by Roxy Harte
He was an imposing man; there was no doubting that. His presence in the room was quite tangible. He didn't just enter a room; he filled it. He wasn't a large man, not nearly as tall as Daniel; and he wasn't loud, quite the contrary; and she believed it was his quiet stillness that had more effect on the room than anything else.
Keeping her lids lowered, she watched as Thunder scanned the room. For a recently converted criminal, he seemed to be taking to law enforcement fairly easily. His dark, brooding silence was a scary thing, though she couldn't find it in herself to fear him. It might even be best advised to avoid such a man, but he drew her like a moth to a flame, and though she tried to fight the lure, she found herself standing by his table.
His lips twitched. “Like what you see?”
She didn't look away. She was embarrassed because he'd caught her looking, but she met his gaze easily. “As a matter of fact, I do.”
He crooked his finger and drew her nearer. “I find you very easy on the eyes as well, Miss Lucy.” He stroked her cheek. “I was hoping I might procure your services for the evening. If you have an availability in your schedule.”
She inhaled sharply. Client. She had to remind herself of that. Strange, he didn't feel like a customer. He felt like Daniel felt to her. Safe. Comfortable. Hiding her confusion behind a smile, she flirted. “I always have time for you, Sheriff.”
Chapter Eleven
Thunder stood, knowing with full arrogance he was posing for her benefit, his hat slanted low over his eyes. He liked the way her lips parted and her eyes widened when he did. He felt something whenever he came near her; it seemed the air thickened, making it harder to breathe, and though he'd never tried to fight the attraction, he was sure it would be impossible to do. She felt it too; he was certain of that.
He pressed closer, leaning close enough to whisper into her ear. “Perhaps the entire night wouldn't be out of the question, then?”
He felt her breath catch, saw her bite her lip. He wouldn't be so bold as to pull her into his arms and kiss her where she stood, but he wanted to. He wanted to mark her in some way for the world to know she was his. He gestured for her to lead the way and believed she trembled in response.
Crash.
A splintered chair went flying across the floor.
“You lying son of a bitch!”
Both Lucy and Thunder turned just as a whiskey bottle was broken over a fellow's head and a few teeth were spit across the room by the other. Thunder pushed Lucy back before intervening quickly, then tossing them both out.
His aggravation level was high by the time he returned to her, feeling he couldn't leave the bar for an instant, let alone an all-night dalliance. “I can't be here day and night.”
Lucy felt his frustration. “So what do I do?”
“Pay someone to be here, several someones, working in shifts.”
“How will I ever make a profit if I have to pay every penny earned out in wages?”
He didn't see how that could even be a concern. “I understand it's been slow gettin' started with only you and the two girls and can understand you wanted a good saloon crowd established before expanding your operation, but surely you can't be worried about profit?”
Lucy looked at him blankly. He found himself just as confused. “Open the dining room and the hotel for business.”
She didn't offer an argument for delaying the opening or even comment. She just stared at him. Thunder took her by the hand and led her from the saloon room into the main foyer. He pointed at the saloon. “Yours.” He pointed at the staircase, which led to the brothel rooms. “Yours.” Taking a lantern in hand, he then crossed the room and pushed open a set of double doors. Lifting the lantern, he revealed a large dining room, where the tables were draped with exquisite linen and set with fine china and silver. Lucy gaped, asking, “I own this?”
“All of it. The founder of this town designed everything around the rail he intended to come to town, and honestly, he was a greedy son of a bitch. When the building started going up he insisted there be a saloon and brothel for the miners, but under the same roof is the full-service luxury hotel and fine-dining restaurant for the folks who would come in on the rail. You hold the deed. I thought you knew.”
He watched her face as she took in the large dining room, her face lit with awe.
“Right now there's only the stagecoach, but in a few years time, the hotel and this dining room will stay full to capacity.”
