Satan's Angel

by Candace Camp

  Victoria whimpered. She felt invaded, but deliciously so. Unconsciously her hips moved against his hand, circling in invitation. She felt the blast of his heated breath against her cheek, and his mouth dug into her as if he would consume her.

  He trailed kisses across her cheek to her ear and worried it between his teeth, shooting wild sparks through her. His tongue explored the curves of her ear; then his mouth went lower, feasting on her neck. He pulled her down to the floor with him as he kissed the long column of her throat and moved onto her chest. His lips touched the trembling top of one breast. He stopped, and his tongue began to trace looping circles down her breast, going lower and lower until it reached her nipple.

  Victoria shivered, her nipple pointing in response, and at that moment, his finger slid up to find the small fleshy nub among the slick folds of her femininity. She was bombarded with wildly exciting sensations, both from that small pleasure point and from her engorged nipple. Her breasts seemed to swell, and her whole body grew hot. She had never felt anything like this, never even imagined it. She was lost in a haze of pleasure, hardly knowing who or where she was, aware only of the places where Slater touched her and the ever-increasing throbbing between her legs.

  Slater’s mouth was wet and hot on her breast. Victoria arched up toward his mouth, seeking more, although she wasn’t sure what she sought. He suckled her, his tongue all the while moving over her nipple, while between her legs his finger brushed lightly and rhythmically over the pulsing center of her passion.

  Victoria groaned, writhing beneath him, begging him with her body to bring her satisfaction. Slater could take no more of his love play. He was on fire from her eager, inexperienced responses, and he thought that if he waited a moment longer he would explode, or go mad. He moved between her legs and slowly slid into her, sinking inch by inch into her tight flesh. It was his single, last coherent thought that he would not breach her quickly and cause her pain, but would ease her maidenhead from her.

  But Victoria was too inflamed, too eager, to wait, and she pushed up against him, hardly noticing the spurt of pain in her longing to ease the throbbing ache inside her. Slater thrust home then, his passion soaring out of control as she stretched to accommodate him, her tight, virginal body taking him into her. He began to move in long, steady thrusts, shoving into her as though he would touch the very center of her being. He was aching and wild, mindless in his need to possess her. They went higher and higher, beyond all limits, until at last they exploded together, shuddering in spasms of release. Victoria gasped, clutching at his back, and Slater groaned out her name, his fingers digging into her hips.

  They clung together, riding the waves of their passion, until at last they reached the other side, exhausted, trembling and sated.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Brody and Amy rode hard and fast for San Antonio. He wasted no time trying to cover their tracks. He was sure that Slater would guess his destination. From here on in, he thought, it would simply be a race to Mexico. Between Slater’s exploring the cave and having to walk to the horses, he and Amy would have at least an hour head start. He knew their horses were tough, and he would push them to the limit. In San Antonio, he could purchase fresh mounts for the rest of the trip.

  With luck, he would be able to throw Slater off their trail in the city. Slater couldn’t follow their tracks on the heavily traveled streets, and Brody was sure that no one at Dorette’s would betray him. He and Amy could rest for the night and get new horses and supplies before they headed for Mexico.

  It looked as if the odds were with him the next afternoon when the skies opened and torrential rains poured down. He and Amy had crossed the Guadalupe, and there were only creeks between them and San Antonio. But with any luck, Slater would be trapped for at least another day on the other side when the rains swelled the river.

  Sam put the yellow slicker he’d brought with him from the hideout over Amy, and they rode through the rain. There was no good place to stop for shelter. They continued through the afternoon, and even risked the last few miles into San Antonio in the dark. Once in the city, Brody made his way to a large house that sat next to a saloon.

  As Amy dismounted, she glanced around her in surprise. People here seemed not to notice the lateness of the hour. There were lights on in many establishments up and down the street. She could hear laughter and loud talking from the saloon. The door to the house stood open, only its screen door closed, and from inside came the noise of people enjoying themselves, as well as the tinkling of a piano.

  “Are they having a party?” She asked Sam innocently as he led her toward the front door.

