A Madam into a Mistress (6 page)

He brushed a lock of hair from her forehead, meeting her wide, hazel gaze when her eyes flew open. The air stuck in his chest as she stared back at him, and he couldn’t breathe, could barely move, but he had to. He had to get away from her before she worked her magic and cast her seductive spell over him yet again.

He shot to his feet. “I’ll let you bathe in peace—,”

He stopped when her hand curled around his wrist. “I’d like you to stay. To help me,” she said, holding out the hand towel to him, with a small smile.

He started to shake his head. “I have a lot of work—”

“It’s just a bath, Shane, and only for a few minutes. Please.”

He swore under his breath as his knees hit the floor and he took the towel from her hand. He couldn’t deny her anything, not when she looked at him like that, all pretty and innocent. And certainly not when she called his name and begged him sweetly.

His hands shook slightly as he dipped the cloth into the water, gently scrubbing her back. Silence stretched between them for a long while, the only sound was of the trickle of water every time he dunked his hand into the tub.

Cherie wished she could ignore him, the way he was apparently ignoring her. She wished, every time he touched her, she didn’t have to bite back a moan. She felt as if she were on the edge of madness. With each caress, the wet warmth of the towel against her skin, a shudder of pleasure raced through her. He touched her, and yet he didn’t. His movements were mechanical, perfunctory, but still her body was aflame, and she burned for him, burned with the need to have his hands all over her body, gently caressing her, but with a purpose.

“Shane,” she whispered his name, the sound a needy plea to her ears.

He stopped, his hand stilling against her back, and she knew by the way his fingers  trembled against her body that he sensed a change in her. She liked that a current of uncertainty now pulsed through him. For the first time since he’d returned, he wasn’t the one in control.

She leaned her head back against the tub, her wet hair spilling over the edge, her breasts jutting forth to peek through the soapy water. She closed her eyes, smiling at his sharp intake of breath when she opened her legs and let them both hang over the sides of the tub.

“You missed a spot.”

A series of coughs racked him. “I did?”

She opened one eye. “You did.” Her breath hitched in her throat when he grinned, the tiny dimples creasing his cheeks. She almost forgot who was seducing who.

He leant forward, to press his lips against her ear, and with achingly slow movements, he began to slide the towel down her body, between the valley of her breasts, until it disappeared beneath the water.

“And where did I miss a spot? Here?” His warm breath heated her skin, and she arched her body and moaned when his hand slid between her thighs.

“Shane.” She called his name on a strangled sob when he let go of the towel to cup her pussy with his hand.

He traced his tongue along her ear as he gently played with the engorged nub at the juncture of her spread legs. She writhed against his hand, her hips jerking against his fingers, and when he slipped a single digit inside her, she nearly shattered.

“Oh God,” she cried out as her tunnel clenched around his thrusting finger.

“You like that, don’t you?” Shane breathed. “You wish it was my cock, don’t you?”

She couldn’t form a word; she could barely breathe. She cupped her breasts, tugging at her nipples until they were stiff. She gasped when Shane reached around her and grabbed one full mound in his hand to massage her soft flesh. His face was buried into the crook of her neck, his breathing coming in choppy pants as he fingered her harder and deeper, his thumb working her tiny nubbin in lazy circles.

She was powerless against the onslaught of pleasure that swamped her. The smell of Shane filled her burning lungs, pure, raw, masculine, and when the image of him materialised before her closed lids, of him above her, his bare skin sliding against hers as he thrust into her tight channel, she splintered apart.

“Shane,” she screamed his name as she stiffened. Water sloshed over the edge of the tub as he worked his finger inside her harder, her wet release coating his digit.

She’d barely come down from the pinnacle of her climax when he jerked away from her. Her eyes popped open, and she saw that he stood now, his hand wrapped around his thick root as he pumped furiously. Her gaze clashed with his, the swirling blue depths of his eyes were filled with desire, and his skin was flushed, as the tiny vein in his neck jumped.

“Finish me, Cherie,” he pleaded, his voice deep and hoarse.

