Satan's Angel

by Candace Camp

  When he finished shaving, Amy showed him to the ivory-and-gold slipper tub sitting by the fireplace, which the maid had filled with water for his bath. She went to the fireplace and picked up the kettle of water heating over the fire.

  Sam stripped off his vest and began to unbutton his shirt. “You going to watch me do that, too?” His voice was teasing, but the thought turned him pulsing and hard.

  Amy poured the kettle of steaming water into the tub and looked back over her shoulder at him, her expression arch. “Actually, I was going to help you.”

  His fingers stilled on the buttons. “What?”

  A hot blush rose in her face. “You know, wash your back and all. That is, if you don’t mind.”

  Sam’s mind was so focused on the erotic picture she evoked that it took him a moment to speak. “No. I don’t mind.” His mouth widened sensually, and his lids drooped down to hide the fierce desire in his eyes. “I don’t mind at all.”

  Sam skinned out of his clothes as fast as he ever remembered doing, kicking off his boots and tossing aside his clothes with no regard to where they fell. He was done almost as soon as Amy turned around from emptying the kettle into the tub. He walked across the room and stepped into the tub. He saw Amy’s eyes drop down to the evidence of how just the sight of her had aroused him.

  Sam lowered himself into the tub. Amy picked up a rag, soaped it and began to lazily circle his chest. Sam leaned back against the rim of the tub, closing his eyes. The hot water was soothing to his tired muscles, but the feel of Amy’s hand on him was anything but relaxing. Everywhere she touched him, his nerves caught on fire, the flames racing down to his groin, where they simmered and pulsed.

  “You should see the things in this room,” Amy told him as she rinsed off his chest and started on his arms. “I’ve never seen anything like them. I looked through the drawers and closet for something to wear after I took my bath and I found underthings made out of lace and just nothing. Well, you’ll see when I take off this dress.”

  Sam’s eyes popped open. Sweat gathered on his upper lip. “You put some on?” he croaked.

  “Well, yes. I didn’t have anything else, and I had to wear something underneath my dress.” That evoked an even more tantalizing image, and Sam groaned. “And the nightgowns—well, you can see right through them, and they’re cut down to here in the front.” She pointed to a spot almost to her waist. “One of them was slit up the side, too. But, Sam, that wasn’t the strangest thing. Lean forward and let me wash your back.”

  He obeyed her, unable to keep from asking, “What was the strangest thing?”

  “There were fancy ropes in one of the drawers, red and gold, and they looked as if they were made out of silk. And there was a corset, or at least I guess it was a corset, but it was made out of leather. What is that? Do they wear them?”

  “I suspect so,” he replied in a muffled voice, torn between laughter and lust at her innocent descriptions of the prostitutes’ clothes and appurtenances.

  She washed his legs and feet, then shampooed and rinsed his hair, all the while continuing to describe the variety of sexual devices she had uncovered. It was almost more than he could bear to feel her fingertips massaging his scalp while her sweet voice talked of velvet gloves and black lace corsets. Worst of all was when she asked him for explanations. It seemed as if the more he tried to explain them without offending her sensibilities, the harder he grew.

  Finally he growled, “Hush, or I’ll have you wear one of those costumes.” He looped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close to nuzzle her neck.

  “Really?” Amy asked, wide-eyed and breathless. “Would you like to see me in one?”

  He groaned and kissed her, then pulled back slightly. “I’d love to see you in anything. Or nothing.” He kissed her again, and his hand brushed her breast where it was pushed up out of her dress, trembling and full and soft. “I’m getting you wet,” he whispered finally, breaking their kiss and leaning his forehead against hers, struggling for breath.

  “I don’t mind.” Amy slid out of his grasp and stood up. “I’ll take it off, and that way we won’t have to worry.”

  Sam watched, his face falling into the heavy lines of sexual excitement, as she unhooked her dress down the front and stepped out of it.

  “These clothes are nice,” Amy remarked with a little giggle, “’cause they’re easy to get out of.”