  He gave a short bark of laughter. “No. Not exactly.”

  “They sound as if they’re having a good time.”

  “They always have a good time at Dorette’s.” Sam put his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. “You stay right with me in here, understand? Don’t wander off.”

  “I understand.”

  Sam opened the screen door, and they stepped inside. Sam glanced around the two large rooms on either side of the hallway, looking for someone. Amy simply stared. She had never seen anything like this place.

  The furniture was heavy and ornate, much like the fancier pieces in her own home, but the couches and chairs were of red velvet, with none of the darker colors or leather she was used to. The curtains, too, were heavy velvet of a dark red color, draped back and tied with thick golden ropes. In the corner of one of the rooms, a thin man played a piano. Against one wall of the other room was a large bar, well stocked, with a man behind it, serving drinks.

  But it wasn’t the furniture or the bar that caused Amy to gape. It was the occupants of the rooms. Over half of them were men, all sorts of men in dress ranging from the rough clothes of a ranch hand to elegant evening wear. They sat and stood around the room, drinking and smoking cigars. And chatting with them, perched on couches, or the arms of chairs, or even in the laps of some of the men, were women in the scantiest clothes Amy had ever seen.

  Some wore satin dresses, cut so low at the neckline that half their bosom showed. Others wore sheer nightgowns and robes that anyone could see right through. Some were even dressed in only their underwear—lacy chemises and ruffled corsets, with black patterned stockings and garters. Their cheeks and lips were abnormally red, and their eyelids were colored and lined with black. Hanging over the fireplace in the room was a large oil painting of a woman, nude except for a diaphanous cloth draped strategically across her lower abdomen.

  Amy turned slowly around, her jaw dropping open, staring. Beside her, Brody shifted uneasily. He had forgotten what the inside of Dorette’s house looked like. The truth was, he’d hardly noticed it until he had Amy with him.

  “Sam?” Amy turned and looked up at him in amazement. “Who are these people? Why are the women dressed like that?”

  “Well, uh…” He was saved from having to answer by the arrival of a well-endowed woman whose hair was a startling shade of red. She wore a dark green velvet dress cut to show off her magnificent breasts. A black feather was stuck in her hair and curled down to brush her cheek.

  “Brody!” she cried in a husky, appealing voice. “You old devil. Where the hell did you spring from?”

  She threw her arms around him and hugged him, then kissed him soundly on the mouth. Amy was aware of a distinctly unpleasant emotion rising in her chest; she was too inexperienced to recognize it as jealousy.

  “Hello, Dorette.” Sam returned the hug, but he broke off the kiss quickly. Dorette glanced from him to Amy, and her eyes narrowed shrewdly.

  “My, my, my, what have we here? What is going on?” Last I heard you broke outta jail in Santa Clara and hightailed it north, and now here you are on my doorstep with a Sunday-school teacher on your arm.”

  “It’s a long story. We need a place to stay for the night. And quickly. Folks are starting to stare.”

  Amy couldn’t imagine why anyone should stare at them,
considering all the oddly dressed women in the house, but several curious glances had been sent their way.

  “Sure thing.” Dorette led them down the hall, away from the crowd. They passed through the kitchen and up a back staircase to the floor above. They walked along two hallways that crossed in a T, and Dorette opened the door of one of the rooms. Sam and Amy walked past her into the room.

  “Anything I can get you?”

  “Yeah. Food. Something to drink.” Amy tugged at his shirtsleeve and whispered something to him. He smiled down at her fondly. “Sure.” He turned back to Dorette. “And a bath?”

  “Coming right up.” Dorette studied his face for a moment. She’d known Sam Brody a lot of years, and she’d never seen him look at a woman the way he’d just looked at this one. Come to think of it, there was something altogether different about his face, something peaceful and relaxed, the fierceness and sharp edges smoothed away. Dorette was more than curious about Amy. But she knew better than to ask. Brody only told you what he wanted to, and in his own time. Dorette left, closing the door behind her.

