Ace's Wild (13 page)

His smile was pure, confident male.

“If I were you I wouldn’t push it.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“Threats aren’t my way.”

She put the pot carefully down on a hot burner and took a steadying breath. It wasn’t the first time she’d had a man threaten her, but it was the first time that a threat made her feel like rich, creamy butter in a too-hot crock. There wasn’t anything particularly sexual about the way Ace was sitting back in that chair staring at her the way he did with those eyes that bored right into her, but there was something in his energy that made her knees weak, the area between her thighs ache and her nipples pull tight. His gaze dropped to the front of her nightgown. She quickly folded her arms over the betraying sight but it was too late, and they both knew it. She had to say something.

“I’ll get the cups.”

He stopped her with a quiet “Turn around, Pet.”

She didn’t want to, but again she had no choice. Not only because she owed him, but because it was an order. And Ace had issued it. And for some reason, that made a difference. She turned. Lamplight softened most people’s expressions, but it did nothing to dampen the tension in Ace’s. He was staring at her with that intentness she’d only seen once before when a menagerie had come through town. Behind the bars of a small cage, this magnificent tiger had paced. Back and forth, back and forth. Tail twitching, lethal and menacing, his energy had projected beyond the cage. He’d had that same look that Ace was wearing now. Back then bars had separated them. Her stomach had twisted. There was nothing separating her from Ace.

“I’m not even sure why you’re angry.”

“You’re not?”

She took a cup off the shelf and handed it to him. He took it with that same unnatural calm.

“No. It’s not my fault the man broke into my house.”

“No, I can’t blame you for that. It was predictable, though. Hence my telling to keep that gun at hand.”

“We had a lot going on today. I just forgot.”

His eyes flashed. “And damn near got yourself killed. If Hester hadn’t arrived when she had, you would have been dead.”

“I was holding my own.”

He looked at her with complete disgust. “You were? In whose opinion?”

“Mine.” She slammed her cup on the table. “And since you weren’t here to assess, you’ll have to go by that.”

Ace snorted. “You may be tall for a woman, but you’re still a woman, and that means you’re no match for a man in a hand-to-hand fight.”

“I wasn’t planning on fighting with him hand to hand.”

“What were you planning on using?”

The shotgun. Which had been in the kitchen. She sighed and pushed her hair off her face. It wasn’t that she didn’t get his point. She just wasn’t willing to concede that her forgetting the gun gave him any rights.

The corner of his mouth lifted at the quick acknowledgment of his point. “I’ll take your silence for understanding.”

“Take it however you want.”

The water on the stove began to heat. The pot crackled with tension as it expanded. The tension in the room was no less volatile. Petunia took the sugar from the counter and put it on the table. His fingers wrapped around her wrist.

“Let me go.”

“Make me.”

Her free hand doubled up into a fist. She was so mad at Brian, at life, at circumstances, she actually swung. Ace caught her fist as easily as if she had just waved it in front of him. The speed of his reflexes made her blink. A subtle excitement started deep in her gut, springing up to her breasts and down between her legs, and that place that had been dormant for so long heated to a slow ache. Lust, she knew it was lust, completely and inappropriately occurring at a time when she needed her anger. Rational thought didn’t help with the spread; neither did the way his eyes met hers. He wanted her, too.

She couldn’t let that sway her. “I’m not yours to boss around.”

He didn’t even hesitate. “You’re whatever I decide you’re going to be.”

Everything inside her screamed denial, but that stronger pulse of awareness kept her honest because, right now, right here, in this moment it was true. So true that rather than deny it, she just lifted her chin and dared him to prove it.

His right hand relaxed its grip, and his thumb stroked along her pulse. She knew he felt that instant leap of response. He was too experienced a man not to know the signs of a woman’s interest.

“You want me.”

She nodded. “There’d be no point in denying it after that kiss.”

“There was no point in denying it after the first time we met.”

“Just because I want you doesn’t mean I’m going to do anything about it.”

He shook his head. “Little girl, that’s a fool’s belief.”

“I’m not a girl.”

He stood. His cock pressed against his denims. Thick and hard. Tempting. Her fingers curled over the need to stroke that hard ridge.

“This is a real bad time to be reminding me of that.”

It was a warning she couldn’t seem to heed. She held her ground when he stood, abandoning reason for the anticipation of whatever it was he was going to do next. She didn’t know what it was but whatever it was, she wanted it. From the depths of her soul she wanted it.