She stepped farther into the room and touched the linen hanging on the closest table. When she turned toward him, tears had filled her eyes. Thunder took her hand and led her back into the foyer and down a short hallway, which opened to an identical foyer on the other side of the building and another set of doors. He lit several lanterns around the small room before opening the doors to a wide balcony. He pointed into the trees. “Few years from now, the train station is going to set right there. This will be the first hotel travelers see.” He pulled her back inside and pointed her up a second flight of stairs. “After you?”
Lucy lifted her skirts and started climbing into the dark maw. Thunder lifted the lantern to brighten the steps. Reaching the landing, a long hall led to a dozen doors. He extended his hand. “May I present your hotel.”
Lucy's head was spinning. She'd seen fine restaurants back East—from outside the windows looking in—and couldn't believe she possibly owned such an establishment herself. She was dreaming, delirious; at any moment she was going to awaken and find herself back in the desert, finding she'd been feverish for days, perhaps having almost died. This wasn't really happening. She couldn't own all of this.
She decided to enjoy the dream as long as she possibly could.
Trembling, she went to the first door and opened it. Behind her, Thunder lifted the lantern, casting light in front of her. She stepped inside the large and wonderfully appointed room. It was every bit as grand as Ollie and Emma's bedroom had been. Perhaps grander. She'd never been in a hotel before and had assumed the small rooms above the saloon were what she should expect. But this… She felt like she'd stepped into the pages of a book she'd read with Emma, a place far away and more civilized than anyplace she'd ever been before. London. Or Paris.
Lucy felt her face growing damp and had no idea why she was crying. She sat down on the bed and sank into softness, her hand covering her mouth.
Thunder squatted before her, taking her shaking hands in his. He searched her face. “Those are happy tears?”
“Oh. Oh yes.” She shook her head. “I just can't believe it. Last week—” She choked on the emotion filling her throat. “I was born a slave.” She breathed out a shuddered breath. “No one is going to let me keep all of this.”
Thunder smudged a tear off her cheek. “No one will take this away from you as long as I live and breathe.”
She thought about the diamonds. They hadn't been hers to spend. They'd belonged to Emma and Ollie. The memory of Seamus MacFarland filled her mind. He'd had a contract with Ollie and Emma. He'd said any goods that were theirs were his when they died. She was pretty certain that would include the diamonds. Did it matter that Emma had said, “What's mine is yours,” on her deathbed? No one had witnessed it. Did it matter the wagon master had set fire to all their belongings? He certainly would have taken the diamonds if he'd known about them. Lucy was too afraid to consider the consequences if she were ever deemed guilty of wrongdoing. “But what if?”
“Sh-h.”
“I'm scared.”
“Don't be.” Thunder pushed her back into the feather bed and covered her body with his. The rough tweed of his jacket was scratchy, and then of course there was the heavy weight of his holsters and guns. She believed him when he kissed away her tears. “I will protect you.”
He pulled her corset below her breasts and sucked each nipple into his mouth. He bit lightly, making her moan, her hips lifting off the bed, begging with motion when her mouth wouldn't say the words. Thunder bunched her gown around her hips, and she cr
ied out, needing his touch. Wanting. It. Lucy wondered if he would leave coins on her pillow again and decided she didn't want him to. This, she wanted to give to him freely. What would he think if she told him that? What would he say? She kept her mouth closed, moaning as he bit her nipple.
“Do you like that?”
“Yes,” she whispered. Embarrassed, she turned her face away. He switched breasts, licking, nipping, then playfully biting until she moaned again. “Oh God.”
Lucy met his gaze while he still held her nipple between his teeth, and watched as he sucked and bit, liking the fact that each time, it seemed lightning streaked down her spine. Pushing up on one hand, he slid his hand over her skin, teasing her stomach and lower, finding the folds between her legs.
She was wet, achingly so. The proof evident to both of them when his finger slid easily between her flesh. He dipped his finger deeper, filling her, causing her to admit, “I like that too.”
