The Devil of Whiskey Row (2 page)

His mouth twitched in a smirk.

* * *

Cora's hair was unpinned, falling in soft blond curls down her long neck and over her shoulders. She had big blue eyes, but the innocence of her youth had long since left them. And yes, even up close, she looked just like
her
.

Used to seeing his girls in every stage of dress and undress, he hadn't given thought to her modesty, but a slight color had flushed her cheeks, belying discomfort. She'd lifted her chin though, and moved her arms to give him a full view. He did not allow himself to take in more than a glance, but with it, he saw that her breasts were perfection—moon-pale and perky, as youthful and fresh as her dimpled face.

The day her parents had been murdered, Smoochy had produced proof that her father owed him everything. And it seemed irrefutable—John Underhill, the wealthy financier whom they thought owned notes on almost everyone in the valley, had not only sold all the notes to Smoochy, but he'd been borrowing against them, owing him more than his house and personal property would cover. Smoochy had played it real sweet, showed her how much she still owed him, and acted as if he was doing her an enormous favor taking her in and allowing her to work off her father's debt. Jake had been outraged—he'd gone down and tried to buy her out, but Jake's interest in her only made Smoochy more stubborn and had frightened Cora. She'd clung to Smoochy's arm, demanding he get out or she'd call the sheriff. Smoochy had wrapped an arm around the girl and smirked, watching as Jake reluctantly left her to his care.

“Did you set the fire?” she demanded now, her voice so hoarse from the smoke it came out in a raspy croak. Though she looked at him boldly, he saw fear in the slight tremor of her strawberry lips.

His eyebrows shot up. “Is that what you think?” No wonder she'd been so reluctant to come here. He shook his head. “No, lass, I didn't. Not that I haven't been tempted to put my competition out of business at times.”

She gave him a sharp look, and he guessed she'd heard the story of how he came to own Daddy Diggs’.

“No, that fire at Smoochy's could have set all of Whiskey Row aflame, so even if I had wanted Smoochy dead, I'd have chosen a neater method.”

He noticed her lower lip was swollen and bloody, as if a tooth had gone through it. He reached out to touch it, carefully. “Who did that?”

She jerked her face away and gave him an insolent shrug. “What do you want?” she demanded, but her voice cracked, ruining the effect.

He sat back on the stool to give her a little space. “Nothing. You have no cause to fear me, Cora. You can stay here, if you want. Or you can go. You're not my prisoner.”

She looked at him dubiously.

“If you stay, you can work the floor and I'll pay you fifty percent of the take, minus your room and board. Or you can help with the cooking and cleaning for room and board only.”

She stared at him. “Fifty percent of the take?”

“Minus your room and board.”

“So what's that work out to?”

“I would charge twenty dollars a night for you, so your take would be ten dollars, minus two for your expenses—eight dollars a night.”

He saw her breath quicken and she licked her cracked lips eagerly. “That's what you pay your girls?”

“Aye, that's what I pay them. And in exchange, my girls obey me and my rules.” He let that sink in for a moment. “Can you do that, Cora?”

He waited, unnerved by how much he wanted her to say yes—how much he wanted her as part of his odd little family.

She hesitated, then nodded slowly. “Yes, sir.”

Satisfaction eased his shoulders. “Good girl. I promise I'll keep you safe. No customer of mine will leave a mark like that on you without paying dearly for it,” he assured her.

Cora's eyes rounded and her fingers touched her injured lip. “I guess the son-of-a-bitch got what he deserved tonight, anyhow,” she croaked.

He quirked his head. “Aye, I'm sure he did. But I'll ask you not to swear again. I run a high-class operation here, and I expect my girls to act like ladies. You were raised well, so I know you know how. If I hear you curse again, I'll take you over my knee for a spanking. Understand?”

She stared at him, looking dumbfounded.

“What do you think your parents would think to hear you use language like that?”

At the mention of her parents, she recoiled as if he'd slapped her. Her face flushed in anger and she stood up in the water, hands balled into fists. “Go to hell!”

