Savage Desire

by Rosemary Rogers

  “What has she done now?” Steve drawled, sitting back in his chair to look up at Paco with a cold gaze. “Danced with veils for Díaz? It wouldn’t surprise me.”

  “It seems that General Luna has taken her. Tige found Butch Casey nearly dead, his throat slit, though he is still alive. Missed the jugular, but just barely. Ginny is gone.”

  “Christ!” The chair was pushed back so quickly it fell to the hard-packed dirt floor with a crash as Steve stood up and reached for his rifle. “Which way did he take her?”

  “No one is certain, but it looks like they headed north toward Chihuahua. If what you told me is true about Luna and Senator Brandon, you can guess where they’re going and why.”

  “Hell, yes. The Galena.”

  The sun was well over the mountain ridges by the time they rode north out of Mexico City. Paco was quiet for a while, reading his partner’s mood from long experience. Ever since he’d met Ginny Brandon, Steve Morgan had changed. He’d always been a man who attracted women, but he could take them or leave them, when and how he pleased. Only with Ginny things had been different.

  In a way, Paco understood. There was a fiery quality to her that matched Steve’s stubborn nature, even conquered him at times. He’d seen him do things for Ginny that once he would have sworn Steve Morgan would never do for anyone, man or woman.

  But for Ginny, he had. He’d turned himself in to the French for her—and nearly died for it. Flogged to within an inch of his life, then relegated to the mines to die a slow, anonymous death, he had still survived it.

  It hadn’t been easy for Ginny, either. Not in those tempestuous times when Juaristas were still fighting the French, and Mexico seethed with revolution. Betrayed and taken hostage, she had suffered terribly. It was a miracle they had both survived.

  Steve reined his mount to a halt in the shadow beneath a rocky overhang that jutted beside the trail, and pulled the cork on his water pouch, squirting a stream into his mouth before he offered it to Paco. It was quiet, the only sound the wind and muted clink of curb chains and creaking saddle leather. The smell of baking rock thickened the air.

  “Bishop doesn’t like this.” Paco handed him back the water pouch, his eyes thinned against the glare of the sun beating down and warming the damp earth. “He seems to think this could endanger the shaky relationship between the United States and Spain, for some reason.”

  “I don’t think Luna has that kind of influence, though he’d like to pretend he does.”

  “How does he figure in all this? Luna, I mean. What does he have to gain by taking Ginny?”

  “Revenge. Guess you’d call it that.” Steve shrugged. “I met him a long time ago in Italy, when I was there with ’Cesca. Luna fell for her in a big way. She was mad at me, decided that I needed to be taught a lesson, but Luna took her flirtation seriously. He viewed me as a rival for her affections. When he became too insistent and a problem for her, I had to convince him she didn’t want to see him again.”

  “So now he is taking your woman as revenge?”

  “Ginny wouldn’t go with him willingly.”

  Paco hesitated. “Bishop said she had met him before, in Ojinaga.”

  “How would he know that?” Astounded, Steve swore under his breath. “Damn Bishop, if he knew all the time that Luna meant to use her to get at Brandon—Where is he?”

  Paco cleared his throat. “I believe he is on his way to San Antonio. He said you would know what to do.”

  Steve swore again, long and feelingly, angry that he had not been warned about Luna a month ago. “If Rafael Luna harms one hair on her head, I won’t give a damn about diplomatic relations with Spain.”

  Time had not improved the road between Mexico City and Zacatecas. The beaten-down ribbon of dirt snaked through San Luis Potosí and Salinas and up to the province of Zacatecas. If Luna had gone that way, it was possible Steve could head them off. He knew the land like the back of his hand, had been exploring the arroyos and flat-topped ridges since he was a boy.

  Steve let his horse set the pace. It would be a grueling ride, and he was pretty sure he knew where Luna was headed. It was unlikely he would do anything to Ginny until he reached his destination. He’d be too pressed for time, knowing that he was pursued.