  She stood before him clad in white satin and lace underclothes. They clung to her body softly, outlining each curve. The top of the chemise that cupped her breasts was made of lace, revealing glimpses of her white skin and rosy nipples. Her nipples prickled and pushed against the webs of lace under Sam’s gaze. He stood up, unable to just watch her anymore. He curved his hands over her breasts, and the lace got wet; it clung even more closely to her skin. He rubbed the lace gently across her nipples, stimulating them with its delicate friction. He loved to watch her nipples harden and elongate beneath his fingers, visible proof that he could arouse in her the same swirling excitement that she caused in him.

  Amy’s eyes fluttered closed, and she breathed his name. The sight of her lost in passion stirred Sam even more than the provocative garments she wore. He stepped out of the tub and pulled her up into his arms, lifting her so that their faces were level. He kissed her, his mouth grinding into hers. Amy twined her arms around his neck and clung to him, uncaring that her feet dangled off the floor or that he was getting her wet. All she cared about was Sam; all she wanted was his lovemaking.

  Sam walked with her across the room to the bed and fell down on it, never ceasing his hot, hungry kisses. They rolled across the bed, tearing off Amy’s few remaining garments, kissing and stroking as if they would consume each other. He kissed her everywhere, his mouth sliding lower and lower until it found the hot center of her desire and teased it into pulsating life. His hands dug into her hips, holding her captive beneath his questing mouth. Amy writhed digging her fingers into his hair, and whimpered for release. But he did not bring her to it yet, holding her tantalizingly just short of the summit. His tongue teased with infinite slowness, building the searing knot inside her until it was so huge and fiery that it consumed her. Then, at last, he thrust into her, filling her powerfully.

  Amy groaned and clutched at his back her fingernails digging into him. “Sam, oh, please.”

  He paused, fighting for the control to prolong their pleasure. Amy’s hands skimmed over his back and buttocks with the shaking, erratic movement of a person on the edge of losing all reason and control. His skin was slick with sweat. Sam pulled back, almost leaving her, causing her to cry out and cling to him, then thrust back in, groaning as she closed around him, slick and tight. It was heaven; it was madness. He thrust in a primal rhythm, lost in the almost unbearable pleasure. Amy sobbed, moving her hips with him, her legs locked around his back, loving the feel of him inside her, so huge and hard, and yet wanting more, more.

  She teetered on the edge and finally fell into the dark abyss of pleasure, flying free and wild. She shuddered, and her teeth sank into Sam’s shoulder. The sharp prick of sensual pain as she bit him, the feeling of her tightening, then melting, around him, spurred Sam into his own explosive release. He cried out, digging his fingers into the sheets, and poured his seed into her. For an instant they hung suspended together, joined in every way. Then the moment was over, leaving behind the sweet taste of fulfillment. Sam held her, rolling onto his back and taking her weight on him, and they lay cuddled together, quietly slipping into sleep.

  It was some hours later that Sam awakened, his body growing cool. He edged out of Amy’s arms and pulled the sheet over her so that she would not be chilled. He stood for a moment, looking down at her. For the hundredth time, he wondered where his luck had come from that she should love him, that she would willingly follow him into exile.

  He bent and brushed a kiss across her forehead, and she smiled in her sleep, snuggling into her pillow. Sam went to the cl
oset and pulled down a box. Inside were a folded set of his clothes and a small box of money. He dressed and stuck most of the money into his saddlebag. The rest he put in his pocket and went downstairs, looking for Dorette.

  He found her in her office, where she usually was this late at night, totting up the evening’s receipts. When he stuck his head inside the door, she smiled and waved him inside. “Want a drink?” she asked, opening the bottom doors of a narrow mahogany cabinet, where she kept only the best Irish whiskey.

  “Of your stock? Sure. It’s like drinking gold.”

  Dorette poured a healthy shot for Sam and another one for herself. She handed him his drink, and they sat down, facing each other. Sam took a sip and sighed with satisfaction. They sat together for a moment in the comfortable silence of old friends.

  “We’re starting early tomorrow. That Ranger, Slater, is on my tail. I need some supplies. Can I get them from you, so I won’t have to wait for the stores to open?”

