by Sharon Ihle
"Shylo is coming with me. Good night, Miss McBride," he said as he showed her into her quarters. Then he closed the door and turned to Shylo. "Let's go."
Even though the wine had mellowed her considerably, Shylo had prepared herself for the moment when her husband would demand his "husbandly" rights. "I'm not going anywhere with you, and furthermore, I don't have a thing in the world to say to you but good night." She reached for the doorknob, but before she could turn it, a strong hand circled her wrist.
"You don't have to say a thing," he said, tugging Shylo away from the door. "But you will listen."
"Let go of me." She planted her feet, but Dimitri just lifted her off them and dragged her alongside him, not slowing his stride until he'd reached a small viewing alcove at the end of the hall. The second he set her back down, Shylo doubled up her fist and took a wide swing at his head. She missed him entirely and would have fallen to the floor if Dimitri hadn't grabbed hold of her again and pinned her arms to her sides.
"I said, you will listen. If you don't, I'll be forced to... to..." He couldn't think of the correct English word for what he was thinking—apply a little persuasion to her backside—and as he paused to consider an alternate threat, she filled in the blanks for him.
"What? Make me eat some wood? Why don't you just divorce me instead? In fact, please do, because now that I know the real you, I don't think this business arrangement is going to work out so good! And while you're at it, let... me... go."
But he didn't. Dimitri continued to hold her imprisoned between his arms and body, and as she struggled against him, rousing parts of him that would get no relief on this night, he increased the pressure of his grip to try to still her squirming hips.
"Believe me," he said, his voice a low, silken warning, "what we've been through today is definitely not what I had hoped for on the day I wed, either, but I have no intentions of seeking a divorce from you." She relaxed a little, so he went on. "To tell you the truth, Shylo, I never wanted to get married to anyone."
Taken aback by this confession, she looked up at him and became lost, as usual, in his devil black eyes. Her anger gone for reasons she didn't understand, she laughed as she admitted, "That's the first thing you've said since 'I do' that I agree with. Truth is, I never figured on getting married myself."
"Really?" Dimitri was stunned, for he had assumed all American debutantes spent their formative years in preparation for the day they wed. He eased his grip but continued to hold her in his arms. "May I ask why not?"
"I never thought about it much, I guess. I always had more important things on my mind." Realizing that she'd left the door open for him to question her in areas she had no ready answers for, she added, "Things like that college education I want."
"That's very admirable, and something we'll start planning as soon as our 'honeymoon' trip is over." Shylo favored him with a smile, so Dimitri let one hand slip to the small of her waist and brought the other to her throat. Stroking the soft skin there, he said, "And speaking of honeymoons, I'm afraid that due to our financial condition, I must leave you with Cassie and go back to the room I share with Ari this evening, delaying the beginning of our marriage at least one day."
A reprieve. But what did he mean by "at least"?
"Oh," she said, acutely aware of his fingers as they caressed her neck. "That's all right with me. We have lots of time to get started after we hit San Diego."
"I doubt we'll have to wait that long." His voice grew deeper, huskier. "Assuming that we'll still have private berths on the train, we should be able to consummate our marriage and truly begin our life together by tomorrow night."
Until he had spoken those words, until he thought of her that way, naked beneath him, offering up her innocence like some sacrificial symbol, Dimitri hadn't truly understood the meaning of desire—or the sheer agony of denial. Giving in to both the urge to claim her and the need to lessen that agony if only for a brief moment, he took her surprised lips with his own, branding her with a heated promise of things to come.
Because Shylo was truly his wife, even if in name only, Dimitri raided her unprotesting mouth, plunging deeper and more intimately into her than before, staking his claim in the only way possible on this most impossible of nights. Freed of the restraints of yesterday, when they were but acquaintances, he let his hands roam down his wife's back to her bottom, where he caressed her beneath the pile of petticoats and bustles. Driven on by a fierce surge of lust, he abruptly pulled her tight against his hips, grinding her soft curves against the rigid planes of his hard body, wanting and needing her with an intensity that shook him as much as it fired him. Nearly out of control, feeling almost reckless enough to take her right there where they stood, Dimitri finally tore his mouth from Shylo's and set her away from him.
