Delilah's Flame (23 page)

“Lilah,” she said weakly. “I’m Lilah. I told you it was all a mistake. I’ll pay you three times what the horse is worth.”

Tabor’s stony gray eyes held hers. “I don’t want money,” he replied tonelessly. “I want satisfaction.”

“How can I?” she demanded. “What would I tell Papa? How could I possibly go away with you for a week?”

She looked near tears, but Tabor refused to be swayed. “A woman who can spend months touring California saloons while her father thinks she’s in St. Louis shouldn’t have much difficulty coming up with an excuse.”

“This is different,” she said weakly.

Tabor smiled. “We’ll talk out the details after we eat.”

He lifted the silver covers from the several dishes of still-steaming food, enough for four. She hoped he didn’t expect her to eat it all. She had no appetite whatsoever.

*     *     *

Back on the settee where the disastrous evening had begun, Lilah accepted a snifter of brandy. She had no reason to keep up the pretense she was a teetotaler. Tabor knew otherwise. Besides, this time he had elected to sit beside her and, listening to what he proposed, she felt the need of strong drink.

Tabor crushed out the cigarette he had smoked after dinner. “I’ll have my Aunt Sarah write a letter inviting you to stay at the Cooke ranch. It’s about a two-day ride from here.”

Lilah immediately began calculating ways to shorten the time. Two days down on a stagecoach and two days back. That left only three days she actually had to spend with him. She might even find a way to cut down on that.

She sat rigidly. Tabor’s nearness caused a whir of uneasy emotions. “I can’t possibly make a trip before Aunt Emily leaves for London. Papa would never allow it.”

Tabor scowled. He doubted there was anything Lilah couldn’t get her father to agree to. But it would be rude of her to leave Damon House while she had a guest. And it might arouse suspicion.

“How much longer is she staying?”

“Two weeks,” Lilah said, adding a few days to the actual departure date.

Tabor rubbed his chin. “I can wait that long. I promised your father I’d break the stallion for him. That ought to take about two weeks.”

Lilah finished her brandy but continued to hold the empty snifter. “He’s already broken.” She didn’t like the idea of Tabor spending much of the next two weeks at Damon House.

“Only for me. Your father wants him so anyone can ride him.”

She couldn’t disagree with that. She supposed she would have to put up with him for a while. At Damon House she could manage to avoid him.

“I wonder,” Tabor shifted his position to get a better look at her, “if you have any idea how intriguing it is to sit here and look at you in that prudish dress knowing there’s a sultry, provocative woman underneath.” His voice dropped dangerously low as he unfolded her fingers from the empty glass and set it aside. “What would it take to make you become Delilah right now?”

The sensations she felt confused her. She decided the shiver slithering down her spine was fear, fear that Tabor had decided not to wait the two weeks.

“Delilah isn’t really anyone at all,” she said weakly, sliding toward the arm of the settee and away from him. “She’s like a character from a play. She seems real but she isn’t.”

He slid closer, making up the distance she had put between them. “You play Delilah to perfection. Like Samson, I expected to be missing my hair when I woke up in that jail cell.”

Lilah trembled when he took her arm. His darkening eyes hypnotized her and she offered no resistance when he reached for the satin ribbon that held her curls off her neck. He untied it slowly, allowing the tight cluster to fall over her shoulders. When his fingers slid into the curls and started smoothing them, she held her breath.

“You haven’t told me how you changed your hair.” He bent his head close. She shut her eyes tightly, thinking he was about to force a kiss. But Tabor only lifted a handful of red-gold hair against his cheek. “I like Delilah’s perfume better,” he said.

She opened her eyes to find him grinning at her.

“I don’t.” She snatched her hair from his hand. “I used henna to darken my hair and my brows. With rouge on my cheeks and kohl on my eyelids, it’s a rather effective feminine disguise,” she added.

He gave her a measuring look. “Everything else is you, I trust.”

His sarcasm smarted. Why did he bother to ask? He had made quite sure of that before she knocked him unconscious. But why should she be the only one feeling miserable? She could give as good as she got. She lifted her chin.

“It puzzles me, Tabor,” she said, offering a wry smile, “how your aunt could debase herself by helping with your sordid plan. Just what kind of woman is she?”

