling knew the truth to those words. However, Mora posed no threat to him, at least to his heart. She was older than he was, and she didn't smell all that good, but she held a certain appeal. It had been a while since he'd given in to his baser urges. Sterling found himself tempted, but tonight the cats demanded his attention.

  "Raja is upset and I've been asked to calm him so the others can sleep. As I've said, maybe another time."

  The snake charmer made a sound through her nose, not unlike the horses that pawed the ground in readiness to be off. "You cannot avoid me forever, Beast Tamer. I am curious to see if the big bulge in your tights is really you, or if you enhance your charms with a sock."

  Sterling laughed. He was long past blushing over vulgar conversation. And he hated wearing the blasted tights while he performed. Philip, the caravan master, had insisted, assuring Sterling that not only men liked to ogle the troupe members. He supposed Philip was right. He did collect more than the rest of the performers, and the coin wasn't always tossed by men.

  "Time to move!" Philip shouted.

  Dismissing Mora, Sterling climbed up beside Taylor, an older man with a hump on his back who saw to the caravan animals, horse and beast alike. The man flicked the reins and moved the wagon forward. Raja growled in protest.

  "Enough of your tantrums!" Sterling called down to the tiger. "Sleep, Raja. Heaven knows I'd rather be settled in my cot than feel this hard bench pressing into my ass."

  The gentle sway of the wagon seduced her. Elise could barely keep her eyes open. She had sworn not an hour past that she'd be too frightened to relax, but nothing had happened to her. The man had not returned to the wagon. Her back hurt and her petticoats did not sufficiently cushion the hard wood beneath her bottom. Now that her eyes had adjusted to the darkness, she made out the shape of a cot.

  What harm would there be in resting there for a moment? Just long enough to ease the stiffness settling into her bones? Elise crawled forward and hefted herself upon the bed. There were warm blankets and a soft pelt to snuggle beneath.

  Her eyes trained warily upon the door, she stretched out. She would not sleep but merely rest. The bedding had a scent about it. A male scent. Beast Tamer. What sort of name was that for a man, anyway? And was he really as tall as his shadow? Was his hair silver? Maybe he'd be a very old man, this Beast Tamer.

  The last thought comforted Elise. Perhaps he'd be a kind, grandfatherly figure who'd be happy to take her beneath his wing and see her safely to her aunt's door in Liverpool. The sway of the wagon, the steady clip-clop of the horses' hooves as they plodded along, combined to soothe her. She was safe, at least for the time being.

  Sterling eased the door to his wagon shut. No need to bang about and wake those sleeping inside the other wagons. He stripped from his clothes and slipped into his cot, only to find it smaller than he remembered. A soft moan rose from the space beside him. He was not alone. Mora, the snake charmer, Sterling assumed. He supposed most men would feel flattered to find a woman waiting in their bed, but he wasn't all that certain he even liked Mora.

  Her sweet scent drifted up to him. He didn't recall the snake charmer ever smelling particularly fetching. In the darkness, he touched her hair. Silky beneath his fingertips. Mora appeared as if she seldom took a brush to her tangled mane.

  Had she made such effort to please him? Because he was pleased. His blood heated in his veins. Lust stirred to life inside of him. Sterling sought her mouth in the darkness. Again he was surprised. Her lips were petal-soft beneath his, and her breath did not reek of garlic. She sighed, opening to him. He took full advantage of her invitation.

  Such a strange dream. Elise had never been kissed before. It was pleasant. Whoever her mind had conjured seemed to know what he was about, which struck her as odd. Shouldn't her dream include only her own experience in such matters? He swirled his tongue inside of her mouth, something she had never considered a man might do. His lips were firm, warm, demanding, but demanding of what, she wasn't certain.

  A response, she realized a moment later, but only because she felt one. Heat flooded her body, settling between her legs. Her breasts suddenly ached, her nipples standing erect against her stiff chemise. And then his hand was there, cupping her through the fabric of her frock. Elise came awake with a start. She suddenly understood that the man kissing and fondling her was no dream phantom. Her first instinct was to scream, but then she recalled her circumstance.

