Trouble in Disguise: 5 (Eclipse Heat) (5 page)

New though she was at this, Miri reached behind her and clasped his cock, guiding it toward her entrance. She felt him shudder and groan as she fisted her hand around him and pumped his hard length. He brought her to her knees, pressed her shoulders to the mattress and lifted her hips.

She wasn’t quite sure what came next. For a moment she felt like a fool with her bottom waving in the air and her sexual center exposed.

But when he teased her, rubbing his shaft against the tender flesh inside the lips of her sex, she moaned her approval. Then he brushed the end of his cock against her pearl, making it pulse with need. She was embarrassed at the amount of liquid emissions her body produced. “I’m dripping. Maybe you should dry—” He thrust.

Miri turned her face into the mattress and screamed. When Deacon froze she whispered fiercely, “That was a good sound, not a bad. I’m a big girl and I won’t break. I want this. Don’t stop.”

From that point on, he didn’t. Miri swayed with each thrust. His cock was hot and hard, pushing its way through folds of flesh that clenched, trying to hold on.

She arched her back and shifted her thighs wider, taking as much of him as she could. Each time he slid in, he seemed to penetrate deeper than the time before.

“Want more?” He thrust, pulled back and thrust again.

“Yes,” she panted. “Yes, yes, yes.”

“What about this?” He pulled her up and back on his lap, seating himself so deep her buttocks splayed open. Before she caught her breath, he cupped both breasts, took the nipples between his fingers and pinched.

Miri’s knees were tucked under her on either side of his hips. She ground her sex against his groin, letting him know this time she was in charge. He growled incoherent words of delight. She angled her head as he nipped down the line of her jaw, finally turning her head completely for his kiss.

His tongue breached her lips and she forgot everything but bliss as she lifted, came down on his cock and then rose again.

“You like that?” He stroked the nubbin of nerves at the apex of her sex, making her womb clench and milk his hard length as spasms of pleasure rippled through her.

“That’s mighty fine,” she gasped.

He ran his fingers through her wetness, stroking the soft inner lining of her cleft as he used his other hand to toy with her nipples.

“You’re new at this and I’m a greedy swine. Let me just hold you the rest of the night.” He offered to stop.

Miri wasn’t having any of that. He was hers for the night and she planned on enjoying him as long as she could.

It had been early evening when she’d entered the room. It was early morning when they lay in a tangle of body parts, replete and exhausted.

“Dammit,” Deacon cursed quietly. “Back itches,” he muttered. He sat up and scooted higher on the mattress, scratching the newly healed flesh on his back against the headboard.

Miri rolled him over so that Deacon sprawled on his front. She trailed her fingers up and down his back, rubbing more than scratching.

He groaned his thanks and practically purred under her attentions. Finally, he pulled her down beside him and arranged her so she was anchored to the bed by his arm.

“Sleep, sweetheart,” he ordered her, dropping a kiss on her forehead before he took his own advice and snored.

The way Deacon treats a woman is sure different from the way he treats a man.
Miri lay in Deacon’s arms, savoring the sound of his exhaustion as she tried to keep herself awake.

I’ve known him for over a year—spying on him, deviling him, dogging him—and finally saving his dadblamed butt.
Reckon this wasn’t a hasty coupling.
Miri patted his rump possessively and grinned as she mentally catalogued what she’d learned, aside from her carnal education, which she’d think about later.

Napkin goes on chair when finished dining, man pulls out lady’s chair, champagne fizzes, pheasant tastes like chicken.
As her body cooled, unexpected aches replaced points of satisfaction and she repressed more than one groan. Carefully, she freed herself from Deacon’s embrace, edging toward the side of the bed. She couldn’t resist one last look at him and reared up on her arm to peer through the half light at his body.

He was something, all right. She grinned, enjoying the sight of his muscled shoulders and strong thighs. She considered licking a drop of sweat to memorize his flavor, though she’d already sampled his taste earlier.

He shifted from his front to his back and as she watched, the weight of sleep settled over him and his snores deepened. She grinned wickedly, wishing she could tease him about the sounds he made when he slept.

