Desert Storm

by Ryan, Nan

  Angie stood smiling at herself in the mirror, thinking that she was a very lucky young lady. She lived in a huge hacienda with a kind wealthy family. She had her golden palomino, Angel, and she was learning to ride. She had a lovely new dress, all her own. She was on her way into Marfa to meet new people and spend the day enjoying herself. It was all perfect. Angie’s smooth pale brow wrinkled. Well, almost perfect; not quite.

  Barrett McClain had explained to her on the previous evening that he would be riding into Marfa early, shortly after dawn. She and Miss Emily would come later in the carriage; Pecos would drive them. Angie didn’t like that part of the day’s plan. For more than a week now she’d seen little or nothing of Pecos, and her life had been pleasant. He could upset her with a raised eyebrow and make her heart flutter with the touch of his fingers upon her arm.

  Telling herself she’d not let Pecos spoil her day, Angie swept from her room, anxious to get Miss Emily’s opinion of her changed appearance. The new pink organdy dress swaying softly about her rounded hips, Angie, her face aglow with excitement, hurried into the greenhouse, softly calling to Miss Emily.

  Emily, bending to a bush filled with yellow roses, straightened and turned at the sound of Angie’s sweet voice. Angie stood framed in the doorway, smiling prettily, eager for praise, searching the older woman’s kind eyes for signs of approval. Speechless for a second, Emily stood looking at the expectant young woman while she tugged absently at the white work gloves protecting her fragile hands.

  Before her, Angie stood nervously, patting at the generous gathers of swirling pink organdy, her breath shallow, cheeks flushed. The new dress fit her perfectly. Delicate, gathered puff sleeves were banded with dainty white lace; the same lace made a frilly trim for the high round collar. Subtly caressing her generous curves, the double thickness of pink organza was fastened with mother-of-pearl buttons from the tight high collar to the equally tight waist. Angie’s flaxen hair had been brushed to a high sheen. It fell in thick, shining waves almost to her waist, and was held off her oval face by a pink ribbon tied just above her left ear.

  Finding her tongue at last, Emily dropped her work gloves and clasped her hands together as she sighed. “My dear, you are the loveliest young lady I’ve ever seen. I’m astonished at the change in you!”

  Beaming with pleasure, Angie returned her smile. “You honestly think so, Aunt Emily?” Such compliments were foreign to Angie, and she absently wondered if vanity were really the eroding sin she’d been cautioned of all her life. She felt quite vain this morning, wearing this lovely new dress. She felt pretty and it was a very pleasant sensation. Surely it couldn’t be all that wicked to take pride in one’s appearance.

  “I do. I think you are beautiful, Angie.” Emily held her arms out to the young woman. “Come, such fairness can only be matched by one of my prized Border roses.”

  Nodding happily, Angie hurried across the stone floor. The fragrance of a dozen different varieties of Miss Emily’s roses sweetened the warm air. When she reached the shorter woman, Angie took her offered hand, and together the two of them slowly strolled among the flower-laden bushes. Emily carefully studied each glorious blossom, searching for just the right rose that would best enhance Angie’s fragile, pale beauty. “Ah,” she sighed at last, pointing to a deep green bush bearing a lone, dusky pink, perfectly shaped rose. “That’s it; the one you must have, Angie.”

  Objecting, Angie shook her blond head, “Oh, no, ma’am, I can’t take it. It’s the only one like it, it’s special.”

  A soft smile on her lips, Aunt Emily chided the sweet, unspoiled girl. Snapping the pink flower from its stem, she said honestly, “Angie, you’re very special. You and the rose were made for each other.”

  “You’re kind,” Angie murmured, thrilled down to her toes that someone thought her special. She held her head rigidly still while Miss Emily tucked the sweet-smelling rose into the pink ribbon above her left ear.

  “There.” Emily stepped back to admire the girl and the rose. The same shade as the pink organza dress, the rose heightened the natural blush in Angie’s cheeks and made her pert little mouth appear pinker, fuller.

  Feeling her throat tighten as she looked at the innocent, beautiful child, Emily said, “Now, Angie, why don’t you scoot over to Pecos’s room and hurry him. He promised he’d drive us into Marfa and I want to get on the way. I’ll go freshen up. It won’t take me half an hour.”

