Ride The Wild Wind (Time Travel Historical Romance)

by Ivey , Kimberly

Despite her cry of protest, he shook out her wrinkled blouse and held it out for her to slip into. “Allow me.”

  Her eyes widened. “Look, I’ve been dressing myself since I was three years old. I don’t need your help.”

  “You have barely been able to hold down sips of water, let alone care for yourself properly. Do not argue.”

  She snatched the blouse from his grip. “You can ‘help’ when I say so, but first turn your eyes in the other direction. You’re not getting your jollies with me.”

  Jollies? What were jollies?

  Feeling like a scolded dog, he placed his back to her and crossed his arms across his chest, annoyed, yet acutely aware of the female behind him. As he listened to the soft rustle of clothes, his sex stirred to life again. Wicked image danced through his mind and he allowed himself to recall the final moments of last night’s dream about her. A mistake when his body responded fiercely to the memory.

  She broke into his reverie. “You never answered my question. Who are you? Got a name?”

  Growing more frustrated by the moment, he scuffed the toe of his boot against a palm sized stone and sent it sailing. “Who I am is of no concern to you.” Actually, he was more interested in who she was.

  “Oh, come on. I’ll tell you my name if you tell me yours.”

  “I don’t feel that is a wise choice.”

  “Right. You’re afraid I’ll look you up someday and claim you fathered my love child, then hit you up for back child support, eh?”

  He did turn around this time. She snatched the front of her blouse shut but not before he glimpsed the swell of pert, round breasts peeking over the lacy edge of her curious looking undergarment.

  Absently, he reached up to button her blouse but her hands came up as if in protest and covered his. So soft and warm. She was doing nothing erotic, simply touching him, but a tremor of desire rippled through him.

  When her eyes met his, something in the middle of his gut softened. Struggling to ignore the intoxicating effect of her touch, he counted the sparse sprinkling of freckles on her sunburned nose. Five to be exact. He attempted to make conversation in order to distract himself. “Do you feel stronger today?”

  “Like I’m in a whole new world.”

  He assessed her with his eyes. “Your color is good and the fever appears to be gone. You were fortunate.”

  Her lips parted slightly and he inhaled sharply. The pupils of her whiskey-colored eyes dilated as she gazed deep into his eyes. Was this fear? Or was her reaction due to something else? Her respiration increased. Blood rushed into his groin. No, it wasn’t fear he saw in her eyes. She enjoyed his nearness. Perhaps she was even pleased he wanted to assist with her dressing.

  She released his hands and they fell away, leaving her blouse undone. She made not a move as he took in a leisurely perusal of her uncovered flesh.

  A gentle breeze rustled her hair, and the sunlight broke through the sparse tree branches, dappling her fiery red locks with bursts of light. Interpreting her brazenness as invitation, he brushed the back of his hand against the soft swell of breast that spilled over the top of the scanty garment that bound them tight.

  She sucked in a breath, her lips parting, her gaze never leaving his as he toyed with the nipple through the thin, satiny fabric.

  He had to kiss her—taste her—to see if it was anything like he remembered from his dreams. She inhaled sharply as he pulled her against him, but did not resist when his other palm came up to cup her chin.

  Then he lowered his mouth to hers.

  She went rigid as his tongue slid between her lips and past her teeth. Her frightened eyes remained wide and questioning, her body stiff. Was she repulsed, or…inexperienced? The idea that he was the first to kiss her aroused him all the more.

  “Put your arms around my neck,” he whispered, and she did.

  Firmly settling his mouth over hers, he thrust his tongue past her lips, found hers and eventually enticed it into a slow, sensual dance. Yes, like that.

  His hand came up to cup a breast and he filled his palm with the supple flesh. His thumb pad stroked the nipple through the fabric. Impatient to feel her naked flesh, he reached behind and fumbled with the hooks, unfastening the damned contraption. A whimpering sound broke free from the back of her throat as his hand covered a warm, bare breast. Never breaking the kiss, he caressed and explored, his thumb rubbing a tender circle around the blossoming bead.