She scrambled out of the tub, heedless of her wet body and the chill that clung to it. She knelt before him and parted her lips, taking his stiff shaft into her mouth at the same time his hand cupped the back of her head and pushed her forward.

Her head bobbed as she worked her lips up and down his shaft, the moist, hot cavern of her mouth sucking him deep. She’d barely been down there a full minute when he jerked against her, his body stiffening, and seconds later, she felt his hot cream against the back of her throat. He groaned out her name, and she glanced up at Shane. His head was thrown back, his eyes clenched shut, as the muscles in his bronzed torso flexed.

She swallowed every drop of his essence and didn’t release him until he was completely soft. He tucked himself back inside his jeans as she stood. That’s when she finally noticed the bone-chilling cold of the room.

She wrapped her arms around her body when she began to shiver, her entire body tensing when Shane cursed.

“I’m sorry. I lost my head.”

She smiled through chattering teeth at his remark. They’d both lost their heads. Shane plucked a towel off a nearby chair and wrapped it around her. He rubbed his hands up and down her body to generate heat until her teeth stopped rattling so loudly.

He scooped her up into his arms, and with the utmost gentleness, he laid her down across his bed. The tender gesture didn’t go unnoticed by either, and an intimate look passed between them, before Shane abruptly glanced away as he cleared his throat.

“I need to get to work.” He shrugged on his shirt then tugged on his boots. His face was blank, his eyes devoid of any emotion, as if they hadn’t made love only moments ago. He crossed the room, and she thought he’d walk out without a word.

She let out a sigh. After last night, and everything they’d shared that morning, she’d hoped they’d somehow brokered a tenuous truce, but in the blink of an eye, Shane had transformed back into the bitter man who’d showed up on her doorstep a day ago, full of anger and revenge.

“I’ll be back by supper time,” he muttered then he disappeared out the room. Seconds later, she heard the front door shut.

As soon as the sound of hoof beats dimmed, she scrambled off his bed and donned her clothes, her movements jerky as anger coursed through her. She knew the score, knew their arrangement was purely physical and that he planned to use her body until he somehow figured he’d punished her enough. She didn’t like it, but she accepted it. She knew she deserved it. She also knew she deserved his callousness and his coldness, but what she refused to endure was an entire day idling about.

He had some nerve leaving her there, as if she had nothing better to do, then there was his audacity by mentioning supper. She snorted. His brain was addled if he thought she would be cooking him supper. She glanced around the room. It needed some tidying up, actually the entire home could use a woman’s touch, but she wouldn’t be that woman.

She stomped out of his home and saddled up the other horse that was tied to the post beside his porch. As she galloped away, she didn’t spare Shane’s home a single backward glance. She was a madam, not a mistress and certainly not a wife. When he got home that evening to find her gone, maybe he’d come to realise that as well.

Chapter Six

Shane glanced up as Wayne sauntered into the Marshal’s office. His eyebrow lifted when he noticed the self-satisfied smirk on the older man’s face. His boss rarely smiled.

“How was your lunch?” Shane asked, wondering about the slight flicker of amusement in Wayne’s eyes as he plopped down in a nearby chair.

“Nice.” Wayne smiled. “I decided to go home and have lunch with my wife and sons.”

Shane nodded, not knowing what else to say, but then Wayne’s grin grew wider and he couldn’t pretend to ignore it any longer.

“What? I can tell you’re itching to tell me something so just spit it out,” Shane snapped.

Wayne leant back in his chair, his head resting on his clasped palms behind his neck as he propped his booted feet on top of his desk.

“Oh, I don’t know. I wouldn’t want to upset you.”

“Kincaid,” Shane warned.

Wayne Kincaid’s green eyes practically twinkled. “I thought your arrangement with Cherie specifically stated that she was to serve all your needs. My understanding was that she was to stay at your home and play wife and mistress until you got tired of her.”

Shane’s gut clenched at the mention of her, and he knew he wasn’t going to like the news that Wayne had to share when he heard it. “That’s my understanding as well.”

Wayne’s eyebrow lifted. “Really? So you left Cherie at your place this morning?”

