Rocky Mountain Rose (Rocky Mountain Bride Series Book 3) (7 page)

He was the right age and weight for an established miner. His mouth cracked open and she got a full view of rotten teeth, but she smiled against her repulsion. “Why not?”

But as soon as she sat down, the man put his hand on her thigh, a forwardness she might indulge in a better man. “Always loved redheads,” he leered.

Raising a hand to ward off his fetid breath, she slipped her leg out from under his grip, only to find another man had sat down on her other side and was starting to put his arm around her.

“Women round this town have to learn to be generous,” said the first man. “But there’s more than enough milk in this cow to go around.” His hand started for her breast, and Rose twisted, half caught in the second man’s arms.

“Give us a kiss then,” the second man said, and Rose snarled, starting to push back her chair to leap away.

She found herself propelled backwards, then the man who had been holding her flew through the air. Mouth open, she turned just in time to see him crash into another table. His foul-toothed partner followed in quick succession.

As one, the men of the room came to their feet and started shouting. Rose started to back away, looking for escape, but a hand curled around her arm, and she found herself pulled into Lyle’s side. His hair was wild, but his face and body were taut with perfectly controlled rage as he raised his Colt in the air and cocked it.

“The next man who touches my wife gets a ride in a cold meat wagon.”

Faced with the ready fire-arm, a few men nearby raised their hands in surrender. Lyle started backing towards the door, dragging Rose along with him.

“Wait, stop.” She tried to pull away. In one movement, he whirled and bent, coming at her. His shoulder hit her mid torso, and he bounced her up onto his shoulder. Rose found herself in the familiar position, staring at a sea of staring faces through the hair hanging over her face, feeling her stomach whoosh and dip as Lyle’s muscles bunched and flexed under it.

“That’s it, mister,” one muttered. “Rein her in.”

“Lyle,” she snapped as soon as she got her breath back. “Put me down.” Her feet kicked and fingers scrambled over his back, looking for purchase.

“Be still,” Lyle clipped, adding a sharp smack to her bottom.

Fuming, she let her body lie limp for the rest of the ride, conserving her energy. As soon as Lyle slammed open the door to their room, she started tensing for the fight. He dropped her onto the bed, ordering her to “Stay.”

Bouncing off the bed, she scrambled to her feet. “What are you doing?” she screamed. He moved like a panther across the room, shutting the door before turning to freeze her with blue eyes.

Rolling up his shirt sleeves to bare taut forearms, he advanced on her slowly, until she was staring up at him, backing up against the chaise. Flushed in anger, his face was striking, with clenched jaw and hollowed cheeks. Her lady parts fluttered.

“Taking you in hand,” he growled. “I told you to stay in the room. I won’t tolerate you disobeying me when I’m trying to keep you alive. Nor will I sit back while you flaunt yourself to every man in sight like a cat in heat.”

“How dare you,” she cried, and rearing back her fist, threw a punch right at his perfect face.

He dodged, easily, then grabbed her around the waist, tipping her over the chaise so her face planted in the cushions and her bottom was high in the air.

“You’ve earned one hell of a spanking, missy.” One strong hand secured her, tossing up her skirts and ripping down her drawers with the other.

Again, Rose felt a tremor go through her, not altogether unpleasant, as she felt him squeeze her bottom with one hard hand. Then the spanking started, along with his lecture, as she roared her outrage into the chaise cushions.

“I am trying to help you,” Lyle said, slapping one cheek, then the other. “You will not punch or throw things at me. You will not stir up trouble. You will not flirt with other men.” The room filled with the sound of the smacks raining down on her bouncing bottom.

Rose reached back, trying to protect her poor hindquarters, and Lyle paused the spanking long enough to catch her wrists and hold them in the small of her back. Without her arms to hold her up, Rose felt trussed and helpless as a holiday ham. That just made her cry out louder, in rage and humiliation.

“That’s it, shout for me, Rose,” Lyle said. “Let everyone hear how I take you in hand. You may not believe it yet, but here, I am your master. I lead, you follow. That’s the way it is to be, if you want to stay alive.”

