No Other Man (21 page)

"How so?"

"I understand you will be going into hostile
territory." She gulped down the brandy and once again a flood of warmth
and conviction filled her.

"And you're concerned?" he inquired. Once again, he
was behind her. The glass was plucked from her hands. She felt his hands on her
shoulders.

"Well... naturally."

He turned her around, lifting her chin. "But you said
you would gladly see me slain and scalped by my own kind or any other."

She wanted to lower her chin. He wasn't going to allow

it.

"We all say things in anger," she murmured.

She saw a slight smile upon his lips. Skylar exhaled and was
afraid for a second that she wouldn't be able to catch her breath again. He
seemed even more formidable than usual this evening: taller, his body more
tense.

"So you actually are concerned."

"Yes."

"But surely I am a hostile myself in your eyes."

"Your charade when we met was cruel," she told him,
forcing the words to be a reproachful whisper and nothing more.

"But it wasn't really a charade. You quickly saw all
that I am."

"Perhaps that's true," she murmured. She lifted a
hand in a helpless gesture. "I just... I was surprised that you would
leave without saying a word. I didn't want you to leave with—with so much
hostility between us."

"Ah!" he murmured. He was behind her again, his fingers
on her shoulders moving lightly beneath the straps of her silk gown. His husky
whisper was warm against her ear. "Then, could it be that you missed me
last night?"

One of the straps fell from her shoulder. He pressed his lips
against her bare flesh. She closed her eyes, stunned by the sensations that
such a simple touch could create within her. Something hot and powerful seemed
to race through her body. She gritted her teeth together very hard. In all the
time that she had fought the arousal his touch created, she had never felt
quite so swiftly inundated with desire.

Tonight, when it mattered most that she take the greatest
care...

"I..." It was difficult to speak. She had come here
to seduce him. To tantalize him, elicit promises from him. But his arms had
slipped around her from behind. The searing brush of his mouth moved against
her shoulder. His right hand stroked down her side, over her ribs, cupped her
breast through the silk, his thumb and forefinger rubbing her nipple erotically
through the thin fabric. She began to ache, burn, long ...

For more.

"Did you ... miss me?" he whispered against her
flesh.

She had to remember why she had come.
"Yes, I did. I will miss you. Must you ... go?"

For a moment, he stopped caressing her.

"Yes, I must," he told her.

"If you must leave me ..."

"Yes?"

"Would you please make arrangements so that I can be
more independent from the household?"

There was silence, just his touch, then a murmur.

"Ummm..."

He agreed, did he?

He shifted the other strap of the gown from her shoulder,
pressing his lips once more where his fingers had been. She was vaguely aware
of the sultry feel of the silk as it slid down over her breasts and her hips to
the floor. Both of his hands were upon her breasts, encircling them, palming
them, the touch almost unbearably erotic.

"Of course, my dear, for a woman of such inestimable
value!" he whispered very huskily. His hands moved over her, skimming her
ribs. Her waist, her hips. His lips continued to move over her bare shoulders.
His hands moved lower, his palms pressing upon her mound, his fingers stroking
lower against her thighs. She felt his mouth, moving downward, stroke by
stroke, his tongue touching upon the vertebrae in her back. Unwittingly she
leaned against him, arching like a cat to capture the exquisite feel of him.
She'd promised never to give herself to him, and she'd kept that promise. Yet
tonight she had a mission, and she was suddenly achingly glad of that mission
because she so desperately longed to allow herself to
feel,
perhaps, to give ...