  “Sure. What do you need?”

  “Ammunition, food, a couple of extra canteens. We’re going to Mexico.”

  “Is it that bad?”

  “The hideout’s been discovered. But I was leaving anyway. I’m giving it up, Dorette.”

  “You’re taking her with you?”

  “Yeah.” Sam nodded. “She’s the reason I’m going.”

  “I’ve never seen you this way about a woman.”

  “I’ve never been this way.” He smiled. “She’s different.”

  “I know. How’d you find her?”

  He shrugged. “I grabbed her and took her with me when I escaped in Santa Clara.”

  “You kidnapped her?” Dorette’s eyebrows rose. “But she acts like—”

  “Oh, she’s going with me willingly. It’s the strangest thing in the world, Dory. She loves me.”

  “That’s not so strange.” A wistful smile curved her lips. “Maybe I should be jealous.”

  He grunted his disbelief. “Come on, Dory. Don’t try to kid me. You know you’ve got no use for a broken-down old bank robber.”

  “Right. Long as I got my gold to keep me warm at night.” Dorette had loved Brody for years, ever since she’d known him, she guessed, but she was a realist. There had never been a chance for anything between her and him. She could take no pleasure in a man, and Brody could never love a woman who lived as his mother had. “I’m happy for you. I talked to Amy. She’s a sweet girl.”

  Sam smiled, his whole face softening as he thought about her. “I love her.”

  Dorette sighed. “Have you thought of what you’re taking her into? She’s never lived hard. I can see that.”

  “She’s tougher than you think. She’s ridden hard and slept out on the ground, gone without any of the fine things she’s used to.”

  “But that’s been for only a little while. Do you want her to do it the rest of her life?”

  “She won’t have to. I have some money. I’ll buy land down in Mexico. She’ll have a house and furniture, nice clothes, whatever she wants.”

  “She’ll be stranded in a country where she can’t even speak the language. She’ll be surrounded by strangers. She’ll never see her family again.”

  “She’ll have me.”

  “I know. But it’s a hard life. Besides, maybe the law won’t get you in Mexico, but do you think that’ll stop the bounty hunters? If they hear you’ve settled down in Mexico, they’ll come gunning for you. You know it.”

  Sam frowned. He’d tried not to think about that. “I’ll make sure I get them first.”

  “More killing. Do you think she can live with that kind of violence, that kind of threat? What are you going to do? Keep on running? Kill every bounty hunter that comes along until one kills you? Then Amy will be left there all alone.”

  “Stop it!” Sam slammed his drink down on the desk. “Damn it, Dorette, what are you trying to do?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know. A fool’s errand, I guess. I don’t wish you harm, Sam, you know that. I want you to be happy. I’d like for you to have that little girl. But I wonder if you’re doing right by her.”

  “Let me worry about that, all right?”

  Dorette shrugged. “Sure, honey. I got no stake in it. Just let me hear from you every now and then. Somebody’s heading for San Antonio, tell him he’s got a free night here if he’ll bring me word of you.”

  He chuckled. “I’ll have every drifter in the country knocking on my door, finding out how I am.”

  “I will.”

  She smiled. “I’ll telegraph you if I hear anything about that Ranger. Which way you going?”

  He told her his route, and they finished their drinks. Dorette assured him that she would have his supplies ready the next morning, and Sam left, going back up to his room.

  He went to the bed and stood looking down at Amy. How sweet and fragile she looked lying there. He thought of what Dorette had said, and he was assailed by doubts. Could Amy really be happy separated from everything she knew, living among strangers, never seeing her family again? It wouldn’t be that bad for him; he had always been an outcast. But wouldn’t Amy come to miss her family? Wouldn’t she long to see familiar faces?

  Dorette had spoken the truth, damn her; the bounty hunters would follow him into Mexico. They’d figure he was easy pickings once he’d settled down on a ranch. He would be. He wouldn’t be able to run. He’d have to kill them. Amy would be subjected over and over to the very violence and uncertainty that he was trying to avoid. He remembered her reaction to Purdon’s death. She abhorred violence. It would shock and horrify her every time. Would she come to abhor him, too?

