by Ryan, Nan
Angie glared at him, her eyes flashing green fire. He gave her a wolfish grin. “Nope,” he drawled, “that’s not what I want.” He turned and clanked from the room while Angie, her cheeks ablaze with anger, swore to herself she despised him and wished he had never come back.
Chapter Nineteen
INSIDE THE DIM BEDROOM, Pecos awakened. His mouth was fuzzy and one arm was asleep from lying on it all night. The sound of someone humming drifted in through the double door that opened onto the courtyard. Pecos slowly turned onto his back and made a face. Flexing the fingers of his hand, he rubbed at his stiff left arm and looked around for a drink of water to quench his terrible thirst.
Lifting his dark head from the pillow, he squinted and spied a silver pitcher atop the heavy bureau across the room. Wondering if he could make it all the way there, Pecos slowly sat up. Swinging his long legs over the edge of the rumpled bed, he groaned and grabbed his aching head, vowing he’d never take another drink as long as he lived. Pecos sat trying to get his bearings, wondering why he’d had so much to drink the night before.
“Umm,” he said to the empty room, as the preceding evening came back vividly. He’d returned from the cattle drive at sundown. He’d seen Angel so breathtaking in a dress of deep green that he’d been tempted to snatch her up out of her chair in the dining room, toss her over his shoulder and carry her straight to his room. She maddeningly kept her cloak of youthful innocence wrapped so carefully around her that it was growing increasingly difficult to remember that she was a hardened whore playing a role.
Pecos lifted a hand, wrapped it around the back of his neck and massaged the tight muscles, grimacing and moaning. Shakily he rose and padded slowly across the room. The silver pitcher of water was his salvation, his oasis in the desert. Dizzy and weak, he reached the bureau and grabbed for it, his body trembling. Pausing a minute to regain his strength, he clung to the polished wood and closed his eyes. From behind him, the soft, sweet humming continued.
Pecos slowly opened his gray eyes and released the highboy. He poured a tall crystal glass full of cool water and lifted it to his dry lips. Gulping it down thirstily, he poured another glassful.
His bloodshot eyes blinked and then widened. One brown hip braced against the bureau, Pecos stood staring at the beautiful young woman brushing her long golden hair in the courtyard. Slowly Pecos drank the water and watched. Angie wore only a summer wrapper of clinging lavender silk. At this early hour with the sun just rising over the blue mountains, Angie relaxed on the padded chaise in the middle of the big courtyard, sure she was quite alone. Brushing dry her freshly washed hair with a silver-handled brush, she sat with her long legs stretched out in front of her. The lavender robe, tied loosely at her small waist, fell open around her thighs, giving Pecos a generous view of bare creamy limbs. As Angie leaned her head to one side the soft silky robe fell away from her slender body and Pecos was rewarded with a fleeting glimpse of one bare, beautiful breast.
Fighting the insane desire to storm outdoors, push her down into the softness of the long couch and make love to her right there in the airy courtyard, Pecos ran a big hand through his disheveled black hair. Thinking wickedly that if she happened to turn and look into his room, she’d see for herself the evidence of his desire, Pecos decided then and there that he was going to have her before the day was over.
He didn’t care that she was a prostitute who would soon be his father’s bride. He’d fought the fire inside since the moment he’d seen her, but she continued to fan that fire with her golden beauty and her nymphlike desirability. Convinced the only way to extinguish the flame was to make love to her and get her out of his system once and for all, Pecos began to smile. A slow, lazy, mischievous smile. He headed for his bath, humming softly.
It was the same mellow song that Angie was humming.
THE SUN WAS a brilliant orange ball in the sky when Angie hurried happily to the stables, where Roberto Luna would be waiting with the saddled Ángel and his dappled gray gelding. Her long golden hair was tucked up under her jaunty black hat, and she wore a starched white blouse and a long black riding skirt split up the center. Her black boots were polished and gleaming.