He chuckled, pushing off the bed to stand. She didn't worry he was leaving, because he was already undoing his tie. She watched unabashedly as he slid off his jacket and folded it before laying it on the seat of a nearby straight-backed chair, and she held his gaze as he unbuttoned the row of buttons closing his vest. Unbuckling his belt, he slung his holstered guns over the chair's back before sitting on the bed to pull off his boots.
Moving closer, she ran her hands over the soft cotton of his shirt, pulling the waistband free of his pants so that she could run her hands up his bare back. He pulled the shirt over his head and lay back into her.
She rewarded him with a kiss and helped him unbutton his pants.
She'd never been so anxious, so ready. God, she wanted him. Not waiting for him to further disrobe, she slid around so that she could take his erection in her mouth and liked it when his eyes widened. Sucking softly and sliding up and down his length, she made him moan. She smiled wickedly around his prick.
“Enough,” he hissed, but she didn't stop. If anything, she sucked harder as she reached to cup and stroke his balls.
“Dear Lord, Luce.”
Giggling, she pulled back. “Two can tease as well as one.”
Her fingers closed around his solid length; his hand closed around her wrist. Holding his gaze, she smiled as she ducked her head to take the head in her mouth once more while her hand continued to hold him, stroke him.
Truth was, though, she was no expert. The little experience she had was when Ollie had asked her to touch him, and then he had only wanted her to pump him up and down a time or two. And then the times on the trail when Daniel had allowed her to and clearly made his preferences known. She wanted Thunder to really enjoy it. She wanted it to seem like she knew what she was doing.
She squeezed him harder, so that it felt like his skin was distinctly separate from the hard length beneath. She didn't stop when Thunder moaned. She pumped him harder and faster, all while sucking the head of his length.
With a growl, he pushed her back and impaled her with a solid thrust. “I suppose that's fair enough.”
He rode her hard, making her moan and buck beneath him. Then he slowed his pace, seeming to linger over each stroke, pushing his shaft a little deeper with each thrust. “Oh. God. Thunder.”
Lifting her ankles to his shoulders, he showed her just how deeply he could thrust inside her. It seemed his prick was knocking on a door inside her, wanting her to open, battering through when she didn't. Her moan was one of pain, but only for a second, and then she was lifted on a spiraling wave of pure bliss.
Only after he was sure he'd satisfied her did he find his own release.
The sound of shattering glass filled the darkness, announcing there was trouble downstairs. “Damn it.”
She held him tight to her. “Don't go.”
The flickering lantern light illuminated his face, allowing Lucy to see his smile. “I just promised to protect you and all that is yours.”
He left her in the dark, lying atop the soft feather mattress, where she listened for every sound to tell her he was still safe. One thought led to another…and another…each a little darker than the first, fear feeding doubt and doubt, eating through her. She remembered how naive she'd been digging Ollie's grave, vowing to never marry when she should have vowed to never love.
She couldn't think of it in any other terms. She loved two men.
Rolling onto her side, she saw three gold coins lay on the pillow beside her. At least he wasn't confusing the importance of our relationship in his mind.
Chapter Twelve
Lucy sat at a table with Fang-Hua and Dao-Ming, all three of them staring at the two men sitting across from each other at a small table. She tried to sound nonchalant as she asked, “What do you think they're talking about?”
“Whether there's room in your pussy for two?” Fang-Hua asked, making Dao-Ming giggle.
Lucy's eyes widened, not believing her ears. “Oh!”
“Don't deny it. I see how those two look at you.”
Outside, the weather had taken a turn for the worst, rain turning to sleet, and it kept the miners away. Hell, for that matter, only a few townsmen had even ventured out. To make matters worse, Clancy was playing maudlin tunes on the piano. Relief arrived with the stage carrying six strangers: two men, four women.
The men were settled into rooms with quick efficiency; the women deigned to meet with the owner. When they found themselves sitting across from Lucy, they were disquieted but also quick to recover. The leader said with sudden brashness, “Madam Chantal is dead.”