Miri closed her eyes, distinguishing his male scent from the heady perfume left from their intimacy. One last time, she inhaled deeply, holding the essence of Deacon McCallister in her lungs before she sighed, released her breath and reluctantly focused.

Game over. Her pursuit of a criminal had certainly taken her to an unexpected location this time. Hell’s Half Acre wasn’t a town she’d usually favor, but it had led her into Deacon McCallister’s arms—a place she’d only dreamed about.

She smacked herself mentally.
Get up!
If she didn’t retrieve her prisoner soon, she was going to have a lot of explaining to do when he turned up dead under the back porch. Panic filled her and she mentally batted it away.

A lamp across the room glowed, softly outlining the way of escape. The key to the room lay on the same dresser where Miri had hastily stuffed Calvin’s suit. Sanity urged her to get up and get out.

As if sensing that she intended to leave, Deacon shifted, pulling her into his embrace and eliminating the inches she’d gained as she’d crept toward the edge of the mattress. Lord, he was warm. His chest radiated heat against her back. She resisted temptation, staying awake by recounting the steps she’d taken to get herself in this position. As of yesterday morning, she’d been on the job more than a week and as expected, she’d had no trouble with the men coming and going.

Her boss, though, had been another matter. Lydia had a penchant for finding excuses to touch her butler. Had it not been so important to keep the job, Miri would have quit, but as it was, she’d tied flat her bosom, making certain there wasn’t a thing for Lydia to feel but the very real muscles in Miri’s arms when she was running her hands up and down the suit jacket.

Since she’d been hired as Calvin, she’d avoided Lydia’s endless tweaks, pats and outright groping by staying out of her sight. The owner of the Pleasure Dome was a busy woman and it didn’t take more than one session with Lydia for Miri to memorize the madam’s schedule and hope Jackson appeared before Miri gave up and quit being Calvin the butler.

Two nights before, her whole bounty hunting scheme had flirted with disaster. Adam Crispin, the owner of a card hell down the street, had spent the evening upstairs. Lydia had walked with him down the steps as if they’d been together. She’d stood watching as he departed, making certain that he was actually going.

Miri used her formal attire and manner to sustain her role as the gentleman butler. She exhibited a half bow when admitting clients and a tilt of the head when she bade them good night. It had worked and she’d had no problem remaining anonymous and ignored. However, when Miri inclined her head at Crispin, he lunged and tried to grab Calvin’s cods.

Miri had been opening the door for the bastard when suddenly he had her pinned against it, sliding his hand down her front toward her privates. She’d caught his wrist before the grope was completed and grabbed his crotch instead. He was shorter than her by a head and she had no trouble subduing him.

Squeezing his very real balls, she’d more or less lifted him by his shoulder and half dragged, half backed him to the sidewalk. Once there, she’d made a show of picking him up and tossing him into the street.

When he’d landed, he’d gone for the fancy gun he kept hidden. She’d been expecting it. Since her new suit jacket came complete with some interesting pouches and inner pockets, she’d already palmed her knife, ready to throw. She’d pinned his sleeve to the ground before he could get off a shot.

Two Pleasure Dome bouncers had taken charge and convinced the customer to leave quietly. It could have gone differently. It hadn’t. But it had drawn Lydia’s attention.

Miri had spent the rest of the night in front of the Pleasure Dome using her cigarettes as an excuse to remain there. Lydia didn’t take to smoking, and any employee who entertained the vice had to do so outside. Miri’s defection from inside door duty went unchallenged. Any customers who arrived, she escorted to the front door, opened it and saw them in before returning to the street below.

Both of Lydia’s guards on outside night patrol had made it a point to compliment her handling of Adam Crispin. Carl, the older of the two, had offered advice.

“Calvin, you’ll get pulled into a lot of not nice things here. You seem like a decent sort, which means you aren’t for this place. ’Twas it me, I’d be moving on before Lydia moved me up.”

“I’ve been meaning to ask. What happened to the last butler?”

“Crispin.” Carl spat on the ground.