  Unwilling to tell the kind, caring woman of her reasonable fear of Pecos, Angie felt her stomach knot. The last thing she wanted was to be alone in the company of the rude, presumptuous Pecos McClain. The prospect of what might happen filled her with panic. Still, she didn’t dare speak of her fears to his aunt. It was obvious that Emily York adored her only nephew and Angie doubted that Emily would ever believe that the darkly handsome Pecos would resort to forcing females into his unwelcome embrace. There was no choice but to carry out Emily’s wishes.

  “Yes, Miss Emily,” Angie said, giving her a weak smile. “I’ll speak to him through the door. Thank you for the lovely Border rose.” Her small hand went up to touch a velvety petal as she reluctantly backed away.

  “You’re very welcome, Angie.” Emily followed her retreating pink form to the door of the greenhouse, where they parted.

  Angie’s heart drummed alarmingly in her ears as she moved slowly down the corridor to Pecos’s bedroom. Telling herself to remain calm, that nothing was going to happen, that all she had to do was knock on his door and inform him that she and Aunt Emily would meet him at the carriage, Angie paused before his door. Still her heart tripped loudly when she finally knocked and a deep, masculine voice called to her.

  “Who is it?”

  “It’s … it’s Angie … Angie Webster, Mr. McClain.” She hated herself for stammering. Longing to flee back down the hall to safety, Angie balled her hands into tight fists at her sides, considering immediate escape. Before she could go, the tall door swung open and Pecos stood looking down at her.

  To Angie’s embarrassed dismay, he wore no shirt, though he seemed completely oblivious to his immodest state. The lower half of his lean face was covered with thick shaving lather and a snowy-white towel was draped casually around his neck. Suddenly aware that she must be staring, Angie swallowed and immediately apologized. “Oh … I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to …”

  Pecos, his sensual lips twitching as though he found her discomfort amusing, reached out a hand to her upper arm. “You’ve done nothing to apologize for, Angel.” His voice was casual, his manner calm and friendly. His long fingers held her with gentle pressure, while his gray eyes never left her. He guided her inside and closed the door behind them. His hand dropped away from her.

  Hearing the door close filled Angie with uneasiness. She whirled around so rapidly she bumped into Pecos’s hard bare chest and was further flustered when, in order to keep her balance, she instinctively reached for him. Pecos obligingly steadied her, his hands lightly gripping her shoulders, his long, lean body an immovable solidness against her.

  Unnerved by his closeness, Angie began to push away from him at once, but not before her senses were assailed by his blatant masculinity. His broad muscular chest was at eye level. On its right side, the satiny white scar started just below his flat nipple and curved down over his corded ribs to his waistline, where it disappeared beneath his trousers.

  Angie had difficulty dragging her eyes from the scar. For reasons she could not fathom, her fingers itched to touch it. While her eyes traveled the scar’s length, the scent of Pecos’s clean warm flesh filled her senses, increasing her already rapid pulse. Determined she’d not let his raw, lusty magnetism affect her, Angie tore her attention from the broad male chest, hastily lowering her eyes to the floor.

  To the intricate patterns of terra cotta and brown, she said in a strained, small voice, “Please, Pec … Mr. McClain … it’s not proper for me to be in your bedroom with the door closed. Will you kindly open it?”

  “Is the ru
g of some special interest to you, Angel?” he kidded and stepped closer to her again. Trembling slightly, Angie winced when a long, lean forefinger went underneath her chin and lifted it, forcing her to look up at him. Those mocking gray eyes were twinkling with a mischievous light, the generous mouth stretched into a broad grin, cracking the drying lather on his face. His eyes trapped hers and his voice took on a warm, low tone. “Angel, you come uninvited into the privacy of my room while I’m in a state of undress. Once inside, you immediately press your soft sweet body shamefully close to mine. Then as though it were the other way around, you scold me, saying it isn’t proper.” He clicked his tongue accusingly and moved his hand to the side of her throat. His brown fingers brushed a lock of golden hair over her shoulder, then moved up to touch the rose near her ear. He lowered his voice. “Know what I think, Angel?” Angie stood stiffly looking at him, her eyes wide and frightened, as his face slowly descended toward hers. “I think you’re just as eager to behave improperly as I.” His smiling lips hovered just above hers.

