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but a day to understand Vel's comments about her room being the tamest in the bunch. Each had a motif, seductive and extravagant and enticing fantasies to run wild. Only Velvet had two adjoining rooms, a small sitting area and a lush bedroom decorated like a Sultan's harem. And when Vel's voice beckoned her from inside, Victoria pushed open the door.
On a mound of silken pillows, surrounded by carefully draped sheers of pink and red and yellow, was Red Velvet Knight, half reclined in half naked glory, her head bent close to a man who was whispering something in her ear.
And the man, Victoria realized with a stab of unspeakable pain, was Chris.
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Chapter Seventeen
As Victoria crossed the threshold, Chris looked up sharply, his eyes flaring as they met hers. A split second later his features stretched tight, a guilty flush creeping into his handsome face.
And Victoria froze on the spot. She felt betrayed. For an entire heartbeat, she was stricken, her feet glued to the floor, a hard tearing sensation ripping through her body, her heart.
This hurts.
Oh, Jesus. It hurts.
She struggled for composure, suppressing the rushing agony fighting to the surface, years of practice clicking into motion as she crossed to the low brass table and set the tray carefully in the center. Bent, she poured tea, added sugar, then straightened, looking at Vel. "Is there anything else I can do for you, Miss Knight?"
Vel glanced between the two, her forehead wrinkling a touch. "No honey," she said carefully. "It was sweet of you to bother.''
Victoria turned her gaze to Chris. ' 'Something I can get you, marshal?" Like a punch in the nose?
"I've got all I came for, thanks." His low intimate tone twisted through Victoria like a snake, strangling her.
"Ain't polite to tease a gal," Velvet said on a laugh, giving him a playful nudge.
Victoria swallowed, the thickness in her throat like sandpaper. She liked Velvet; they'd become friends. But to see Chris pressed close to her, admiring her lush plump curves, acting so damn familiar with the half naked harlot shredded her heart into tiny pieces. She could feel each one break and fall away to dust.
She had to get out of here.
"If you'll excuse me, then. I've clothes to purchase." "What yer wearing looks fine," Vel said with a glance over her Navy skirt and crisp high necked white blouse.
In perfect spinster-proper diction she said, "Apparently, Mis-ter Becket insists his girls have a standard, and I attire myself below it."
Chris's expression sharpened as Vel conceded. "He is a bit finicky about that."
"What kind of clothes?" Chris gritted, eyeing Victoria. She looked at him blandly. "I don't see where it's any of your business, Marshal."
He stood abruptly, fists clenched. "I'm making it mine." "You should know by now not to push your nose into everyone's affairs, Marshal Swift." His dark eyes narrowed. "You could get it cut off.'' Dismissing his anger, she addressed Vel, who was staring oddly at Chris. Let's see him explain that, she thought, her smugness only amplifying her hurt. "If you'll excuse me. I'll leave you to your privacy."
She spun on her heels and strode out the door, pulling it closed before hurrying down the hall.
The jolt of the slamming door made Chris flinch, and he cursed softly, pushing his fingers through his hair. The soft sheen of tears and her wounded expression, masked or not, was enough to cut him in half. He knew how bad this looked, but she had to understand. She had to. Christ... she wouldn't.
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"Marshal?" Vel called softly, reaching for her tea cup. "What's going on?"
"Nothing." Hollow, regretful, as he advanced to the door. "Like hell."
He paused and she met his gaze over the rim of china.
"Energy like that only a fool would miss." She sipped and inwardly, Chris groaned. Though he'd never destroy Victoria's plans, he hoped Vel was the only person who noticed their attraction.
"Clara isn't all that she seems, Vel." The madame scoffed. "Tell me somethin' I don't know." He frowned questioningly.
"That girl is different. Strange, but. . . heck, I don't know," She shook her head, rueful. "I just get me feeling she's ain't really what we're all seein'."
