Dancing With the Devil (7 page)

“Two reasons,” he said. “The first seems obvious.”

By the way she arched her eyebrows, it must not have been obvious to her.

“What would it do to the remnants of your reputation if I were to leave you now? Or worse,
divorce
you?”

“We can’t get divorced,” she answered weakly. “We’re not really married.”

“They don’t know that.” He jabbed his thumb toward the window. “As it stands now, the only things affording you any respect in this town are your parents’ store and your apparent marriage to me.”

“It’s
my
store,” she snapped. “I’m the one who keeps it running.”

“Of course,” he said. “But no
good Christian
in this town would ever do business with a divorced woman, would they?”

Hesitantly, Rhea finally shook her head.

“And before you even suggest the idea that I ‘die’ again,” he said, “think about how it would look if your darling husband died twice—both times quite unexpectedly. Surely someone would suspect the merry widow of
misdoings, and we certainly don’t want them investigating you or the details of our marriage, do we?”

“No.” She sighed, toed the floor and shrugged. “What’s the second reason?”

“Beg your pardon?”

“You said there were two reasons you couldn’t leave.”

“Right.” He crossed his arms over his chest and widened his stance. “I don’t want to.”

Who knew telling the truth could be so easy?

Rhea shot off the bed, her voice a barely controlled yell. “You don’t want to?”

“Correct.”

“I don’t give a flying fig what you want,” she fumed, pushing him in the chest again. This time he didn’t move. “I certainly didn’t want the
devil’s son
to come into my life, but you did. I didn’t want you to”—she ground her teeth together—“touch me or seduce me, but you did. And I didn’t want you to humiliate me and then leave without so much as an apology or…or a goodbye, but
you did
!”

By the time she’d finished, the fury in her voice had cracked, changed. It was a feeling he knew all too well.

Sorrow.

“Yes,” he admitted. “I did come into your life uninvited. And I did take advantage of you to a certain degree, but you can’t stand there and tell me you didn’t want it as much as I did.”

“I…but…” Even in her anger, she was the most adorable creature he’d ever seen. “You still humiliated me.”

“Yes, I did. And it’s something I’ll regret for the rest of eternity.” He couldn’t help smiling at the irony of it all. There he was, telling her the truth, and she didn’t believe a word of it.

She dropped her hand and moved away from him, but he pulled her back. Turning her face to his, he fingered loose hair back from her face and smiled.

“You’re trying to hate me,” he said, “and rightly so. But I can explain about Salma—”

“Don’t.” Her eyes closed for a long moment, but when she finally opened them again, there were no tears as Deacon had expected—just a haunted, bone-wear y emptiness.

He’d have preferred the tears.

“Fine,” he said quietly. “Then give me this chance to make it up to you. Let me act as your devoted husband. Once we get things sorted out, I’ll be on my way and you’ll never have to set eyes on my ugly face again.”

“You’re not ugly.” Her teeth worried her bottom lip until the urge to kiss her almost overwhelmed him. “And I don’t hate you, though God knows I’ve tried.”

“Good.” Deacon couldn’t stop touching her hair. “So all that’s left is to hope we’re able to come up with a solution that doesn’t involve the use of another firearm or”—he shuddered—“destroying any more of my clothes.”

Was that amusement flickering in her eyes? A bit of shame, maybe? He brushed the pads of his thumbs over the smoothness of her cheeks. Even his favorite silk shirt didn’t feel that soft.

“I’ll be the perfect gentleman,” he said. “You won’t even recognize me.” He raised his hand, palm out, as though taking an oath. “You have my word.”

“Your word.” She snorted, stepping away from him. “No offense, Deacon, but given who you are and our history together, I’d be as dumb as a post to take your word on anything.”

Ouch.

He forced another smile and tapped her on the tip of her nose.

Smart girl.

Rhea smoothed her apron over her skirt and stepped out of the backroom, into the store. Ernest was showing Mr. Rowe the newest harness they’d just ordered in, and Mrs. Hale was fingering a bolt of pink sateen.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Hale.” Rhea walked straight toward her. “Is there something I can help you with?”

Ernest glanced in their direction, started to smile, blushed, and then turned back to his customer.

“My Polly needs a new dress.” Mrs. Hale’s smile pinched the corners of her mouth for barely a moment before it faded clear away.