  Angie opened her mouth to object. Before her cry of indignation could become a full-blown call for help, Pecos’s warm lips had imprisoned her startled mouth, muffling her intended shout into a faint, strangled whimper. Eyes wide open with outrage, Angie could see smooth brown skin, long thick lashes and white shaving lather, all blurring together. She could feel those dark lashes tickling her as Pecos’s gray eyes closed and he pressed his lips to hers as though he’d entirely forgotten about the shaving lather on his face.

  If Pecos seemed oblivious to anything save the sweet, parted lips beneath his, Angie, her head spinning, didn’t forget, but she soon ceased caring. She was much too caught up in his kiss and the curious sensations it was stirring. The tall, half-naked man brashly thrust his hot wet tongue into her mouth in a kiss that brought heat to her neck and face and gave her a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach. Angie was quite certain that what he was doing to her must be a terribly sinful indulgence in lust. It was shocking! It was scandalous! It was terrifying! It was … wonderful!

  All attempts to pull from his embrace, to take her lips from his, to escape this perilous situation, ceased as Angie’s innate sensuality and deep need to be loved were awakened under his persuasive attack. His fiery kiss continued and Angie felt her entire body go limp against the solidness of his large frame. She responded eagerly to the intimacy of his knowing tongue that possessed the dark recesses of her mouth, making her dizzy and hot and frightened. Pecos softly moaned into her mouth and pulled her closer. Acutely aware of her breasts being flattened against his fur-covered chest, Angie had no idea of what their position was doing to the tall dark Pecos.

  His blood was heating rapidly as the soft full breasts, covered only with a double layer of pink organza, pressed temptingly against his naked chest. She arched toward him as he tilted her head back, kissing her hungrily, demandingly, devouringly. When Angie felt she’d surely perish if his kiss didn’t end soon, Pecos’s heated lips reluctantly freed hers and Angie gasped for air. She was faintly aware of the taste of shaving lather upon her lips and tongue.

  “Use the towel.” A deep, husky voice came from underneath her left ear, where Pecos gently nibbled the soft lobe, spreading foam to new areas.

  The towel around his neck was very close to her face. She had only to lean forward. She twisted her face from side to side against the fluffy white towel, removing most of the sticky white residue. While she was busy cleaning her face, Pecos’s open lips were sliding over the slender column of her neck, moving hotly, surely downward, spreading lather in his path.

  “Pecos,” she said, trying desperately to gain control, “you’re getting me …”

  His dark head raised slowly and he looked at her. “Sorry, honey,” he murmured, slipping his hands to her hips to press her to him. He leaned the upper portion of his body back a little and entreated hoarsely, “Clean me up, baby.”

  It was like a command to the flustered, shaky girl who’d spent a lifetime obeying. Without a word, Angie picked up one end of the thick towel and began to gently dab at his face. Diligently she patted and rubbed, while she tried to keep her eyes from the smoldering gray ones looking down at her. His steady, heated gaze unnerved her almost as much as his scalding kisses had. Her eyes went to his lips as, very gently, she wiped the last traces of foam from the corner of his mouth. Outlining his full bottom lip one last time with the towel, Angie, to her surprise and his, released the towel, letting it fall to the carpet while her trembling fingertips stayed on his smooth, moist lip, touching it shyly.

  “Thanks,” he murmured against her fingers. She jerked them away and her stomach turned over again as that sensual, warm mouth lowered to hers. Hating herself for her appalling weakness, Angie lifted her face, her lips parting in eagerness. Pecos’s mouth touched hers, but only lightly, barely brushing her waiting lips. He retreated a couple of inches, then unhurriedly dipped to her again, taking teasing little sips from her mouth. Between his tormenting, restrained kisses, Pecos pleaded his case.

  “Angel, Angel,” he whispered hoarsely, “meet me after bedtime. We’ll ride to Cibolo Creek.” His mouth was on hers once again, slanting across her anxious lips. Gently he nipped at the soft bottom one. “Let’s skinny-dip in the moonlight, Angel.” He dabbed at the sweet corners of her mouth with a teasing tongue, while the flame inside her grew despite all efforts to fight this madness, to shake off her unwanted craving and to escape from his compelling embrace. “We’ll ride up close to the Marfa lights; we’ll make love in their eerie illumination and let the ghosts witness our fearless passions.” His open lips seared down her throat as Angie let her head fall back slightly to give his meandering mouth access to her.