Shane sighed. “Is this going somewhere, Kincaid?”

Wayne grinned. “Oh, it’s going somewhere, just like Cherie.”

Shane stiffened as he sat up straighter in his chair. He didn’t need to be a genius to figure out why Wayne was baiting him. If Cherie had skipped town, he swore he would show her no mercy and send her shapely ass straight to prison.

“Where is she?”

“Montgomery said she visited Cherie at work.”

“The brothel?” Shane shot up out of his seat. He was going to hurt her.

The slight nod of Wayne’s head was all he needed. He was already out of the door, so he barely heard Wayne’s laughter as he set his mount in the direction of
Every Desire
and galloped away.

* * * *

Maeve was sick, Cherie thought irritably, that was the only reason why she was doing this. She’d taken Maeve’s guest only after the girl assured her, old man Wilson only ever wanted massages. She rolled her eyes as she kneaded the man’s splotchy and wrinkled back. Who came to a whorehouse for a massage? It wasn’t her place to question Wilson’s needs. All she needed to do was finish this massage—she glanced over at her clock—and she only had about three minutes before she could send him on his way.

She was just rolling off of Wilson’s back when her door was kicked open. She didn’t hesitate. She reached for the pistol between her breasts and aimed. But when she recognised who it was, she let her hand fall to her side.

“What are you doing bursting into my chambers? You almost got yourself shot, you idiot,” she snapped at Shane whose furious gaze touched on her for just a second, before bull’s eyeing on Wilson.

She realised too late what he was about to do, and it took three of her girls, and her to pull Shane off of the bloodied and bruised man when it was clear Shane was going to beat him until he killed him.

Old man Wilson had to be dragged out of there. She was surprised he was still conscious as he cussed all the way out, threatening never to return to
Every Desire
.

She slammed the door behind Wilson’s raucous exit, her furious gaze instantly landing on Shane, who stood there, his face twisted with rage, his knuckles bloody and raw.

“What the hell is wrong with you? Old man Wilson is a long time guest, if he never comes back, I’m—”

His hand shot out to grip her arm with lightning quickness. His hold was tight but not painful, and she was surprised given the pure rage that swirled in his eyes.

“Did you sleep with him?” Shane’s steely voice was little more than a whisper, and the chill that settled over the room was unmistakable.

Her eyes widened, realising for the first time why he was upset. She’d thought he’d been angry because she’d left and decided to take his rage out on Wilson, since she knew Shane would never lay his hand on a woman in anger. But with his words, it all made sense now, and she was furious with herself for not putting two and two together sooner, but she was even angrier with him.

How could he think something so vile—so despicable? Okay, so she was a whore, but the sheets on his bed were barely cold. He knew she hadn’t slept with a guest in some time. What would make him believe that she would be so quick to jump into bed with one now, when she’d just left his?

She snatched her arm from his grasp. “Get out.”

“Get out?” His eyes darkened. “I’m not going anywhere, not until you tell me if you slept with Wilson.”

“What do you think?” she spat.

He advanced on her until she was trapped against the wall, and she noticed the tiny muscle in his jaw twitched. “I think I walked in on you rolling off of him, just as he was putting on his shirt—”

“And so you automatically jump to the conclusion that I’d just finished fucking him?”

The only indication he gave that he’d even heard her words was the thinning of his lips.

“After last night, how could you even ask me that?” She shook her head when her words were still met with silence, and her gaze dipped to the floor as a host of emotions gripped her.

Over the years, she’d hardened herself against the slurs people hurled at her, but with Shane, the accusation in his eyes, what he left unsaid was so much worse. Although she knew it was stupid, and that she’d wind up heartbroken, with her body she’d given Shane a piece of herself, a glimpse inside her soul. She’d thought he’d known that, but it was obvious that he didn’t, and despite his claim that he didn’t want a whore, she felt her heart clench at the realisation that ultimately that’s what he saw when he looked her—and no matter what, that’s what he always would.

Cherie pushed at his chest, her eyes flashing with anger when he wouldn’t budge.

“Move. I need to get back to work. I need to balance the books,” she added when his eyes darkened.