She thought for a minute her words had hit their mark. Tabor’s mocking grin changed to an angry frown. “My aunt is a fine woman. Don’t think otherwise,” he warned.

“So fine she doesn’t mind if you abuse a woman in her house?”

He realized what she was up to. His grin returned. Seeing defeat, her sapphire eyes shot hot sparks at him. He had wondered how long before Delilah broke through Lilah Damon’s icy control.

“Sarah doesn’t interfere in my private affairs and I don’t interfere in hers. You won’t be embarrassed.” He cupped Lilah’s chin in his hands and looked directly in her eyes. “And you won’t be abused, sweetheart,” he said softly. “You’ll belong to me for a week, but I won’t do anything you don’t want me to. You have my promise.”

“Your promise?” What was that worth? She hoped he couldn’t feel her unsteadiness. “Then I might as well not go,” she said boldly. “I can’t stand the sight of you.”

Tabor slid his hands around her throat, holding them there briefly. Many hours he’d thought of placing his hands there, of what he would do. Purposefully he slid them to her shoulders. He felt her quivering.

“Then you’ll have to keep your eyes closed,” he said huskily. “Because I’m certain you don’t feel the same about me touching you.”

Lilah inhaled sharply as she caught the full measure of passion smoldering in his dark eyes. Then she did shut her lids again, afraid what she saw in his eyes would spill into her own. But as her lashes fluttered down, she knew she had acted too late. The sensations Tabor seemed to turn on at will raged full and hot in her veins.

“I don’t,” she mumbled, thinking this was a fine time to give up her lies. “I wish I did, but I don’t.”

He touched her lips so softly she thought it only her imagination. Her tiny moan of response brought more gentle pressure from his lips. How was it the man who brought her such despair was also the man who gave her the sweetest pleasure? By some dark trick of fate she had become the victim of her own justice. The hardest thing about it was that she wasn’t fighting him, she was fighting herself. And finding it increasingly difficult to understand why.

She refused to open her eyes. As long as she kept them shut, it seemed like a dream that her arms encircled his neck and that she liked the feel of him so much.

Tabor teased at her lips until she let him past that barrier and inside. His hands at her waist pulled her into his lap. For a few moments he buried his face against her throat and in the soft curls tumbling over her shoulder. Had he promised not to touch her tonight? He didn’t think so. One hand explored the hollows of her back, the other slipped buttons through tiny silk loops. He would have to be careful of the promises he made. They were proving difficult to keep.

Lilah felt the warmth of his kisses against her neck and strained against him. His lips continued to explore her satin flesh, searing a trail past her shoulders and to the neckline of her gown. Behind her his hands parted that garment and slipped it from the path of his lips. She moaned at the new-felt freedom as he uncovered her breasts. His lips touched like whispers, warm and moist on her skin. She was aware he set her on her feet and partially aware that he skimmed the white silk gown from her body. Shortly she was back in his lap and his mouth again was teasing the rosy crests of her breasts.

“You know I want you, sweetheart.”

“Yes,” she whispered. His want was apparent, throbbing and insistent against her hips.

“I need for you to tell me it’s all right.”

Her head swirled inside. Half of her shouted no. A lady should never allow a man to touch her so intimately, so boldly. The other half of her shouted yes. Take what you want. Live by your own rules.

“It is,” she whispered, making her choice—if she had ever had one, the way his hands rested so provocatively on her thighs, the way the stroking of his fingers sent a pulsing warmth through her.

Tabor tucked his arms beneath her and stood, Lilah in his arms. Whispering loving words in her ear, he carried her to the bedroom and the high-backed chestnut bed draped with warm red velvet covers. Giving in to the temptation of one more kiss, Tabor yielded to the softness of her lips, then eased her down on the covers. He stepped back to disrobe.

Lilah could keep her eyes closed no longer. She opened them and viewed Tabor shedding his tie and vest and then the silk shirt. He slid off his boots and unfastened his trousers and pushed them down. Lilah’s eyes grew endlessly wide. Her imagination, grand as it was, had never shown her such a picture as this, the male animal, strong, virile, and in a full arousal. Self-consciously Lilah pulled the edges of her camisole over her breasts. Were all men like this? So imposing. So big. Could she possibly accommodate such a man? Could she, even though her body burned and shook with wanting.

