Nan Ryan (25 page)

He drawled in his flat Texas twang, “Yep, I finally got what I paid so handsomely for in Las Cruces.”

“I have no earthly idea what you are talking about.” She held the Levis against her shaking body.

Virgil rubbed his bare chest, shrugged wide shoulders, and said, “Have it your way, Red.” He turned, crossed the small cave.

When he ducked his head to exit, she said angrily, “Where are you going? You come back here!”

Virgil straightened, looked at her. “In case you haven’t noticed, the rain has stopped.” The princess’s head snapped around. She was stunned to see bright sunlight streaming in the cave entrance. He said, “Time to leave our little hideaway.”

Holding on to the denim trousers for dear life, the princess looked about. “My shirt …”

“Is outside where you left it.”

She looked puzzled. Then it came rushing back. The two of them standing in the falling rain, kissing, and stripping the shirts off each other. Lord, if she could only roll back time one short hour and change everything.

“Go get it, Ranger!” she arrogantly commanded. Virgil just looked at her. “Did you hear me? Bring the shirt to me at once,” she ordered, as if she were speaking to a personal servant.

Which was not the way to get Virgil Black to do anything. Had she asked him sweetly, he likely would have brought her the shirt.

“Nope.”

“Nope? What does that mean?”

“Get it yourself,” he said, ducked his dark head, and slipped out the cave.

Foiled, wondering how she was supposed to get dressed when her shirt was lying on the ground outside, Princess Marlena turned her back to the cave entrance. She jerkily drew on the trousers, stepped into her slippers, and gripping the too-big waistband, turned round and round searching for something—anything—she could use to cover her naked torso.

There was nothing.

Sighing with frustration, she reasoned that if she released her grip on the trousers so that she could raise her arms to cover her breasts, the pants might slip down off her hips as she walked. But, if she held on to the trousers, she wouldn’t be able to hide her breasts. In a quandary, the princess pondered the problem briefly. Then she came to a quick decision.

To hell with Captain Virgil Black!

She wasn’t about to go slinking out there, cowering like a coward, mortified and trying to cover herself. She was, whether he believed it or not, a princess of the royal blood, and she would—just as she always had—carry herself like a royal princess.

Princess Marlena threw her head back and released her hold on the denim trousers. The pants instantly slipped down around her flaring hips and snagged there on her prominent hipbones. She threw her slender shoulders back, raked her hands through her tangled red hair, and crossed the cave. She drew a deep, restorative breath, and ducked outside.

His black shirt back on but unbuttoned, worn leather saddlebags draped over his left shoulder, Virgil stood beside the stallion, checking its front right hoof. The princess paused by the cave’s entrance, anticipating the moment when he would become aware of her. As she watched, he took out a knife and worked at dislodging a pebble caught under the stallion’s iron shoe. The chore completed, Virgil put away the knife, glanced up, and saw her.

His lips fell open.

He squinted, staring.

Once she had his undivided attention, the princess, with her pride again intact, swept regally toward him. Her dignity and self-assurance as much in evidence as the bouncing of her bare breasts with every step she took, she majestically approached. Virgil’s eyes never left her. She noted a definite tensing of his tall, lean body and felt a quick surge of feminine vanity.

So she had no hold on his cold heart? The same could not be said for his hot body.

The princess walked directly up to Virgil, stopped not a foot away, lifted her slim arms, and swept her tangled red hair up atop her head. Holding it there with her arms raised, elbows bent, she flashed him a wicked smile, said, “Ah, the rain has certainly cooled everything off, hasn’t it?”

She easily read the turbulence in his summer blue eyes, noted the quickening beat of the pulse in his throat. She slowly lowered her gaze and saw that his tanned fingers gripped the saddlebags so tightly, the knuckles were white while his free hand was balled into tight fist at his side. And, his stomach had contracted to such a degree, his waistband fell away from his hard, washboard belly.

