Silver-Tongued Devil

by Lorelei James

  “You didn’t need to. But the look on your face says someone else put that idea in your head.” He paused. “Who? Doc? But that wouldn’t be right because I always pay my bills with him and you’d know that.”

  “Silas—”

  “Who?” That dangerous glint entered his eyes. “Tell me you ain’t been talkin’ to West.”

  This just drove home the point that she couldn’t brink up Zeke’s visit Friday night because Silas would go after him. She hated she had to lie in order to keep him from fighting, especially when his pride had created this particular rift, not his past with West.

  “Dinah.”

  “You are the one who told me you don’t have extra money. You even admitted that you play cards as a way to earn more. So why are you so angry at me?” How did she get him to see this anger scared her?

  “I ain’t takin’ the money you earned, Dinah. No way, no how. You spend that on yourself.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me.”

  “I’d hoped I heard you wrong.”

  “You didn’t.”

  She leaped out of bed and stamped over to where he’d taken a belligerent posture—feet braced apart, arms crossed, jaw set. “Then you don’t get to spend your ranch earnings on me, McKay. Not. One. Red. Cent.”

  “Bullshit. I can take care of my wife.”

  “I am not your wife yet. I don’t need you to take care of me, Silas. I just need you to care for me.”

  “Same difference.”

  “Nope.” She poked him in the chest. “You listen. If you insist on me spending the money I earn on myself, I will hire someone to put in the shelving and larder and to dig holes for the root cellar. I won’t allow you to spend your money on enacting the changes I’ve suggested.”

  “That don’t make a lick of sense.”

  “It makes about as much sense as you telling me to throw away what I earn on fripperies.”

  “I don’t even know what the hell that is.”

  “Exactly my point. The money I earn can stay in the bank for all I care, until we do need it. But I want the right to invest in our life.”

  “Fine. But I want the right to give you…fripperies or whatever the hell I want without havin’ you look at me like I wasted my money or I’m gonna go hungry because the purchase left me short on funds that month. I know you can buy your own books and sweets, but I want to spoil you a little because it makes me happy, okay?”

  “Fine. I know you can buy your own cow stuff but I want to contribute to it because that would make me happy, okay?”

  Silas loomed over her. “You are one stubborn woman.”

  “So what’s it going to be?”

  That’s when his focus dropped to her chest and he bit his lip.

  For the first time since the argument started, she remembered she was barely dressed. If the lustful expression on his face was any indication, his brain lost functionality when her breasts were within touching distance. She wondered if she stripped out of her nightgown…would the man agree to anything?

  It’s bad behavior to take advantage of his distraction and need, her conscience warned.

  Oh hang it, she could do whatever the heck she wanted.

  “Silas.”

  “Huh.”

  She stepped back, pulled the shift over her head and let it drop to the floor.

  Silas’s jaw nearly landed on top of it.

  Took a long time for his eyes to meet hers.

  The raw hunger she saw in those blue depths gave her a rush of power unlike anything she’d ever felt.

  “You’re nekkid.”

  “I needed to get your attention.”

  He shook his head as if to clear it. “That ain’t helpin’ at all. Christ, woman. I already had to jerk one out first thing this mornin’ with your ass all up on me when we were sleepin’ last night. Now seein’ you so…” He gestured to her body but seemed at a loss for words. Nor had his gaze traveled back up to her eyes.

  Perfect.

  “So the question upon you, Mr. McKay, is if you prefer me to waste my money on layers and layers of fabric frippery and finery, I’d be flitting about in it all the time so you could admire me in it.” Pausing, she boldly ran her hand down the center of her body. “Why, I’d so rarely be nekkid because I’d definitely need to get my money’s worth from my fancy clothing. Don’t you agree that’d be a shame?”

  “A damn cryin’ shame,” he said to her bosom.

  She might’ve laughed.

  That’s when his blazing blue eyes reconnected with hers.

  Silas took one step forward. “Oh, you are the very devil, Miss Thompson.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes, you.”