Rhea suppressed a sigh. Girls in Penance, Texas, didn’t need dresses made of expensive sateen, especially when the girl in question was Polly Hale. That girl would look beautiful in a plain old burlap sack, which was about the only thing her family could afford.

But Mrs. Hale had never been one to live within her means when it came to her daughter.

The woman nodded abruptly toward the sateen. “I have a pattern similar to one I saw the youngest Dietrich girl wearing last month, so I think twelve yards should do nicely.”

Mrs. Hale’s own dress, one Rhea sold her years ago, had long faded from navy blue to muted gray, but it was no doubt Mrs. Hale’s best.

Clearing her throat, Rhea lifted a bolt of pink-and-blue gingham from the shelf and set it on the table in front of Mrs. Hale.

“This is a lovely fabric,” she said, unrolling it a bit for the woman to see. “The blue will bring out Polly’s eyes beautifully.”

Mrs. Hale barely cast it a glance before patting the bolt of sateen she’d been admiring. “I’ll take this.”

“It is lovely,” Rhea agreed, lowering her voice to a whisper. “But you could buy three yards of this gingham for the same price as a single yard of that sateen.”

Mrs. Hale’s pale lips pinched white. “That may be, but a plain gingham dress isn’t going to attract the type of husband my Polly needs, is it?”

“Husband?”

“Yes.” The woman’s voice faltered for a second. “We’ve decided to send Polly to Houston to live with my aunt. She has no hope of finding a man of wealth in Penance, does she? In Houston she will have opportunities we can’t possibly give her here.”

“But what about…” Rhea glanced quickly at Ernest, whose complexion had turned a horrible shade of gray.

“It’s decided.” Mrs. Hale nodded once for emphasis. “She’s leaving at the end of the month.”

“I see,” Rhea said quietly. “I’ll certainly be sorry to see her go.”

Ernest’s mouth opened, but he didn’t speak. Rhea offered him an apologetic shrug before unrolling the sateen across the table. Using her tape, she measured out twelve yards and cut carefully.

When she’d folded it neatly and replaced the bolt, she turned back to Mrs. Hale. “Is there anything else?”

“No. That will be all. On our account if you will.” A tiny tear slipped from the corner of Mrs. Hale’s right eye. “I’m sorry if I was short with you. It’s just…” She dabbed her eyes with a threadbare handkerchief. “I’m going to miss my girl.”

“Yes.” Rhea turned the woman away from where Ernest stood. “I’m sure.”

As she wrapped the fabric in brown paper, Mrs. Hale stared unseeing at Rhea’s fingers. But the second Rhea
brought out the accounts book, the woman snapped up her package and beat a hasty retreat to the door.

Rhea watched her go, then nodded in Ernest’s direction. The boy had been so distracted he’d completely forgotten his customer.

“You’ll never get paid for that.” Deacon’s voice, so close behind, made her jump.

When she’d caught her breath, she shrugged. “You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do,” he scoffed. “And so do you.”

“Mr. Hale pays what he can every month,” she whispered. “He can’t help it if his wife has such expensive taste.”

Mr. Rowe finished examining the harness, shook his head at Ernest and took his leave. The door hadn’t even closed behind him when a new customer blew in.

All the years her parents owned the store, Rhea had seen a great many different people, but never one like this. Ernest openly gaped as the woman made her way toward Rhea and Deacon.

The woman’s face, stunning and perfectly molded, was surrounded by a mane of wild red hair she hadn’t even attempted to tame. Her eyes, the color of deep jade, glanced around at the items on display, never paying much attention to any one thing. But it wasn’t the woman’s hair, face or eyes that made Rhea and Ernest gawk.

The woman was dressed top to bottom in men’s clothes! Her blue chambray shirt was tucked into a pair of denim trousers, complete with suspenders, and a red kerchief was tied around her neck as though she’d just come in from a cattle drive.

Behind Rhea, Deacon sucked in a sharp breath and then proceeded to choke on it, forcing him to duck into the backroom.

Rhea took a moment to gather her thoughts before greeting her new customer.

“Good afternoon.” She smiled. “Is there something I can help you with today?”

The woman stopped, eyed Rhea from head to toe and grinned. “You must be Rhea.”