She smiled when she rounded the corner of the big McClain barn and saw Roberto, the reins of both mounts in his hand. He was facing away from her and apparently didn’t hear her approach, so she called cheerily to him. “Roberto, good morning. I want to ride a long way today, all the way …”
The tall lean man was dressed in tight black trousers with silver seashells down each leg, a white blousy shirt and a floppy black sombrero. He pivoted to face her. Angie stopped dead still.
“The lovely señorita and I are of the same mind. We will ride all the way to Cibolo Creek, sí?” It was Pecos smiling down at her.
Seething, she stormed up to him. “What have you done with Roberto?”
Lifting wide shoulders in a helpless gesture, he said, “I gave the poor man the morning off. Not everyone likes to rise as early as you, Angel.”
She snatched the reins from his hand and mounted her palomino. “I know that, so will you please explain what you’re doing up?” She kicked her horse and bolted away before he could answer.
Swinging up into the saddle of the gray gelding, Pecos spurred his mount to catch up to her. “Honey, I’ve been up for ages. Lord, I get up at sunrise every morning and just stand looking out into the courtyard. I never miss a day.”
Her angered expression quickly turned to one of shock, “You mean that you … you look out at …”
Nodding, he said, “May I compliment you on your choice of wrappers. The lavender suits your fair coloring and I think you’re most sensible to forgo nightgowns. I myself sleep nude and I see—”
“I don’t care how you sleep!” she shouted at him, again kicking her trusted Ángel, coaxing the fleet-footed mare to escape the taunting, knowing man pursuing her.
For a long while they thundered across the barren, scorched land knee to knee, the wind stinging their faces and the sun growing hot upon their bodies. Healthy, young and full of unspent energy, they gave in to the joy of riding fast across the desert, each drawn to the other with a frightening force, each unwilling to admit such was the case.
Miles away from Tierra del Sol, with their horses snorting and blowing from exertion, Pecos signaled for Angie to pull up. She paid him no attention and continued to race the wind even as Pecos slowed his gelding. Leaning low over her pony’s sleek neck, Angie headed for a stand of dying cottonwoods on the bank of the dry, dusty Cibolo Creek and rode into the trees before pulling up on the reins. Amazed at the speed with which she’d become an expert rider, Pecos couldn’t help but wonder if that part of her story had been as false as everything else she’d told. She’d probably been riding all her life.
He rode to meet her, dismounting silently a few yards from where she stood tying her horse to a tree. “Come on,” he said, “we’ll see if we can find any water in the creek.”
Nodding her agreement, she removed her hat, hooked it over the saddle horn, shook out her long, loose hair and followed him. Pecos, his big black sombrero still on his head, chided her. “You’d better leave that hat on, Angel. You’ll burn in minutes.”
She flounced past him. “Your concern is misplaced.”
“Suit yourself,” he said, shrugging, and fell into step beside her. “I don’t know if we’ll find any water, Angel. This damned drought has just about dried up every body of water in southwest Texas.”
“Really,” she said tartly, eyes straight ahead. “Do you suppose the Pecos River has dried up yet?”
Pecos laughed. “I doubt it, Angel. I was named after the mighty Pecos River, you know. The name fits, I believe— quiet, deep and calm.”
“Humph!” She tossed her head and looked at him. “I’ve heard the Pecos is swift and shallow. The name does fit you.”
Pecos loved it. He threw back his head and laughed. “Honey,” he said admiringly, “I’m afraid you’ve got my
number.”
Telling her they were lucky to find some water still trapped in a rocky part of the creek, Pecos crouched beside the parched banks and lowered his hands into its wet coolness. Carefully lifting his cupped hands to the girl on her knees beside him, he offered her a drink. Hot and thirsty, Angie gladly leaned to his hands and sipped the cooling water, nodding her head when he asked if she wanted more. Again he lifted his cupped hands to her, and she put her hands under his and drank. He looked down on the golden head with a tenderness that alarmed him.
Angie lifted her head, smiling, her lovely face wet. “That was wonderful. Thank you, Pecos.” She sat back on her heels and sighed.
Pecos, wiping his wet hands on his tight black trousers, took off his big sombrero, looked at her wet, warm mouth and said, “Why don’t we take off all our clothes and jump in?”
