Quicksilver Passion (12 page)

Silver danced across the stage, her small feet flying to the melody. She had such a natural grace and rhythm that Cherokee forgot he was trying to sneak out unnoticed; that he was furious with the girl for denying him what he wanted.

He had never seen anyone dance so well, graceful feet moving to the music while the men cheered her on. If the flawless beauty sang well, she was an even better dancer. And when she whirled, her skirts flew up, revealing long, beautiful legs.

Halfway down the stairs, Cherokee leaned against the rail, and watched her dance, unwilling, no, unable to tear himself away. He had a sudden vision of his own dark, naked body lying between those thighs, her shapely legs locked around his hard-driving hips, pulling him deeper into her wet warmth. He would put his hands under her small hips, tilting her up for his deep thrusting. His mouth would find her pink nipples and she would arch her back to encourage him to suck harder, while she made soft, vulnerable noises of surrender in her throat.

And his mouth on hers, he urged her on.
Come with me, sweet darlin’, oh come . . . come with me, sweet Silver. . . .

The music stopped, pulling him out of his fantasy. Here he stood, his manhood hard and aching again with a ready girl upstairs. Oh hell, what a fool he was!

Silver took a bow to thunderous applause and then she turned and looked directly at him. Her pale, aquamarine eyes expressed no surprise at seeing him. In fact, it was almost as if she realized he would be standing there, her worshipful subject as were all the other men in this place. No wonder she didn’t have a man, she had a hundred male slaves eager to do her bidding—willing to throw themselves over a cliff or lay riches at her tiny feet for just one smile, one gesture.

Cherokee had the most insane urge to run down the stairs and up to the stage, grab her, throw her over his wide shoulders, and carry her off. But he knew these men would lynch him for trying. Cherokee both hated and desired her at the same time, as men always want that which they cannot have.

With an oath, he stumbled down the stairs, through the swinging doors, and out into the chill spring night. He’d go to another bawdy house, find another girl with hair as pale as moonbeams.

But he didn’t. He went to a hotel and lay sleepless on his bed, staring up at the stained ceiling. It must be his imagination that the sound of her high, sweet voice seemed to drift faintly on the night air, accompanied by the rhythmic tap of her dancing feet.

Tomorrow he’d buy his supplies, get his burro shod, and head back to the claim. By the next time he got to town, the girl would probably have moved on. Pretty whores didn’t stay too long in one spot. They ended up in places like San Francisco, got married, or found a rich man to keep them in luxury as long as their looks lasted.

Silver. Whore. The two didn’t seem to go together. He remembered her hard eyes that looked as if the owner had seen too much, experienced too much. And yet her full, soft mouth betrayed a vulnerability and sensitivity rare in a saloon girl. No wonder the men of Buckskin Joe loved her.

It was a long time before he dropped off into a troubled sleep. In his dreams, he heard her singing and saw her dancing only for him in some remote place where no other man could enjoy her beauty or lust after her.

Then she came into his arms, soft and giving, opening up her thighs like some exotic flower so he could mesh with her, become one in an ecstasy of love. Her flawless face smiled at him as she reached for him and he saw his reflection in her pale eyes. She was special to him at that moment, not because of her beauty, but because he saw his reflection in her eyes, and knew she loved him, too.

Cherokee came to her, gently taking her, murmuring sweet words, whispering that he loved her, wanted her with him for all time. Even when her looks were gone, when she was wrinkled and old, she would always be beautiful to him as long as he saw that love for him in those aqua eyes.

Silver, oh, sweet darlin’ . . .” In his dreams he crushed her to him, poured his seed deep into her. At that moment, he awakened, sweating and thrashing in his bed. Her hair spread over the pillow. Cherokee blinked sleepily, reached to stroke those silken locks. But it was only moonlight spilling through the window and across the pillow.

Cherokee sat up in bed with a curse. It couldn’t be long until morning. He’d get his business taken care of and get out of town before thoughts of the woman drove him loco. The only other alternative was to kidnap her and take her up to his cabin, where she would be at his mercy while he sated his lust on her small, ripe body.