Chris almost laughed. Almost, But the memory of her sorrow visible even behind brown-green eyes, kept a smile from his face. "Thanks, Vel." He scooped his hat off a side table. "Let me know if you hear or see something.''
"Shoot." She snapped her fingers. "Had you in my clutches for a whole hour and failed.''
He paused, cocking a glance over his shoulder.' 'Sorry, Vel." He positioned his hat on his head. "But you're just not wild enough for me." She busted with laughter as he slipped out of the room, nearly running down the hall and ascending the back stairs in record time. He scanned the area, then swung around the end of the steps and into the men's bathing room beneath the stairs.
The sole occupant of the huge tub glanced up, his wash rag slowing as it moved across his chest. His gaze dropped to the star on Chris's chest.
"The maid?"
The man inclined his head to the rear and Chris backed out and strode further down the alley to the laundry at the back of the saloon. He slapped his hands on the frame, his gaze searching. The large room was barren but for steaming kettles of
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water and low tubs filled with washing. Did she abandon her job?
He started to push away from the frame when he saw her through the corner window, in the yard, pumping water steadily into a bucket, setting it aside and picking up another to fill. She was causing mayhem to the pump, jamming it down faster and faster and Chris smiled, wide and utterly pleased.
She was jealous.
Fire breathing, heart wrenching jealous!
He wanted to shout. Instead, he crept up behind her.
"Go away," she said without looking up, then hefted the buckets and turned, moving swiftly back to the wash room.
He followed. "Victoria."
She stopped and he nearly slammed into her, water splashing her skirts. "I beg your pardon? You must have the wrong woman. I'm Clara Murphy." She continued inside, setting a bucket down before emptying one into a kettle on the stove.
"1 thought you were going to buy clothes."
She stilled for a moment. "I am in the morning." She emptied the second bucket, then headed out back to repeat the process. "The shops are closed for the night."
Chris dogged her heels.
She pumped water, wishing he'd leave her to her misery. "Don't you have a job to do, Marshal?"
"I'm doing it."
Her gaze flew to his. "Patronizing a whorehouse in the job description?" Bitter, condescending, stinging across his skin with the bite of a whip. "How fortunate for you."
"I wasn't a customer, Tori."
His tone was sincere, making her uneasy, and she pulled the bucket away before the water flow ceased, splashing on his boots. She faced him, her next words sticking in her throat and sounding like a croak. "I don't care."
He grinned. "Yes, you do."
She shrugged. "Suit yourself." She moved past him, retracing her steps inside, pouring water, stirring wash. She dipped
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a pitcher into a hot kettle and walked swiftly to the men's bath, rapping once before entering. "Warm enough, pal?"
"Yes, ma'am." The cowboy tipped his hat back, his gaze shooting to the maid, the marshal and back as she set the pitcher on a low table beside the tub.
She took up a sponge. "Would you like me to scrub your back?"
"You're not scrubbing anyone!" Chris bellowed, stepping inside.
She cast him a quick superior glance, then swiped across the man's skin. Chris immediately caught her wrist. Eyes locked, jealousy now in his, fresh pain in hers.
"It's all right, ma'am.
I kin manage," the man interjected, removing his hat and shielding what lay beneath the suds.
"This is my job, Marshal."
He knew what she was saying. She was here to take in a bounty and nothing more. And he was damn tired of hearing it and refused to believe she couldn't see they had something good and strong. If she'd just quit fighting him.
"Ladies don't wash strange men."
"No lady here, pal." She twisted her wrist, freeing his grip with surprising ease. "In case you haven't noticed," She stared at him for moment, watching his brows draw tighter, his eyes sketch her face before she turned away and dunked her fingers in the pitcher, testing the temperature. As the naked man in the tub nodded, she rinsed his hair and back, then set the pitcher aside to lay a stack of towels beside him. "Lila is in room four, waiting for you," she said in a hot whisper that infuriated Chris.