“I know.”

His response was short and sweet. “Run, Pet.”

Hers was just as succinct. Placing her hands on his chest, she lifted her too-heavy lids and met his gaze. “No.”

“Fuck.”

He took that step in. The one that brought his chest pressing against her breasts, his hips against hers. His foot slid between hers. The inside of his knee bumped hers, spreading her legs wider. Throwing her off balance, he took another step forward. She had to take one back or topple. He took another and another, forcing her back as he raised her hands up. When her hips hit the counter, he brought her hands down behind, pressing her palms to the cool wood as he arched her backward.

She had a good idea of how she looked, her thin nightgown pulled taut across her breasts, her back and neck arched. Standing there like an offering. She shivered from head to toe.

In the shadows, his blue eyes appeared darker, his lips fuller; his breath came shorter. His gaze touched her face, her throat, her breasts. Her nipples hardened as if the stroke of his attention were the stroke of his fingers.

His foot hit the inside of hers.

“Spread your legs.”

It was the most scandalous thing that anybody had ever said to her. It was also the most erotic. Of their own volition, her feet separated. He stepped between. His groin pressed intimately against her, and she felt for the first time in her life a man’s hardness where it belonged. It was a shock, a revelation and a promise. One she wanted him to keep. He leaned over, his body pressing on hers. She had a choice. Hold her ground or collapse. The twitch of his lips told her what he expected. She locked her elbows and raised her chin up, matching him challenge for challenge.

“If you think to intimidate me,” she told him, “you can just quit right now. But if you’re going to kiss me, then make it worth my while.”

She felt his start from his chest to his toes. Good. Let him dismiss her now.

“I’m a woman not a girl, Ace. You’re not going to scare me with displays of passion. I might be a virgin, but I’m not innocent to the ways of the world. And quite frankly, it’s been a hell of a night that started with a man bullying me, but I promise you, it’s not going to end with another doing the same.”

“Son of a bitch.”

She wasn’t sure if it was a curse or a prayer, it was said so softly.

“You are hell on a man’s good intentions, Petunia Wayfield.”

“Who said I wanted your intentions, good or otherwise?”

His fingertips skimmed from her cheek down her neck to her breasts, blazing a path, finding the peak of her left nipple, pinching it gently.

“These do.”

She caught her breath as the sensation streaked southward. Fire caught in lightning, burning away so much of her defenses. She expected him to let go. He didn’t. He pinched harder, watching her eyes, looking for...she didn’t know what. The pressure increased; so did the tension and the pleasure. He pinched harder still. His fingers rubbed lightly and there came that point where she could sense that pain waiting just beyond. Her breath caught, and his lips perked up in a smile.

But not the smile she expected. He didn’t look victorious. He looked sad, and the next second he took her over that plateau in a quick press that straddled the line from pleasure to pain and just as quickly took her back, leaving her stumbling mentally as his hand cradled her breast. Tenderness, where before he’d been rough, pleasure soothing, where before there’d been pain.

“That’s why it’s not wise to tease, my Pet.”

He made it sound like more than a nickname.

“I’m not one of your pretty little boys from back East who follow the rules, and I’m not your needy gentleman out here looking for a good woman to grace their bed. When I take a woman I take her body and soul, until she’s mine to do with as I will. I take her past any limits either of us think we have.”

She could see it in her mind. Feel it in her body. Her pussy clenched, and her breath caught.

“But you bring them back,” she whispered.

He shook his head, and his fingers once again closed around her nipple, tightening, twisting, promising. “Not always.”

The kettle on the stove rattled as the water boiled. He stepped back, leaving her there expectant and bereft. It took her a good three seconds to gather her wits and stand up straight. Her left nipple throbbed, so did her pussy. Her mind raced.

Ace walked over to the door and grabbed the gun. Coming back, he shoved it in her hands.

“Don’t let me catch you without this by your side again.”

It was an order. She nodded and not just because it was common sense. For a long while he stared at her, not saying a word, just wrestling with something inside. Something that had emotions chasing across his face—desire, determination, regret and then desire again. With a sigh, he tucked her hair behind her ear.

“And don’t let me catch you with your defenses down again.”

“Why?” The challenge just slipped out.

“Because you won’t like the consequences.”