Silver paused in the doorway of the shoemaker’s shop before picking her way along the wooden sidewalk in the early morning chill. The shop had promised the new dancing slippers delivered just before tonight’s show.

Drat! The street looked muddy in front of Haw Tabor’s general store and that was where she wanted to go. Maybe if she was careful . . .

Gingerly, Silver lifted her full, aqua skirt and eyed the mud. These new, fashionable hoops didn’t help matters any. She looked up and down at the busy street. All she had to do was indicate her need and some miner or cowboy would rush over eagerly and carry her across.

The thought of a man’s touch made her shudder all over. After all that men had done to her, she never intended that another one even touch her hand.

Her mind went to the dark half-breed from last night. His hands were as big as he was, and probably as hard and tough as the man himself. She had a sudden vision of those callused hands stroking her breasts and felt her nipples harden into pink points at the thought.

The feeling shocked her. Never had any man made her feel desire. Revulsion and fear—those were the emotions men aroused in her. But her mind was still occupied with him as she began picking her way across the wet street.

The mud was deeper than she had thought. The slippery ooze pulled at her shoes. Silver paused halfway out, still struggling to keep her skirts above the mire. What a sight she would make if she tripped and fell! Worse than that, it would ruin the fine new dress that had just arrived on the Denver stage last week.

She took another step and felt the cold mud ooze over her shoe tops. Drat! Why hadn’t she had Haw deliver what she needed? There was no real reason to be out this morning. Certainly, she told herself, it wasn’t because she thought the big ’breed might be on the street or in the stores where she might see him.

She paused again. The half-breed came out of the hotel coffee shop on the other side of the street, then stopped, stood looking at her.

Ma’am,” he yelled in that thick Georgia drawl,
if I may be of service to a lady—”

No, thank you,” she snapped back, taking another tentative step. She didn’t appreciate such sarcasm, although he didn’t look as if he meant anything by it. She knew the
respectable” people of this area would not consider her a
lady.” Besides, she didn’t want his big hands on her body.

Silver managed to take two more precarious steps and was beginning to hope she might make it to the sidewalk with no more than soiled shoes. Then she stepped into a hole.

The man leaned against the general store’s sign, smoking a cigarette and watching her. Others had stopped to watch, too. But the local men knew her well enough not to offer. They knew how Silver felt about a man’s touch.

Silver struggled to raise her foot out of the mire and lost her shoe. She stood there like a crane on one leg, struggling to maintain her balance. What the hell did she do now?

He tossed away his cigarette.
Still don’t need any help?”

No, thank you.” In an agony of decision, she looked around, trying to decide what to do.

But at that moment, he strode out through the mud, swung her up in his arms, and carried her to the sidewalk.

Silver kept her body rigid as a dressmaker’s dummy, quaking inside with the horrible memories the feel of a man’s body against hers brought back. The heat and the strength of the rugged man seemed to burn through both their clothing.

She was actually trembling as he slowly stood her on her feet. He looked down at her a long moment, evidently puzzled by her fear.

I’ll get your other shoe, ma’am.” He spoke in a soft, reassuring drawl as if speaking to a frightened child.

Silver didn’t say anything. She stood there with nails digging into her palms, watching the giant of a man stride out to retrieve her shoe. He was one of the biggest men she had ever met, she thought, watching him walk. A big man like that could hurt her worse than that one in Chicago or even her stepfather. . . .

Here it is, Miss Silver, but it needs a lot of cleaning.” He doffed his Western hat and almost bowed, holding the shoe out.
Maybe I should accompany you back to the Nugget—”

No, I’ll be fine.” She jerked the slipper out of his hand and put it on, very aware of men stopping to stare curiously at the pair. This must be the only man in the Rockies who didn’t know how Silver Jones reacted to being touched.
Thank you for your help, Mister . . .”