He groaned inwardly, but reached for her wrist and tugged her toward him, out of the tub. He never made a threat without following through. He pulled her across his lap and without preamble, began to spank her wet bottom soundly. The water sprayed in tiny droplets with each loud smack of his palm, increasing the sting for both of them. She kicked and listed to the side to escape, but he held her firmly around the waist, pinning her legs with one of his and paddling her round cheeks. He spanked and spanked, hoping her struggles would cease and he could let her up, but she seemed determined to fight him. He continued to spank until her pale skin held the pink and then began to turn a deeper shade of red. Striated pucker marks stood up in places and she was still fighting him when he gave up on her submission and applied several last hard swats to the backs of her thighs. He rested his tingling hand on her heated flesh.

He could hear her ragged breathing, but she hadn't uttered any cries or whimpers, nor had she pleaded for him to stop. He rubbed her bottom lightly. It was perfectly shaped, like two round orbs—the firm muscle offering a satisfying, springy target. He didn't know how Smoochy had disciplined Cora, but he imagined it was far more brutal than spanking.

Jake loved to spank. He loved the act of spanking and he loved that his girls submitted willingly to his discipline—even seemed to crave it as attention from him. Spanking was not overly painful, but it was humbling for the recipient. For the disciplinarian, it was an act of dominance, a declaration of power.

Since he hadn't achieved her submission, he worked the dominance angle with Cora, spreading her cheeks and pressing his middle finger to the entrance of her anus. She stiffened like a board, squeezing her cheeks together tightly and lifting her torso horizontal to the floor. He applied several hard slaps to the back of her thighs, this time eliciting a tiny squeak.

“Cora,” he said gently, “you agreed to my rules, you agreed to my discipline.”

She shook her head rapidly. “No!” she gasped.

He ignored her protest, parting her cheeks again and pressing his finger more insistently, until he breached the entryway to her tight hole. She gave a wavering moan. He applied a few more spanks to her blushing bottom and then slowly guided her torso upright, careful not to let his finger pull too much at the delicate hole. He used his embedded finger to draw her closer, so she stood between his knees. He squeezed her tightened bottom with his other hand, kneading the firm muscle and admiring the heat still radiating from it. Her breasts were eye level, as magnificent as he'd suspected earlier—twin peaches with rosy nipples pointing cheerfully toward the ceiling. Already highly aroused from spanking her, he had to resolutely lift his chin to gaze into her face, shifting in his seat to accommodate his hardened cock.

He had a firm rule against sleeping with his girls. He couldn't be their daddy if he let things get confused with sex.

He stroked her flank, keeping his finger firmly pressed within her, feeling her muscles tightening spasmodically around it. When her lips began to tremble and he sensed her resistance crumbling, he slipped his finger out of her bottom, continuing to hold her hips.

“I remember your parents,” he said with true sympathy. “They were good people.”

At that, her face contorted. He pulled her into his lap before the first sob erupted.

Chapter Two

Cora was blinded by her tears, but Diggory's strong arms pulled her against his chest as he deftly wrapped a blanket around her. She curled into him, sobbing into his collar while he rocked gently.

“I'm sure you miss them very much,” he murmured in his deep voice, his Irish accent only adding to his cursed intrigue. His words sparked a renewed wave of sobbing. He stroked her back and kissed her wet hair. Confusion swirled through her mind. One minute, the Devil Diggory was the enemy, claiming her from the fire, walking in on her naked in the bath, spanking her raw. The next, he was comforting her and making her feel safer than she had since she was a child in her mother's arms.

“What would you know?” she sobbed bitterly, then coughed, her lungs still irritated by the smoke.

“Mmm. I know you didn't deserve the fate you landed, working for Smoochy as a two-bit whore. I know you think your parents would roll over in their graves if they saw you now, and it breaks your heart. But you know what?”

He cupped her face, holding her jaw and pulling her away from him so she was forced to look into his eyes. They were dark brown, and warmer than she might have imagined. “It's not your fault.”

The certainty with which he made that pronouncement took her breath away. She stared at him, disbelieving, but desperate to hear his reasoning.

“I've learned, life is a like a raging river. You get tossed into it, and the most you can do is just keep your head above water. If you're lucky enough to find firm ground, you climb out and make what you can of it. That's all there is to it, Cora. You've done the best you could with what you were given. Your father shouldn't have bargained with your future, but he did, and he lost. And so you lost.”