Lucy realized immediately the whores really had finally returned. Thank you, Jesus. She didn't know if it was appropriate to express gratitude to a higher authority under such circumstances, but she couldn't help but be so pleased. By pinching the tops of her thighs with all her might, she managed to keep her demeanor reserved. “Dead?”
One of the other women clarified. “Adélaïde shot her over that damn man.”
Confused, Lucy waited for some further clarification, which was only belatedly provided by Daniel. “Addy was always fool crazy for James.”
The white woman jumped from her chair and launched herself into his arms. “Dan!”
“Véronique,” he whispered, burying his face in her neck.
Véronique? Lucy stood, not at all impressed with the show of familiarity. Maybe she wasn't so happy the whores had returned. Maybe they could just go right back to whatever dark hole they had crawled out of. The woman in Dan's arms started sobbing uncontrollably.
Oh bother!
She spoke so rapidly, Lucy couldn't make heads or tails of it before deciding she wasn't speaking English. She did catch the names Madam Chantal and Adélaïde repeatedly.
Lucy grabbed Véronique by the elbow and pulled her back, deciding with a glance that she was quite possibly the most beautiful woman she'd ever seen. Her shiny black hair was swept up in the front but fell in long ringlets down her back, and her eyes were black orbs, dark as the night sky. The dress she was wearing was every bit as fine as anything Lucy'd taken from the Sutherlands' wagon. “Maybe you should sit down before you suffer a fit of vapors.” She motioned for Georgie to bring a bottle and gave Daniel a look that distinctly said how unimpressed she was with the public display of affection. It was one thing to know Daniel had probably been intimate with every woman at the table, and another thing altogether to know it.
Daniel squared his shoulders. “Adélaïde was hanged for her crimes, and both women were buried in Sacramento.”
“Well, that is terrible. Quite awful really.” Lucy sat, remembering the only hanging she had ever watched; the face had been covered with burlap, but the legs jerked. And jerked. Lucy shuddered and waited silently while Georgie poured shots of whiskey all around. Her hand shook as she lifted her glass. “God rest their souls.”
All the women, Georgie, Clancy, and Daniel lifted a glass and drank.
Standing behind Lucy, Daniel rubbed her shoulders. Véronique didn't display any sign of being territoria
l, not even a narrowing of her eyes, which made Lucy feel better and gave her the courage to introduce herself. “I'm Lucy Bowman, the madam here. I didn't get you girls' names.” She nodded at the raven-haired beauty. “You are Véronique?”
“Yes.” She pointed to each of the girls in turn. First a girl with dark brown hair, piled in high curls, and emerald green eyes. “Esmeralda.” Another brunette, her hair kept straight, loose, and hanging past her waist. “Francisca.” And finally, a redhead, her hair twisted into a tight bun, whose eyes were a dark brown. “Madalena.”
Lucy looked them over and couldn't help but admit they were each very beautiful. They would be good for business. Very good. Was this what Daniel meant by thinking like a madam? She looked them each in the eye in turn. “Will you have a problem working for me?”
They each shook their heads. The dark-skinned women she believed—but Véronique. Lucy turned to the French woman and stated again, “I'm not Chantal.”
“Chantal is dead; if you treat us well, we will stay.”
Lucy shook her head. This was her fear: with Chantal dead, Véronique had become the women's new leader. She had to make sure they all understood she was the new boss, and surprised herself by demanding, “Show me what's under your dresses.”
Daniel stepped away, rejoining Thunder at a front-row seat.
Men, she thought, so utterly predictable.
Not that they shouldn't enjoy the show, but she'd created this spectacle, knowing they were in the room. All the men in the room were waiting intently. Véronique narrowed her eyes but stood and, removing her jacket, started to disrobe.
The other women followed suit, stripping down to chemise, corset, and bloomers. Their motions became slower and more deliberate as they started unlacing their corsets in what seemed a teasingly staged reveal. Just as Lucy wondered whether they would continue to remove layers, she lost her nerve to find out. “Enough.”