His groin aching with desire, his hands shaking with need, Dimitri stood there a long moment, staring at the bride he should have been claiming in a private suite by now. They would be good together, he decided, very, very good, if her response to him was any indication. Shylo was panting and breathless, her languid blue eyes as dark as a stormy sky, her crooked little smile more sideways and innocently provocative than ever. Even in the murky hallway lighting, he could see that she was trembling from head to toe, alive with need. Tomorrow, he thought with deepening frustration, would be a long, long time in coming. If it ever dawned at all.
His voice husky with desire, Dimitri said, "I'd better get you back to your room now."
Then, without another word between them, he took her by the hand and escorted her to Cassie's room. Afterward, as he headed for the stairs with the six bits jingling in his pocket, Dimitri wondered just how far seventy-five cents would take him at the bar.
* * *
Inside the southwestern-style hotel room, Shylo stood flush against the door, unable to make her legs move. In truth, the door was holding her up, for she was pretty sure if she tried to walk on her own, she'd fall flat on her face. She was on fire from head to toe, her knees fluttering like little wings, and the peculiar warmth Dimitri's kisses usually started in her belly had spread to all her nerve endings, intensifying into a firestorm that seemed big enough to consume her. How long could she fight him off when his touch rendered her so completely helpless, so utterly brainless?
"Shylo?" said Cassie. "Do you need something?"
She blinked, trying to clear her rattled mind. "Huh? Oh, maybe a glass of water."
"I didn't mean that kind of thing. Did you stop by to pick up your brush or something?"
"No, I came to stay with you."
"Me? You should be with your husband. I don't need a keeper."
"My hus—" Shylo laughed, and the force of her chuckles freed her body from Dimitri's curious hold over it—temporarily, at least. "Weren't you at the ceremony today? Shylo Folsom is the one who got married, not me. I don't really have a husband, so I don't really have to be a wife."
"Oh, but you must. I mean, you two think you're married, so that ought to be good enough for you to act like you are, too." She giggled. "Why if I'd said 'I do' in front of a preacher, and to a man like that handsome Greek of yours, it would sure be license enough for me to hop in his bed. I'm surprised your drawers haven't just slid right down to your knees from thinking about it."
On the strength of that comment, Shylo charged across the room to where Cassie sat brushing her hair at the vanity. "Where did you get a notion like that? From reading that cheap little romance story I found on the train?"
Cassie blushed at her own intimate knowledge of men and their ways, but she held her ground. "Maybe a little, but mostly I got it from watching the sparks fly when you and Dimitri are together. I truly think you ought to just skedaddle on down to his room and make a real wedding night out of it."
"What?" Shylo could hardly believe her baby sister thought of such things, much less gave voice to them. "I can't go sleeping with a man I'm not married to. Why, if I did such a thing, it'd make me no better than a common saloon whore.
"
As Cassie thought of the long blissful nights she'd spent with Buck, she hung her head in shame. How horribly unfair it all seemed. Here she sat, pining away for a man who should be her husband, while her sister, who technically was married, balked at the idea of spending even one night with the man she'd wed. It was not fair at all.
Shylo, who hadn't noticed Cassie's distress or her shame, made one last observation on the subject. "Since I'm not about to let any man turn me into his whore, Dimitri can try to get me into his bed all he wants, but nothing he does will work." Silently she amended her vow: As long as I don't let him kiss or touch me again, anyway. "That's all there is to it. There's no way I'm gonna let that man put a hand on my nuptials. No way in hell."
Part 2
A little inaccuracy sometimes
saves a ton of explanation.
