"So good, it's probably illegal," Sparkle confessed.
He laughed and arranged her thighs on either side of his neck. "I like wearin' a thigh collar every once in awhile. You can just lay back and watch, but I'd be a damned sight happier if you found another way to keep yourself entertained while I'm kissin' you down here."
"Don't say things like that!" Sparkle clamped her legs together, desperate to shut him up. Big mistake. Seconds later she was gasping and cursing, so wet and out of control she forgot everything but the wave of pleasure he sent spilling over her.
Rafe paused, wringing a sobbing cry from her. "Tarnation, but you're lazy," he admonished lightly. "Remember the cactus juice? You kiss me, I'll kiss you."
She brought the head of his shaft to her lips, kissed and licked. Rafe reciprocated. She tried again. Cause and effect established, she took him fully into her mouth and suckled. Rafe suckled, too. Lord, but it would be something to go at this exercise with real determination.
The pure ecstasy…The man had debauched her, ignored her, sneaked up on her, debased her further by teaching her this absolutely fabulous and thoroughly lewd act. Forget his Colt or her knife. He'd given her the ultimate weapon. She'd love him to death. Kill him with kindness.
Determined to ignore the havoc he created from within his "thigh collar," she attacked his engorged manhood with a vengeance. Before she was finished, he'd be praying for his own death. She'd show him he wasn't the only one who could use pleasure to devastating effect.
"I can't believe I lived through that," she murmured some two hours later. "I'm sure women aren't meant to crest so many times."
"Yes, you are. You gals got us fellas beat about ten to one. Make you feel powerful?"
Powerful? Try limp. Mentally considering a pilgrimage in search of eternal salvation.
There wasn't one inch of her body that didn't tingle still. Correction. There were precisely two square inches—her nipples. They'd finally gone numb. She slowly sat up and pulled loose from the gnarled sheets. Rafe reclined against the pillows, arms folded behind his head, not a shred of bedclothes covering his nude magnificence. His expression was solemn, thoughtful. A reprieve. Then she saw the corners of his mouth lift ever so slightly. She crushed her eyelids shut. Too late. She'd seen that damned, wicked grin.
She was learning too quickly and too well. Her training had taught her that when she glimpsed Rafe's slow grin, his lazy drawl was coming next. When Rafe chewed out words in that measured way, she could too easily imagine those sensual lips and his tongue chewing on her body in that same slow, meandering way. Her breasts tightened then, and she got damp in a most unladylike fashion.
"Don't start up again," she warned. "Don't lie there grinning at me, thinking what you're obviously thinking. It must be past noon, and I haven't left this bed—well, not really," she stammered, the washstand episode still too vivid in her mind.
"So? We got all day to spend in bed." Rafe's smile was decidedly evil now. "You got somethin' better to do?" His arms unfolded and he shot up, reaching to capture her in a blur of movement. Sparkle found herself sprawled against his chest. His lips and tongue thoroughly ravished her mouth as his hands massaged her bare buttocks and ground her pelvis against his. She couldn't believe she detected stirrings of life in his manhood. "I got nothin' more important to do for the next couple hours."
"Really?" Sparkle grabbed her cloak of haughtiness in hear desperation. "Don't you have a horse to check on, or something you need to discuss with Driscoll and Parker?"
His hands went still. "Now I'm tryin' to decide if you're funnin' me. You want me out of here? Can't still be mad about last night. If you are, there must be an itch someplace I forgot to scratch. That's tough to figure, since I'm pretty sure I scratched everywhere."
"Well, I was pretty itchy all over last night," she informed him. "But you didn't even bother to kiss me before you skedaddled."
"So you figured I didn't want to?"
"Of course not. If you want to do something, you just do it, Rafe. You pulled me back into bed just now, didn't you?"
"Yeah." His expression changed and he cocked his head, his gaze changing from warm and teasing to something she couldn't label.
"You're wrong, Sparkle. I wanted to kiss you, but I also wanted to break your neck." His tone suggested he wasn't teasing in the slightest now. "Felt sick, watchin' you smile at every goddamned pair of work denims in town. Didn't appreciate bein' tied up in knots, feelin' sick in my gut."
