Bound For Eden (10 page)

Luke thought he'd have to use every bit of his charm to get Dolly to stable the oxen. She didn't like livestock. She said they smelled. So he was astonished when she agreed at once.

‘Tell my boy to make sure he feeds and waters them,' she said, pouring them both a drink. Luke narrowed his eyes as he watched her toss back the whiskey.

‘Oh, I get it,' he said, as an idea dawned on him, ‘you got your hands on some of the kid's gold too.' He sighed. ‘What did I tell you, Doll? I'm s'posed to be looking after him, not fixing him up with whores. The kid must be about twelve.' Luke gave her a disgusted look.

‘He's older than he looks,' Dolly said dryly.

‘What, thirteen?'

‘Don't you go gettin' all high and mighty on me, Luke Slater. I bet you'd dipped your wick by his age.'

‘We ain't discussing my wick.'

‘Seline!' Dolly bellowed with a wicked grin, summoning the whore Luke was avoiding. Luke winced.

‘That ain't fair,' he muttered.

‘You looked pretty friendly with her before – she seemed to think you were coming back for a visit.'

Luke grunted. He'd been perfectly happy to see Seline in the kitchen earlier, but then she'd gone and got all tense and jealous about Victoria. Now she'd probably be pouty with him, and want to be petted and reassured.

Dolly took pity on him. ‘Go hide upstairs. I'll send Ruth or Ellen up before Seline can find you.'

‘Maybe I'll just head back to Ralph Taylor's,' he said glumly, remembering Ruth's face the last time he'd left her. Like he'd cut off her arm or something.

‘I'll give you both of them for the price of one,' Dolly offered quickly, worried she might be losing a sale. And not only today's sale – what if he stopped coming altogether? When he was in town, Luke was a good customer. She'd have to give the girls a stern talking-to.

They heard the faint sound of Seline's voice in the kitchen and Luke looked to the front door for an escape route. Through the frosted glass of the window he could see the silhouettes of a few of the girls sunning themselves on the porch. He was trapped.

He headed for the stairs.

‘I'll send them up,' Dolly called after him, happily draining Luke's untouched whiskey too.

‘Not Ruth,' he called back over his shoulder.

When he reached the upstairs corridor he paused. All of the doors were shut, and he had no idea which ones were occupied and which weren't. Margaret's room, Cora's room, Gracie's room . . . he didn't want to see any of them. He considered the doors indecisively.

‘Delia,' he announced to the empty corridor. Delia wasn't the prettiest woman in the world, or the cheeriest for that matter (she always wore a look like her dog had just died), but she wasn't prone to hysterics either. She'd never cried on him as far as he could remember, or begged him to take her with him when he left. The worst she ever did was look up at him with those mopey basset hound eyes.

‘Was that Luke I heard?' Seline's voice carried through the cathouse, deciding Luke once and for all. He hightailed it down the corridor and into Delia's room at the far end. He closed the door as softly as he could, hoping Seline wouldn't hear it. Hoping none of them would hear it.

‘Sorry, darlin',' he apologised quietly, turning his warmest smile on mopey Delia. Only . . . mopey Delia wasn't there.

There was a woman in the bed, but it sure as hell wasn't Delia. His eyes traced the contours of her body through the thin sheet. This woman wasn't even the same species as Delia. This one was all lush curves and hollows . . . arcs of warm flesh that made a man's palms ache to touch them. Her face was buried in the pillow, hidden from him, but her neck was a graceful creamy arch where he could see the faint beat of her pulse and had an idle impulse to press his lips against it. The vision sighed in her sleep and shifted. The sheet fell, revealing a skimpy white linen chemise . . . and a bounty of divine ivory flesh.

Drawn irresistibly, Luke crept closer. Why hadn't Dolly told him about this beauty? He sank onto the bed beside her. She was even more perfect close up. There wasn't a blemish on that smooth skin. And this close he could see the full outline of her breasts through the whisper-thin material; they were full and round, and he could see the dark stain of her nipples though the linen.

He couldn't help himself. He traced a fingertip slowly around the shadow, watching as it hardened, reaching towards him in silent invitation. He saw the pulse leap in her neck and, acting on the impulse this time, he lowered his head to kiss the hollow where it throbbed. Her skin was hot and damp under his lips and she smelled of musk and roses.

