Teresa Medeiros (14 page)

Ducking his head to hide a pout, Sam tugged his hat down over his ears. Or what was left of them. The gag smothered Esmerelda’s horrified gasp.

Virgil and Jasper weren’t so easily discouraged. They exchanged a sly glance, then began to ease away from each other, plainly intending to circle around and flank them.

Tension charged the air, making Esmerelda’s nape tingle with apprehension. Her stomach churned with dread at the thought of their foul breath in her face and their filthy hands on her body. Billy no longer had to restrain her. She pressed herself against his lean, muscular body, instinctively seeking refuge.

“Don’t pay him no mind, Sam,” Jasper said, hooking his thumbs in the waistband of his chaps. “Billy’s just bein’ stingy. He always was a mama’s boy.”

Billy’s good-natured laugh masked the sound of his pistol sliding out of its holster. When it appeared in his hand, all four of his brothers stumbled backward, their hands on the grips of their own pistols. But not one of them dared to draw.

A strange thrill of exhilaration shot through Esmerelda’s veins as she realized that Billy wasn’t afraid of his brothers. He never had been. He was only afraid for her.

Her discovery didn’t lessen the shock of his pistol barrel grazing her temple. Her breath caught in her throat as Billy dragged the weapon down her cheek, then used the muzzle to tenderly tip her chin up so he could caress the vulnerable skin beneath her jaw. The cool, hard metal provided a stark contrast to the tensile heat of his hips pressed against her backside.

He slid the barrel down her throat and between her breasts, marking his territory, branding her as his own before his brothers and all the world.

He waited until he had every ounce of their slack-jawed attention before gently drawling, “You’re right about one thing, Jasper. I never did like to share what was mine.”

Esmerelda shivered. With the smoky rasp of his voice in her ear and the barrel of his pistol cradled between her breasts, it was nearly impossible to remember that he was only bluffing.

Wasn’t he?

Virgil was the first one to raise his hands in surrender. Sam and Enos immediately followed suit. Only Jasper kept his hand hovering near his holster.

Billy ignored him. “If you gentlemen will be kind enough to excuse us, I believe the lady and I will retire to the grove of mesquite on top of that bluff for a spell. We would appreciate a little privacy.” He accented his request by easing her hair aside and nuzzling her throat with his lips; the fresh shock of his warm, moist mouth against her skin made her knees buckle.

Taking advantage of her weakness, he began to waltz her backward, the pistol still gripped in his hand. “Oh, and Jasper, I’d be much obliged if you could fetch my mare. Your poor shooting gave her an awful fright.”

Jasper’s lips twitched in a feral snarl, but his hand remained frozen over his gun.

Virgil gave him a shove. “You heard the man, Jasper. Go fetch his horse.”

Jasper shook off his brother’s hand, then went plunging into the darkness, a vicious oath escaping his lips. Only then did Billy holster his gun. Enos and Sam slumped in relief.

As they passed the buckboard, Billy reached into the bed of the wagon with his free hand and snagged a bedroll.

Virgil rested his balled fists on his hips. “If you need a hand with her, just give a holler. We’d be more than obliged to help.”

“That’s a right kindly offer, but I do believe I can manage.”

As he dragged her up the rise toward the mesquite grove on top of the bluff, Billy’s grip was so implacable that Esmerelda couldn’t help kicking her feet and choking out a whimper of protest. Had he rescued her or betrayed her? Was he the same man who had caught her when she swooned and tenderly cradled her in his arms, or a ruthless stranger who had every intention of carrying out his implied threat?

Before they could reach the tenuous privacy of the mesquites, Billy had a hellcat in his arms. Even with her hands bound, Esmerelda managed to twist around and club him in the chest. Her feet beat a savage tattoo against his shins. He cast a frantic glance backward to make sure they were out of his brothers’ sight before hefting her over his shoulder where he hoped she could do less harm.

Her linked fists slammed into his kidney, making him bite off a heartfelt oath. He anchored her bottom with one hand, unfurled the bedroll with the other, then dumped her unceremoniously on top of the coarse woolen blanket.

