Foxfire Bride (29 page)

He wrapped his arms around her, feeling her breath warm on his neck.

"Talk away," she said.

"How would you feel about staying overnight in a whorehouse?"

Drawing back, she looked at him, then laughed. "I've never been in a whorehouse, but I confess I've always been curious."

"I spoke to Barbara Robb. She'll rent us a room accessible by a back entrance. If you're willing," he added in a husky voice.

"I'm willing," she whispered, lifting her mouth for a kiss.

Tanner kissed her and electricity shot down to his toes. There was no explaining why one woman among all others set a man's blood on fire. No understanding why one woman felt right in his arms and no one else ever had.

He and Fox were different in background and temperament, yet she reached him on a level where he hadn't been touched before. She could be the most irritating woman alive and an hour later give him a look that made his chest tighten and his mouth go dry. Her stubbornness made him crazy inside while the flashes of vulnerability raised an ache in his chest. He couldn't think of a woman whom he'd admired more.

"Do you worry about your father?" she asked after a while.

"Every day." The worst was wondering if his father expected him to fail. That had been the pattern. Always Tanner sensed that his father felt surprised by Tanner's successes. In this case, he hoped to deliver the gold early and spare his father at least a few days of his ordeal.

"We'll get the gold there in time."

They sat quietly, holding each other, listening to the snores rising from Peaches's bedroll.

"I love that old man," Fox whispered.

"I know. I'm sure he'll be all right," Tanner said, trying to sound confident. He wasn't sure.

The next day was busy. Tanner bought the horse for Peaches while Fox arranged for tents and additional provisions. They both found time for a visit to the bathhouse. Peaches rubbed down all the animals and did some minor doctoring on a couple of the mules with long rests in between his chores. Hanratty and Brown packed the items Fox had purchased and nursed hangovers with pots of strong coffee. Having let off steam the night before neither groused about remaining in camp with the bags of gold.

As soon as darkness descended, Tanner escorted Fox to the whorehouse, a commanding three-story clapboard building on the edge of No Name. As he'd arranged, they entered by the back and didn't encounter anyone on their way up the stairs.

Once he closed the bedroom door, Fox spun into his arms and kissed him hard and thoroughly before he released her to look around. The room was small, crowded by a bed, a wooden side chair, and a low table holding a painted washbasin and the bottle of whiskey he had requested.

Fox hung her hat on the row of hooks and examined a framed painting of a bare-breasted woman lolling on a swing. Red flushed her cheeks and she turned away from the painting.

"Well," she said. "Here we are."

Smiling, Tanner added his hat beside hers and hung up his waistcoat. Then he picked her up and tossed her on the bed.

"What?" Surprise widened her eyes, then she laughed. "At least help me out of my boots first."

The awkwardness gone, he grabbed one of her feet and pulled off her boot, tossing it behind him, then caught her other foot. Golden light spilled from the globe beside the bed, bathing her face in soft tones of paleness and shadow, catching in her hair and making it shine.

"You're beautiful," he said, staring at her.

"No, I'm not." Dropping her head, she frowned at her bare toes.

"You are to me." Tonight her eyes were as blue as cornflowers, her lightly tanned skin as smooth as satin. He knew that under her oversized shirt and cinched-up male trousers was a lush abundance of curves. Experiencing an instant erection, he bit down on his back teeth and told himself not to hurry. They might not have another opportunity to enjoy a full night in a real bed.

"Are you going to kiss my toes?" she asked shyly, smiling down at her feet.

"I'm going to suck them right off your feet."

"Oh God." Clapping a hand to her chest, she pretended to swoon.

Sitting beside her, he untied the string at the end of her braid and gently pried apart the plaiting. A curtain of heavy silken hair spilled through his fingers, shimmering like flame, soft across his callused palms. When her braid was loosened, she leaned back against him with a sigh, and he felt her tremble as his arms came around her.

Sitting quietly pressed chest to back wasn't what he'd expected and the moment of tenderness surprised him. Suddenly Tanner wanted to tell her that he'd never felt this close to a woman or this comfortable. He'd never felt so possessive or so protective. Right now, he wished he could spread the world at her feet, wanted to give her all the things she had missed in life.

"What I really want is a glass of that whiskey," she said in the strange way she had of seeming to follow his thoughts. Then she laughed and turned to throw her arms around his neck. "Aren't you supposed to have whiskey in a whorehouse?"

"Later," he growled, fumbling with the buttons on the front of her shirt. He must have said what she wanted to hear because she lowered her head and smiled, then opened his shirt, doing it more quickly than he was managing to do with hers.

When she was naked, he drew a sharp breath; She had the form of a goddess. Full heavy breasts, a small waist, and flaring hips made for a man's pleasure. For a small woman, she had long strong legs, and ankles he could circle with his thumb and middle finger. A low groan rumbled out of his chest and he kissed her with desire powerful enough to rock him.

They fell back on the bed in a tangle of bodies, lips suddenly frantic and searching. Her stomach was flat and firm, the only softness her breasts rising to his touch.