"Rafe, I did just what you told me. You can't mean you—"
He pushed her away. "Can't. What, you been readin' my cards again, so you can tell me what I mean? Left last night because I reckoned I'd only get upset if I stayed. Like I'm gettin' now." She gaped at him as he sat up and continued to rant. "Don't see no friggin' cards. Guess I'll have to say it for you, then."
"Say what? What's come over you?"
"I didn't want to make a horse's ass of myself by tellin' you I hate watchin' you work in saloons. I always hated it. Hate you readin' those damned cards too, even mine. I was sorry I got your damned job back for you in Wichita, because you're too fine for saloons and men like Frazer or madams with perverted notions. I'm glad you ain't got your job in Wichita now. If I had my way, I'd never let you out of this bed. I'd just keep you here with me in it, and never have to feel so damned pissed again." He stood up and stepped into his jeans, jerking them up over his hips.
"You sure say 'damned' a lot when you get mad," Sparkle teased. He ignored her. Not a good sign. She knew then he was genuinely upset. "Using me as bait was your idea," she reminded softly.
"Yeah, brilliant, too, ain't it?" he all but shouted. "Just cause I thought of it doesn't mean I'm proud of the notion. Doesn't keep it from stickin' in my craw, seein' it carried out." He had his fly half buttoned. He paused to glare at her, and Sparkle was absurdly elated. His eyes burned with a greenish fire that could only mean one thing. He was jealous. Insanely, wonderfully jealous.
"Tolover seems to think your idea will work, though. And I'm downstairs working as your partner, remember?"
Rafe swore a stream of colorful expletives. "If I hadn't already taken money up front, I'd pull out, Sparkle. Never done that before. Ain't never felt like doin' it. But ain't never been so mixed up, or pissed off and boxed in before, either. Never in my whole life."
"I'm not boxing you in," she replied gently. "If that's how you feel, why won't you take me to the depot? This town's full of whores. I don't need money badly enough to ruin our—" She changed tacks. "To disrupt everything for you."
"Sparkle," he croaked. "You know how I feel about that." He dropped back onto the mattress and drew her into his arms. "I hate havin' you here, but I'd hate not havin' you even worse. That's exactly what I mean. Whichever way I go at this, it makes me ornery."
"You are that," she smiled, planting a kiss on his cheek.
His tone softened. "It's always been just my own hide," he said while casually stroking her bare bottom. "I never stopped to consider someone might go after you. Should have, but I didn't. Won't take the risk again. Keepin' you close is the only way I can be sure you're safe. If I let you board a train, I wouldn't be able to keep my mind on what I'm doin'. That's likely to get me killed."
She hugged him tightly. "I'd miss you, too. And I certainly don't want you taking needless risks. We just had Doctor Stone patch you up. So I guess I'll stay, and you'll have to get over feeling jealous. You are, you know."
His eyebrows shot up. "Always laughed at other fellas for actin' like jackasses. Now I'm as big a jackass as any of them. It's loco. I know it, when everybody thinks you're my wife. But you're so pretty, while I'm nobody's idea of a prize." He touched the ugly center of his chest.
"Stop that," she chided. "There's no reason for you to be upset. You're being absolutely pigheaded and ridiculous." She brightened, hearing her own assessment. "Why, yes, you are! Thank you."
"You're thankin' me for goin' loco?"
"I thought
I was the only one unreasonable enough to want to shoot a man for checking on his horse." Rafe searched her eyes, then released a slow chuckle and hugged her back.
"I'm partial to that sorrel, but it ain't nearly the same. Bein' jealous of me spendin' time with my horse is the craziest thing I've ever heard."
She got up and began donning her clothes, today the blouse and skirt Alice loaned her. "Who are we trying to entice here, anyway?"
"A rustler who stole near a hundred head of prime beef stock. Rancher's put up a big reward to make sure it won't happen again. Took part of my pay up front and guaranteed success. Easier to get the outlaw to come to me than chasin' him all over Hell and gone."
"You guaranteed success?" she frowned. "Why would a rancher hire you to catch a rustler? Isn't that what sheriffs and marshals are for?" Rafe handed her a hairbrush he'd dug out of his pack.
"Law ain't helped. Cattlemen hire freelancers all the time. Their cowhands won't generally shoot a rustler, cause they figure they get paid to herd cows, not risk their lives to defend 'em. The boss can always replace a few steers. Besides, shootin' at wolves or coyotes is one thing. They don't shoot back."