She wasn’t so sure. For an endless minute, tension arced between them. Ace was the one to break it, grabbing his hat and heading out the back door. As it closed silently behind him, her whole body quivered on a heavy sigh. That tension she didn’t understand and couldn’t control rippled through her. Closing her eyes, she forced herself to relax her white-knuckle grip on the gun.

She didn’t need to see to picture him leaving her, walking with that long, confident stride of his, leaving her behind as if this were only his decision to make.

When I take a woman I take her body and soul, until she’s mine to do with as I will.

Licking her lips, she remembered that moment when he’d taken her to the point of tolerance and then beyond. The shock, the pleasure, the bliss. Ace had been in control of her, of himself. Of them. And she’d never felt more alive.

...you won’t like the consequences.

The kettle rattled again as the coffee boiled. Cupping her breast in her hand, she looked out the window, her own determination settling deep. They’d see about that.

CHAPTER EIGHT

A
CE
STROLLED
INTO
the saloon, his temper as frayed as the edges of his oldest pair of denims. The stench hit him first. It wasn’t something he normally noticed, but apparently tonight everything was out to annoy him. The saloon was pretty much empty except for a couple of passed-out derelicts. By four in the morning, people either found their bed or someone else’s to sleep in. Only a few diehards took advantage of Jenkins’s open-all-night-whenever-he-felt-like-it hours. Ace went straight to the bar.

Jenkins greeted him with a jerk of his chin. “Bit late to be about, isn’t it, Ace?”

“Bit late to not be sleeping, isn’t it?”

“You’ve got me there. What will you have?”

Ace flipped a coin onto the counter. “Just give me a whiskey.”

Jenkins put a glass down and reached behind the bar. “Glass or bottle?”

“Bottle.”

“That bad a night?”

He took the bottle. “Getting awful nosy in your old age, aren’t you, Jenkins?”

Jenkins backed up a step. “Just making conversation, Ace.”

“Did I ask for conversation?” He pulled the cork. The acrid scent of the liquor wafted up to him. “All I remember asking for is whiskey.”

“So you did, and I’ll be leaving you to it.”

“Thank you.”

Taking his cloth, Jenkins went to the other end of the bar and started wiping it down.

The retreat soothed a bit of Ace’s aggression. His fingers closed around the glass. It was warm and hard like Pet’s nipple. He stroked his fingers up across the smooth surface wanting the sensation to replace memory.

Snorting, he poured whiskey into the glass. As if that was ever going to happen. Pet had the sweetest breasts, small and firm, topped with surprisingly big nipples. Their shape was burned into his flesh, her response into his memory.

Fuck. He tossed back the glass. Instead of the memory fading, it grew, pounding at him, demanding he go back and get more. Shit. He did love to play with a woman’s breasts. Loved to tease them past the point of bearing to the edge of pain. And then he loved to push them over, catching them softly on the other side, loved to see the wonder and trust in their eyes. Like he’d seen in Pet’s.

Damn, that woman was something. All fire and passion. When he’d pinched her nipple, he’d expected her to retreat but instead she’d actually leaned in, a subtle surrender she wasn’t even aware of, a potent temptation to the demons inside him. He’d almost given in to that temptation when she bent back across the counter, her breasts raised for his pleasure, her head arched back. Whether she knew it or not, she’d submitted to him right then, and everything in him wanted to take her up on the challenge to show her that he was man enough to tame that spirit in her, to hold her safe.

He imagined his hand gliding over her cheek to her neck, gathering up her hair, wrapping the silken strands in his fist, holding tight as he arched her back. Hearing that little catch in her breath when he bent her to the edge of her endurance before he leaned down and nibbled at her lips, nipped at her neck and bit at her breasts, stimulating them until he heard that next gasp that said she was ready for more, so much more.

His cock, which still hadn’t subsided fully from their earlier encounter, hardened again, pressing painfully against the seam of his pants. He shifted his position, easing the tension as he swore under his breath.

Pouring another glass, he tossed the whiskey back, welcoming the distraction of the burn. He focused on it, on the fumes that burned his nostrils, wanting to burn the scent of her from his memory.