  Another step.

  “I never would’ve believed my betrothed would stoop to teasin’ me with her beautiful body to get her way…” He laughed. “But I’m goddamned impressed, sugar pie.”

  “You are?”

  “Uh-huh.” His last step meant no space existed between them. “So I’ll agree to lettin’ you contribute to our home, in whatever way you see fit—with the exception of hirin’ some other man to come in here and build the things that this man wants to do for his woman to make her happy in our home.”

  “Okay. Umm. Thank you.”

  “That said, darlin’, you played dirty.”

  His lips floated across the shell of her ear as he spoke in the deep tone that stirred her blood.

  “Very dirty,” he whispered. “Deliciously dirty. And I’m afraid dirty is as dirty does and you’ve brought out my competitive side first thing this mornin’.”

  Her entire body trembled when he blew in her ear.

  “I can play dirty too.” His teeth tugged on her earlobe. “Very dirty.” Another soft breath. “Deliciously dirty.”

  Her throat had gone so dry she couldn’t make a sound.

  “I’ve always said you look good enough to eat. Now I’m gonna prove it.” He palmed her breasts and squeezed the flesh while kissing a path down the side of her neck, over her collarbones and the heaving rise of her bosom. After a pause to angle his head, he latched onto her right nipple with his lips.

  Dinah gasped at the first wet lash of his tongue. Oh heavens. She’d never felt anything like that. Velvety warmth and then cool wetness when the air hit her skin. His wicked, wandering tongue followed the slope to her other nipple, where he did the same thing.

  Except harder.

  Then softer.

  Then harder again.

  Blindly, she reached out to find her balance and ended up gripping his hair in her fists as he fed on her. She arched forward for more—rather than trying to pull away—when he used his teeth.

  When Silas lightly swirled his tongue around the hard tips, her knees stopped supporting her entirely.

  Chuckling, Silas dropped his hands beneath her bottom and lifted her, continuing to bite and suck on her neck as he carried her backward to the bed.

  But he didn’t return to kissing and stroking and sucking on her nipples. He placed his hands on the insides of her knees and pushed her legs open and dropped to the floor. Then he lowered his mouth to that secret part of her and began kissing her there.

  Dinah was shocked…then the feel of his silky, flickering tongue all over the throbbing part of her caused the last of her modesty, any protest and all sanity to flee.

  Silas emitted growls that caused her belly to flutter in anticipation as he gently licked and fiercely sucked on her. The very masculine, very pleased noises gave off the sense that having his mouth on her was as much of a treat for him as it was for her. He snaked his hand up her belly to pinch and caress her nipples, never missing a beat in proving how thoroughly he intended to eat her up.

  She let him. With absolute abandon.

  It wasn’t long before all the nerve endings in her body fired at one time, in one place, and sent shock after shock of tingling, pulsing sensations to the spot he sucked.

  Gasping and writhing without shame, she could
n’t believe her body was able to give her this much pleasure. Over the years she’d touched herself, but it’d never been like this.

  As she floated down from the fuzzy headspace he’d sent her into, she understood that Silas gave her the pleasure. Not her body alone. He’d turned the tables once again, proving this was another way he intended to care for her.

  She had not a single complaint about that.

  Sighing, she flopped back, her legs splayed wide, her body damp with a sheen of sweat and feeling…everything.

  Silas’s smug laugh pulled her out of the haze of pleasure. “Thought you might wanna learn another way to kiss and make up.”

  Dinah managed to lift her head. “You are a scoundrel, Mr. McKay.”

  He laughed. “I liked you readin’ that book to me last night. Scoundrel is a good word for me. Lucky is another.” Then he kissed the insides of her thighs, each hipbone, her bellybutton and the valley between her breasts. Finally, he planted his hands by her head. “Better buy some new bedding with all that money you’re earnin’, ’cause darlin’, we’re gonna wear them sheets out.”

  She touched his face. “You liked doing that?”