A quick learner, the princess realized that he wanted her again. So, she inhaled deeply, knowing what would happen when she did. Her breasts rose and swelled, her stomach sunk in, and her trousers started to slide.

“Jesus God!” Virgil rasped as his hand shot out, clasped the waistband of her pants, and kept them from falling even farther.

“What’s the matter, tall Texan?” she asked innocently, tipping her head back to look at him. Wetting her lips with her tongue, she purred, “Dear me, you’re perspiring while I’m so cool and comfortable. Is something bothering you?”

His eyes murderous, he said gruffly, “Damn it, woman, you can’t go around here without clothes.”

“Oh? So you want me to put on the shirt?” She leaned in a little closer so that her unfettered breasts brushed briefly against his chest.

“Now!” he roared, and released her.

She smiled, hooked a finger through a belt loop so her pants wouldn’t fall off, and said defiantly, “You want me back in that shirt, Captain Black, you go get it.”

Challenge sparkled from her emerald eyes. She knew she had beaten him when, without another word, he turned and walked away. He was back in seconds, the dirty blue shirt in his right hand. Eyes narrowed, jaw ridged, he thrust it out to her.

But the princess refused to take it.

“Now what?” he said, at wit’s end, half-tempted to turn her over his knee and give her a spanking, which was exactly what she needed.

“If you want me to wear the shirt, Captain,” she said silkily, “you will have to put it on me.”

She folded her arms across her bare midriff and drew her elbows in, a movement designed to provocatively squeeze her bare breasts together. She gave him a seductive smile.

But once again, as he had so many times since snatching her off the Cloudcroft railroad platform, the enigmatic Texas Ranger surprised the scheming royal princess.

His hot gaze touched her breasts briefly, then lifted to her face. Smiling lazily back at her, he casually stuffed the waded blue shirt into the worn leather saddlebags draped over his shoulder.

“It’ll be cooler for you without the shirt,” he said agreeably. “But I do hope you don’t blister too badly.”

He shook his head as if concerned, turned, and headed for the saddled stallion.

Shaken, wondering how she could have lost the upper hand so easily, Princess Marlena stood rooted to the spot not knowing what to do next. She watched as he tossed the saddlebags over the stallion’s back. Surely he was only teasing her. A tasteless joke. Any second he would take the shirt out of the saddlebag and bring it to her.

He didn’t.

“Ready, Red?” Virgil called as he swung agilely up into the saddle. “Noche and I are leaving now.” He clicked his tongue to the stallion and the mount went into motion, walking at a slow pace.

A twinge of panic shot through the princess’s bare breasts. The evil bastard might actually leave her here like this with no clothes, no water, and no horse! Damn him to eternal hell!

“Wait,” she screamed, and raced toward him.

Virgil immediately drew rein, and the stallion halted on a dime. Virgil waited, noting with no small degree of satisfaction, that her haughtiness was now totally missing. But, God, she was a hardhead, so it might be wise to keep her off-balance for a while longer.

The princess reached him. Her arms now crossed over her bare breasts, she asked, “Please, may I have the shirt.”

Virgil made a big show of scratching his be-whiskered chin as if in deep thought.

“No.”

“No?” Her face screwed up into a terrible frown.

“That’s what I said.”

“Oh, don’t be such an ass!” she exploded. “You can’t expect me to go riding across the desert half-naked.”

Virgil gave her a cold look and replied. “Ah, but I do.”

And with that he leaned down, took her arm, and told her to step up into the stirrup. His tone made her respond at once. She raised her left foot, put it in the stirrup. Virgil immediately drew her up, wrapped a long arm around her waist, and held her like that, standing in the stirrup against him, for a long, uneasy moment. His bearded face at the level of her bare breasts, he devilishly puckered his full lips. The princess trembled involuntarily, her nipples tightening traitorously.

He grinned evilly, raised his knowing eyes to meet hers, and said, “Next time I tell you to put on a shirt, you’ll do it.”

“Don’t bet on it.”