Suddenly he turned her within his arms, cupping her chin,
raising her face to his. His kiss was fierce, his tongue forcing her lips
apart, stroking and ravaging her mouth. He moved back slightly, ripping open
his white shirt, then drawing her against him. Fire snaked through her. She
rose up on her toes, hesitant, then daring, kissing his throat, tasting the
bronze flesh with the tip of her tongue, instinctively discovering the right
movements, savoring the heat of his bronzed chest. He wrenched the shirt from
his body. She continued to move against his chest, her hair brushing his flesh,
her lips, tongue and teeth teasing it. He threaded his fingers into her hair,
lifting her face to his once again, finding her lips, kissing her with hot,
open-mouthed passion as he kicked off his boots, then unbuckled his belt
urgently with his free hand, dropping his pants. Still holding her to his kiss,
he stepped from them. She drew from the heady force of his kiss, gasping and
trembling, yet craving more. She touched him, moved against him, exploring each
ripple and crease of his muscles, finding an erotic new power in the shudders she
sent rippling forcefully through his body. There was a curious sweet pleasure
in knowing him, in glorying in him, in realizing how finely honed he was, how
perfect in his masculinity. There was that... and then a reckless, spiraling
fever, a need that surged in her blood; she wasn't aware of anything but the
heat enamating from him, the power of him, her need for him. Everything within
her cried out to respond to the least suggestion from him. Instinct alone made
her crush herself fully against him, rubbing her breasts and body down the
length of his as she slipped to her knees. Her hands cradled the hardness of
his buttocks. She nuzzled his thighs, the silk of her hair teasing him with her
every movement. His fingers curled into the tendrils. A shudder ripped and tore
violently through the length of her as she first tentatively curled her fingers
nround his sex. Nothing had ever seemed so hot, so vivid, so filled with
violent pulsing. His fingers dug with greater pressure into her hair. Crushed
her against him. Again, instinct told her what to do. And the sensual fever
that ran hotly through her body caused her to do it well.

She was suddenly all but dragged to her feet and thrown upon
the bed. He caught her knees and forced them apart. She braced, her eyes
closed, expecting the savage thrust of Ins body. Instead she felt his touch,
parting her, opening her. Felt his hair brush her thighs, his fingers probe,
caress, discover...

She gasped, tossing and struggling to be freed from his
weight. She'd never imagined there could be such a tiny part of her body that
created such agonizingly sweet sensations. Yet it was not over. The sensations
built slowly, deliberately, until the whole of her body was wracked with them,
the climax burning throughout her, so sweetly intense that the world seemed to
blacken and pale.

And only then did she feel the force of him invade her. The
fullness of his body penetrating her. She lay still, stunned at first, unable
to move, aware only of the size and force and fullness of him. Then suddenly,
it began again, friction that seduced. That created new fire, ignited her
hunger again, the need again, the yearning. The desperate desire to reach that
pinnacle again when the light of the fire seemed to burst, and to saturate her
body with the deliciousness of it....

His climax was the catalyst to hers. The staggering force of
him against her as he rained his seed into her brought the searing sensations
within her to a peak. Her nails clawed heedlessly into his shoulders and back.
Gasps and sobs were wrenched from her. She was drenched with perspiration,
keenly aware of the wetness and sleekness of his body as well, yet once again
the sheer intensity of the sensation seemed to create blinding light... and
then a fall of gray shadows upon her...

Later, she was aware. Aware that she lay at his side, aware
that the bed remained covered, that they both lay naked. The candles had burned
down to nothing. They were in his room. She had come here. To do this.

Yet it
didn't matter. She was still steeped in the extraordinary sensations she'd
experienced. She'd tasted before the possibilities of pleasure she could have
at his hands, but she'd never imagined how amazingly exquisite it would be. She
wanted to close her eyes and savor the feelings forever, be cocooned within
them.

At her
side, he shifted. She opened her eyes and found him staring at her.

"Just how much money is it that you want?"

"What?" she managed.

"How
much money. I'm assuming it must be a lot, for such a performance."

She
stared back at him, shocked. The sweet cocoon around her seemed to shatter like
glass.

"The
amount will be intriguing. I'm supposedly a wealthy man, but I wonder just how
often even I could afford an evening like this."

She
closed her eyes quickly again, astonished at the depth of the hurt that filled
her, afraid that tears would fall and betray her completely after this
devastating humiliation.

Her
eyes flew open. She cried and hit him, trying to punch him out of her way. She
caught his chin, but he barely seemed to feel the blow. She nearly rose to her
feet, but he grappled her back down, his countenance grim.