At dawn, the night watch went inside to eat breakfast, leaving the courtyard around the Pleasure Dome unguarded but for her. It was a mark of respect from Lydia’s guards that they trusted Calvin to stand watch while they were inside.

Miri had been standing on the walk, considering the possibility of leaving and not returning. Fate in the guise of Ned Jackson, or whatever he was calling himself these days, intervened. Ned rode down Rusk Street on a fancy bay, stopped in front of the Pleasure Dome, climbed down and handed her his reins.

“Take care of my animal and there’s a sawbuck in it for you.” While he’d fished in his pocket for a bill, she’d stepped close enough to take the reins and press her derringer against his side.

“If it’s a tenner you printed yourself, no thanks,” she’d drawled. “Walk with me, Ned. I’ve something to show you.”

Miri had found that most people responded to the calm voice of reason. Leading the horse and discreetly jamming her gun in Ned’s ribs, she’d reasoned him all the way to the back, intending to go to the barn, fetch Possum and leave.

She was closer to the house than the barn when a light went on in the kitchen. Before Ned could squawk or make a fuss, she’d bashed him on the skull, gagged him, tied him and rolled his body under the porch. Then she’d had a spare horse to explain, so she’d led the beast to the barn and stabled it.

She was almost to the porch with Possum, intending to hoist Ned over the saddle and leave before the day guards arrived, when one of Lydia’s inside guards, Benjamin, had stepped outside.

“Lydia wants to speak to you.”

“I’m done for the day.” She’d tried to fob him off, pointing at Possum.

“Not until you’ve talked to the boss.” He’d stood holding the door open for her expectantly. She’d tied Possum to a hitching post and like a lamb to the slaughter she’d gone back into the Pleasure Dome, hoping to avoid another pawing from the madam.

Lydia had been waiting in the hall and as soon as Miri walked through the back entrance, the madam’s hand had been on her butler’s arm, her fingers lingering a little longer than necessary.

“A knife, Calvin? You continually surprise me.” She’d felt up Miri’s suit sleeve, this time looking for more than muscle. “Crispin was only admiring my handsome butler. I’m sure he meant no harm.” She’d patted Miri’s arm playfully but her tone had been sharp.

“If you want to get rich quick, Calvin, there’s plenty besides that awkward sod who’d pay good money for what’s inside these clothes.”

“No ma’am. Just interested in downstairs work.” She’d removed the hand fondling her arm.

Miri stood at least a half foot taller than the petite madam and no doubt outweighed her by fifty pounds. The wig Calvin wore was one of the best theatrical props sold and it wouldn’t come off unless she wanted it to. But it wasn’t fear of Lydia discovering her gender that had alarmed Miri. The madam’s cold appraisal had given Miri chills.

“In the future, use your good sense, Calvin. Such public evictions give a place a bad name.” Then she’d given a throaty laugh. “I have to admit, the way you booted that nincompoop out was precious. I loved it when you had him by the nuts, walking him backward down the steps.”

Miri had been all set to leave. Possum was tied out back, ready to go. The job was finished. She’d captured her quarry and outmaneuvered her employer’s rule of sanctuary.

It was a sorry truth that Lydia’s brothel was considered neutral territory. The law was well paid to leave the customers alone until they departed the premises. To Miri’s way of thinking, men had a funny way of conducting business. They might consider the brothel a safe house for all—but she didn’t.

She’d caught her counterfeiter, he was going to justice and she was hauling his bones there. Unless he squawked about where he’d been caught, no one would know. If they found out, she’d swear to the truth—Ned Jackson had been on Rusk Street not inside the grounds of the Pleasure Dome when she’d taken him prisoner.

Success still waited under the back steps. Ned was worth fifteen hundred dollars as soon as she delivered him to the Fort Worth sheriff’s jail.

But here she lay in the bed next to Deacon, recounting the many ways her plan had gone right at the same time it had been skidding awry. After her talk with Lydia had interrupted her extraction of Jackson there had been too many tradesmen coming and going in the morning to return to him. So she’d left Possum saddled and ready while she continued to play doorman and waited for a chance to remove Ned discreetly from under the porch.