  "Kindly remove your hand from my person," she said against his lips.

  He immediately pulled back, but his hand still rested where he had left it. "Mora?"

  His voice was as deep and rich as she remembered. "That is not my name, and you, sir, are taking liberties against my will."

  "What the bloody hell?" He scrambled off of her. She heard him fumbling about, then saw a flint spark, his obvious intent to light the lantern.

  A soft glow filled the wagon. Elise got her first good look at this man called the Beast Tamer. He was not old. He looked nothing at all like a kind, grandfatherly figure. His skin was not loose and wrinkled, but firm and smooth. And there was a lot of skin bared for her innocent eyes. The man stood before her completely naked.

  CHAPTER 2

  The woman in Sterling's bed was not, by a far stretch of the imagination, Mora the snake charmer. Her eyes were huge and as green as a spring field. Her hair, a silky mass of auburn curls, hung in wild disarray around her pale oval face. The cut of her gown, even be it a simple frock, the delicate kid slippers he saw peeking beneath her hem, told him the tale easily enough.

  "Have had a change of heart, have you?"

  She swallowed loudly. "W-What?" she whispered.

  He shook his head. He'd had this happen before, on several occasions, in fact. Sterling had a rule about women in his bed. Only the common, like himself, and never one he could come to care for. Young women such as the one sitting upon his cot were dangerous to a man cursed. And he was dangerous to her, as well.

  "You're not the first proper miss who's longed for a night of adventure in my wagon," he said. "I'll tell you what I told the others: I'm a performer, not a man who can be bought for a night's pleasure. Find your amusement elsewhere."

  Her big eyes blinked up at him, then lowered before they widened. Sterling realized that he stood before her naked. Well, hell, like the other women, she probably wanted to know about the tights. Now she could plainly see that he didn't stuff them to enhance his manly assets.

  "Oh my God," he heard her choke, which pleased him to a degree. "I'm afraid you don't understand. I did not sneak aboard your wagon; that is, I did sneak aboard your wagon, but not for the reason you have arrogantly assumed."

  Since the young woman appeared as if she might swoon, Sterling snatched the pelt off his cot and wrapped it around his waist. "I hope that your coachman has followed discreetly behind, as has been the case for others like you in the past. Then when I throw you out into the night, you won't find yourself in an even more dangerous circumstance."

  "Throw me out?" Her head snapped back up. "You cannot throw me out. I have no protection."

  "Bravery and stupidity walk a fine line together," Sterling calmly pointed out, although he felt far from calm. The young woman affected him more than he cared to admit. It had been years since he had tasted innocence, and she reeked of it. Her lips, full and puffy from his kisses, drew his gaze and held it. Her mouth moved, but he had trouble hearing her words.

  "Speak up," he demanded. "I cannot understand your hysterical babbling."

  Her chin rose. He knew the haughty expression
well. The wealthy learned it at an early age. He lifted a brow in similar fashion.

  "I am not hysterical," the woman said more forcefully. "I am shocked and sickened that you would steal into my bed and take vulgar liberties with me."

  His brow rose higher. "Your bed?"

  A pretty blush suffused her cheeks. "That is to say, your bed," she corrected. "Perhaps I should explain my presence here."

  Sterling noticed the valise sitting upon the wagon floor. "Make it quick. The farther we travel from London, the farther the walk when you return."

  Her back straightened. "I cannot go back. I must throw myself upon your mercy."

  She didn't pitch forward and land at his feet, and she hadn't lowered the superior tilt to her chin. At least her hands shook as she fondled the expensive lace that made a mockery of the term work frock. Sterling resented her immediately. She was a reminder. A reminder of all that he had lost.

  "The wagon isn't moving fast. The fall when you jump shouldn't do more than scuff your slippers."