"I guess it makes sense they'd feel that way. I wouldn't risk my life if someone tried to rob Frazer. I would've helped the crook fill his sack."
"Rustlers usually don't stop at a few head, though. They'll come back, again and again. And with this particular fella, things are tricky. Law can't do much. Wouldn't be any witnesses comin' forward to make him dance at the end of a rope."
The full implication struck as they left the room and started down the staircase. If the law couldn't make him pay and Rafe had guaranteed to stop the rustling…Her voice came as a shocked whisper. "Rafe, you hired out to commit a murder."
The drawl was absent from his speech. "I hired out to put an end to a problem. With this particular fella, wouldn't matter whether I was out to shoot him or ask him to the Saturday night dance. Outcome would be the same, even if I tried to have him arrested. He'd never let it happen. It's him or me. Wouldn't matter who tried to bring him in. That's the way it stands."
Sparkle abruptly plopped down onto the top riser. She shouldn't ask, but she had a right to know. She was already involved, to her increasing regret. "Just who are we talking about?"
Rafe folded his legs to sit beside her. "Ned Slocumb."
Sparkle's blood ran cold. Frazer had been warned about Slocumb. Art Thompson had shown the whole saloon staff the Wanted poster. Ned Slocumb had done more than rustle cattle. He'd killed three ranch hands and a lawman who went after him, then shot a buyer at the cattle auction who wouldn't agree to Slocumb's asking price. That poor soul survived, but he was blinded in one eye.
Rafe was going up against Ned Slocumb…and Sparkle was the bait.
They walked to a small café several blocks down Front Street. Sparkle numbly eased into the chair he pulled out for her, but sullenly stared at the tablecloth while he ordered ham and eggs. She refused to order anything. Rafe told the waitress to bring coffee for both of them, potatoes and toast for Sparkle. "Got another long night ahead," he sighed as the girl hurried off. "Need to keep your strength up."
"What for?" she hissed. "Slocumb's going to get me upstairs and beat it out of me before you ever get that panel open." Her fingers shook so badly when the food arrived, she couldn't keep the jelly on her toast, let alone get the gooey plank to her mouth. She gave up and dropped it on the plate.
"Sparkle." Rafe's hand reached across the table to steady hers. "Slocumb's a known ladies man. Saloon gals are his weakness. I'd damned sure rather have this fight on friendly turf. Tolover and his men will be there to back us up. I'll be upstairs behind the panel. Sam will follow you up the main stairs; Driscoll will take the back set along the monkey hall. You'll never be alone with Slocumb. He'll think you are, for all of about two minutes. And trust me, in those two minutes he ain't about to kill you."
"How can you be sure?" Her voice was a terrified whisper. "He's a murderer, Rafe! He kills anyone who gets in his way. I'm not even a real whore. I don't know how to act. I'll never convince him I'm an expert in being good with a man."
"Sparkle La-Goddamned-Fleur." He got her undivided attention then. "You're so good at it, I can't tell you. Explainin' would make me crazy for another go. Why do you think I get jealous over you smilin' at other men? Don't you know why I kept you in that brass bed half the day?"
"I thought that was more you than me," she answered quietly, without meeting his gaze.
"Listen. Slocumb likes his gals alive and kickin'. He's never murdered a woman. But there's somethin' else you ain't considered."
"Wood preference for my coffin, or what I'd like carved on my tombstone? Should I write it down for you?"
"Put your claws back in. How come the rancher figures I can take Slocumb when nobody else has? There's no shortage of cattle detectives. The rancher's a big man. He can afford any gun he wants to hire. So why me? Ask yourself that. He's payin' five thousand dollars, Sparkle. That kind of money says I must be good, but I'm better than good. I'm one of the best."
She studied his face. Rafe had touched briefly on his reputation before, but never openly boasted. It wasn't his way. She knew he wasn't bragging now. He was stating solid fact.
"That's how you can offer me a thousand and still pay Parker and Driscoll," she concluded. "Five thousand dollars." Something like awe crept into her voice.
Rafe cleared his throat, sipped at his coffee. "You're takin' a chance. Won't lie about that. Slocumb's a nasty polecat. But I won't let him hurt you." He scanned the street. Sparkle had almost stopped noticing how he constantly checked his surroundings, but it was important to remember.
