Ace's Wild (15 page)

Except for now,
temptation whispered. He had now. He could know this small piece of her and let her taste this small piece of him. He could be the memory that every man in the future tried to replace. The thought put a tight smile on his lips.
Fuck, yeah. Let them try to replace this.

He brought his hand down just a little harder this time, aiming for fresh flesh. Bringing back Pet’s focus, centering her attention where he wanted it, on him.

“You’ve been begging for this for a long time, my pet.”

She squirmed as he expected her to. Moaned as he wanted her to. He wanted that fight; he wanted that challenge. He wanted her to throw everything she had at him and then he wanted to catch it and mold it until everything she threw at him was her and everything he caught was her until everything he was, was her.

She squirmed and squealed against his thighs as he released the need, cried when he rained the smacks up and down her thighs, moaned when he ghosted the inside, but it was her desperate, “Please” that reached him.

He swore under his breath as she collapsed over his thighs, her torso jerking with her breaths. He’d lost control. The knowledge swamped him. He never lost control. A man couldn’t play the games he did and lose control. And with Pet of all people. That was unforgivable. He wanted her balanced between pleasure and pain, aching and wanting. He didn’t want her anywhere else. He never wanted her afraid of him.

Resting his palm on her ass, he rubbed soothingly, gentling her with quiet touches, giving her time to relax. He was the stronger one. The dominant. The one she had to be able to trust. His fingers slipped between her legs. The muslin was wet with her excitement. Deep inside him his demons stirred.
Yes.

Before he could block it, possessiveness surged through him. This was what he wanted; this was what he longed for; this was his woman; this was his. He couldn’t stop himself from turning her over, lifting her up, pulling her flushed face closer to his, staring into her wide eyes, breathing deep of her scent as he took in that initial reaction to his cock pushing against her pussy. The acceptance. The excitement. The utter need.

“This is why,” he whispered against her lips as he rocked beneath her, “you need to stay away from me.”

Her hands cupped his face. Her mouth bit at his as she pulled him closer. “This is why I won’t.”

The truth so simple, so impossible, hung between them.

His mouth opened over hers. He wanted her instant response. What he got was her resistance and even that was right. He nibbled at her lips.

“Open.”

She shook her head and smiled. He brought his hand up to her chin, gripping tightly so she couldn’t escape. Squeezing gently until her stubbornness gave, and her mouth parted. She tasted as sweet as she had the other day, but she also tasted hot and wild as a part of her she hadn’t even recognized, that he hadn’t allowed himself to believe existed, stepped into the world for the first time. She tasted like pure, beautiful lust. His cock throbbed between them, aching and hard. Desire rode his resolve just as hard.

In another time and place, she’d been his, and in another time and place she would be his, but in this time, in this world, all they could have was this moment. This kiss. Her fingers dug into his chest, eight points of pressure through his shirt, another bond. He ran his tongue over the inside of her lips lightly, teasingly, bringing passion past what she thought she should be, bringing out who she was.

She didn’t sit as straight in his lap. He twisted slightly, letting her fall against him slightly, a soft, nearly imperceptible surrender. He took it for what it was, awareness.

“Yes,” he muttered against her lips, “just like that. Give yourself to me.”

“I don’t want to,” she whispered back.

“Liar.”

He kissed her harder, pushing those words back into her mouth with his tongue, nibbling at her resistance with his lips, molding her into compliance with the soft drag of his nails down her spine. She gasped when his fingers grazed the hollow, smiled when with the slightest of pressure he seduced the last of her resistance and tempted her curiosity. She wanted to know where this between them could lead. Fuck. So did he.

He took another kiss, pressing harder, pushing stronger, driving her faster than he knew she would comfortably go, but he only had the now, and he wanted all he could cram into it because as soon as this meekness vanished, she was going to be pissed as hell.

“Kiss me back,” he ordered.

“Make me,” she ordered right back.

Oh, she was a wild one. Fisting his hand in her hair, he pulled her head back, staring down into those eyes. They were always full of determination and passion, but it was different now. She was focused on him.

“Do you need me to?” He’d give her that excuse if she needed it.