  Her tempting mouth dropped open. "You, sir, are no gentleman."

  He allowed his gaze to roam over her from head to toe. "You've already discovered that. Get out before I'm tempted to prove it again."

  The man was rude, crass to the core. He stared at her with his unsettling gray eyes as if she were the one who'd taken liberties with him. His hair was not silver, but blond, a few strands streaked lighter than the rest. He was tall, and somewhat intimidating, she'd give him that. But she refused to show fear. Animals, Elise had heard, sensed fear and were prone to act upon the emotion. This man with the pelt draped around his hips, looking for all the world like some Viking, probably had the mentality of a simple beast.

  "I have money," she said. "I'll pay you."

  One of his dark brows lifted again. "Pay me for what?"

  Her mouth felt suddenly dry, her eyes in jeopardy of moving over his muscled flesh. "For safe passage to Liverpool."

  He laughed. His teeth were white and straight, she noted. Seeing them exposed on her behalf did not please her. He sobered a moment later.

  "How much?"

  Elise had pinned the small bag of coins to the inside of her cloak. She fumbled through the folds and removed the bag, then handed it to him. "It isn't much, but it's all that I have."

  His long fingers touched hers during the exchange and sent another shiver racing up her spine. He held the bag as if weighing it, then frowned. "I'll wager this isn't enough to pay your expenses even this far. But it is enough to get your throat slit and your body tossed into a ditch by someone less scrupulous." He tossed the bag back to her. "Gather your belongings and leave."

  Unbidden, a rush of tears sprang to her eyes. Elise might be frightened of the man, but she was more frightened of being forced into the night. Alone, on the dark roads, she would be an easy mark for thieves, or worse.

  "Please," she whispered. "You are my only hope of escape."

  The man cocked his head, regarding her thoughtfully. "Escape? Who are you running from?"

  Frightened or not, Elise had been schooled in proper manners. "It wouldn't be proper for me to tell you. I don't even know your name."

  He laughed. "They call me Beast Tamer, and if you cared at all about being proper, you damn sure wouldn't be here."

  His rudeness wore upon her already frayed nerves. "Has no one ever taught you manners?"

  The wheels hit a rut and bounced him across the wagon. He landed beside her. Elise scrambled back—away from his nakedness, the heat that radiated from his powerful body. For all his rudeness, he didn't speak with a cockney accent like most of the common lot. His bone structure was good. Straight nose, strong jaw, high cheekbones, and well-defined lips.

  "Manners do not put food in my belly, or clothes upon my back." His face was dangerously close. "What is your name?"

  Did she dare tell him? It occurred to Elise that he could use her true identity to his gain and her loss. He might turn her back over to her uncle in hopes of receiving a reward, or, worse, kidnap her and demand a high ransom for her return.

  "Elise," she provided stiffly.

  "Elise."

  He said her name as if savoring it for flavor. He said it in a way that made her feel breathless and made her heart beat all the faster inside of her chest.

  "The name suits you."

  She wished he'd move off of the cot and, for God's sake, dress himself properly. She could scarce look at him that her eyes didn't go roaming of their own accord.

  "Beast Tamer does not suit you. Have you a Christian name?"

  "You avoid the subject. Who do you wish to escape, Elise?"

  Again, the sound of her name on his lips caused a strange reaction. A fluttering inside her stomach. "I cannot discuss my problems with a man whose Christian name I do not know," she persisted.

  He shrugged, calling her attention to his broad, bare shoulders. "If we have nothing further to discuss, it is time for you to go."

  When he started to rise, Elise grabbed his arm. It was a mistake. The feel of him shot through her. His flesh was muscled and his skin warm and smooth to the touch. She snatched her hand away.

  "All right. I will tell you why I must escape. My uncle has promised me in marriage to a man I do not wish to wed."

  His response was a snort of amusement. "Running from a life of spoiled luxury, are you? Judging by the cut of your clothing and the way your nose is pointed at the ceiling, you not only know that it is your duty to secure yourself a prosperous husband, but you have been training for it since you were a little girl."