Billy followed her down, thinking only to bury his laughter in the sweet-smelling spill of her hair. “That was quite a performance, honey. I doubt Sagebrush Sally down at the old Divine Theater in Santa Fe could have done any finer.”

When her passionate squirming failed to subside, he lifted his head. His grin slowly faded as he realized her struggles were genuine—as genuine as the panic gleaming in her eyes.

“Aw, hell,” he breathed. He’d spent too much of his life raging at his own helplessness not to recognize the signs in someone else.

“Hang on, sweetheart. Just hang on,” he murmured as he reached around and began to tear at the knot binding Esmerelda’s wrists.

As soon as she was free, she swung on him, her fist connecting soundly with his jaw. He took one or two of her clumsy blows, figuring she owed him that much, before recapturing her slender wrists in one of his hands and pinning them above her head.

He allowed her to buck and heave until she realized she wasn’t going anywhere with six feet two inches of well-muscled male lying on top of her. Only then did her struggles subside. Only then did her eyes focus, glaring furiously at him over the gag.

Wisely keeping his fingers out of biting range, he loosened the bandanna and tugged the damp handkerchief from her mouth. Her breath escaped in a furious sob. Billy nearly smiled, pleased somehow that even now, she was more riled than afraid.

“How dare you take such frightful liberties with my person?” she hissed, bright enough even in a temper to realize that his brothers might very well be lurking just below the bluff, their ears pricked to hear their every word.

“I didn’t have any choice,” he hissed back. “I had to stake my claim on you before one of my brothers decided to.”

“Why couldn’t you simply explain to them that you were in my employ?”

He snorted. “Trust me. They wouldn’t have been impressed. The very idea of one of their own working for a woman would have only made them itch to put her in her place.”

“Which is?”

Billy briefly considered glossing over the truth, but decided it would do her far more harm to underestimate his brothers than to think the worst of him. He met her eyes squarely. “Flat on her back with her skirts up and her drawers down.”

Esmerelda’s mouth fell open, then snapped shut, as if she’d suddenly realized how perilously close she was to that exact posture. Her body quivered beneath his, but her whisper was steady. “Your brothers may be afraid of you, Mr. Darling, but I, most certainly, am not.”

Sobered by her lie, Billy said, “I never wanted you to be. And I had no choice but to make my brothers afraid of me. From the moment I was born, they were bigger than me, stronger than me, and meaner than me. If I wanted to survive, I had to prove I was smarter, crazier, and a better shot.”

“Is that why you shot off your own brother’s ear?”

Billy frowned, baffled by her assumption. “I never shot off anybody’s ear. I was only ten the last time Samuel and I scrapped.” At her relieved sigh, his frown curled into a wicked grin. “I bit it off”

Esmerelda recoiled from his bared teeth, as if afraid he just might bite her, too. It wasn’t as if he wouldn’t like to, Billy thought, remembering the moment when he’d pressed his open mouth to her throat. By rights, she should have tasted like sweat and trail dust, but her flavor lingered on his lips, sweeter than anything he’d sampled for a very long time. Sweeter even than the ripe, juicy peaches she smelled like. It made him wonder what she might taste like
in other places. Made him want to do something even more foolish than biting her, like stealing a taste of those tender lips trembling only a breath away from his own.

Stung by the raw power of the temptation, he released her wrists and rolled off of her.

He half expected her to strike out at him again, but she took advantage of her freedom to scramble to her feet. He caught her wrist before she could take a single step.

“Let me go!” she whispered between clenched teeth, attempting to twist out of his grasp.

“Not until I make sure you’re not thinking about bolting out of here and tempting one of my brothers to put a bullet in your back.”

Esmerelda sank down in a puddle of skirts, her sullen pout informing him that was precisely what she’d been thinking.

She made a great show of searching her wrists for bruises, frowning with disappointment when she didn’t find any. “I hate to be rude, Mr. Darling, but I really don’t care much for those brothers of yours.”