“Yes…” An odd feeling coursed through Rhea’s body, but she shook it off. Of course she felt odd—besides the fact the woman used Rhea’s given name as though they’d been friends for years, she was wearing trousers, for goodness sake!

“I’m Kit.” The woman spoke as if those two words explained everything. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Oh.” From the corner of her eye, Rhea could see Ernest still gaping. She shot him a sharp look, which was enough to send him scurrying back to the harness he’d left out. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Kit.”

In the backroom, Deacon continued to choke.

“What do you have by way of suits?” Kit’s voice was feminine, yet slightly raspy, almost as if she had a sore throat.

“Suits?”

“A man’s suit. Black or gray silk if you have it.” She nodded distractedly. “I’ll need some boots…and one of those funny little hats—”

Rhea could barely hear her over Deacon’s carrying on.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll have Ernest help you while I go make sure my…husband…hasn’t coughed up a lung.”

Kit’s laughter made Rhea laugh, too, as she waved Ernest over. “Miss Kit is in need of a gentleman’s suit. Please show her what we have in stock as well as what’s available to order.”

With a slap on the back to get Ernest moving, Rhea hurried to check on Deacon.

“For goodness sake, take a breath.” From the small pitcher on the table in the corner, she poured him a glass of water and held it out until he took it.

“I would if I could,” he choked, “but I wasn’t expecting to see…that…come through the door.”

“She’s beautiful.”

“She’s wearing men’s clothes,” he whispered hoarsely, shaking his head in disgust. “In public.”

Rhea leaned back against the wall and sighed. “Isn’t it brilliant? If it wouldn’t scare off all my customers, I’d trade in these cumbersome skirts and petticoats for some of those trousers myself.”

Deacon swallowed his water, set the glass down and moved directly in front of Rhea, trapping her against the wall. His eyes sparked with mischief, and his lip curled in a challenging half smile.

“No wife of mine is going to wear men’s trousers and horrid flannel shirts.”

“And no ‘husband’ of mine is going to tell me what I can and cannot do,” Rhea bristled. “Rest assured, I’ll do what I want whenever I want.”

Why did he have to stand so close? He used up all the oxygen, making it impossible for her to breathe normally.

“Of course you will.” His blue eyes pierced through her as he fingered the end of her braid. “So tell me, wife, what
do
you want?”

To start with, she wanted him to stop looking at her like that, as though he’d die if he didn’t kiss her right then and there. More than that, she wanted to stop feeling the same way. And she really wanted him to brush his hair because the way it was now, all tousled and standing up, it was far too tempting to reach up and smooth it back into place.

The tip of his nose brushed over hers, then across her
cheek. No other part of his body touched her, yet she felt him everywhere, from each strand of hair right down to her toes. Her blood pumped harder, her heart tipped and her brain swirled.

This wasn’t right. She didn’t want this, didn’t want him to touch her like…oooh. His lips whispered over her jaw, grazed her earlobe, then danced down her neck to where her pulse throbbed. Tipping her head to the right, she offered him more, silently begging him to take it, to kiss her like that again.

Oh no, this wasn’t right at all. This was exactly what she’d been trying so hard to forget. The way each touch scorched her skin, each breath sapped more of her strength.

“I—” She pressed her palms against the wall on either side of her for balance.

“Hmm?” He nibbled soft kisses against her earlobe, rested his cheek against hers and whispered against her neck.

Her senses swirled and tumbled, taking in everything that was Deacon. His clean masculine scent overwhelmed her, and his touch left shivers in its wake. All she could hear was his breath, quick and labored, and all she could see was his face; those deep blue eyes asking her to give him what they both wanted, while those seductive lips tempted her beyond reason.

All that was left was to taste him.

Rhea turned her face to his, seeking out what she was suddenly so desperate for. He smiled against her mouth, teasing her with feather light brushes, until she wrapped one of her hands around his neck and dragged him closer.

He took the kiss deeper, longer, moving his mouth over hers again, harder and more determined, until she gave back with everything she had.

Her pulse pounded, and her heart ached inside her chest. If only he’d touch her…

She arched toward him, but his hands remained where they were, pressed against the wall on either side of her head. He was trying to drive her mad, and it was working—but she wasn’t about to let him win that easily.