A Madam into a Mistress (3 page)

Shane snorted. “If you think I have feelings for Cherie, then you’re wrong. She’s nothing but a thief and a whore, and I’m only doing my job.”

Kincaid regarded Shane in silence, his voice low when he finally spoke. “A man doesn’t chase a woman across three states, and for six years, if he doesn’t have feelings for her. “

A mixture of anger and denial flooded him. He didn’t give a rat’s ass about Cherie, he was simply doing his duty. “I’m not letting her go.”

“You don’t have to let her go, but you can’t send her back.”

Shane opened his mouth to protest—of course, he had to send her back—but he never got a word out.

“She’s a madam, Shane. She can give you any woman you want, for as long as you want her. She can give you money, she even owns some land. Cherie has many resources at her disposal so I suggest you bargain with her and broker some type of arrangement that will appease you.”

His eyes rounded. “You want me to let her go in exchange for one of her whores?”

“That was just one suggestion. I don’t really care what you come up with. Hell, you can fuck her for every day you spent in prison. I really don’t give a damn. But I can promise you, if you try to take Cherie back to a federal prison, you’ll never even make it out of town. My wife would personally shoot you herself.”

Shane’s eyes narrowed. “No one is gonna stop me, not even Montgome—”

Whatever words that were on the tip of Shane’s tongue died right there when Kincaid balled his fist into Shane’s plaid shirt, the material bunching tight around his neck.

“Maybe, Montgomery wouldn’t be able to stop you alone, but just so we are clear, no one would make it out of town alive if they so much as thought about laying a wrong finger on my wife.”

Kincaid held Shane’s gaze, until the younger man nodded, a silent acknowledgement that Shane fully understood Kincaid’s threat.

Shane gasped for air when Kincaid released him, his hand gently massaging his neck. “This is blackmail, you know,” he stuttered, still struggling to drag in a full breath of air.

Kincaid nodded, his lips twisting into a frown, his eyes hard as steel. “I’m doing you a favour, Shane. You still got unresolved feelings for that woman in there. Instead of watching you make a big mistake, I’m trying to give you time to sort your feelings out.”

Kincaid spun around then and stormed back inside, leaving Shane standing there, glaring at the door. If looks could kill, the door would have been incinerated with a single glance.

After all this time, all these years, the retribution he’d envisioned for the woman who’d ruined his life still eluded him. He’d been half in love with her when she’d walked away from him, cruelly trampling upon his heart as she did so.

If she could have just waited one night—just one night—she would have discovered he’d worked out a deal for her. He’d talked the judge into putting her on probation through a work release programme. As long as Shane agreed to enforce her sentence, she could remain out of prison. He hadn’t been able to tell her himself. The judge had to be the one to deliver the news. And obviously, Shane hadn’t suspected for a second she would flee, or else he would have told her everything. She ran before he could, and when she had, any feelings he’d had for her had died right then and there. She hadn’t looked back, hadn’t wondered for a second if he’d suffered because of her selfish actions.

He’d been forced to swallow the bitter pill of his stupidity, but from that day forward, he’d promised himself he would never let a woman make a fool of him again. And he’d kept that promise—until now. Just like eight years before, Cherie was once again making a fool of him, her very freedom a slap in the face.

He could go over Kincaid’s head and send her back anyway, but he wasn’t sure if he was ready to set those wheels in motion just yet, because he had no doubt, Montgomery wouldn’t hesitate to shoot him if he did—and her straddling-the-law-abiding-fence husband, would probably just stand by and let her.

Shane should have known all along the law would never deliver the justice that Cherie deserved, that even if he did send her to prison for the rest of her life, he would never truly be satisfied, because he would be denied the pleasure of watching her suffer. But with Kincaid’s suggestion he could. He would be there, everyday, exacting his revenge upon her, treating her as cruelly as she’d treated him, knowing that with every breath she took, she hated him for it, but there was nothing she could do about it

Eight years ago, she’d callously and selfishly used him—and now it was his turn to do the same.