Ignoring her reply, he quickly thrust her behind him in the saddle and laid his spurs to the stallion’s flanks. The princess automatically grabbed at him to keep from falling. She heard his sharp intake of air and realized that she had squeezed his injured ribs. She squeezed harder, hoping to inflict pain. Her arms wrapped tightly around him, she leaned close, said into his ear, “You were right, Texan.” Pressing her breasts against his back, she trilled, “It’s much cooler without a shirt. You really should try it.”

Bested, Virgil gritted his teeth and drew rein.

He reached into the saddlebag, withdrew the soiled blue shirt, and shoved it at her. “Put on the shirt.”

“Say please.”

“Please, goddamnit!”

“Why certainly,” she purred, “anything you say,
Herr Kapitan!
”

27

In silence they headed
eastward across the thirty-mile-wide Tularosa Basin. The brief rainstorm had passed as suddenly as it had come. The thirsty ground had quickly soaked up the water. Dust rose beneath the stallion’s pounding hooves, and a blistering late-afternoon sun bore down on them.

Neither noticed.

They were each lost in their own troubled thoughts.

Try as she might, Princess Marlena couldn’t forget what it was like to be held and loved by this handsome, hard-faced Texan, although he had made it crystal clear that it meant nothing to him. Unfortunately, the incredible lovemaking
had
meant something to her. His touch, his kiss, had stirred in her an almost frightening passion that she had never known existed. And now that she did, she would never be completely happy without experiencing it again.

The troubled princess, clinging to the cantle to keep from touching Virgil, flushed hotly at the vivid recollection of how she had cried out in orgasmic ecstasy. She had never experienced sexual gratification—not until this coldhearted, hot-blooded Texas Ranger showed her what it was like to
really
make love. Now she was afraid that every time she looked at him she would shiver and blush, recalling the things he’d done to her, the way he’d made her feel.

For Virgil the abandoned lovemaking had been enjoyable, but that was all. She was convenient. She was willing. He was aroused. So he’d had a mindless roll in the hay with the delectable Queen of the Silver Dollar.

End of story.

Granted it had been good. Damned good. And she had behaved as if she were totally lost in him. She had been genuinely responsive to his touch, his kiss. That wasn’t entirely faked, he’d stake his life on it.

Then again maybe it was.

After all, she was a saloon singer/actress by trade who added money to her personal kitty by entertaining a few handpicked gents in her upstairs boudoir when her lover, British Bob, was not in town. God knows how many men’s bare backs she had wrapped those long, silken legs around.

He was aware of her checkered background, so it plagued Virgil that now every time he looked at her, he wanted to take her in his arms again. Further, it scared the hell out of him to recall just how worried he had been when he awakened to find she had escaped. And how relieved when he found her with the Apache, alive.

His squinted blue gaze fixed on the ragged peaks rising on the distant southeastern horizon, Virgil couldn’t stop thinking about how soft and sweet and hot she had been in his arms. He arrogantly assumed that he could have her again anytime he wanted her, despite her protestations that she would kill him if he ever touched her again. Eight to five said he could draw rein right there in the middle of the treeless Tularosa Basin, haul her down off the stallion, and make love to her under the burning sun.

He was tempted.

But he wasn’t about to do it.

The reason? He was half-afraid. Half-afraid that if she again came into his arms she might take more than his body. Half-afraid that he might start to care more than he cared to. Half-afraid that he was in jeopardy of falling in love with this beautiful, ginger-haired outlaw who had likely slept with more men than he had fingers and toes.

The thought stung Virgil badly. The unwanted visions that drifted before his tired eyes made him uncommonly angry. Made him mad as hell. And, naturally, his anger was directed at this tempting woman who was solely responsible for his distress. Hell, he hadn’t wanted this tiresome assignment in the first place! He was a Texas Ranger, for God’s sake. He shouldn’t be wasting his time dragging a worrisome female thief to jail. He ought to be down on the border with the rest of the frontier battalion, chasing dangerous criminals.