  Green-eyed gypsy—his love, his life. It had all been a mirage, an illusion…his assumption that he could keep her safe from harm a dangerous fiction. He’d failed her, and he had failed himself. It made him nauseous, reminded him that he couldn’t control everything, that there were times he’d lose. It was humiliating and humbling. It was frightening.

  How could he face her again, with the knowledge of his failure between them? Christ, he’d chased her across half of Mexico and even the world at times, angry with her, too damn stubborn to admit even to himself that he loved her. But he had never once considered that he might lose her with his arrogance.

  He remembered Concepciόn’s wailing lament so long ago when he had ridden after Ginny, a futile noble gesture to save Ginny. “He goes for her, that green-eyed woman.”

  It seemed that he was always going after Ginny, always trying to catch her.

  Would he never learn to hold her tightly?

  34

  It was cold that high up in the mountains, and Ginny shivered beneath the thin blanket draped over her shoulders. Rafael Luna seemed quite comfortable, even lighthearted as he sat by a fire built under an overhang of rock.

  “As a soldier, I learned survival in any situation, chica, so do not worry that I cannot properly care for you out here. Of course I can. It is not so bad, eh? We will be at the end of our journey soon enough, once I am certain we are being followed.”

  “You want us to be followed?”

  Luna chuckled. “But of course! Why do you think I brought you with me? It would do me no good to leave on my own, for then, it may well be thought of as good riddance. But with you, my lovely puta, I am assured that I will have what I want soon enough.”

  “I don’t understand.” Ginny stared at him in the faint flickering light of the fire; Luna was stretched out, his long legs crossed negligently at the ankles, and the tip of a cigar glowed bright red in the night air. “Why go to all this trouble?”

  “I have my reasons. But you look so sad, pequeña. What is the matter? Are you afraid I will hurt your husband?”

  “Hardly,” she said in a cutting tone that made his eyes narrow. “Steve Morgan will slice you to ribbons and filet your heart before you have the chance to move. Don’t make the mistake of underestimating him. It could be fatal for you.”

  “And so you warn me. Is it possible you have developed a little softness for me? Ah, I see you glaring at me as if I insulted you. But it is true, is it not? I know women like you. You have the nature of a true whore, passionate and fiery.”

  Refusing to allow herself to be goaded, Ginny looked away from him; stunted trees were misshapen silhouettes against the night sky, assuming fantastical shapes that made her think of monsters, the stuff of nightmares. But it was the real nightmares that were so dangerous, the men like Rafael Luna.

  Within three days, they were high in the mountains of Durango. They had ridden through Zacatecas, as familiar to Ginny as her own face in the mirror. Was Steve following them? Oh God, did he even know that she’d been taken hostage by this madman?

  By now, surely he should have overtaken them. But what if he wasn’t coming? Doubts tormented her, and even when they stopped in a small village posada for the night, with a bed and decent food, she was tense and on edge. It didn’t help that she was sick, wracked in turn by fever and chills. She tried to ignore it. Her very survival depended upon concentration.

  “Where are we?” she asked, and he surprised her by answering.

  “Not far from Parral. Ah, you know it?”

  She nodded. “Yes. I went there once, several years ago, when it was occupied by the French. Where are we going?”

  “That depends on how swift your husband is. If all goes as I plan, this hu
mble abode may be our final destination.”

  When she stared at him, he laughed. “You may soon have a chance to see your husband alive. Are you getting anxious? Perhaps he will be so obliging as to reach us tonight. If not…there is tomorrow night. But he will come. I have made certain of that.”

  A chill went down her spine at the malevolence in his tone, and she prayed for rescue. Oh, what was taking Steve so long? He would come, wouldn’t he? Did he suspect that Luna planned an ambush for him? Surely he must realize that the Spaniard was consumed with jealousy, deranged enough to go to elaborate lengths just for vengeance. Oh God, if only she could get a message to Steve!

  Luna brought a bottle of wine to the dingy room in the cheap posada, and with a faint, sneering smile, set it on the scarred table beneath the window.

  “Tonight, chica, we shall celebrate.”

  “I’m in no mood for a celebration,” Ginny said tartly.