Immediately Rose fell silent, pressing her lips together with fury as her eyes grew sore from holding back tears. The spanking went on, Lyle’s hand falling with greater and greater force.

“You will submit to me,” he went on. “It is for your own good.”

Rose kicked a little and tried to shift so her feet could touch the ground and give her some sense of control. Lyle pushed his hand on her back, keeping her unbalanced and at his mercy. What was worse, she could feel a sweet ache starting between her legs. Lyle’s deep, commanding voice, his firm hand, even the punishing smacks sent sparks of arousal flying through her. The spanking ignited something inside her. No tears fell, but she could feel them gathering, a storm of them threatening to break if she didn’t submit first.

It was her arousal that undid her. She was sure he could see every edge of her lady parts, creaming with humiliation, and the thought of him knowing how hot she was at his touch was too much to bear.

Letting her head fall in a gesture of submission, she turned her face to the side, allowing herself to sniffle softly.

Almost immediately, Lyle’s blows lightened. The smacks still landed on stinging skin, but they were fewer and further between. He even let go of her wrists, and she was able to pull them around her head, burying her face in shame.

He spanked lower, on the backs of her thighs, and she felt the pain jolt right through her lady parts.

She let herself whimper, then hoped he would stop before he realized how wet she was.

With a final few swats, he gripped her bottom. She cried out, feeling the throbbing heat beat against his hand. He let her go and returned her drawers and skirts to their rightful place.

“It’s over, Rose,” he said, and when she didn’t move, he drew her up into his lap.

She refused to look at him, sniffling, eyes burning with unshed tears. He took her chin and tipped it to look at her. Gentle blue eyes almost undid her, but not quite.

“I don’t want to fight with you, Rose. At some point, you need to learn to trust.”

She didn’t trust herself to speak, so she gave a small nod.

“Oh, Rose.” He folded her into his arms, bringing her down onto his lap on the couch, tucking her onto her side against him.

She pressed her face into his shirt, feeling his warmth, his strong chest, his presence so comforting.

His hand played in her hair. “You’re strong and beautiful,” he murmured, and she caught her breath at the sweet tone of his voice. “You’ve been fighting your whole life. Can you rest for a while, and let me fight for you?”

Taking a deep breath, she raised herself up until she could look him full in the face. As before, the spanking broke down her barriers; she found herself without a shield. “I don’t know how,” she told him honestly.

He leaned forward, resting his forehead against hers, a little movement that set her heart fluttering. “I’ll help you.”

She couldn’t take it anymore. His body was too close, his face too sweet after being so stern, his words too loving, like balm to her aching heart. Pressing herself forward, she closed her eyes and took his lips, kissing him with the passion pent up from the two and a half longest days of her life.

Almost immediately, he took the lead. His hand fisted in her hair, holding her still as he returned her kiss. His lips were gentle, then insistent, pulling at her mouth until she yielded. Her own hand slid up to his cheek, then curled around his neck, hanging on as he took over and plundered her mouth. He kissed her like a man about to die, determined to suck out all her sweetness. The world fell away until Rose felt they were the last two people on earth, who’d wandered for years in the darkness, and finally found in each other the light.

When it was done, she was panting a little. Lyle let her recover. After a moment, she dropped her eyes, unable to meet his gaze. His expression held an emotion stronger than kindness or pity. She could be struck blind at that moment, and the memory of that look would sustain her for the rest of her life.

It frightened her to death.

She tried to jerk away, but he pulled her forehead to his, holding her with a hand to the back of her head. His thumb feathered along the back of her neck, sending shivers through her. He seemed to recognize her need to retreat and released her. Immediately she shifted back in his lap, ignoring the screaming ache in her bottom. He let her, still holding her with his eyes.

“I’m thirsty,” she croaked, and she was, but not enough to demand it at that very moment.

He smiled, as if he knew she was retreating, but only said, “I’ll get you some water.” Lifting her, he set her down on the couch. She winced and shifted onto her hip, but otherwise sat quietly while he brought her water. For a moment, she let herself imagine what it would be like to love a man like Lyle and have him move about their home, caring for her.