She moaned ever so softly and turned, and Luke saw her face. Beautiful. He'd never seen a whore like her.

What must Dolly be charging? It didn't matter, Luke decided, this one was worth any price. Look at those lips – wide and full, and the colour of ripe strawberries.

Damn the expense.

Luke leaned over her and pressed a feather-light kiss against the strawberry lips. She tasted like powdered sugar. He kissed her again, more firmly, and when she moaned he slid his tongue against the moist opening of her lips.

Alex was having strange dreams. She was back home, watching the house burn. And then the fire had moved to her belly and was licking through her like wildfire. Her breasts felt full and heavy, and she was arching . . .

She woke with a gasp.

Wouldn't you know it, Luke thought, looking into wide gray eyes the colour of a rainstorm: beautiful.

‘What are you doing?' The words escaped her breathlessly.

Even her voice was beautiful: low and husky, it was like warm fingers running down his spine.

Alex tried to gather her thoughts. It was Luke. Luke was sitting beside her on the bed, looking at her with a burning black gaze. She couldn't think, not while he was so close, not while he was looking at her like that. Why
was
he looking at her like that?

Alex remembered and gasped again, scrabbling for the sheet. Oh glory, she wasn't dressed! She wasn't wearing Adam's clothes, or the mud! He knew!

‘Ah darlin', there's no need for that,' he said warmly, taking the edge of the sheet in his long brown fingers and giving it a tug.

She held onto it with a death grip.

‘It's alright,' he coaxed, edging closer, and pulling insistently until the sheet came free, ‘money is no object.'

Money? Alex frowned. Then she realised he was staring and followed his gaze to her breasts. Glory! The undergarments Dolly had left for her were indecent. She might as well be wearing nothing at all. And, Alex realised, mortified, her nipples were jutting through the thin fabric, dark and insistent.

She made to cover herself but Luke caught her wrists. ‘Don't,' he said huskily, ‘you're beautiful.'

He looked into her eyes and she couldn't breathe. So
this
was why Victoria was acting like such a ninny. The man had some kind of power . . . Alex could feel herself becoming liquid, melting like silver over a smithy fire, becoming malleable in his hands.

There was such tenderness in those hot black eyes. Tenderness and . . . something else, something wicked.

When he moved to kiss her she was too stunned to protest. His lips were firm, commanding. He pulled her towards him, until she was pressed against the hard length of him, and she could feel the cold edge of his belt buckle against her stomach. As his tongue traced the inside line of her lips, coaxing them open, his hands ran up her arms and over her shoulders, finally coming to rest cupping her face. His thumbs rubbed lazy circles beneath her earlobes.

Could you die from a kiss?

Oh, she was good, Luke thought as he broke the kiss and looked down into her eyes. They were smoky with desire. Eyes like that could drive a man wild.

And then there was the way she kept her lips slightly parted, as her breath came fast and shallow, causing her firm, round breasts to stretch the fine linen, until he thought the fragile fastening might break. All so seemingly artless . . .

He ran his finger down the long arch of her neck, lingering briefly on the leaping pulse, and she shivered. He followed the curve of her breast, into the dip of her cleavage, and came to rest on the small cloth covered button that held the gaping chemise together.

Stop.
The word rang in her head, but she couldn't make herself say it. She was mesmerised by the look of wonder in his eyes, by the way the trail of his finger left a blaze of heat in its wake. This is wrong, she thought witlessly, but for the life of her she couldn't gather her thoughts for long enough to think why.

For a long breathless moment they both watched his fingers fiddle with the tiny button, and then with a flick the button slid free of its fastening and the chemise fell open, sending her tumbling free.

Perfect. It was the only word to describe her. Desire surged through him like a flood.

Some small rational part of Alex's mind was screaming at her to say something, to run, to save her honour. But the rest of her wasn't listening.

She wanted him to touch her. She'd wanted it since the first moment she'd seen him in the bathhouse. And
she
wanted to touch
him
. . .