She stared at him for a minute as she processed the question before shaking her head. To his shock, the fingers digging into his chest opened flat, and her palm slid up over his shoulders, and her fingertips were against his nape and he felt those nails dig in the way he liked, pulling him down into her soft embrace. “No. Not at all.”

Her lips pressed against his inexpertly, all awkward enthusiasm, and it was his turn to moan. It would be so much fun to train her. Making love to her wouldn’t be the same as making love to a whore. She wouldn’t be doing it for money. Her cooperation wouldn’t be guaranteed and that wildness in her, depending on how well he handled it, would either work for him or against him. The challenge titillated his senses, the possibilities, his desire, the potential, his need. He wanted to consume her from the inside out, own her, mark her, love her. The last drew him up short.

He broke off the kiss, realizing with a start he was breathing as hard as she was, felt as drugged as she looked, and that just rattled him more. He never lost control. And the last place he should be losing it was here. With this woman.

Liar.
His heart screamed. He caught her chin again, holding her gaze to his. She should have looked shattered. She just looked fucking beautiful, confident and, damn it all, determined.

“It’s time for you to go, Pet.”

She raised her eyebrows at him. Looked around and said, “This is my house.”

“Not from here. From Simple.”

“I don’t have the money.”

“I’ll give it to you.”

He expected her to argue. Instead, she asked, “What about the Providence?”

“I’ll take care of it.”

“It’s not your responsibility.”

“I’m making it mine.”

She opened her mouth again, and he put his hand over it, silencing her, keeping her pressed between his hand in her hair and his hand over her mouth, controlling her. And she liked it. The realization just sent his blood spiking higher. Damn it, so did he.

She didn’t struggle like a lesser woman would. She didn’t look afraid; she just watched him like prey watched a predator, except there was a bit of predator in her, too, and that, he realized, was what he liked about her, her strength. She didn’t back down. She didn’t give up. She just changed direction when necessary.

“You’re leaving. This...between us.” He shook his head. “I don’t want it.”

Holding her as he was, he couldn’t miss her flinch. He expected tears. He got resistance. She made a muffled sound behind his hand, and her brows came down.

“I’m not saying that to spark your interest.” She needed to understand that. “It’s the flat-out truth. You’ve said all along I’m no good. You were right. You’re right about other things about me, too. There are a lot of things I’ve done in this life that I’m not proud of, but I’ve never destroyed a woman’s innocence, and I’m not going to start with yours. So in two days when that stage comes through, you’re going to have a ticket and you’re going to get on it. Understand?”

“Oh, I understand.” Sliding off his lap, she yanked her dress down and glared at him. “Your needs, your wants, it’s all about you.”

He stood. She didn’t back off or down, she just folded her arms across her and gave him back glare for glare. He admired that. Wanted that. Fuck.

“It takes two to tango, my pet, and I’m not dancing.”

“I’ll take the ticket, then, but you needn’t look so smug about it,” she snapped. The words came at him in a steady pelting, like raindrops in a sudden storm, fat and hard, striking all his vulnerable places.

“I’m taking it because I deserve better, and I won’t be that woman who has no value to the man toying with her. When I give myself to someone it’s going to be with my heart and soul and I’m going to know that the gift is cherished.”

“You should save it for your husband.”

She rolled her eyes. “I don’t demand marriage, but I do demand decency and that, Ace Parker, leaves you out.”

That stung. “Awful high-and-mighty for a woman who was just squirming on my lap.”

Folding her arms across her chest she said, “And you’re being awful high-and-mighty for a man who’s pretending nobility when he’s really just a chicken shit. But thank you for the lesson.” She walked to the door and held it open. “Merry Christmas, Ace. You’re free.”

Ace slammed his hat down on his head. Cursing himself, fate and that damned spirit that made him want to snatch her up, even now with his good intentions screaming, he walked out. Doing the right thing sucked.