  “I loved doin’ it. You tasted just as sweet and hot as I imagined.” He pressed his lips to hers and flicked his tongue across the seam to slip his tongue inside her mouth.

  So odd….and oddly satisfying to taste the intimate part of herself from his mouth and catch her scent on his face. Whatever embarrassment she thought she’d feel was strangely absent.

  He rested his forehead to hers. “Get dressed, sugar pie, cattle need tendin’ even if it’s gonna be hell to ride with my cock this hard.”

  Shyly, she asked, “You’ll teach me all the different ways to…ease you?”

  Silas groaned. “Yes, but I ain’t gonna think about your hand on my cock or my cockstand will never go down.” He tapped her ass. “Be outside in five minutes.”

  After they checked the McKay cattle, Silas sent her back to the cabin and he dealt with Henrikson’s cattle on his own.

  Dinah fried the other rabbit for lunch. While waiting for Silas to return, she turned over the soil for the root vegetable garden, planted the pieces of potatoes and covered the patch of dirt with straw.

  Then she packed up for her ride to Doc’s.

  Silas ate heartily and praised her food. She liked taking care of him and was glad he’d have some of her cooking to get him through the week.

  She left the drawings and the list of staples on the table, next to the flowers.

  The more time she spent here the harder it would be to leave.

  The ride to Doc’s went too fast. She and Silas barely spoke at all. He greeted Doc and Mrs. Agnes while she unsaddled her horse and hung up her tack.

  Silas kissed her and hugged her for a long time before letting her go.

  “Is there a chance you can come here for supper this week?” she asked. “Maybe Wednesday?”

  “I don’t know, darlin’.”

  “It might be our only chance to see each other. I’m staying at Bea’s Friday night and Doc probably expects me to be around on Saturday night and Sunday during the day.”

  “No promises, but I’ll try.” He ran his knuckles down the side of her neck. “Gonna miss you.”

  “I’ll miss you too.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Friday night rolled around and Silas was bored.

  Dinah was at her friend’s place; Jonas was working.

  Sadly, Silas didn’t even have a dog to keep him company.

  Sackett’s in Labelle was his usual hangout on the rare nights he had free. But after his run in with Zeke West the last time—and Jonas being on duty—he’d be better off heading to Sundance.

  On the ride into town, he decided he needed to buy Dinah an impressive betrothal ring, even if it set him back a bit. Maybe he’d have a good run playing poker tonight.

  After leaving his horse at the livery, he walked to the farthest section of Main Street.

  Sundance had several saloons; one boasted dancing girls as entertainment. But when a man wanted to drink, smoke a cigar and gamble without the distraction of a saloon girl flirting to earn tips, Pettyjohn’s was the place to go.

  The Pettyjohn family owned the Sandstone Building. The street side was the main entrance to Pettyjohn’s Restaurant. The back door at the rear of the building led upstairs to the gambling hall.

  Silas took a moment to ready himself. Brushed the dust off his clothes. Counted his money. Readied his poker face. He’d had enough success gambling that the little rituals mattered.

  With the uncharacteristic warmth of the night, the door to the upstairs had been propped open. Trying not to appear too eager, he climbed the stairs.

  Gordon Pettyjohn, the biggest of the owner’s sons, blocked the entrance. He alone chose who passed inspection to gain admittance.

  He scowled at Silas. “No chance I’m lettin’ you in tonight, Deputy McKay.”

  Silas groaned. “Every damn time I show up you think I’m my brother, Gordon.”

  His expression didn’t soften one iota. “Prove you ain’t the deputy.”

  “Last time I was here, oh, round about November, I reckon, after the hall closed, you and I played four rounds of poker and we tied two games to two games. Rather than have a tiebreaker, we each drank four shots of whiskey and I am lucky that my horse knew the way home.”

  That’s when Gordon grinned. “Glad to have you back, Silas, even though it’s been too long.”

  “Been a rough winter.”