Her eyes smarted with tears again. How did the Devil Diggory know so much about her?

“I thought it was a terrible travesty when Smoochy took you down there. That was why I tried to buy you out of that fate—it wasn't to force you to work for me.”

He had tried to buy her. She remembered that night clearly—the same evening Smoochy had gently led her from her parents’ dead bodies to his brothel. Diggory had shown up and tried to purchase her like a cow at auction, which had been even more terrifying than realizing she had no choice but to work for Smoochy. It was part of the reason she couldn't trust him now. Except that he seemed completely sincere.

“What would you have done with me?” she probed suspiciously.

He cocked his head and looked at her thoughtfully, then shrugged. “I don't know, honestly. Sent for your kin, if you had any. Paid for your travel out of Dorado Hills. Anything but let an innocent lass be corrupted by
this
.” His upper lip curled as he waved a hand to indicate his establishment. She frowned, surprised to realize he might not relish his success as a brothel and gambling hall owner.

“But why would you care what happened to me?” she demanded.

His expression turned to stone. “You remind me of someone I once knew,” he said.

As if to preempt any further questions in that direction, he stood, lifting her into his arms and laying her on the bed. “You can sleep in this bed tonight, but you'll have a bunk at the end of the hall where you'll keep your things and stay when you're not entertaining.”

“I don't have any things,” she muttered.

He looked down at her kindly and stroked her wet hair back from her face. “I know you don't, sweetheart. But you will. Listen, I'm going to use this bathwater since it's been drawn, to try to wash off the smell of smoke. Turn your back if it bothers you.”

It did bother her, but, devil take her, she could not make herself turn around. She lay on the bed, watching with nothing short of fascination as Diggory shucked his shirt and pants. His back rippled with firm muscle, tapering to a narrow waist and strong legs. She could see a long scar looking like a knife wound ran along his side to his back. Word was Jake Diggory may dress and talk like a gentleman, but he fought like a
bandito
. He was quick with a gun and brutal with his fists. No one in Dorado Hills crossed him.
Ever.

Rosa, one of the whores at Smoochy's place, had told her the story of how Jake Diggory came to own his gambling hall. “He worked there, as a strong arm, running the gambling tables and playing the piano for the French girls’ dancing routine. Jenson,
el señor
who owned it then, he did something bad to one of the girls—cut her with a knife, I think, or beat her real good. They say Diggory killed him with his bare hands—he could have used a gun, but he preferred to fight like a wild dog. They say you couldn't even recognize Jenson's face when he was through with him.”

Cora had shivered, but secretly admired his defense of the girl. At Smoochy's, no one protected them from their boss, who had done as he pleased, taken whomever he pleased, or beaten whomever he pleased. She mused now on Diggory's promise that no one would hurt her on his watch. Maybe it was true.

“The girls, they all covered it up for him,” Rosa had said. “The body disappeared and no one would tell the sheriff anything. Afterward, they say Diggory was going to leave Dorado Hills, but the girls begged him to stay, said they needed a man to protect them. And then Smoochy goes over, sniffing around to see if he might take over and Daddy Diggs puts his gun right in Smoochy's face, tells him to turn around, walk back to his place, and never set foot there again. And it's been Daddy Diggs’ ever since.”

She watched him now, cupping his hands in the water to splash it over his head, where it streamed down over his face. Her body was in a wild state—her bottom still stung from the spanking and her back hole burned, yet she felt warm from the gentle way he'd cradled her afterward. Something about his acknowledgment of her parents—that he'd known them, that he thought they were good people, had awakened some part of her she'd thought was dead. It was as if the old Cora, the real Cora, was suddenly stirring somewhere deep within her. And for some reason, Jake Diggory made it seem like he knew that girl.

But still she didn't trust him.

She wondered if he would force her to service him. Or maybe the better question was
when
. Her skin prickled with heat at the thought, which was a new feeling for her. Could it be she actually
wanted
him to use her? Certainly not. She had never, in the five years she'd been selling her body for money, wanted a man. Yet now she felt a tiny thrill of excitement at the thought of Diggory—dark, unyielding, and downright dangerous—taking her for his pleasure.