A Lady of the West Read online

  Jake kept Victoria at his side. As darkness blotted out the sky the bright Mexican lanterns cast their magic over the courtyard and the laughter ringing out eased Jake’s tension.

  Without a word he put his arm around Victoria’s waist and eased her against him, moving her into the slow shuffle that was all he knew how to do. She gave him a quick, startled look, then relaxed in his arms. Her head dropped onto his shoulder and she sighed, but he thought it was a sigh of contentment, or at least relief.

  She felt so delicate in his arms. Her bones were as slender as a child’s, her shoulders straight but still only a little more than half as broad as his. Her head tucked neatly under his chin, and the sweet, faint perfume of her hair elusively teased him. Her breasts were soft against him; he remembered how round they were, how pale and delicately veined, and how he had rubbed his face against them. Her slender thighs moved gracefully against his as they swayed together in dance; last night they had clasped around his buttocks in eager passion.

  He had been half-aroused all day, unable to keep his thoughts from returning time and again to the night before. Now his erection pushed painfully against his pants, and he stifled a groan as he unobtrusively moved her in a hidden caress against his swollen groin. She looked up at him, and he saw her swallow. Her blue eyes were shadowed, but she made no protest, and after a moment she returned her head to his shoulder.

  Ben leaned against one of the posts, watching Jake dance with his new wife. He liked Victoria, but then he should have known that Jake never would have planned to marry her if she’d been a shrill, condescending sort. He didn’t know what they would have done, but marrying her would have been out.

  He looked around the courtyard and caught sight of Emma dancing with Lonny, of all people. Ben would have sworn that Lonny had never even seen a dance before, but there he was, whirling and stomping and having the time of his life. Emma was laughing. Ben stiffened, his eyes narrowing as he stared at her. She wouldn’t even look at him, but she’d dance with every clumsy cowhand who asked her.

  Lola brought out refreshments, doughnuts and some squares of plain cake. The men swooped down on the doughnuts, which they called “bear sign,” with yells of delight, and the dancing momentarily stopped. When it started again, Ben noticed that Emma laughingly declined all invitations in favor of some much needed rest. She found a seat on a bench at the opposite side of the courtyard from where he stood and contentedly watched the others dance. Most of the men were dancing with each other since there were so few women, but it made no difference to the mood of celebration.

  Ben made his way around the courtyard and came up behind Emma. She didn’t know he was there until he propped his boot on the bench beside her, and leaned forward to rest his arm on his raised knee. “How long are you going to run away from me because of what happened?” he asked in a cool, hard voice.

  Emma didn’t look at him. “Nothing happened, Mr. Sarratt.” Her voice was as cool as his.

  “The hell it didn’t. You got me hard, and we both enjoyed it.”

  She hitched her shawl higher on her arms, but still didn’t look at him. “I think, Mr. Sarratt, that you must be used to a different type of female. I’m not responsible for your—your body, and neither do I enjoy being treated like a slut who would welcome your rubbing.”

  Ben’s voice got even harder. “What I think, Miss Gann, is that your personality would be a lot sweeter if you had more rubbing.”

  Though Emma knew it was dangerous even to continue this wildly improper conversation, let alone make it even more personal, she couldn’t prevent herself from sneering, “From you? You flatter yourself.”

  Ben straightened, a little shocked, then stepped over the bench to stand in front of her. Without a word he caught her wrist and pulled her to her feet, then dragged her out of the courtyard. Emma cried out a protest, but there was so much noise that no one noticed. When they were outside he whirled her around and flattened her against the wall, holding her there with both hands clasping her rib cage. Only a few inches separated them; he smelled hot and faintly sweaty, and she trembled with primitive response.

  Out here it was dark, although light and music and gaiety were just on the other side of the wall. A peculiar bubble of silence surrounded them, broken only by the raspy sound of his breathing.

  He bent his head. Emma pushed her hands against his chest and said sharply, “Don’t you dare!” but her protest was useless. His mouth covered hers, and when she tried to turn her head away he shifted his hold on her so that her head was anchored against his shoulder, his hand clenched in her hair to hold her still. The hard pressure of his mouth bruised her soft lips. Desperately she bit him, her teeth sinking into his lower lip. He cursed and jerked his head away, and wiped at the blood that smeared his mouth.

  “Do that again and I’ll blister your bare ass,” he snarled.

  Emma found that she couldn’t free herself from his tight grip. She threw her head back as she faced him defiantly. “You were hurting me! Was I supposed to do nothing?”

  He paused, then said, “I guess not.” He lifted his fingers to her lips and lightly rubbed them. Even in the faint light spilling over the wall he could see that they were already getting puffy. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  She could barely breathe, though she struggled to draw air into her constricted lungs. She wished he would release her, wished she couldn’t feel his hard body pressing against her from breast to knee. She pushed against his chest again and found that the effort still had no effect.

  He was still looking at her mouth. “We have to do something about this,” he said under his breath.

  “No, we don’t,” she quickly replied.

  He gave a soft laugh. “That’s what you think, girl.” Then he kissed her again, claiming her lips with hunger, but no longer with violence. He moved his tongue into her mouth, penetrating deeply and drinking her taste. Emma jerked in his arms, then the tension abruptly drained out of her body and she sank against him.

  A fine, heady madness welled up in her, born of the increasing pleasure she felt at his invasive kisses. She wound her arms around his neck and forgot about the protests she should make, forgot that no man could possibly respect a woman who let him kiss her like this unless they were engaged. Nor did she protest when he slid his hand to her bottom and arched her forward, nestling his hardness in the notch of her legs as he had done the day he’d wrestled her to the ground. Instead she whimpered, her head falling back to rest against the wall, and her legs parted even more in an instinctive yielding. Ben instantly took advantage, his hips moving in the slow grind and thrust of sex. He put his hand on her breast, kneading the soft mound through the barrier of her clothes. He felt her tremble, felt her legs give way, and caught her weight against him.

  He kissed her jaw and the soft hollow below her ear, his mouth hot and wet. “Have you had a man before?” he asked roughly, praying that the answer would be yes.

  But she dazedly shook her head. “No,” she whispered.

  He swore mentally for a long time, using every curse word he’d ever heard and coming up with a few new combinations. Damn, why couldn’t she have done it just once before? As soon as he had the thought, his mind rebelled against it with angry possessiveness. He didn’t want to think of another man sliding inside her, even though that would leave his conscience clear to do the same.

  There were only two kinds of women: good women and bad ones. A good woman let no man except her husband enjoy her favors, but all it took was one slip to turn her into a loose woman. A good woman was both respected and protected; if a man ever forced himself on a good woman, he could expect himself to be hanged as soon as he was caught. That was the way it was, and Ben would have gladly helped hang the bastard who forced any woman, good or bad.

  But other folks didn’t see it like that; if Emma went to bed with him, she would automatically be stepping over the line that divided respectable women from the unrespectable ones.

  The bar