Her eyes lingered on Tabor as he stepped free of his trousers. He was quite beautiful, for a man. She was surprised to see the richly tanned skin went farther than his neck and wrists and that even those areas generally untouched by the sun were a dark gold color. She forgot his imposing size as the wonder and wanting overtook her.

But when Tabor eased back into the bed, suddenly her Victorian upbringing squashed her reckless abandon.

“Wait!” she cried, scurrying back against the pillows. “Wait! I’ve changed my mind.”

“The hell you have,” Tabor growled, his eyes flashing her a warning that he wouldn’t be toyed with.

Lilah gave a choked, desperate cry and slid across the bed and off the other side. “I’m not ready for this,” she whispered.

“The hell you aren’t,” he said, coming after Lilah and backing her into a corner.

Lilah crossed her arms over her chest and fell back against the unrelenting wall. “You don’t understand,” she croaked. “I’m scared.”

“You damn well ought to be.” His menacing voice sent a chill over her skin. “Not that I think you are. Delilah invited many men to her hotel room. Men who didn’t wake up in jail.”

“You’re wrong,” she cried. “I never...”

“You’re wrong,” he echoed. “I know about the mirror trick. I reckon you were a little more kindly disposed toward the men who didn’t catch you cheating. I reckon they left Delilah the next morning thinking empty pockets were worth the experience.”

“No!” she gasped. “No!”

“You said yes, and I’m holding you to it,” Tabor growled, grabbing her by the waist and tossing her back to the bed. He fell across her, holding her down with ease. Lilah fought him furiously, but Tabor, overcome with passion didn’t register that her resistance came from fear and not defiance. He ripped her camisole away and would have done the same to her petticoats had she not covered her eyes with her hands and started to sob. Angrily he pulled back. “You little witch. Don’t think you’ll get away with that another time.” But when her sobs continued, Tabor let her loose. He wouldn’t take a woman by force. “Go on,” he shouted. “Get out of here. Get dressed.”

Lilah flew from the room and pulled on her discarded gown as fast as she could. Tabor, cursing her bitterly, pulled on his trousers and stood scowling and watching from the doorway of the bedroom. Humiliatingly conscious of his eyes, Lilah fumbled with her gown. Why had she chosen one that buttoned down the back, one she couldn’t fasten herself? It appalled her, but after long minutes of trying on her own, she had no option but to ask him to fasten it for her.

Tabor was no more pleased about the task and did it as quickly as he could. But somehow his fingers seemed to have lost their dexterity and he struggled with the buttons. When that arduous work was finished, she found the blue ribbon and attempted to put her hair back the way it had been before. It was hopeless.

Tabor brought her shawl and draped it over her shoulders. His scowl hadn’t eased in the least. Lilah’s hand clutched nervously at her throat and discovered to her horror that her pearls were missing. She balanced their value against Tabor’s disposition.

“Please return them to me when you come to Damon House again,” she said, not daring to postpone her departure long enough to look for them.

Tabor shot her a withering glance but said that he would. Lilah hurried to the door with every intention of letting the evening end at that, but Tabor wouldn’t have it. He followed and spun her around before she could leave. Lilah whimpered pitiably as his mouth closed angrily over hers. But as before, she was powerless to stop him. It seemed to Lilah that other someone inside her took over, clutching him to her, drinking in his kisses, spinning with him into a dark, pulsing blackness. His hands, as rampant, as threatening, left every part of her smoldering from their touch. When he released her the fire of his mouth still burned on her lips as if the fiery tail of a comet swept across them. Her breath came in pants. She wondered if her legs would carry her down two flights of stairs.

Tabor’s dark eyes cut her in two. “My bet was with Delilah,” he said. “Not a sobbing schoolgirl. No more games. It’s Delilah I want in my bed, or the agreement is off. Delilah. Not a pale shadow of her. Remember that.”

“I’ve heard a few men have that kind of magic,” Clement Damon said quietly to Gus. “Guess I never expected to see it firsthand.”

“Me neither,” Gus agreed, slowly shaking his head as he watched Stanton haul a saddle right up alongside the stallion, Rogue. He and his men had tried that and wound up getting a good saddle trampled just to escape the stallion’s flying hooves.