Chapter Three

Cherie stood in Shane’s modest home, her entire body shaking with fury. She didn’t know who she was angrier with. Wayne for giving Shane the idea or Shane for taking Wayne’s advice. She supposed she really couldn’t fault Wayne. He was only trying to keep her out of a federal prison. Her eyes narrowed on the man before her—no, he was the one to blame.

“The feelin’s mutual, darlin’,” Shane drawled.

Her eyes rounded. “Excuse me?”

“The look in your eyes.” His lips curled into a grin, but there was nothing amusing about the way he stared back at her. “You look like you want to shoot me. I said the feeling’s mutual.”

His words instantly deflated her anger, filling her with nothing but sadness. “I don’t want to shoot you, Shane.”

He undoubtedly hated her, and she couldn’t blame him, but she could never hate him. No matter what he did to her, she knew she would never be able to hate him. Even now, knowing what he planned for her, she still couldn’t bring herself to hate him. Although, she certainly resented him. He wanted to humiliate her—to use her. He wanted to do the same thing she’d done to him.

So here she was, standing in his bedroom, where Shane would exact his revenge upon her body for every night he’d spent in jail. Two years she would lie on her back, pretending to be his mistress. No, she corrected herself, not his mistress. At least, a mistress wanted to be there, enjoying her time spent in a man’s bed, and even if she didn’t, at the least, she was well compensated, with jewellery and nice gowns.

No, Cherie would not be well compensated—actually not compensated at all. And she certainly wouldn’t enjoy any moment in Shane’s bed. She had no doubt Shane would never think once about seeing to her pleasure. If she wanted to stay out of a federal prison, she would spread her legs for him, for two years or until he simply grew tired of fucking her. She was his whore, his to use, the way she’d used him. She was there to serve his needs, there to see to his pleasure and only his pleasure.

She glared at him, but holding on to even that bit of resentment was tiresome. She deserved his revenge, and she would let him have it. But Shane would never know how much it cost her to give it.

She hadn’t taken on a guest or even slept with a man in two years. Watching Montgomery with Wayne and her twins had given her hope again—that maybe she could have the husband and family she’d so desperately wanted for so long. When Shane had stood there, threatening to send her back to prison, she’d figured that would be her fate. But here she was, once again, in the same place she’d always been—some man’s whore. And being there was far worse than she knew being in a federal prison would have been.

Shane stared at Cherie for a long time. She hadn’t spoken more than two words to him since he’d dragged her back to his home—and that was exactly the problem. She was different from the woman he’d remembered. Very different. He’d caught a glimpse of the sadness in her eyes back in town, when she’d been locked in her cell, but he hadn’t been able to see past his anger. But now that there was just the two of them, and his anger had quieted, he noticed the changes in her, and they were stark.

The Cherie he’d known had been ballsy, full of life and sass—much like her friend Montgomery. The woman who stood before him now was sad, defeated, her eyes shadowed by something that haunted her. His throat closed up when she lifted her head, and he saw nothing but sorrow in her hazel eyes. He cursed under his breath. Damnation. He didn’t want to feel any compassion for this woman—hell, he didn’t want to feel anything. But he wasn’t a cruel man, without feelings, and he refused to take a woman to his bed who looked as broken as Cherie did.

He moved towards her, coming to a halt when he stood before her. “You asked what happened to me during these last eight years, and I told you.” He lifted his hand, his fingers curling around a lock of her unruly hair. It was as soft as he remembered. “But you never told me what happened to you.” He cupped her chin and raised her head when she looked to the floor. “What happened to you, Cherie?” he asked softly.

She smiled, but it was bitter, her eyes jaded. “Everything, and then nothing at all.”

He frowned. “That’s not an answer. I know you got married. What happened to him?”

Her eyes clouded over, and the jealousy that swamped him was so unexpected, so raw that he had to drop his hand from her chin out of fear that he would clench her jaw too tight and hurt her. He’d experienced a similar reaction when he’d discovered she’d gotten married. She had no right to find happiness, while he was still so bitter. And now, to see the look in her eyes at the mention of her husband, to know she’d loved this man so deeply, it heated his blood.