"What
do you think you're going to do, go running through the halls naked? And what
then? Do you think you can race to your room like some kind of princess and
shut me out?"

"You are a—"

"You came for money! Admit it."

"I
came for money!" she cried out, glaring at him, her eyes shimmering.

"How
much, damn you? Let's see how much you think you were worth!"

"Sweet
Jesu! Did you treat your last wife so?" she de- manded in turn. "Then
surely, she most probably died to escape you!"

The
fury in his eyes frightened her so that she closed her eyes, nearly crying out.
But no blow fell upon her and she opened her eyes. A chilling dismay swept over
her at the way he looked at her. She was the wronged party! she wanted to cry
out, but her pride saved her.

"I—I
don't understand you!" she choked out, barely able to hold back her tears.
"No man leaves his wife with—with nothing."

"Damn
you. I'm asking again. How much money do you need?"

"About a hundred dollars," she said warily.

He
arched a brow, sinking back on his haunches. "You do value yourself, Lady
Douglas!"

She
ignored his mockery. "You asked me what I need!"

"For what?" he demanded.

"I..."

"For what?"

"My sister!" she cried out.

"Sister?" he repeated, amazed.

"Yes!
My sister," she hissed. "I need to wire money to her for travel
expenses. I want to bring her—here."

"You have one sister?"

"Yes."

"Older, younger? What's her name?"

"Two years younger. Sabrina."

"I
see." What did he see? She had never been in a more miserable position,
trapped, with him settled back on his haunches atop her, her hips caught
between the lock of his thighs as he stared down at her, ready to make demands.

"Have
you more siblings? Brothers? What of your mother and father? Other family? Will
I be bringing scores of citizens westward?" He shrugged with a mocking
glint to his eyes. "Such a procession could prove infinitely entertaining,
I imagine."

She
felt her cheeks redden, and she longed to strike out at him.

"Take care!" he suggested lightly.

"I
have one sister," she snapped out, her lashes lowered as she
self-consciously crossed her arms over her chest, very aware now of both her
nakedness and her vulnerability.

"No other family?"

"My
parents are dead. I—" She broke off, fighting her temper and her unease.
She stared at him and spoke as softly as she could manage and with all the
dignity she could gather under the circumstances. "It is very important to
me.... Please, I need to bring her out here."

He wouldn't deny her such a thing, would he?

But he
shook his head. "A hundred dollars is much more than her journey here is
going to cost her."

Skylar
lowered her lashes again. "We—we have a few accounts that must be
settled."

She
looked at him. He seemed to accept that, yet still seemed somewhat amazed and
puzzled by what he was hearing.

"You
needn't think that my sister will be a burden to you. She won't be. She won't
bother you. Or get in your way. I swear it—"

He
lifted a hand. "Had you wished to bring half a dozen sisters into this
house, I wouldn't have been bothered. I'm merely having a difficult time
understanding you. All that you want is to send your sister money to come live
out here. Have I got this right?" he demanded.

She nodded. It was mostly the truth.

"You
little fool. Why didn't you just come right out and ask me? You could have
saved yourself... this evening."

"You mean—"

"I'll
see that the money is wired first thing in the morning."

"Oh
..." she breathed. "I don't want to trouble you. If you just give me
the legal right, I can take care of everything. I don't want to ruin your
trip, or delay it."

"The
trip you're so concerned about me taking, right?" he demanded dryly.

"I understand it's important to you—"

"Yes, it is."

"Then I wouldn't want to interfere."

He
watched her gravely, then smiled wryly, but there was little; humor in his
eyes.

"You're the most incredible little liar."

"Damn
you, I'm not lying," she inhaled, fighting back her temper, hating to
acknowledge gratitude toward him in any way. "I'm grateful that you'll
send for Sabrina, and I don't mean to delay something that's important to you.
And speak of incredible liars! How you could ever fault me after the performance
you put on when you pretended to attack the stagecoach—well, you've incredible
gall!"