—Saki
Chapter 11
When Dimitri and entourage finally arrived at the terminal at the foot of D Street on the thirtieth of June, San Diego's weather patterns were running true to form, despite the circulars he had read. Not only did they tout San Diego as a "Cornucopia of the World," they described it as "a sun-drenched community with a mild climate, even in January and February." To the contrary, the dirt streets were sodden from recent rains and the skies overcast and dreary.
But the gloomy weather didn't bother Dimitri in the slightest. In fact, it matched his increasingly sullen mood. His only concern was for Shylo, who, dressed in her flimsy lawn gown, shivered in the damp, cold city. He could think of several ways to warm her, none of them mentionable in public, but there were at least as many chores to take care of first. He could only hope that the main cause of the foul mood he was in—unrequited lust—would finally "be put to bed" at the end of this long day.
Due to the fact that the extra-fare sleeping berths had all been booked, Dimitri and his new bride had been forced to sleep on their first-class seats the past two nights, chairs that converted to comfortable sleeping cots but were hardly private enough for the beginning of a honeymoon. He'd been a married man for over three days now and had yet to find a private moment alone with his wife.
If that wasn't frustration enough, once they disembarked in San Diego Dimitri had gone to the baggage department to collect Shylo's trunk, only to be informed that it had not arrived, and there was no record suggesting that it was on its way. Apparently, the baggage handler informed him, it had been sent elsewhere by mistake. Since Shylo told him her claim ticket had been lost during the robbery, there was no way to trace it, either, so once again she was left with only the clothing on her back—a situation he would have to remedy before she caught her death of cold.
The first bright spot in the day came when they stopped by the telegraph office. Dimitri's funds had arrived from Greece, so they were financially set for a while, anyway. Next up on the list of things to do was the search for a suitable hotel. Several townsfolk they asked—from the baggage clerk at the depot to the teller at the California National Bank, where he'd collected his money—insisted that the finest lodging in San Diego could be found under the red roofs and crisp white walls of the newly opened Hotel Del Coronado.
Dimitri balked at that idea. The elaborate structure was located across the bay on the island of Coronado, and the only way to reach it was by ferry boat. That would be a time-consuming, needless expenditure, especially because he hoped to accomplish their goals quite quickly.
Dimitri had no desire to spend more than one night in this barren burg—a town whose lone claim to charm was its picturesque little bay, as far as he could see. Looking east, inland San Diego was nothing but a panorama of rolling hills almost bare of vegetation save for drab clumps of sagebrush. Beyond them in the endless haze lay a high range of dark blue mountains separated by stony slopes and ragged gullies. The place was hardly Dimitri's idea of a honeymoon in paradise.
After he obtained grudging agreement from his travel-weary companions—Shylo, in particular, who was sure Colleen would be staying at the Hotel Del Coronado—they sent Ari to book their rooms at the first decent-looking place Dimitri saw, the very elegant Horton House Hotel. Located across the street from the bank they'd just left, the palatial inn filled an entire block and had been considered San Diego's finest until January, when the hotel on Coronado Island officially opened.
While Ari took care of securing the lodgings, Dimitri took Shylo and Cassie a couple of blocks down the city's main street, Fifth Avenue, to the George W. Marston Dry Goods Store and bought them each a warmer suit. Shylo's, a bargain at $10.75, was made of pale pink sateen trimmed with dark rose lace and black velvet and even came with matching hat and handbag. Cassie chose a plain muslin wrapper of soft peach and a cute little straw bonnet trimmed with hyacinths.
Finally, after a quick supper at the hotel restaurant, the foursome headed upstairs to their rooms. Ari, who already had his key, bade them good night and disappeared down the hall. Dimitri and the ladies continued on to room 210, where he opened the door and handed Cassie the key. Then he took his wife by the elbow and started toward the bridal suite, whistling all the way.
Shylo balked before they'd taken two steps. "Dimitri, stop a minute, please. I, ah, don't feel very good."
"You are sick?" Concerned, he brushed his lips across her forehead to test her temperature. Her skin was cool. "Where are you ill?"