Petunia was a good woman, all bravado on the outside but as delicate in nature as she was in build. Way too delicate for him. He tended to more robust women. Women that could handle what he had to offer. Petunia... He shook his head imagining her with her hands tied above her head, stripped bare, her body posed just so waiting for that first kiss of the flogger or maybe the brush of his hand. He shook his head. Petunia wasn’t made for that. She was made for the contained attentions of an educated man, a refined man, one that wouldn’t ask too much of her too often. Not a hell-bent desperado like himself, not a man with his proclivities. While she might be curious now, she’d never survive his bed, not with her spirit intact.

And he liked that spirit. It was rare and brave and caring. Not many people still tilted at windmills. He poured another whiskey. Before he could set the bottle back down on the counter, a plump white hand slid into his line of vision. The fingers wrapped around his glass. Following the vision came the smell of cheap perfume and heavy powder, drenching him. He knew that scent.

A husky voice whispered in his ear, “Hello, Ace.”

He looked over his shoulder. “Hi, Rose.”

Rose smiled her tired, pretty, slightly crooked smile. This late in the evening her makeup was a little bit smeared and had settled into the fine lines around her eyes. Her hair fell sloppily around her face. She tossed back the shot with the enthusiasm of a man, another outward sign of her hard life. Clearing her throat, she put the glass down.

“You’re here awfully late.”

“So it would appear.”

He refilled the glass. When she reached for it again, he slammed his hand down on hers. Not hard enough to hurt but hard enough to excite. His fingers closed over hers, exerting a subtle pressure. He felt the shiver that snaked up her arm and felt the tension enter her muscles when he didn’t let go.

“You need to ask before reaching for what’s mine, Rose. We talked about that before.”

Her smile was knowing, teasing, an invitation. “So we did.”

Inside him the lust rose, wavered and refocused. He couldn’t have Pet, but he could have this.

“We also discussed,” he told her looking into her reddened blue eyes, “what was going to happen next time you forgot.”

Another shiver, but again not of fear. She stepped in bringing her large plump breasts against his shoulder. She was a sturdy woman. The corset she wore emphasized the generous curves above and below her waist.

“So we did.”

She had pale skin that marked so beautifully.

“You got a customer?” he asked her.

She shook her head. Bits of powder fell free. “I’m free.”

Against his will, thoughts of Petunia’s soft blond hair that caught the sun and fluctuated between shades of almost white to amber intruded. Clean and sweet-smelling, he’d kill to feel it slide over his chest, his stomach, his cock. He tossed the shot down and turned the glass upside down over the neck of the bottle.

He grabbed up both as he stood. “Not anymore you aren’t.”

She turned, and he smacked her ass hard enough to leave a sting. Rose might be getting a little long in the tooth but she liked what he did, and he didn’t have to feel guilty or worry at the end he’d gone too far. She could take whatever he handed out.

“Let’s get on upstairs,” he told her.

She smiled at him over her shoulder and put a little extra swing to her hips. But she didn’t wait. She went ahead. He shook his head. Her own demons must be riding her hard tonight. She knew what that impudence would provoke. Grabbing her hand, he stopped her at the bottom of the stairs. With a tug he put her behind him. But he didn’t let go of her hand.

“It’s been a long time,” he told her.

She nodded. But didn’t speak.

“At least you remembered something.” He didn’t like a lot of chatter while he worked.

He led the way up the stairs, smiling at her relief at the shift of power. They’d played together enough to know that that shift had to happen for that evening to be enjoyed. People thought whores were victims, and maybe they were in some respects, but when it came to controlling the play behind the bedroom door, most times it was the woman that was in charge while the man was at the mercy of his desires. He discovered early on that Rose wasn’t a woman that relished control or at the very least, she was a woman that enjoyed a break from that control.

Her heels clicked on the well-worn stairs behind him as she followed.

“Anybody ever tell you you’re a bit of a bastard, Ace?” she asked.

“A time or two.”

Petunia, just a few days ago.

“Did it ever bother you?” she asked.

He looked back over his shoulder. “Not particularly. Why?”

When he got to the top of the stairs, he turned, changing his grip on her hand to help her over that last rickety one. Jenkins had to replace that board soon or somebody was going to get hurt.

Rose shook her head. “Because you seem too decent sometimes to be such a bastard all the time.”

He smiled. “Well, I like to keep them guessing.” He stopped at door four. “Same room?”

She nodded. He went in. She immediately went over to the cedar chest and took out fresh sheets. Another advantage to being a steady customer was Rose knew what he liked. The ease with which she prepared for her customers made her a favorite when the mood came over him. She was appreciative, uncomplicated and maybe yeah, a little bit in love with him but not enough that it was a problem.