Lyle knelt by her as she sipped from the cup. “Can I trust you to stay put?”

She frowned into her drink, but nodded.

“I’ll just be a minute. I’ll arrange for dinner to be brought up here.”

The door closed behind him and all her breath left her. She rose on shaky legs and made her way to the mirror. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes seemed large and liquid. She touched her face with trembling fingers, but her usual proud and stony expression was gone. The queen of the stage had disappeared, leaving a girl in all the bloom of youth. A few moments with Lyle, and all her innocence returned in force.

She backed away from the frightening image, her hand going to her neck. What was happening to her? Three spankings and she was losing herself. Lyle’s strength in handling her, his easy dominance, even his plundering kiss all told Rose’s body who was her master. And yet, she’d give all of her eighteen years up for a few seconds in Lyle’s arms. For a moment, she had a corner in the world all to herself, a shelter where no one could harm her.

What was it about a spanking that turned her to mush?

She pulled up her skirts and grimaced at the angry looking skin. Her bottom was almost glowing.

The door creaked open and she heard a chuckle.

“I wish you would mind me, but I can’t say I dislike turning my pale Rose red.”

Flushing bright as her bum, she jerked down her skirts and flounced off with her most haughty expression. Faced with his teasing, she could call on her queenly airs again. She stretched full out on the chaise, expecting him to take the chair near her. Instead, he picked up her legs and sat on the chaise end, propping her boots in his lap.

She glared at him, but he just grinned and plucked at her boot laces.

“What are you doing?” She tried to draw her legs back, and he caught them.

“Helping you relax. It’s been a long day, and you’re not going anywhere.” Gripping her calf, he eased one boot off, and then the other. “Trust me, darlin’. This will feel good.”

She tensed to fight him, but before she knew it, he was easing down her stockings with nimble fingers. Then his thumb slid across the bottom of her right foot, the pressure smooth and just deep enough to send pleasure tingling up her spine.

“That feels amazing,” she whispered.

“Told you.” His fingers continued working up and down her foot, paying special attention to each toe. Then his hands moved up her legs, massaging her ankles and calves until she sighed in ecstasy.

By the time he was done, her body was barely solid. “Thank you.”

“Welcome, darlin’.” He rose to wash his hands. Rose stayed on the chaise, floating in her own world. A knock on the door didn’t even register with her until Lyle came to squat near her head.

“Hate to break the mood, but we’re about to get a visitor,” Lyle said. “Sheriff’s here and been asking for you.”

She blinked. “For me?”

“Telling all who will listen that the dancer Rosie May shot a Boone and is wanted for questioning.”

Pushing herself up, she gnawed on her lip. “Should we run?”

His hand went to her shoulder, easing her back. “Too late for that. We’ll face him and be done with it.”

He didn’t seem to be worried, so she let herself relax.

“Anyway,” he continued, “there’s not many places we can run to in the next few minutes. With your red hair, it’s easy for them to point you out. Maybe I should make you wear a veil,” Lyle said and tugged on a lock of her hair, in what was becoming an annoying habit.

She fended him off and tucked her hair behind her ear. “You wouldn’t dare.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I might.” His dimple winked at her, and she rolled her eyes, realizing he was jesting.

“I’m not going about in black funeral weeds. Why not tuck me into a coffin and be done with it?”

“Now there’s an idea.” He laughed, and she swatted him lightly.

Quick as a flash, he caught her hand and his mood changed. “I mean it, Rose,” he said, and her heart dropped, wondering if he was upset that she hit him. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you. If I have to carry you in a sack out of here, so be it.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.” She almost smiled then resumed her queenly mask. “Will they arrest me?”

“Sheriff is Doyle’s man; anything the law does around here is only for show. And what use would Doyle have for you in a jail? No, I think the sheriff has come to do his duty for his master, and make sure we’re on the run out of town.”

“Can I never escape that spider?” she muttered.

Lyle put his hand on her hip, and even this casual gesture sent heat flaring through her entire body. “Tomorrow we’ll put even more miles between us and him.” His other hand came up to cup her cheek, and she stiffened at the intimacy. “I’m curious, what made you come so close to him in the first place?”