  Amy walked into the middle of the room, staring around her with openmouthed wonderment. Sam watched her, a smile hovering about his lips. He could imagine what kind of questions she was going to ask in a minute.

  A huge bed, covered with a rich red-and-gold spread, dominated the room. There was also a small red velvet love seat, an ornate marble-topped washstand, and a vanity with a low, red velvet chair. A floor-length mirror hung on one wall, and another wide mirror covered the ceiling above the bed. Amy craned her neck to look up at it.

  “Why on earth is there a mirror on the ceiling?” she asked, turning to Sam. “What are you grinning about?”

  “You. You look adorable when you wrinkle your nose like that.” He walked over to her. “It makes me want to kiss you.”

  Amy happily turned up her face to oblige him. But when he finally pulled away from her, she continued with her questions. “Isn’t this the oddest room you’ve ever seen? And why are those women downstairs dressed like that?”

  Sam sighed. He touched her cheek. “I shouldn’t have brought you to a place like this. But I’ve frequently hidden out here. Dorette’s a good friend. She’d never give me away. She’s a madam, Amy. This house is like the one I was born in, the one where my mother worked. It’s a house of ill repute.”

  “Oh.” Amy looked at him. “Then you mean the women down there sell themselves to men, like you talked about?”

  He nodded.

  “Dorette, too?”

  “Not anymore, unless she happens to want to. She runs the place, so she can do as she pleases.”

  She paused, digesting the information. “Did you and Dorette ever…I mean…”

  He grinned. Amy looked jealous. He found the idea rather pleasing. “No. We’ve just been friends for a long, long time. I helped her out once, and I loaned her the money when she started this place. She’s somebody I can count on.”

  “Like Raul.”

  “Yeah. Like Raul.”

  “I’m glad,” Amy admitted candidly. “I didn’t like thinking you’d done the same thing with her that you and I do.”

  “I’ve never had that with any woman, not like you and me.” His face was suddenly serious.

  A smile glowed on Amy’s face. “That makes me even gladder.” She paused, then said very seriously, “But why is that mirror there?”

  He chuckled, shaking his head. “This is Dorette’s fanciest room. It’s where some of the women come with the men who hire them. And the mirror’s so you can look up and see yourself and the person you’re with.”

  Amy’s eyes widened, and she stared at the bed, then up at the mirror over it. “You mean you look at it while you’re making love?” She gazed at Brody in amazement.

  Sam smiled. “Yeah.” Just talking to Amy about such things and seeing her in this blatantly sexual room started a familiar heavy ache in his loins. She was dressed in the clothes she wore for riding, the boy’s trousers and shirt, and she looked incongruous in the midst of the richness and decadence of the room, but somehow that made her all the more alluring.

  Amy glanced at the mirror, then cast a sideway look at Sam. A faint blush tinged her cheeks, and Sam knew what she was thinking: she was wondering if they would use it tonight. His blood began to thrum in his veins, rushing down to pool in his loins and build the heat there.

  Sam drew a long breath. There were things he had to do. He couldn’t let his passion lead him into ignoring them. “I must go now, Amy. I have to buy new horses and supplies for tomorrow. We can’t afford to lose any time in the morning.

  “At this hour? How can you look at horses?”

  “The horse trader won’t object. He’s seen me before at odd hours. I trust him to give me his best mounts. He knows what will happen to him if I discover they’re duds by the light of day. I can probably get the supplies from Dorette. I’ll be back as fast as I can. In the meantime, Dorette and the girls will take good care of you. I promise.”

  “All right. But, Sam… hurry back. Please?”

  He would have done anything when she asked him like that, let alone something he wanted to do anyway. “I will.”

  It didn’t take Sam long to transact his business. He kept thinking about Amy back in that room, with the soft bed waiting for them. When he returned to Dorette’s, he decided he could discuss the supplies with her later. He hurried up the stairs to his room, his mind so centered on Amy that he didn’t notice that a thin man had followed him to Dorette’s house and up the stairs. The man tiptoed down the hall, pausing outside each room until he heard the voices he sought. He listened for a few minutes, a sly smile spreading across his face, then went quietly back down the stairs and out into the street to wait.