CHAPTER TEN

A
CE
WAS
AS
good as his word. When the stage pulled up in front of the mercantile two days later, little plumes of dust kicking up from the stop, Petunia was there, the ticket he’d bought her to California in hand, all the bittersweet goodbyes said, feeling more despondent than she had when she’d landed in this little town. She looked over her shoulder, half expecting to see Ace coming down the walk, but all she saw was Luke. Her stomach sank. She knew what that meant. Ace and Luke were like peas in a pod. Where there was one, the other usually wasn’t far behind, but if he wasn’t, it was for a reason. She’d been bouncing between hope and dread about seeing Ace again after their time together. He made her hunger. He made her worry. He made her want to see how far he could take her. She was all but starved for his attention, and he wasn’t even going to see her off. Damn him.

She forced a smile when Luke got close. As always he was dressed impeccably. Today he had on a red-and-gold-paisley vest under a perfectly cut black suit. She wondered if the tailor had to make allowances for his guns. “Good morning, Luke.”

He tipped his hat and smiled, revealing perfectly even teeth. Why couldn’t she have fallen for him? “Morning, Miss Wayfield.”

She sighed. “Surely we know each other well enough for you to use my first name.”

“Probably, but such familiarity invariably leads to speculation when dealing with a man with my reputation.”

“Oh.”

It was his turn to sigh. “That was a joke, Petunia. It was supposed to make you smile.”

It was hard to smile when she felt awkward and silly, the way she always did when she was fighting tears. “I’m sorry. Did you come to see me off?”

“Yes. I figured someone should handle the formalities.” He glanced at the bags at her feet. There were a lot of them. When she’d left Massachusetts it wasn’t with the intent of returning. “All packed up?”

She nodded.

Sunlight glinted off his cuff links as he tested the weight of the biggest. He really did have a sense of style. She felt dowdy by comparison in her brown plaid traveling suit.

“We might need a bigger coach.”

She forced a smile she didn’t think would fool anyone. “I packed on the theory that smaller bags were easier to manage than a large trunk.”

The driver got down from the stage. This was the first stop of the morning. The horses were chomping at their bits, kicking up clouds of dust as they stomped their feet. She waved the drift away from her face. They so needed rain.

The driver grabbed a bucket off the railing, scooped water out of the trough and brought it to the lead horse. He was a lean, bent, grizzled man with a countenance as battered as the stage and clothes as ragged as her emotions. Not at all what she’d expected. Somehow, she’d imagined her departure populated with grander moments as fitting the launch of a dream. With a nod he acknowledged her waiting. “Be with you in a minute, miss.”

“Thank you.”

Instead it was...deflating.

“Howdy, Luke.” He tipped his hat to Luke.

“Howdy, Gil.”

“It will be a little bit before Gillian’s ready to go,” Luke said. “If you wanted to grab something to eat, I’d love the company.”

The last thing she wanted was food. The swaying of the coach often made her nauseous. Petunia shook her head. “Thank you, but Maddie handled that for me.”

“Made you up some cinnamon rolls, did she?”

Her smile faltered. Tears threatened. “I’m going to miss her.”

Luke shook his head and reached into his pocket, shaking out a handkerchief before offering it to her. She had no doubt it was clean.

“You don’t have to go, you know,” Luke said. “You could always stay and make your place here. You’ve got the school started up and folk riled enough something might actually get done.”

She glanced up the street. She’d been reminding herself for two days this wasn’t the school she wanted to start—it was too small, its scope too limited—but just looking at the big house with its faded whitewash and neglected yard tugged at her heartstrings. There was so much still to do... “With Luisa and Antonio volunteering to help, Hester can handle the school.”

“Hester’s a competent woman, but that’s not the same as a teacher.”

“Then they’ll pressure the town to provide one.”

“They’ll have to.” Luke named the woman whose position Petunia had taken. “Rumor is Mrs. Arbuckle is with child.”

She couldn’t avoid another pang.

“That frown tells me you care.”

“Of course I care.”

“Then stay.”

She couldn’t hold a smile anymore. “I think when a man buys a woman a ticket out of town, it’s a pretty good indicator that she needs to move on.”

The handkerchief fluttered as Luke offered it again. “One man does not the universe make.”

This time she took it. “He’s your friend.”