He shrugged, hoping the casual gesture didn’t reveal more than it hid. “They weren’t always so bad. Prone to mischief as most boys are, I suppose. If it hadn’t been for the war, they’d have probably raised a little hell, then settled down with the first farmer’s daughter they got with child. Provided her pa wanted a wedding and a son-in-law more than a funeral and a bastard, that is.” Esmerelda’s shocked expression stopped him from telling her that would have probably been his fate as well. “But riding with Quantrill and Anderson changed them—cut a mean stripe in their hides that’s been festering ever since.”

She shivered and began to toy with the pleats of her skirt, avoiding his eyes. “What would you have done if they’d have
called your bluff tonight when you drew your pistol? If Virgil had rushed you or Jasper had drawn his own gun?”

Billy’s jaw tightened as he remembered how Jasper had ogled her breasts, the greedy way Virgil’s tongue had snaked out to wet his lips, as if she was nothing more than a cheap piece of horehound candy to be devoured in one brutal bite.

“I’d have pulled the trigger,” he said flatly, surprised to realize he meant it.

Her head whipped up before he could wipe the murderous expression off his face. Her brown eyes shimmered with a curious mix of disbelief and wonder. “You’d have shot one of your own brothers. For me?”

Billy was as staggered as she was by the depth of his urge to protect her. He never could stand to see anyone bully a woman. Which was exactly why Miss Mellie and the girls had been so delighted to have him living in their attic. His presence alone discouraged most of their rougher customers. But what he felt as he gazed into Esmerelda’s eyes was something more primitive. And far more dangerous. Especially for a man with his temper.

Although the shape no longer felt natural, Billy forced his mouth into a mocking smile. “I’d have done the same for any lady,” he assured her, though he wasn’t at all sure he would.

He would have almost sworn he glimpsed a hint of disappointment in her eyes, but before he could be sure, she bowed her head, hiding her face behind a curtain of hair. “How very gallant of you, Mr. Darling.”

“Billy,” he whispered, tipping her chin up so he could search her eyes.

“Hey, Billy!” Virgil’s booming voice sent a violent start through Esmerelda. “It’s awful quiet up there, son. You need
me to come up and remind you how to make a woman squeal?”

Billy touched a warning finger to Esmerelda’s lips before calling out, “Don’t bother, Virg. I remember more about making a woman squeal than you ever learned.”

A derisive hoot of laughter greeted his retort. Exchanging a wary glance, he and Esmerelda crawled forward on their stomachs and elbows to peer down into the canyon. The faint glow of a fire and the clink of a bottle being passed from hand to hand warned them that their worst fear had been realized. His brothers had camped in the small valley just below the bluff.

“Damn,” he whispered. “I was afraid of this. They’re not going to give us a moment’s peace until we give them a taste of what they’re hungry for.”

“How about some arsenic?” Esmerelda muttered.

Billy bit back a grin. “A little noise should satisfy them for a while.”

“Noise?” she echoed, turning her head to blink at him.

He cleared his throat, wondering why it had suddenly gotten so hard to swallow. “You know—a few whimpers, a couple of moans, maybe a grunt or two thrown in to make it convincing.”

Even though they were both lying prone, Esmerelda still managed to look down her nose at him. “I do not grunt, Mr. Darling.”

Although she seemed merely bemused by his request, Billy realized with horror that he was on the verge of blushing like a virgin. He rubbed the back of his neck and clenched his teeth. “If you could just make the sort of sound a woman makes when a man comes into her …”

Esmerelda looked so blank that Billy decided she was either utterly innocent or a much more cunning actress than he’d suspected. Then her cheeks burst into crimson
flames. “Oh! You mean the sort of noises that woman was making back at the … the …”

“Whorehouse,” he drawled, beginning to enjoy the game now that he was holding the winning hand. “Yeah, like maybe you don’t like what I’m doing to you at first, but then I make you like it even if you don’t want to.”