Angie was on her feet with the speed of an animal. “Have you gone insane?” she snapped incredulously.
He rose to face her. “Almost,” he softly teased, his eyes warm and caressing. “And it’s all your doing. Your body makes me go soft in the head, Angel.” He stepped closer to her.
“It’s not your head I want to go soft,” she hurled at him, amazed at her crudity, but happy to put him in his place.
“I love to hear you talk dirty, Angel,” he goaded her, his gray eyes mocking, his lips curling. He took her arm and pulled her to him. “If you’re responsible for the softness in my head, you’re equally responsible for the hardness in my trousers.”
“I will not listen to such filth,” she shouted, plucking at his long, lean fingers lightly encircling her upper arm.
“Angel, Angel,” he said as he tightened his hold and hauled her against his long frame. “How can you call my feelings for you filth? I’m shocked and saddened that you would trifle with my emotions and then scold me when I react.” His laughter, deep and deriding, rumbled from his chest. He was holding her close to him, one hand still encircling her upper arm, the other sliding down over her back, below her waist to the swell of her rounded hip. Angie gasped when he brashly cupped her buttocks in his spread fingers and pressed her up against his sinewy thighs. Helplessly she pummeled the dark chest at eye level, his masculinity enraging her. While she wished to high heaven he did not insist on going about with his shirt half-open, her eyes were drawn to a faint mist of perspiration glistening in the thick hair covering his broad torso. A flailing fist came in contact with the damp, wiry hair, and Angie drew her hand back as though she’d been burned.
“It’s all right, Angel,” Pecos whispered against her forehead. “You may touch my chest; I don’t mind. You touch mine and I’ll touch yours.” His lips, open and warm, grazed her temple.
“Will you behave!” she choked. “Let me go. I most certainly do not want to touch your old … your … I …” Pecos’s hand was gently caressing her bottom as he drew her ever closer to his lean, hard body. Her stomach and thighs were trapped in the cradle of his hips; she could feel what was happening to him and again tried to free herself.
Her small, sweet body pressing close to his made Pecos’s breathing grow ragged near her ear. His broad chest heaved. His voice had lost that jeering tone when he said softly, sliding his hand to the stiff white collar of her blouse, “Know what I think, Angel? I think your chest is just as dewy as mine.” He lowered his head and kissed her eyelids while she moaned helplessly.
“Please, Pacos,” she entreated, while he deftly flipped open the top two buttons of her blouse and his lips gently worried her silky eyelashes. When his mouth left her eyes, she opened them to see his lips claiming hers. Determined to keep her teeth firmly clamped together, she tried to pull her head back, while Pecos slowly, surely teased her with a hot, impudent tongue. He dabbed at the corners of her mouth, traced the insides of her lips, drummed against her teeth, persuasively, demandingly, until against her will, Angie’s teeth opened and she felt his searing tongue slide into her mouth, filling her with immediate warmth and weakness.
Pecos kissed her with unhurried, heart-stopping tenderness, and Angie felt her senses reel. Her pulse quickened as he eased the buttons open down her blouse until the tight, starched bodice was undone to her waist.
Pecos’s hands moved to her shoulders to pull her closer and his mouth went to her small, pointy chin, nibbling it, kissing it, sucking it, while her head fell back and she raised her trembling hands to his waist. Her fingers clutched the corded ribs and when Pecos’s mouth slid up to her ear and he nipped a soft lobe and said passionately, “Angel, open my shirt,” she whimpered softly and moved her hand to the buttons on his chest. Shaking, she tugged while Pecos murmured encouragement and trailed wet, fiery kisses over her face and neck.
Finally she managed to free the last button and Pecos raised his head. His gray eyes were smoldering as he looked at her timidly pulling his white shirt apart. Angie’s eyes were rewarded with the naked expanse of his hair-covered chest, the sleek dark skin damp and hot beneath the blue-black hair. Her eyes caressing him, she shyly let her fingertips trail down the long white scar. Her head snapped up when Pecos’s hands came to her blouse and slowly pulled it apart, letting her full, aching breasts spill out.