  True, she knew making a good match was the best most women of her station could hope for, the most they could aspire to in life, but Elise wasn't like most women. She'd learned the finer arts of being a lady because her uncle had insisted, but she'd always longed for a more adventurous life. Elise did not have friends like other young women her age. The London ton cared little about her cold, impersonal uncle, and he less about them. They were rarely invited to the best parties, and if someone sent them an invitation out of duty alone, her uncle had never attended, or allowed her to attend, either. Her uncle hadn't even given her a proper "coming out," but instead had gone behind her back to settle her future.

  "The man he wishes me to marry is old," she whispered. "And very unattractive."

  "The richest ones usually are. The young, handsome dukes are snatched up fairly quickly, you know."

  He made sport of her. The man refused to take her situation seriously. "Four wives," she said, lifting her chin a notch. "Four wives he's had now, and all of them dead."

  The information brought another lift of his brow. She wondered why his brows and lashes were so dark when his hair was the color of ripened wheat "Unfortunate for them, but not so unfortunate for you, if the man is wealthy and titled."

  A rush of heat flooded her face. "Fortunate? Did you not hear what I said? I fear the man is a murderer!"

  He ran a hand through his overlong hair, then stood. "And I think your imagination has led you to this folly." He grabbed a board that ran the length of the top of the wagon and stared down at her.

  The pelt he wore wrapped around his waist could certainly fall away without much provocation. Elise realized, were that to happen, she'd be staring right at… Well, good Lord, why couldn't the man find something decent to wear while they conversed?

  "You haven't seen the way he looks at me," she insisted, and shuddered at the memory. Sir Winston Stoneham had often clenched and unclenched his hands in an unconscious manner while in her company. Elise felt certain he wished her bodily harm.

  The Beast Tamer's silver gaze ran over her. "Does he look at you the same way that I am looking at you now?"

  As he appraised her, boldly, as if undressing her, another shiver wracked her. The way he gazed at her was the same, but yet it wasn't. "No," she decided. "You look at me as if you'd like to swallow me whole. He, I feel certain, would enjoy chewing me up a bit first."

  To her surprise, the m
an threw back his head and laughed.

  "You find a person's ill will toward me amusing?" she asked through tight lips.

  He sobered and bent toward her, his hands still wrapped around the board above. "Your mother should have told you that lust always comes first between a man and a woman, then, for a lucky few, love."

  She looked away from him, knowing that his vulgar words had made her blush. "My mother is dead, sir. My father, too, or I assure you I would not be in this awful predicament."

  "Sterling."

  Her gaze met his in question.

  "Sterling is my Christian name. Sir is a title given to more privileged and more civilized men than I."

  "And your last name?"

  "And yours?" he countered.

  She pressed her lips together.

  "Then simply Elise and Sterling it is," he said.

  Curiosity overcame her. "Why did you tell me your name?"

  He released his grip on the board above him and turned, presenting her with his strong, broad back. Muscles rippled as he bent to retrieve a shirt from the floor.

  "I am an orphan as well," he admitted. "In that regard, there is no class distinction between us."

  "Is that why you're here? Among these people? Living this life?"

  Shrugging into the shirt, he turned. "I am here because this is where I wish to be, and we are not discussing me. I am not the intruder inside this wagon."

  Elise was determined to convince him that her plight was one of honest threat. "My uncle is responsible for making the match. He is aware that by placing me at the mercy of the man who has agreed to pay my bride's price, he is also placing me in danger. The money is more important to him than I am, or ever will be. I am an embarrassment to him."

  Sterling's gaze swept her again. "I see no physical fault with you. What is his complaint?"

  When a man donned a shirt, even if it was a coarse garment, he should at least fasten the top three buttons, Elise thought. Sterling's shirt hung open, affording her the same view of his naked chest, only now his golden skin tones contrasted nicely against the light color of the shirt.