She dumped the old sheets out in the hall and finished smoothing the bed. He took off his hat and set it on the chair.

“You done?”

She nodded and straightened. With a crook of his finger, he motioned her over. She stood in front of him, the tension under her skin exciting the dominance in him. He loved that moment right before a woman surrendered everything. When she knew she might be letting herself in for more than she could handle but she did it anyway, because it was exciting, because she wanted to be fulfilled, because it was her nature.

“Undress me.”

She did with far too much competence.

“Slower.”

She immediately obeyed. Skillfully unbuttoning buttons and pushing aside fabric. She stopped when she got to his gun belt.

Stroking her hair, he smiled. “Good girl.”

He took it off and set it on the bed. He was particular about his guns. With another crook of his finger, he summoned her again. On the first step, he shook his head. She’d been good. She deserved a reward. He knew what excited her. With a flick of his finger he motioned to the floor. Her breath caught, and her bottom lip slipped between her teeth. She crawled the rest of the way, a flush rising on her skin. Humiliation didn’t excite him, but it wasn’t all about him, and Rose might be a whore, but she was also a friend. And she mattered.

“Now my pants.”

It should have been far more stimulating than it was to have Rosie on her knees before him working buttons free, but there was always something inherently dissatisfying about these encounters. Something missing, and the search for it sometimes drove him further than he wanted to go. But tonight it was even more dissatisfying than normal.

He sat down and held out his leg giving her easy access to his boots. She straddled it the way she knew he liked, giving him a good view of her buttocks. They were broad and ample, well suited to cushioning a man’s thrusts or taking a spank. Shit, they’d always been very pleasing, but now they were just too much. Pet’s face flashed into his mind.
Damn it.
He didn’t need to be thinking about her now, especially now. He knew from experience, once a man let the forbidden lodge in his head, it could take over, weaken him, and Petunia Wayfield was definitely forbidden fruit.

The first boot hit the floor with a soft thud. Rose lowered his leg slowly, letting it slip down easy, before straddling his other leg. He put his foot against her ass, feeling the soft white skin shift under the thin robe as she wiggled off his second boot. Picking up his boots she placed them neatly by the bed before opening the chest again and returning with a cloth-wrapped package. Flipping the canvas back, she asked, “What are you in the mood for tonight?”

He couldn’t get the image of Pet out of his mind. Dangerous territory that. He closed his eyes. Other images seeped through the break in control. Memories chased their heels. He knew what was coming. Faces scowling down at him. Fists connecting with his flesh. Fighting and losing. Hearing his mother scream. His father’s shout. Needing to get to them. Failing. Always failing. Walking over the bodies, smelling the stench of blood and death, hoping against hope. Fighting the last memory that always wanted center stage, bringing the curtain down before he turned that corner, stepped up onto the porch, saw what he wouldn’t see...

Opening his eyes he picked up the restraints and flogger—Rose’s favorites—and he smiled at the excitement in her eyes. Sometimes it was best to keep things simple. “To forget.”

* * *

“S
O
WHAT
DO
you want that necessitated me coming on down here before the break of dawn?” Hester asked, bursting into the kitchen with her usual energy.

“It’s hardly the break of dawn.” Petunia had gone to bed at the break of dawn.

“Close enough.”

Petunia got up from the table and fetched another cup and placed it at the seat across from hers. Hester immediately pulled the cup over.

“Going to be one of those conversations, eh?”

It took every inch of fabric to keep Hester’s breasts covered as she leaned in to grab the coffeepot. Petunia felt a stab of envy. Hester could have done without half her bosom and still been considered buxom, whereas she...

Petunia looked down at her own modest blessings and mentally rolled her eyes. Whereas she could use two cotton balls and all but double hers. In her youth she’d padded her corsets, but it’d never looked right, and she’d eventually given up, settling for more worthwhile pursuits than faking a cleavage she was never going to have. She’d learned to embrace the power of her mind and stopped worrying about trying to find a way to look busy at dances when she was never asked to dance and started spending more and more time in books and ideas. When that had gotten boring, she’d started putting those ideas into action. With her father’s money and protection it had been an easy path to follow. But now, fifteen years later, she was back to feeling like the awkward wallflower at the dance. And it was all Ace’s fault, damn it.