Why
didn't
he touch her? She was aching for it. There was a strange pulse inside of her, slow and tantalising, causing her to arch towards him, ever so slightly. When he did reach out, his fingertips seared her, white-hot, and her eyelids fluttered closed. Oh glory, who knew? Who knew anything could feel this good . . . at the first moist flicker against her nipple her eyes flew open again. He was using his
mouth . .
.

Neither of them heard the click of the door opening. But they both heard the shriek. And a moment later mean hands were clawing at Alex's hair.

Ten

‘Hell and damnation, Seline,' Luke growled, pulling the whore bodily away from Alex.

‘Let me go!' Seline spat, kicking and bucking like a wild animal.

Alex's scalp was stinging from the assault, but she had enough wits about her to cover herself with the sheet and brace herself in the corner of the room. Who knew if the crazy woman would get away from Luke and come after her again?

‘I ain't running a boxing ring!' Dolly bellowed as she appeared in the doorway. She put her hands on her hips and surveyed the tableaux before her. Behind her, a dozen curious faces appeared.

Alex blushed, miserably aware of her state of undress and her kiss-swollen lips.

‘Who the hell is she!' Seline shrieked.

Wild-eyed, Alex looked to Dolly for help.

The madam cleared her throat awkwardly, and fingered her paste necklace. ‘If you must know this is my cousin . . . Beatrice. Just arrived into town this afternoon.'

‘I didn't see her arrive,' Gracie said suspiciously.

‘Don't see how you could have,' Dolly sniffed, ‘as you ain't stirred from the porch all day. Lazy cow.'

‘Lazy!' Gracie scowled. ‘I make you more money than all the rest of them put together.'

‘Now hang on a minute,' a skinny brunette complained, ‘I make at least as much as you do!'

Alex pulled the sheet higher and wished they'd go argue somewhere else. She wanted to get dressed so she could scurry back to Adam and Victoria. She grimaced, imagining the lecture she'd get from Victoria if her sister ever found out about what had happened . . . her gaze drifted to the bed.

‘Oh, who cares about how much money you make,' Seline shouted, drawing Alex's attention back to the chaos in the doorway. The redhead was still clamped between Luke's strong arms. Alex couldn't help noticing the hard play of muscles beneath the burnished skin of his forearms, the rich colour of his skin contrasting so magnificently with the creamy white of his shirtsleeves, which were rolled up to the elbow. Her gaze followed the bulging line of his arm, across the enormous width of his shoulders, up to that lean face. Her breath caught in her throat when she realised that he was looking right at her. And had, in fact, noticed her perusal of him. As she watched he returned the favour, and the heat of his gaze as it travelled the length of her barely-clad body was like a physical caress. She blushed.

‘And who cares if she's your cousin,' Seline was carping. ‘Luke was mine this afternoon!'

‘Only because you didn't give him a choice,' Gracie snapped. ‘He might have wanted to be with me.'

‘Or with me,' the brunette chipped in.

Seline snorted. ‘You? He ain't been with you, Cora, since you tried to stow away in his wagon.'

The brunette gave a squeal and launched herself across the room at Seline. Luke caught her with one hand, struggling to keep Seline contained with the other. ‘That's enough!' he hollered, his deep voice shaking the lamps. ‘Would you all get out of here. The lady and I were in the middle of something.'

‘No, we weren't!' Alex squeaked.

A dozen pairs of hateful eyes turned on her. She lifted her chin and glared right back at them.

‘I beg to differ,' Luke said, his voice growing lower and huskier.

The hateful eyes grew murderous. Glory, Alex thought, she'd be lucky to get out of this room alive.

‘She ain't a whore, Luke,' Dolly interrupted sternly.

Alex collapsed against the wall behind her in relief. Surely that would save her?

It didn't.

Seline gave a bloodcurdling scream and hurled herself towards Alex. Alex fled over the bed and grabbed the brass spittoon by the wardrobe. She brandished it at the attacking whore like a weapon, only to find her already recaptured by Luke.

‘Not a whore!' Seline was sputtering. ‘So she's
giving
it away! Why the hell would he come to any of us, when she's giving it away for free!'

‘Don't tell me you've never given him a freebie,' Dolly observed darkly.