“He died—six months after we were wedded.”

“What happened to him?”

“Consumption. He was old. It took him quickly.” Her eyes softened. “He was a kind man. Our marriage based more on genuine friendship than true love. But I cared for him very deeply. He married me despite my past. And he never made me feel like a whore—” Her voice broke then, and when she looked away, he let her.

A storm of emotions warred inside of him, and he narrowed his eyes at her, wondering if this was another one of her manipulations, another one of her games.

“Unlike me?” he asked quietly.

“Unlike you?” She looked up. “What about you?”

His lips twisted into a cruel smile. “You were about to say he didn’t make you feel like a whore—unlike me.”

Something flashed in her eyes, something that reminded him of the Cherie he’d met eight years ago. “I wasn’t about to say that, but it is the truth. No, he didn’t make me feel like a whore, unlike you. And that’s because he was a good man, unlike you—”

Her words snapped something deep inside him, and he grabbed her by the arms, cutting her off as he dragged her up against his body. “I was a good man, before I met you!”

Her eyes dimmed, and he shoved her away unable to stand the look of pity in her eyes. He didn’t want or need her damned pity.

“Did you ever think that the reason everyone else treats you like a whore is because that’s what you are? Because that’s what you’ll always be?”

The moment the words were out of his mouth, he regretted them, even more so, when her face drained of all colour. He’d wanted to lash out at her, make her swallow her stupid pity, but he’d never expected he’d hurt her. The Cherie he’d once known had been impenetrable, tough as nails.

He called after her when she spun away from him and marched out of the room.

“Cherie—damnation!” He caught up to her just before she stormed out of his home.

“Let me go!” She struggled against him. “I’d rather go to prison than endure this—”

“Endure what? The agony of sharing my bed? You’re a madam, for Christ sakes, and yet the thought of fucking me is such a vile notion that you’d rather go to prison?”

Bitterness twisted his words. He should have let her go to prison, should have let her languish there for the rest of her life. But he couldn’t—not now. The seed had been planted, and now, he was determined to have her back in his bed, for as long as he desired her. She could wish for a prison cell all she wanted, but he was no longer prepared to let her go.

He crushed his lips to hers, dragging her back inside and slamming the door behind them.

Cherie twisted in his arms, fighting against him as much as she was fighting her own desire. Fucking him a vile notion? Never. And that was exactly the problem. With his body, Shane was going to take her very soul, every piece of her heart. She could see it in his eyes. She didn’t know if he even realised that yet, but she saw the determination etched across his face, and she fought against it, knowing that in his arms, Shane could ask for anything, everything, and she would give it. Already, she felt her will slipping, crumbling, and when she parted her lips, letting out a tiny moan, he stroked his tongue inside, his mouth fully claiming hers.

He gathered her body close as he walked her towards the bedroom from which she’d just fled, his lips never once leaving hers. His mouth against hers was skilled, seductive, and a gasp unwittingly escaped her, at the sharp pang of jealously that shot through her belly.

Shane lifted his head. “What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?”

She shook her head, her hands curling in his blond locks, dragging his face back down. She would never admit it to him, that the thought of him kissing a parade of women, making love to all those women that had come after her made her mad with jealousy. But the practiced skill with which he coaxed a moan of desire from her lips was something no man had been born with, not even the most skilled charmer. No, Shane had learned the art of seduction, just like every other man, in a woman’s bed.

His hands against her back, slowly undoing the ties of her dress, dragged her back to the present.

“Turn around,” he whispered, and she didn’t hesitate, her body shivering with need. It had been so long since a man had warmed her bed, but that wasn’t why she shivered. That wasn’t what fuelled her desire. It was Shane. Many nights, she’d wondered what type of man he’d grown into, what type of lover he would be once he’d finally shed his innocence. Tonight, she would have her answer, although in many ways she already knew. If he kissed the way he made love, then he would brand her, claim her, demand her complete and utter surrender.

Her dress pooled at her feet, and she turned to face him. Desire burned hot in his gaze, turning his blue eyes to molten silver.