She met him kiss for kiss, her hands flying from his face to his shoulders, pulling him closer, her body damp with the heat of passion.

Tanner kissed her throat, her breasts, tasting her and inhaling the unique scent of her skin and arousal. She tasted like soap and salt and sweetness, smelled faintly of bathhouse lotion and strongly female.

After brushing his palms across the buds of her nipples, he kissed and sucked until she moaned, twisting beneath him, plucking at his hair and shoulders with urgent hands. But he wouldn't be hurried. Stroking her waist and hips, he trailed kisses down her stomach, feeling her quiver beneath his lips.

"Tanner! What are you ?"

Her words ended in a gasp as he found her center and circled his tongue in damp tangles of auburn. Trying to ignore an erection that had become painful with urgency, he kissed her, tasted her, made love to her until she exploded with a scream of wonder and amazement.

Only then did he move over her and thrust into the liquid heat of her. She gazed up at him with wide dazed eyes and touched his lips with shaking fingertips. Then her throat arched and she lifted her breasts, offering herself in total surrender.

Never had he known a woman like this one.

Too troubled in her mind to sleep, Fox pulled on her trousers and shirt, tied back her hair, and kissed Tanner's forehead without waking him. Closing the door quietly behind her, she stood for a moment in the hallway listening to the silence until she became aware of a piano playing softly down below. Descending the staircase, she followed the music until she emerged into a large deserted parlor.

Beautifully upholstered furniture formed conversation groupings that could be closed off by curtains if privacy demanded. Heavy Turkish carpets cushioned the floor, counterpointed by brilliantly polished brass spittoons and standing brass ashtrays. Large mirrors, which Fox ignored, and paintings depicting voluptuous women in various stages of undress adorned the walls. But Fox's primary impression was of the color red.

Red and gold wallpaper surrounded the room, and the upholstery ran through variations from deep maroon to pale rose. She decided the parlor was exactly how she had hoped a whorehouse would look, boasting luxurious man-size furniture, brass and gilt and crystal, and above all, red.

"What's your name?" The piano sat on a raised dais and the man quietly fingering the keys smiled at her. "I know a tune for every lady's name."

"It's Fox."

Compelling blue eyes sparkled in the light from the chandelier above. "That one I don't know. Do you like Stephen Foster's music?"

Fox had no idea who Stephen Foster was until the piano man teased "Jeanie with the Light Brown Hair" out of the keys, then she nodded. He wore a silver waistcoat over a white shirt with red garters to hold up his sleeves. At the ball game, a hat had shaded his face, but now Fox noticed threads of silver at his temples. He was a good-looking man.

"Can I help you?" a cool voice inquired.

Fox turned toward a table near the piano where Barbara Robb sat before a spread of ledgers and papers. Tonight she wore a silk wrapper in a color Fox hadn't seen before, a bright shimmery green. Norwood, the piano player, wore a gold ring on each hand, but Miz Robb had no need of jewelry. Even with her hair down and the paint scrubbed from her striking face she was beautiful.

"I couldn't sleep," Fox said, feeling foolish.

Miz Robb studied her, dark eyes missing nothing. Finally she nodded and beckoned Fox forward. "You're curious. Well, you should have come down sooner. There's nothing going on now."

Fox took the chair Miz Robb offered in front of the table. "Is running a whorehouse a good business?"

"Very good." Miz Robb pushed a glass and a whiskey bottle across the table. "Help yourself." She tilted her head. "What kind of lotion are you using?"

The woman was no fool. Having come in off the desert, Fox should have had a deep tan by now, and chapped lips and cheeks. "Bacon grease," she admitted. "And a concoction to protect from the sun."

"I'll give you something better than bacon grease." Barbara Robb made a face and touched her own sculpted cheekbones. "You don't strike me as the type of woman to be interested in face lotions"

Fox swirled the whiskey in her glass and drew a breath. "In a few weeks I need to look like a respectable lady." She paused, then added hopefully. "You wouldn't know about that, would you?"

"I know more than you think." Miz Robb held up a hand and ticked down her fingers. "You stride. Don't. Take small steps. Don't drink or smoke. Don't cuss. Say 'oh my stars' instead of 'goddamn.' Always defer to men." Behind them, Fox heard Norwood laugh softly. "Never cross your knees, only your ankles. Cast your eyes down modestly. Don't raise your voice. Don't reveal your ankles or an inch of skin below your neck or above your wrists. And always always wear a corset."

"That's a lot of don'ts," Fox said, tossing back her whiskey.

Miz Robb shrugged and smothered a yawn. "The don'ts sum up respectability."

"Can I ask you something personal like?"

"Depends on what it is."

Fox cast a quick glance over her shoulder at Norwood, then lowered her voice. "Say there was a man. And when he looked at you, your heart slammed up against your ribs."

Miz Robb also glanced at the piano player.

"And say you felt like you wanted just one good thing in your life so you" She spread her hands and felt her face turn crimson. "Well, you know."