  When Sam stepped into the room, he stopped abruptly, stunned. Mechanically, he reached behind him to close the door, all the while staring at Amy. She smiled at him, turning around slowly for his approval.

  She wore a pink satin gown that had obviously been lent to her by Dorette. The bodice was held up by two narrow straps across her shoulder, decorated with pink velvet bows, and the neck was scooped out in a heart shape that left most of her white chest and shoulders bare, as well as the quivering tops of her breasts. The tight boning of the dress pushed her breasts up and together, and the neckline dipped down in the center to give an ample view of the cleavage the garment had created. A tiny pink rosebud was embroidered at the lowest point of the neckline, snug between her breasts. The waist was impossibly small; then the dress swelled out again around her hips. It was drawn into a small bustle in the back, and the skirt was tighter than women normally wore, so that it stretched across her abdomen and thighs, delineating their curves.

  Amy’s skin was soft and pink from a hot bath, and the lilac perfume with which she had scented the water hung enticingly in the air. Her hair, clean and shining silver-gold, had been done up atop her head, leaving her slender white throat naked and heart-stoppingly vulnerable.

  Sam had never seen anything as beautiful. Or as desirable. Blood rushed into his head, pounding and violent, and for a moment he could not speak.

  “Well, do you like it?” Amy asked, not content with the expression of stunned wonder on his face. She wanted to hear his voice, husky with passion, telling her that she was beautiful.

  “Don’t go downstairs like that, or you’ll cause a riot.” He walked toward her. “God, you’re gorgeous.” He knew there must have been a mistake made somewhere. There was no way he should have a woman as lovely and loving as this.

  A smile burst across Amy’s face like sunshine. “Thank you.” She looked back at herself in the wall mirror. “I found this dress in the closet, and Dorette let me wear it. Wasn’t that sweet of her?”

  “Um-hmm.”

  He stopped behind her and ran his hands lightly up her arm and rested them on her shoulders. He gazed at their joint reflection in the mirror. Amy was shimmering and
beautiful, a vision in that dress. He looked dark, hard and dirty beside her.

  “I shouldn’t even touch you. I’m still dirty from the trail.”

  “You shouldn’t be dirty,” Amy teased. “As I remember, we had quite a bath during the downpour this afternoon.”

  “Not exactly the kind I had in mind.” He stepped away. “I’d better wash up and shave.”

  She took his hand to pull him to the washstand. “Look, a maid brought this razor and soap for you. There’s even warm water.” She smiled in a low, warm way that made his nerves sizzle. “I like to watch you shave.”

  He looked at her in surprise. “You do?”

  She nodded. “Yes. It’s—I don’t know—it makes me feel that you belong to me. I get all hot inside. Is it silly?”

  Sam swallowed. “No. No, it’s not silly.” But it made him want to throw her back on the bed and rip apart the bodice of her dress with his hands.

  Amy dipped a cloth in the steaming water for him. She wrung it out and cupped his face with it, stretching up on tiptoe.

  “Better let me do that.” He reached for the cloth.

  “No. I like to care for you. Please?”

  His breath became a little more ragged. “All right. I’ll sit down, then, so you won’t have to reach.” He sat on the edge of the bed. That was a mistake; he kept thinking how easy it would be to lie back and pull Amy down on top of him. But he sat still. She stood in front of him, her hands holding the cloth in place on his face. She was so close that he could smell the scent of lilacs on her skin, and his eyes were at the level of her bosom, only inches away. He longed to bury his face between her milky breasts. It was sweet torture to remain where he was, letting her minister to him.

  When his beard was softened, Amy whisked up a lather with the shaving soap and brushed it across his cheeks and jaw and neck, then handed him the razor. Sam moved to the mirror above the washstand. Amy took his seat on the bed, curling her legs up under her, and watched him. There was a warm glow in her eyes that made his hands unsteady on the blade. He nicked himself twice.