"It's my stomach, and I have a dreadful headache." She dramatically wrapped her arms around her middle. "It's probably nothing, but you know that I've hardly slept the past two nights. I know that I won't be very good company tonight, and I don't want to start our marriage out like that. If you don't mind, I think it's best if I stay with Cassie."
Of course Dimitri did mind, but he could hardly force her to join him for their first night together. "I can make you comfortable and see that you get the rest you need as easily as your maid. I think you should come with me."
"Dimitri, please." She rested her hand against his chest, then looked up at him with what she hoped was a perfectly pitiful expression. "I really prefer things this way tonight. Tomorrow I'll be refreshed and, I'm sure, feeling much better." Once she found her mother, she would be. Then she could end this charade of a marriage. "Good night, and thanks for understanding."
Dimitri sighed heavily and with another chaste kiss to the cheek bade his bride good night. Then he headed back down the stairs to the bar. This time he had enough money in his pocket to last him as long as he would last.
* * *
The following morning after breakfast, Dimitri and Shylo strolled across the street to Horton's Plaza, a small oval-shaped park bounded by a neat row of hedges. A fountain at its center was surrounded by three rows of steps, and eight wooden benches were situated between clumps of tall junipers and low-lying flower beds. Shylo was much too nervous to sit or even to enjoy the hazy sunshine peeking through the overcast skies. She was worried about approaching her "husband" with her plans for finding Colleen Pappas, and he didn't appear to be particularly approachable this morning.
A dark shadow covered Dimitri's handsome face from his cheeks to his throat, and his lusterless eyes were sunken, highlighted by dark smudges just below them. Shylo didn't know where he'd been last evening, but she had a pretty good idea that if he'd gone to bed at all, it hadn't been until the wee hours of morning. Between the black cowboy hat and his rough-edged, unshaven appearance, he looked dangerous, more like an American outlaw than a Greek god. A little shiver coursed through her at the thought.
Shaking off the sensation, Shylo steeled herself for the coming battle and said, "I got the addresses for Mr. Earp's gambling halls from the reception desk this morning. I think it would be better if we went there now instead of later, don't you?"
Dimitri turned to her with a scowl. "I also got the addresses, but we are not going to look them up now or later."
"Oh," she said breezily, "then you want me to go alone?"
"Of course not." Dimitri sank onto one of the benches. "Try to rememb
er that you are a married woman now. You must listen to me and obey my wishes. I do not wish to take my wife into the part of town known as the 'stingaree.' I was told last night that only an idiot would do such a thing."
She laughed, trying to lighten the mood. "I don't see why you should be worried about taking me with you, in that case. You were idiot enough to take me into the desert and get me stuck overnight, and that turned out all right. This will, too. You'll see."
"In Greece, a wife never questions her husband, but always obeys him. Please remember that and do what I say."
Although she'd promised herself to remain calm, Shylo blurted out, "In case you haven't noticed, we're not in Greece."
Dimitri pushed back the brim of his hat and looked up at her with a particularly annoyed expression. "Perhaps you haven't noticed that you married a Greek man. You will do as I say, and what I say is that I will go, and you will stay here. Katalaves—understand me?"
Between the look in his eye and his obvious exhaustion, Shylo knew better than to argue with Dimitri any further. He would just get louder and increasingly difficult to understand as he got angrier. She had no choice but to agree to his terms, and then she would do as she damn well pleased.
"All right," she said, strolling over to one of the benches and sitting down. "I'll wait right here in the plaza for you, but please hurry."
"As you wish," he said, climbing to his feet. "I'll return as quickly as possible."
Giving him a prim smile, Shylo waited until Dimitri was a safe distance away before standing up again. Then she followed him, careful to keep him in sight, as he worked his way into the raunchy, hell-raising area encompassing several square blocks between First and Fifth Avenues. The better parts of San Diego she'd seen featured three-story brick buildings, giving the streets a more modern look, but the rest of the town was comprised of the wooden false-front shops and the same warped boardwalks so common to the other western towns they'd passed through.