  Luna crossed the room to where she was tied to the bed—his first action upon bringing her inside—and squeezed her chin painfully between his fingers.

  “But I am in a mood to celebrate, so you will humor me. Ah, if your eyes were daggers, I would be pierced to the heart! Such lovely eyes, so green…and your mouth—it has been too long since I have enjoyed you. Are you feeling lonely or abandoned? I will rectify that soon, I promise, my sweet. Before this is over, we will enjoy each other. I know how you wait for it, and how you long for me.”

  Ginny shuddered and he laughed, then flicked his fingers against her cheek before he sat back. He used her small dagger to slice the leather straps tying her to the bed, then stabbed it into the wall, as if to offer her a challenge. The hilt quivered slightly as Ginny glanced at it, temptation casting a shadow against the cracked surface.

  “Do you wish to use it on me, puta?” His laugh was soft. “Do you recall what happened the last time you tried to do such a thing?”

  A shudder went through her, and she nodded silently.

  “I thought you might. If you wish, I shall leave it there, and if you try it again, I will know that you truly appreciate the punishment you receive when you disobey me.”

  His hand moved over her face, long brown fingers a dark sacrilege against her pale, gleaming skin. Finally, with a laugh that told her he knew she was too frightened to attempt escape or resistance again, he rose and went back to the table.

  A lamp burned with a steady, subdued glow, casting pools of rosy light and wavering shadows. The room was surprisingly large. Through the open window she could hear a dog bark, and far away, the plaintive sounds of a guitar.

  Ginny lay supine upon the bed, marshalling the ebbing reserves of her strength as the fever rose higher, blurring her vision and nibbling at the edges of consciousness. It was no time to be sick! Oh God, if only she could hold on long enough for Steve to come. She’d be of no help to him if she was incoherent with a raging fever.

  “I wanted you,” Luna said suddenly, walking back to the bed, “from that night in Ojinaga. You intrigued me, with your sultry beauty and the way you danced—like a Spanish gypsy. Such abandon, such fluid grace. I realized then what I had to do, how to set a trap for Steve Morgan. I did not think I would find his wife so lovely, so tempting. But you are accustomed to the admiration of a man. Of many men. Oh, yes, I saw your true nature in your eyes that night. You expect men to want you, to fall under your spell.”

  Reaching out, he slid his hand over her face, then the arch of her throat, his fingers a light caress that made her shudder. Luna laughed at her reaction.

  “How many times have you traded your body for favors? I am just one more man to use what you offer.”

  “I never offered you anything!” Ginny glared at him. “I detest you. I find you repulsive!”

  “Perhaps. But that is of no consequence. You are just an instrument to me, a method of gaining what I want.” He stood up, stared down at her a long moment, his dark eyes glittering in the gloomy shadows. “I have a special fate in mind for your husband, chica. This time, he shall see how it feels to watch another man take what is his—to spoil it, to desecrate that which he holds sacred. It shall give me great satisfaction to watch him suffer the same torment he gave to me.”

  “Francesca di Paoli is hardly worthy of such devotion,” Ginny said calmly. “She is much more of a whore than you think me. She pursues married men—”

  “Enough!” Luna slapped her, a vicious blow that stung her cheek and caused lights to explode in front of her eyes. As if from a distance, Ginny heard him say, “Never speak ill of such perfection, such talent! She is blameless, a victim of Steve Morgan’s careless attention. He abandoned her, and now will die for it.”

  His words came in overlapping waves, descending through a dark haze of sound and the roaring in her ears, but Ginny could perceive that Luna’s determination to avenge the Italian diva was as warped as he was.

  Crouching down beside her again, Luna grasped her chin between his thumb and fingers, a brutal hold as he turned her to face him. Dazedly, Ginny focused on his mouth, watched his lips form words that struck terror into her heart.

  “When Steve Morgan arrives to rescue you—he will be surrounded by Rurales. Then he will watch while I strip you of your garments and give you to them. There are only a dozen, but they are very eager to taste your charms, chica. These Rurales once rode with Juan Cortina, who was called an outlaw and persecuted by gringo Texans like your husband. They will be quite happy to avenge Cortina.”