  Her hands slipped downward to his shoulders as her mouth demanded more of his. Soft moans deep in her throat told him she was enjoying herself. Too much, he realized when she arched against him.

  He tried to break the kiss, but her hand fisted a hank of hair, holding his head in place. As if of their own accord, his palms smoothed down her sides, reaching lower to grip her buttocks. He pulled her pelvis snug against his, ground himself against her. Eventually, she broke the kiss, her eyes growing wide, though she made no attempt to ease away.

  Damn. He should never have taken things this far. With everything in him—which wasn’t much at the moment—he released her, took a step backward to put a safe distance between them. He watched the tip of her tongue flick out as if to taste him on her lips, and his cock twitched at the sensual display. She smoothed her skirt with her palms, then clutched her blouse shut.

  “Well, that was um…” she cleared her throat, “interesting.” Her voice was breathy, her eyes wide.

  He struggled to find his voice above the erratic pounding of his heart. “I am truly sorry.”

  She shrugged. “Don’t be sorry. It’s just that….I don’t want you to get the wrong impression of me. I mean, I don’t go around….letting guys….you know…feel me up and stuff.”

  “No man has ever touched you in such a manner.”

  Keeping her eyes downcast, she haphazardly buttoned her blouse. “No.”

  He’d already guessed such. “Again, I apologize. There is no excuse for my inexcusable behavior.”

  She shrugged. “Really, there’s no need to get all weird about it. I mean, it was just a kiss and not much more.”

  “Will you allow me?”

  “What?”

  He motioned. “Your blouse isn’t buttoned correctly.”

  “Oh.”

  When she didn’t move, Antonio reached up to put the buttons through their correct holes, but her hands slid over his as if to stop him. Eventually, they dropped away.

  “What happened was much more than a simple kiss,” he said as worked a button through its hole. “I have no excuse for taking liberties.”

  Her gaze held his. “Well if it helps ease your conscience, it was kinda nice.”

  Completely undone by her candor, he dropped his hands at his side. “Yes…perhaps you’d best finish.” In his nervousness, he added, “I can imagine what you think of me.”

  “I think you’re a decent guy who just wanted to kiss me. Look, I’m okay with what happened so why don’t you just hook my bra in the back and we’ll be good again.” She winked.

  He stared, not understanding. “What is a….bra?”

  “This.” She lifted her top, exposing the wisp of fabric covering her breasts. “A bustenhalter. Over-the-shoulder-boulder-holder. Knocker cups in front. Hooks in the back. You should know. You unfastened it a minute ago.”

  How was he to know the name of such a device? He had never seen anything like her bizarre clothing. Feeling as awkward as a school boy, he stepped behind her, fumbled to secure the two pieces of stretchy material. “You should not bind yourself yet until the ribs heal.”

  “No problem. I’m feeling much better today. Hardly any pain at all.”

  “Last night...” His throat constricted at the memory of how she almost died.

  “What?” She turned to face him.

  “I thought you were going to die.”

  She smiled. “Not a chance of that happening, at least not with your hovering and mothering. All that was missing was the chicken soup.” She hesitated. “You know, I really should
thank you for staying. You could have left, but didn’t. You stayed to protect me, even after I punched you. Why would you do that for me? I’m a stranger.”

  The tone of her voice caught him off guard. Had no one had ever extended any kindness to her? “I would care for anyone in your situation, a stranger or otherwise.”

  “Why?”

  He almost told her he was a physician but stopped short. That wasn’t the sole reason he’d stayed. But by revealing his identity, she would want to know more. Such an error might cost his life.

  Not wanting to engage in small talk, he lifted her into his arms once she finished dressing. After carrying her to Dinishwo, he set her feet on the ground. Snaking one arm around her midsection, he steadied her. “It will not be easy to get you on the horse,” he warned. “I am going to help you into the saddle, but I will not lie. It is going to hurt your knee and ribs when I lift. Don’t scream. Dinishwo has become unpredictable in his age and might become startled and buck you off.”