  Angie didn’t answer him; she could say nothing. She was confused, breathless, lost. His torrid tongue stroking her aching throat drove any indignant response from her head, and she merely sighed and clutched at his bulging biceps. With her eyes closed, she felt the earth move under her feet as Pecos lifted her straight up in front of him, his powerful hands gripping her tiny waist. Angie tried to find her scattered wits and muted voice, to make one last concerted effort to bring to an abrupt end this very dangerous situation. But how could she when Pecos’s voice, deep and drugging, kept murmuring words every girl longs to hear.

  “Angel, you’re so sweet, so very beautiful. You smell of roses and taste of honey. I want you, pretty girl, I must have you. You’re so tempting, so kissable, so …”

  “Pecos,” she began tremulously, “I … I … Pecos!” she echoed in outrage when his smooth, handsome face buried itself in the valley between her breasts. She began to squirm against him, her tiny feet digging into his knees, her hands gripping his bare shoulders. His fevered breath was deliberately blown against her through the pink organza, hot as the desert winds upon her quivering flesh. Angie, shocked and excited at the same time, felt her cheeks flushing furiously and her sensitive nipples becoming taut beneath the organza. Terrified that Pecos would know what was happening to her, she clutched at the hair of his dark head, pulling frantically, while she begged, “Pecos, don’t … please.”

  “Relax, Angel,” he soothed and again pressed his open mouth to her, speaking in muffled tones against her breasts. “I haven’t done anything yet.” He continued to press burning breaths through the thin barrier of pink organza.

  “You’ve done all you’re going to do to me! Put me down, Pecos McClain! I mean it, I don’t want—” The words choked off in her tight throat. Pecos lowered a strong arm under her bottom, freeing his other. A hand slipped in front of her, going immediately to the buttons of pearl lining her bodice. While his face stayed pressed close to her bosom, nimble fingers deftly unbuttoned the tiny white pearl buttons.

  Angie was a complete innocent. She knew Pecos’s kisses made her weak and much too warm, and she knew that he seemed to experience the same kind of forbidden thrill she did when they kissed. She also knew that he was now breathing very hard, and she supposed t
hat was because he wanted to look at her breasts. The thought never occurred to her that he intended to do much more than look.

  Pecos slowly lifted his head. His eyes were hot. Angie looked down at herself and gasped in shame. He had managed to unfasten almost all the buttons going down her bodice. Only two or three near her waist remained buttoned. Her small hand immediately flew to the open dress, pulling it tightly shut. “You are terrible,” she said, near tears.

  Undaunted, Pecos playfully bit the back of her hand as she clutched frantically, determined to hide herself from his burning eyes. “If you don’t want me to really bite you, Angel, move your hand.” With that he pulled back and looked into her eyes. “Move your hand, honey,” he said softly, “I won’t hurt you.”

  Tears beginning to sting her eyes, Angie felt the powerful forces of good and evil battling forcefully within her. Her head told her that this was not right, that she should scream to summon help and flee this lurid man’s arms. But the heart inside her shouted, “Just a few more glorious kisses, a few more exciting seconds in his powerful arms.” Slowly, she pulled her hand away, letting it come to rest atop his smooth shoulder. She held her breath when he smiled and leaned to her. Her breath stopped completely, when his sharp white teeth took hold of the soft pink fabric and slowly, oh so slowly, pulled the left side of her dress away from her flesh, while she burned with shame, and hoped foolishly he’d not find her unattractive.

  The soft, full breast was fully exposed now, the pale pink crest a tight rosette of sweetness only inches from his face. Leisurely, Pecos let his gray, smoky eyes study the generous female breast. As lovely as any he’d ever seen, its pale translucent skin displayed a delicate network of tiny blue veins. The breast’s shape was near perfect and jutting provocatively outward, as though eager to snare a man’s hungry mouth. The nipple was the lightest shade of rose; the exact color of the flower tucked in Angel’s golden hair. Its circumference quite large, it covered a healthy portion of the creamy mound of flesh and it had that dewy, fresh, untasted look, as though she really were an innocent young virgin whose body had never known a man, whose lovely pale breasts had never felt the impatient tugging of eager male lips.