  The fever made her shudder. Luna watched her with a faint smile, his eyes narrowing at her reaction.

  “It is warm in here, is it not, chica? I can see you are too hot. Would you like to take off your camisa? It is just us, and I have already seen your beautiful body. No, do not protest, I will help you, eh?”

  Ginny resisted, but it was a futile effort; Luna easily combated her attempts to kick him. She was at his mercy as he undressed her, leaving her in only the thin silk shift she had been wearing the night of the ball. Asleep on the settee, clad only in her dressing gown, she had been awakened by Luna sometime in the middle of the night. He had given her no time to dress, to do no more than snatch up a garment from the back of a chair before he had dragged her from the house. In the murky light, the shift had been all she saw.

  Luna was laughing, his dark eyes filled with a kind of grim satisfaction as he perused her.

  “You are so lovely, little Ginette, so very lovely. I am almost sorry I must do this to you, but it is necessary. I wonder what it might have been like if I had met you first, before even the lovely Francesca? But I shall never know, shall I. No! And it would never be enough to have you now, for you will never truly be mine. A curious thing, but I find I am not content with just your body. I must have the woman’s heart as well, must have her love and loyalty or it means nothing to me.”

  “What—” She licked dry lips, her chest heaving as she panted for air to fill her lungs. “What are you going to do to Steve?”

  “Kill him. But only after he had watched you share your lovely body with the Rurales, of course. And perhaps even me, though that is not necessary. I made certain he knows that I have already tasted your charms. What a charade that was, parading you before all of Mexico City, rubbing Steve Morgan’s nose in the fact that you were mine, just as he flaunted his affair with Francesca before me.”

  “No, no….” Her moan was soft and low, and she shuddered again as the horror of her situation was made so clear. At the back of her mind, she had suspected what he planned, but now she knew he would kill Steve.

  The music had drawn closer, the guitars louder now, a sobbing, plaintive melody that was familiar. Ginny was pulled from the bed, her mind screaming rebellion but her body refusing to obey her commands to flee, to resist. Luna caressed her a few moments, laughing softly when she strained away from him, too weak with the encroaching fever to fully resist.

  “Do you hear the men outside? They wait for you. They are so impatient to see the beautiful gringa that I
promised them as a reward for their vigilance. Perhaps it is not fair to make them wait…. Shall I let them preview what it is they will fight for tonight?”

  She felt so hot, her vision blurred and her tongue thick with fever; her throat ached as she forced words past parched, dry lips.

  “Rafael, no…please…I’ll stay with you if you forget about Steve. Let him go.”

  “Why should I? I have already had you, and could keep you even if you don’t agree to stay with me. No, I have waited too long to avenge Francesca. Nothing must go wrong tonight.”

  Holding her by one arm, he moved to the door and swung it open. Ginny saw a dozen uniformed men waiting in the lantern-washed courtyard outside the door. They snapped to attention when Luna said, “As I promised you, here she is, the most famous cortesana in all of Mexico!”

  Hoarse murmurs of lust and admiration filled the air, and one of the men, bolder than the rest, stepped forward. His black eyes were hot, probing, as he said, “We will have her now.”

  “Not yet, my eager compadre. Not yet. There will be plenty of time later. First, I am paying you to do a job. You know what you must do, and you will remain in the shadows until it is time. But if you would like to see your reward, I shall allow you just a small sample….”

  Pulling Ginny in front of him, her back pressed against his chest, Luna curled one arm across her throat to hold her, and slowly began to pull up the silk shift. It rose higher and higher, a thin wisp of material that bunched in his fist as he slid it above her knees, up to her thighs.

  “Higher!” came the hoarse demand. Luna laughed.

  “Do you wish to see all her treasures at once? She is as beautiful as I told you, is she not?”

  She felt their eyes on her, greedy and hot. Relief washed over her as she heard Luna deny permission for them to touch her, and she strained against his grip.