  Antonio reached down and scooped up the brown and black dog and tucked him into a deep side pocket on the saddle bag. “Put one hand on the pommel, and then lift your left foot into the stirrup. I will hold you upright so you will not fall. Then I will lift your injured leg over his back.

  She inclined her cheek toward him. “I have a confession to make. I’m going to hurl.”

  “Hurl?”

  “Barf. Blow chunks. Spew.”

  “Spew?”

  “Puke!”

  “You are not going to regurgitate.”

  “Oh yes I am.”

  “Do not fear. I will not let you fall.”

  She clenched her eyes shut. “I don’t want to do this, I don’t want to do this,” she chanted over and over.

  “Open your eyes.”

  “No. I don’t want to see this either.”

  “Do it.”

  “No!”

  “Woman, you test the limits of my patience.”

  Her eyes flew open. “Yeah? Well here’s a news flash for you, mister. You test my patience, too.”

  “Lift now.”

  “No!”

  He growled deep in his throat. “Tell me when you are ready.”

  “I’ll never be ready to get on this freaking animal.”

  If she were not injured he might have turned her across his knee for her childish behavior. “On the count of three…one, two...”

  “No!”

  He tightened his hold around her waist and she inhaled sharply. “Am I hurting you?”

  “No.”

  Exasperated, he blew out a breath. What a difficult woman-child! “Put your left foot in the stirrup.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Do it now.”

  Her lower lip trembled. “But I’m scared.”

  He would not give into female hysteria. “Now.”

  “But you never said where you were taking me.”

  “To a friend. She will see that you receive food and proper clothing.”

  “If you’re lying to me, so help me God, I’ll—”

  Not wanting to hear any more, he lifted. She cried out, faltering in his arms.

  “No! Grab the pommel. Quick!” Her fist feebly closed around it.

  “Shift your weight to your good leg. I have you.”

  “You are so freaking d-dead,” she choked out as she lifted. “I’m going to kill you for this! Do you know that?”

  “Very well. Kill me later.” He hefted her sore leg over Dinishwo’s back and she doubled over the mount’s neck in obvious pain. He then swung up behind her, laid a tentative hand on her shoulder. “Are you all right?”

  “Hell no, I’m not all right, but gee, thanks for asking.”

  The horse pranced beneath their weight. Antonio stroked her arms with his palms. “Take your time.”

  “Go to hell.”

  He chuckled. “I probably will.”

  She sniffled. “That really hurt you know.”

  “I’m sorry. There was no other way. I have nothing else to bind your ribs with unless, of course, you care to part with a portion of your skirt or blouse?”

  “Not on your life. These are all the clothes I have in case you haven’t noticed.”

  “When you feel able, slowly sit up.”

  Momentarily, her spine straightened.

  “Lean against me,” he commanded softly. When she did not budge, he eased her back, taking care not to press on her sore ribs. Her bottom now rested snug against his crotch. Another mistake.

  She turned her face slightly, her soft red hair brushing his cheek and his body responded instantly to the woman in his arms. A residual floral scent in her hair reminded him of the fragrance he often smelled after his dreams of her.

  She squirmed in the saddle, as if trying to get comfortable, driving her buttocks harder against his groin. Unable to put a respectable distance between them, he grimaced at their predicament. “Is all this wiggling necessary?” He hadn’t meant to sound harsh, but she could not possibly know the effect she was having on him.

  “I can’t get comfortable. Your gun is poking me in the booty.”

  “You are not wearing boots.”

  She groaned. “Oh my God, not boots, silly. My booty. You know…my butt.”

  Strapped low on his thigh, his revolver was no where near her ‘booty’. He almost told her so. “There is no extra room in the saddle. We’ve sixty rough miles ahead of us. You had best get comfortable and quick.”

  “Sixty miles?” She turned to look at him as much as she could. “Are you nuts? I can’t ride sixty miles. Not like this.”

  “Would you rather sit behind me and hang on?”

  She opened her mouth to speak, then snapped it shut and shook her head no.