  Or maybe one of the hunters would get him. Then she’d be left alone in a strange country, defenseless, prey to anyone who happened along. Even worse, what if, in trying to shoot him, one of the bounty hunters hit Amy instead?

  Sam went to the window and stared blindly out at the dark street below. Dorette was right. He’d known it, but he had refused to think about it. He’d been selfish, wanting Amy with him so much that he wasn’t doing what was best for her. He’d been nothing but selfish from the moment he met her, stealing her away from her family and forcing her to endure the hardships of running from the law, taking her virginity, taking her love. She was too innocent to know what lay ahead; she had no idea what her life would be like with him, or how much she would be giving up.

  If she remained behind, she would meet another man someday, a man who was good and honest, who might be worthy of her, who would give her a decent home and a settled life. She was the only woman Sam had ever loved, but that didn’t mean she loved him in the same way. She had never had another man; perhaps she mistook desire for love. It hurt even to think it, but maybe she was just so inexperienced that she didn’t know that she could love another man and have a better life.

  He was taking advantage of her sweetness and her innocence, selfishly using her, taking her love and warmth. A man who really loved her would not harm her just so he could have the pleasure of her presence. A man who loved her would do what was best for her.

  Sam walked slowly back to the bed. He stared at Amy, as though to burn the image of her into his mind. He had known all along that he wasn’t good enough for her. She was an angel, whereas he was lucky his neck hadn’t already been put in a noose. If he took her to Mexico with him, he’d pull her down into his way of life. He’d taken her with him at first because he always took what he wanted, selfishly, wickedly. But Amy had changed him; she had given him enough of her own goodness that he knew he couldn’t do that again. He couldn’t wrong her, couldn’t hurt her, just to please himself. He had to do what was best for her.

  He bent down and kissed her forehead, her lips. Then he gathered up his belongings and left the room quietly. He went down to Dorette’s office and walked in without bothering to knock. She looked up from her account books, her face registering surprise.

  “I need the supplies right away,”
he told her. “I’m leaving now, and I’m going alone.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Amy awakened slowly. The room was dim, the windows blocked by the heavy curtains. She sat up, yawning and stretching. She wondered where Sam was. Probably down seeing about the horses and supplies. He had wanted to get an early start this morning. Amy slipped out of bed and padded over to a chair, where her boy’s clothes lay cleaned and neatly folded. She dressed and picked up the hairbrush. As she brushed her hair, she wandered over to the window and pushed aside the curtain to look out.

  What she saw made her frown. It was full daylight outside, and there were people on the streets. She would have said it was mid-morning, if not later. Why had Sam waited so long to get started? Perhaps he had overslept, too. Quickly, she braided her hair. She wanted to be ready to leave as soon as Sam returned; they couldn’t afford to waste any time.

  The door opened, and Dorette entered, carrying a tray. “Hello. Jewel said she heard you up and moving around in here. I brought you some breakfast.”

  “Thank you.” Amy smiled. Dorette set the tray down on the low table and poured two cups of coffee. “Where’s Sam? Has he eaten?”

  “Yes, I’m sure he has.” Dorette put down the coffeepot. “Amy, there’s something I need to talk to you about.”

  “Oh? What?” Amy bent to pick up a piece of toast.

  “Brody’s gone.”

  Amy froze. Slowly she straightened, her hand falling back to her side. “What?”

  “Brody is gone. He left in the middle of the night.”

  “But why? Where?”

  “Sit down. He asked me to tell you.”

  “Tell me what? I don’t understand.” Amy’s face began to crumple. “Was it a lie? Didn’t Sam want me, after all?”

  “No! Oh, no, it wasn’t a lie. I’ve never seen Brody taken like that with any woman. He loves you. I’ll swear to that. But he could see that going to Mexico won’t be any kind of life for a woman like you. There’ll be bounty hunters chasing him for the rest of his life. He won’t be safe from them even in Mexico.”