"A thousand's a lot more than you lost in Wichita," he pointed out. "The fancy evenin' dress and earbobs won't fit Snatch, and I don't wear silk, so I reckon you best keep the duds as part of the deal."
He was teasing again. The cloud clutching her heart brightened just a bit. She took her first healthy bite of toast, followed by a forkful of potatoes. "I'm hungrier than I thought. Must have been all the activity earlier." Her eyes flicked down to his silver belt buckle.
"More potatoes for the lady," Rafe called out, motioning to the waitress. When the slim blonde approached, he spoke with mock sobriety. "Better toss a slice of ham on her plate while you're at it. My wife gets powerful hungry stayin' in a hotel. Not that her own cookin' ain't the finest. She cooks like nobody's business."
"I'm sure she's great." The girl shrugged, removing Rafe's empty plate and heading for the kitchen.
Rafe's eyes raked over Sparkle's bosom, then locked on her face. His lazy grin came back full force. "Yep, cooks like nobody's business, 'specially when she ain't nowhere near a stove."
CHAPTER 12
After two more evenings in the cream silk, Sparkle convinced Rafe to take her back to the dressmaker's shop. This time she selected a deep purple velvet gown with a dipping heart-shaped bodice and gathers below the bustle, spilling down the back. She could tell Rafe wasn't pleased by her choice, but the dress wasn't for him. It would attract Ned Slocumb. Sparkle wanted to conclude the awful business.
Rafe had explained Slocumb's tastes. He'd learned about them from old whores like Big Al and a man he'd met, reputedly one of Slocumb's associates. During a poker game, the fellow talked of his partner's strange sexual proclivities. Slocumb couldn't wait to get his hands on one bit of pussy, the fellow claimed, because Slocumb heard she'd come from a Mexican cantina where the girls appeared on stage with a donkey. Slocumb was known to frequent bordellos from Santa Fe to New Orleans, St. Joe to Laredo. The more exotic or brazen the prostitute, the faster he'd pony up to get into bed with her.
Sparkle was now the talk of Dodge. Said to be the illegitimate daughter of a French peasant girl and a Hungarian prince, she'd been credited with giving oral sex to an American politician under the table during a state dinner attended by the crowned heads of Europe. Gossip reported she told fortunes in the gaming hall a
nd did unspeakable things in her private salon upstairs, in the finest and largest pleasure chamber in all of Dodge. But the price for passion with her was so exorbitant, few men could boast of the experience. This bold tale should draw the outlaw.
The woman herself found the exaggerations more than appalling, yet she had to admit part of the fable was true. She powdered the tops of her breasts, put kohl on her eyes, and rouged her lips and cheeks nightly, knowing her price was beyond high—it was utterly unattainable for anyone save Slocumb. Rafe had gone to visit the reportedly ferocious lawman in town, a fellow Rafe knew personally. They'd reached an agreement. The law would look the other way if Rafe confined his activities to the Bold Adventuress and the specific task he'd been hired to perform. He left his gunbelt behind when outside the saloon. Left it in the ornate room where Sparkle LaFleur did indeed do "unspeakable" things.
Things that had been unthinkable before meeting Rafe Conley.
He barely spoke to her in the evenings, choosing to clamp the lid on his jealousy by ignoring her. When at last they'd give up their vigil for the night and settle into the big bed, Rafe would roll away from her. Sparkle would wait until he'd fallen asleep, then snuggle close to his broad back. With her gunfighter's deep breathing and warmth beside her, Dodge City wasn't so horrible and Slocumb wasn't a threat. She could blot out reality and sleep.
But in the early mornings, when the saloon was at last quiet…when all across Kansas farmers paused to wipe sweat from their brows while their wives churned butter or hung out the wash, Rafe would reach for her. He'd awaken her and overwhelm her. One kiss or a light pinch to a rosy nipple and Sparkle went willingly into his arms. Resistance was pointless. He'd conquer her even if she tried to remain indifferent. She'd be wet and whimpering in less than two minutes when he touched her; panting and gasping, begging for mercy in as little as ten. Craving the foreplay that fired her blood as much as the final release from the torment.
The Trailrider's Fortune Page 13