Luke shrugged. “Doesn’t mean he can’t be wrong.”

It didn’t mean she was right, either. She’d been so naive. In her inexperience she’d thought he’d been as caught up in their passion as she was, but she’d been wrong. Grossly, humiliatingly, abjectly wrong. The reality had been driven home when Jenkins had knocked on the door with the ticket in hand. Ace hadn’t even bothered to include a note in the envelope with the ticket. He apparently felt he’d said it all. She crumpled the handkerchief in her hand. “It was never my plan to stay.”

She couldn’t resist taking another look down the street toward the saloon where Ace no doubt was lounging. Hope just wouldn’t die.

“He’s not coming,” Luke said softly.

She flushed. “Am I that obvious?”

“Yes.”

“Who’s not coming?” Gillian interrupted. “I was only expecting one. We got a passenger not on the manifest?”

Petunia let Luke handle the responding. “Miss Wayfield was referring to Ace. He’d been called away.”

She just bet he had.

“Ace Parker?” Gil asked, patting the near horse on the shoulder.

“Yeah.”

“Good man, that one. Right handy in a fight.” The driver shook his head and scooped more water and brought it over to the second horse. “Shame he’s not riding along. Heard tell of Indian trouble between here and San Antonio.”

Luke frowned. “Sure it’s Indian? The Comanche haven’t been bothering folk for a long while. Heard there was trouble down Wild Gulch way but I thought it was wranglers who fessed up.”

The driver shrugged. “Don’t know about that.” With an exaggerated flex of his right leg, he added, “But I do know my knee’s been acting up and that’s a surefire sign of trouble.”

The thought of an Indian attack terrified Petunia. She’d grown up reading about the Indian raids of old in both the paper and the lurid dime novels sold in the stores and street corners. The news might be highly sensationalized, but common sense said being abducted by a band of men wearing not much more than a loincloth bent on revenge couldn’t go well for a woman.

The coach that had looked so solid pulling up now looked ridiculously flimsy. She licked her lips. “They wouldn’t attack the stage, would they?”

Gil was no comfort. “Been known to happen. I got a couple riders I’m picking up here.” Using the dirty handkerchief around his neck he wiped the sweat from his face, adding a smear of cleanliness amidst the coating of dust. “We should be fine.”

The one thing Petunia’d learned about the West was that one was never completely safe. “Pick good riders, please. I want to get to California safe and sound.”

“California? That’s a long trip for a pretty thing like you to be taking alone, ma’am.”

She didn’t feel pretty right now; she felt ragged and worn and, she admitted, discarded. “Thank you for your concern, but I’ll be fine.”

“That’s what a lot of folk tell me.” He watered the last horse. “We’re going to be leaving in a bit, ma’am.”

“A bit? But the schedule says ten o’clock.” It was quarter past now.

“Yup, it does, but I got a late start, and I’m hungry so it’s going to be a bit.”

And that was that. The headache that had been threatening bloomed. Rubbing her forehead, she sighed, and resigned herself to the delay. “What will I do with my bags?”

Luke grabbed them and tossed two up on the back of the stage before reaching for the third. The driver grunted, watching as he wedged them in.

“Not traveling too light are you?”

“The ticket said I could carry two bags and a trunk.”

“Yeah, well, that’d be more like normal-size bags, and that second one is pushing trunk size.”

“I am within the rules, am I not?”

Another grunt and a glare was the response. She didn’t care. She might not be leaving with the experience she wanted, but she was leaving with her darn luggage.

Luke shook his head and lashed the bags down. “Funny how you fight for your luggage.”

“Somethings are just better left alone,” she shot back, folding her arms across her chest.

“Uh-huh.” He hopped down. Dust poofed around his feet. Sweat dribbled uncomfortably between Petunia’s breasts. Even the weather was against her. Who needed a heat wave in December?

The horses stomped their feet and snorted with impatience. She knew just how they felt. A bit Gil had said... She’d steeled herself to make it through the last ten minutes, and now she had to wait an undefined
bit
. She wanted to grind her teeth. She wanted to swat someone.