  “I hear ya.” He angled his head toward the jar sitting next to him. “Buy in is a buck.”

  Another Pettyjohn’s distinction: pay to play. “Sure.” Silas handed over the coins.

  “Got a faro table and a twenty-one table runnin’ for those who ain’t interested in the high stakes table.”

  “What’s the high stakes table?”

  “A tournament. Overall winners of the individual poker tables compete. Regular cash game until it’s down to the last two players and they decide on the stakes.”

  Silas managed a bland expression despite his interest. “That’s new.”

  “Been holdin’ it monthly after my father saw how it was done in Deadwood over Christmas. Last time, the high stakes winner ended up with a pair of Colts. Month before that, winner ended up with a bull. Before that, winner got four hours at Ruby Red’s.” Gordon shrugged. “Keeps things interesting and the players around, drinkin’ and makin’ side bets even after they’re outta the tournament, so it’s worth it for us since we don’t gotta provide the final payout.”

  “Smart.”

  “Get on in and get you a seat at the table. There’s only three open chairs left.” His eyes narrowed. “Fair warnin’, you gotta have something other than money to offer if you’re one of the last two players.”

  “I hear ya.” Silas grinned. “I know exactly what I’ll offer up.”

  Gordon nodded but his focus was on whoever was coming up the stairs.

  Silas stopped at the bar for a drink, asking for beer rather than whiskey. He wondered what’d possessed him to tell Gordon a bald-faced lie: he had no idea what his final barter would be. His worldly possessions were few. His firearms weren’t fancy enough to wager. His livestock options were limited unless he offered up cow/calf pairs. Since he was already Henrikson’s hand, he couldn’t hire himself out for a week’s worth of cowboying.

  He was half-tempted to forego the high stakes poker game and play a few hands of twenty-one. He’d come here with the intention of winning cash, not some unknown stake that might not be tradeable for the cash he needed.

  That’s when a deranged laugh echoed back to him.

  “Look who cleaned up and headed to town, hopin’ to clean up here too.”

  Zeke West.

  Of course that dirtbag would be here on a Friday night. Probably just got paid.

  Too bad they weren’t playing for cash, because he’d love to take that mouthy fucker’s
money again.

  “Are you playin’, McKay? Or are you afraid that without your brother here you won’t get away with cheatin’?”

  Silas didn’t respond even when every eye in the place turned his direction.

  But the dealer at Zeke’s table warned, “Another allegation of us allowing cheaters to play here, and Gordon will toss your ass out. Understood?”

  Zeke nodded.

  West sat at the far rear table with his bootlicker railroad buddies. Then Zeke spoke to them and they both got up, each relocating to different tables, which left the two open spots at Zeke’s table.

  A blatant challenge for Silas to play next to him.

  Maintaining eye contact with Zeke, Silas took the last seat at the table directly in front of him—not the one by West.

  Game on, asshole.

  The men who’d come in behind Silas promptly filled the empty spots at Zeke’s table.

  The manager explained the rules: five card, one draw, ante increased by one every round, play continued until only one player remained at each table.

  One table had a winner within ten hands.

  The other four tables lasted longer.

  There seemed to be more good-natured ribbing among this crowd than Silas was used to. He couldn’t figure out if the men at his table were all just crappy card players, or were here for fun, or if he’d just gotten lucky with his cards.

  You’re always lucky at cards, Jonas’s complaint echoed in his head.

  When Silas outlasted the barber in the final hand, his tablemates’ congratulations were genuine. They even promised to root for him as the representative of table two.

  Silas studied the table one winner closely, outright dismissing him as real competition when he knocked back his second whiskey in five minutes.

  Both of Zeke’s buddies won their respective tables.

  Zeke and another older gent were the last two players vying for the final slot.

  Dealer shuffled and dealt.

  West must’ve gotten a good card on the draw because he went all in.

  He won…barely. Three of a kind—tens—over two pairs—kings and nines—but the blustering way he acted made him look like a fool.