“Pecos,” she breathed squeakily, ashamed that the stone-hard nipples of her breasts were so obviously telegraphing her desire. Mortified, she looked down at the betraying, throbbing, heated points of pink flesh and knew he was looking, too.
“God, you’re pretty,” he said huskily, and Angie, her eyes still on her shameful breasts, watched almost hypnotized as those puckered, painful nipples disappeared into the thick black hair as Pecos gently pulled her up against his chest.
She heard his breath released near her ear and felt his hands sweep tenderly over her back. Sinful as it was, the feel of his slick, hot skin and curling chest hair pressing against her naked breasts was glorious. She sighed and wrapped her arms around him, her eager fingers exploring the deep cleft in his long, smooth back. Provocatively, she moved her bare torso against his, loving the tickling, tingling sensations that his chest was causing. Almost undetectably at first, Pecos began to rotate his slim hips, and within seconds Angie could feel through her long riding skirt his hardened, aroused body pressing insistently against her belly.
“Let me,” he said through fevered lips, “let me, baby,” and his mouth was on hers again, devouring, demanding, intense. Every nerve ending in her small, hot body was screaming with desire. How could she resist this hard handsome lover who knew so well how to use his lean, tall body and his full sensual mouth? How could she possibly be expected to say no when he was holding her to him, his mouth hot on hers? How could she refuse when his hard muscular chest was pressed tightly against her throbbing, aching breasts? How could she spurn him when his hot erect masculinity was straining against her, hard and insistent, burning her thighs, and stomach, making her long for the feel of it against her bare skin—its heat and pulsating power promising to lift her high outside herself into an oft-dreamed-of paradise of sweet, blissful ecstasy.
She couldn’t say no.
She couldn’t. Hugging Pecos tightly to her, Angie was trying desperately to say yes, but her mouth was trapped beneath his and all that came from her throat were muffled little cries of excitement. Finally he lifted his dark head, but before she could get her breath to speak, Pecos’s passion-filled eyes went over her head and, instead of pushing her blouse from her shoulders, he quickly pulled it together.
“Goddamn it,” he said through clenched teeth.
Stunned and confused she looked up at him, her emerald eyes wide and questioning. Then she, too, heard the hoof-beats. “Oh, dear God, no,” she breathed and her hands went to her cheeks.
“They didn’t see anything.” Pecos’s voice was calm once again. “They’re too far away. All anyone knows is that we are standing here together.” His lean fingers hastily closed all her buttons before turning to those of his shirt. Angie pushed at her disheveled hair, her kiss-swollen lips trembling.
&
nbsp; “What shall we do?” she asked tremulously. “Can you tell who it is?”
Pecos buttoned his shirt halfway up his dark chest and raked long fingers through his hair. He pulled a somewhat crushed cigar from his shirt pocket, scratched a sulfur match with his thumbnail and lit it. “We’ll do nothing. We’ll stand right here and wait to greet them.” His steely gray eyes fastened on the three approaching horsemen. Smiling, he looked down at the frightened girl still facing him. “Angel,” he drawled lazily, “I think you’d better turn around now.”
Her breath caught in her aching throat as Angie slowly turned around. The first rider her frightened eyes locked on was mounted atop a huge gray stallion. Hatless, his silvery-white hair gleamed in the hot desert sunlight. “No … no,” Angie softly breathed.
From over her head came Pecos’s familiar mocking laughter. “Behold, the bridegroom cometh!”
Chapter Twenty
PECOS WAS CONVINCED his overpowering desire for Angel was much like a summer storm, violent and short-lived. Certain if he made her submit totally for one heated night of lovemaking, he’d be free of his worrisome obsession, Pecos rose from his bed. He was weary of the never-ending fever in his blood, the restlessness and loss of sleep caused by the blond beauty.
He’d remained at Del Sol much longer than was his custom. He was eager to depart, to head for Mexico and his Lost Madre mine and to spend some time in Paso del Norte. To get on with his life. The summer had been long and trying; the bothersome heat of the dry desert coupled with the bedeviling heat of his passion had left him tense.