“I’ll be in the mercantile,” she told the driver, who merely grunted in reply. She did not want to go through another round of tearful goodbyes. She didn’t think she could stand it. It’d been harder than she expected to leave the school and the budding orphanage, her budding friendships. She took her anger out on Gil in a hard stare. “Do not leave without me.”

Gil waved his hand at her as she stepped up onto the walk. Didn’t even look back as he snapped, “Don’t be late.”

How could she be late to
a bit
or so? She rolled her eyes. Contrary man.

Luke came up beside her. “He’s just doing his job.”

The driver wasn’t heading to the restaurant; he was heading to the saloon.

“Is he going to drive this stage drunk?”

“Doubtful, but I think he aims to drive it guarded, and the saloon’s the most likely place where he’ll find his hired guns.”

“Guns?”

“The Comanche aren’t to be taken lightly.”

“But you said they have been peaceable for years.”

“I said they haven’t stirred up anything for years, but you can only push anyone so far and they’re going to kick up their heels.”

“What does that mean?”

“You’ll be safe, Petunia.”

She hoped so. “Why’d you come by, Luke?”

“To wish you a safe journey.”

“That’s all?”

“Well, that and to see if you were going to be sensible.”

“I’m always sensible.”

“So I was let to believe.” He tipped his hat and headed back across the street, to the saloon, she realized.

Did all men ever do was get drunk? She shook her head and turned back and headed toward the mercantile. A sarsaparilla would go down good right now.

The spook the driver had given her about Indians just wouldn’t shake. She opened the mercantile door. The little bell chimed. She went to the counter and sat down on the stool by the window. When Glenda, the shopkeeper’s wife, came out of the back, straightening her apron, Petunia forced a smile.

“Could I have a sarsaparilla please?”

The woman put the bottle on the counter.

“Thank you.” Petunia sighed and worked the cork loose. Why couldn’t everything be so straightforward? Ask and receive. No fuss. No muss. No hurt. No regrets. Not like this mess. Taking a sip of the beverage, she concentrated on enjoying the fizzy sweetness, pushing aside the nagging regret. She had a feeling between surviving Ace and the Indians, the Comanche would be easier.

* * *

“A
RE
YOU
REALLY
going to be this stupid?”

Over the years, Luke had asked Ace that question with varying degrees of impatience. Today was the first time he’d said it with genuine anger. Ace looked up from the cards he was shuffling. “Do you really want to come at me with that question when I’m just settling in for a good drunk?”

Luke pulled out the chair opposite. It slid across the floor with a grate. “Apparently, since you’re sitting here playing solitaire after letting your woman board the stage this morning.”

“Then, yes. I intend to be this stupid.”

Ace placed a red king on the black ace.

“Just tell me why.”

The queen he needed was covered by the ace of spades.

“Because she’s destined for better things.”

“And you’re destined for what?” Luke waved expressively with his hand, indicating the saloon and the few seedy inhabitants that clung to the escape they found here: a man in the corner draped over a table snoring, two whores drinking coffee, the bartender wiping lazily at the counter. “This?”

“It suits me.”

“The hell it does. You’re Hell’s Eight.”

“Hell’s Eight is changing.”

“What Hell’s Eight
does
might have changed, mellowed a bit, I’ll grant you, but we’re still the same men who scraped and clawed to survive. We’re still the same men that protect what’s ours.”

Ace flipped the cards over. The king was free; the queen stayed buried. “I know who I am.” And
what
he was.

Ace laid out a new layer of cards.

“That two will go up on top,” Luke pointed out.

Ace shook his head. “You never could keep your nose out of another man’s game.”

Luke tilted the chair back, balancing it on two legs. “Some people need the help.”

The urge to send him the rest of the way over was high. “Try.”

“It’s not entirely impossible there’s Indian trouble. You know the army’s been pulling it’s cavalry out, moving them back East with that conflict brewing.”

Ace shook his head. “It’s not going to be pretty if this country comes to war.”

“It’s not going to be pretty if Petunia’s stage gets attacked.”

Ace flipped the cards. This time he had a move and then another. It freed the queen, but now the king was covered.