  “Then I suggest you and your um…booty, prepare for a long and uncomfortable ride.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  They’d made excellent travel time, arriving in Albuquerque long before nightfall. Once at the brothel, the ladies whisked the red haired woman away to clean her healing wounds and find fresh clothing. After taking a quick meal, Antonio headed upstairs to bathe and prepare for his meeting with Diablo Cortez.

  As he relaxed in a steaming bath, Elena Costanza took a seat beside him on a gold velvet cushioned stool next to the footed tub. Several uncomfortable minutes passed in relative silence, the only sound in the room from a ticking clock on a shelf. Elena had been patient—too much so. He was acutely aware she had studied his every move, hanging on his every word, looking for signs of deception. He expected her inquisition about the woman he brought with him might begin at any moment.

  “Have you gone mad, Antonio?”

  Finally, a response! Hell yes I am mad, he almost answered. He must be insane. Why else would he have returned to Elena’s seeking respite, knowing all the while he would be forced to deal with his demanding mistress’ questions? Attempting to ignore her, Antonio dunked the pewter pitcher into the tub, filled it with water and poured a steady stream over his head.

  Hoping to spare himself the onslaught of her unfounded jealousy, he’d told her everything upon arrival—how he found the woman near a creek, injured and unconscious. What he hadn’t told Elena was he had dreamed of her for months, that his cousin’s vision also foretold her coming. What did Elena expect? For him to leave her behind to fend off bears and wolves in her weakened state?

  Elena was a crafty spider, always unrelenting in her pursuit of secrets. She wanted to know was if he had bedded the woman. She was spinning her web, preparing to reel him in for the kill. All he wanted at the moment was a refreshing bath and a moment of respite before his meeting with his arms supplier.

  He slung his shoulder-length, wet hair back, then dragged a weary hand down his face to wipe the water away. Why was it so difficult to find to find peace?

  He turned to look at her. In a word? Elena. Clad in a red lace peignoir, she sat poised on her stool. The bodice of the low-cut gown scarcely covered her voluptuous breasts and the sheer garmen
t provided a tantalizing view of Elena’s lush, nude curves beneath. Not that he was particularly interested anymore.

  “So tell me again,” she prodded. “Who is this woman you brought into my house?”

  He shrugged. “Hell if I know.” It was the truth. She had been evasive about the details of her injuries and true identity.

  Elena’s rouged lips turned downward into a pout. Large, expressive brown eyes became narrow slits. “She is pretty.”

  Antonio dared not agree.

  “But I do not think her hair color is natural,” Elena commented, her gaze pinning his. “I suspect she uses dye.”

  Antonio ignored the question and glanced away. To answer would reveal the fact he had indeed seen the young woman naked—that her hair indeed, wasn’t naturally red.

  “Do you think she is former slave? Elena prodded.

  Actually, he had wondered the same but hadn’t inquired. When he’d bathed her, he noted a tattoo—four initials on her left hip. R.T.W.W. That could have been her master’s initials. Her complexion was the color of coffee diluted with cream, yet fair enough to pass for white, much like his own before years of wind and sun had taken a toll. But what did it matter? He’d never cared to make such distinctions between races or social classes.

  Then the reason for Elena’s question dawned on him. Darker skinned, exotic-looking women were a much sought after commodity in bordellos. Currently, she had none in her employ.

  “She is not to be sold.” His tone was a warning. From the look that crossed Elena’s face, he knew she had been considering exactly that.

  “But she is very lovely with her dusky features, yes?”

  Damn her. He tossed the sponge into the water, splashing Elena. “Give me your word that she will not be sold.”

  Elena’s lips turned into a pout as she blotted the soapy water with a towel. “Very well. She will be my special house guest.” She started to speak again, but hesitated. “Still, even you cannot deny that she is beautiful. I hope there will be no trouble. ” The tone of her voice held a question.

  Elena had no intention of letting this die. He needed a diversion and fast. Reaching for a long-handled brush, then lifted his foot from the water. “Wash my feet.”