The man nodded dumbly and she turned to leave, forcing Chris to back out of the narrow doorway. She returned to the laundry and her duties, rolling up her sleeves well past her elbows and digging them into piles of wet sheets. She scrubbed and sopped and wrung them out yard by yard, and muscles, incredibly defined muscles, jumped and flexed with every motion. And as he watched her from the doorway, apprehension slithered through him.
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Was he mistaken? Could she shut off her heart like she shut off the water pump? He stepped inside and got hit in the shoulder with a cake of soap.
Guess not.
"Don't come in here!"
He did, pulling the door closed, darkening the room. The lamp light cast a yellow glow off the walls, steam clouding
her image.
"I swear I'll kill you if you come near me." Each word was punctuated with a vengeful twist of the wet sheet, and she wished it was his throat. "I didn't mean to hurt you."
"Sleep with whoever or whatever you want, Marshal." Her voice wavered. "I don't give a crap." She snapped the sheet out, flinging water in his face. "So don't try to make this out to be anything that it's not." She turned her back on him to pin the sheet on a line and hoped he didn't notice her trembling. "Is that what I'm doing?" He swiped his sleeve across his wet forehead as he advanced, his presence like a stalking panther, heightening her senses, unnerving her.
"Yes or you'd be gone." She jammed the wood clothespins, side-stepping away from him. "I wasn't a customer."
Her gaze slid to his, his betrayal in her eyes. "I know what I saw. Guilt." She ducked under the sheet and went back to
wringing another. He followed. "That's 'cause you weren't expected," he
confessed, following. "And you ought to know better than to
believe what you see."
"There incognito, were you?" The last came in a grunt as
she twisted the water out of the fabric.
"No." His voice lowered. "For information."
She stilled, titling her head slightly to look at him. "On
whom?"
"Just general. I can't be everywhere, and Vel has the ear of
this town."
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Amy J. Fetzer
She glanced pointedly at the bulge in his trousers. "So to speak."
His lips quirked. "Believe me?"
"Not really."
His jaw tightened, his eyes flashing with irritation. "Great mother, you are the most hard-headed, stubborn female in this territory!" He leaned down in her face, blocking the light, smothering her escape. "And you think if you don't face that you're jealous, totally—womanly—jealous at seeing me in Velvet's room, you wouldn't be hurting like you are!"
"How wise of you to clear that up for me," she muttered
dryly. "I'll have to remember that for the future." She pushed
him aside like he was a curtain and moved to the stove, ladling
hot water into a bucket, then turning to the tub. She poured it
over soaking sheets, stirred, then scrubbed against a wash board.
Go away, she thought. Please. J need this hurt to keep me
from wanting you.
Chris yanked off his hat and raked his fingers through his hair. Properly dismissed, he thought, hating how she hid her feelings inside her disguises, and he was damn tired of her running this relationship into the ground. He advanced toward her and she looked up just as he caught her shoulders, pushing her away from the wash tub and up against the nearest wall. He needed help trapping this woman. And she fought him all the way there.
"I ought to make you a soprano." She tried digging her knee into his groin, but her wet skirts and his booted foot holding them down, prevented it.
"I ought to make love to you until you can't stand it any
more." f
White heat shot through her at the thought of it. "Think you're that good, huh?"
His lips quirked. "That's what you need." Arrogant pig. "A good screw, oh that's rich. Christ, next you'll be trying to rescue me from hidden danger, then riding off into the sunset."
"My Cheyenne instinct was to kidnap you and hold you
until that sharp mind of yours saw reason and facts.'' He gave her a considering look. "And if it will get you out of that hideous mask, I just might." "I'll fight you."
He flashed her a smile. "Yeah, I know." Acceptance, a voice whispered. Why did it have to be him? Why now? 'We can't finish this."
"Because you won't let it get started." Started? Was he serious? She was hip deep in her feelings for him. "Someone has to keep a level head."
He pressed his long body full against her, mashing her to the wall. "But do you want to?" came on a husky murmur and she turned her face away. He forced her to look at him, hating the clammy feel of her fake skin beneath his fingers and gazed into her eyes, trying to reach beyond his profession and suspicion. His options were slim. Either arrest her, take away the barriers—
Or expose her heart. And his.
"Ignore me, I won't go away. Deny what we feel, it'll still be there in the morning." His voice lowered, almost threatening. "And if you run, I'll follow you."
"You can't," she cried softly, weak from his words, weak from wanting him so badly.
"I will. You are staying. You are," he added more firmly when she looked to protest. "If I have to help you find proof, you're not getting away from me. I can't let you, Tori. You're already in my soul."
She blinked, momentarily stunned by the heat in his eyes, the depth of his certainty. This wasn't a man who spoke like that often. "You just want—"
His mouth made a harsh slash across hers, cutting off the remark he knew would be rude as hell. She did that to put him off, but it wasn't working, and he increased his assault, his lips wildly molding and shaping hers, his tongue scoring her teeth and pushing inside. She fought him, her fists pushing and pounding at his chest, her body twisting maddeningly against him. 'Great spirits, what was he going to do with this woman! How
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could he reach her heart if she constantly pushed him away, despite her feelings? She was like a wild colt fighting the bit and his blood boiled, and he pressed his body harder to hers, hip to hip, letting her reel what she did to him. And where. Then he caught her wrists, pulling her arms around his waist. She pounded him there, except she kissed him back, opening her mouth wide, devouring him, her rage, her hurt and betrayal unleashing wildly in her soul-stripping kiss. She gripped his waist, fingertips digging, then drove her hands up his chest to catch his jaw between her palms, imprisoning him.
And the kiss became hers—liquid fire and untamed passion. Hungry. Wet. Possessive.
Chris's knees wobbled. His heart thrashed in his chest. When she gave back it unmaned him. "Admit it," he growled against her mouth. "You were jealous."
"Yes," she hissed. "Yes, yes!" Her fingers slid deeply into his hair, gripping handfuls. "How was I supposed to feel? I haven't seen you in three days, and I find you with Vel!" "I thoug
ht you didn't want me to find you?" "I didn't, but—" He grinned, hugely.
"Oh, don't look so smug." With a narrowed look, she released him roughly.
"Please allow me this small moment of glory. You've emasculated me enough since we met."
"If you can't stand the heat, Marshal," she warned.
He shifted against her, his body contouring to hers with
intimate clarity. "It's the heat I want, Tori. Your heat." He
brushed his lips across her mouth, then reached between them
and unbuttoned her blouse. *
"Chris!" came in a sharp whisper and she tried to stop him, but he found where skin and mask met and sank his lips there. Her legs softened, her head dropped back, and she moaned richly as he drew a wet tonguing path down to the bindings and corset.
' 'You taste incredible." His whispers cooled her heated flesh.
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"Good, Tori, I want to feel you.'' He palmed her bound breast. "It's not fair."
"Don't do this to me. Please. Not now, maybe later we can meet and—" She couldn't believe what she was saying, but the look on his face, joyously pleased and hopeful destroyed her will power. With this man, she had only just so much to
fight with.
The sound of voices startled them apart and as Chris turned away and grabbed his hat, Victoria managed to rebutton her blouse before the door sprung open.
Ivy League frowned into the steamy room, and Victoria felt her heart sink to her knees and she prayed the hanging sheets shielded their recent closeness. What was he doing in here?
"Thanks for the information, Miss Murphy," Chris said striding toward the door as if he was on his way out anyway. He stopped short when he saw Becket, acting startled.
"Marshal Swift?" the saloon keeper said, frowning softly.
"Miss Murphy was a witness to a crime, or rather the clues leading to the criminal. At the Excelsior,*' he said easily, continuing to the door.
Becket nodded. "I hope she was of some help."
Chris paused at the threshold. "Between her and a drifter named Jake, we caught him."
Victoria's lip twitched and she bowed her head to hide it.
"Really? But wasn't that three days ago?"
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