Read Online A Lady in Defiance by Heather Blanton - Free Book Online Page B

naughty pleasures. Rose
was hungry for more than knowledge tonight.
    A soft tap at the door made her step away from the mirror and
slide her robe seductively off one shoulder. Her mood turned dark when little
Daisy peaked around the door. “I thought you were Mac,” Rose complained as the
girl let herself in the room.
    Daisy’s eyes widened. “No, he’s still downstairs talking with
the man from the stagecoach. He sent me up here to get his mail.”
    Rose knew she scared the girl. She watched with cruel
pleasure as Daisy nervously searched his desk for the letters. Daisy was
the perfect flower name for this wisp of a girl. She was small, delicate, and
pale just like a wild daisy. And from what the customers told her, Daisy had
all the passion of a dried flower. Not like Rose. She liked the power her long,
tall, buxomly body gave her over men. Even McIntyre was weak-kneed around her
at times, with or without the powder. Consequently, she could pick and choose
her customers; Daisy had to take whatever nasty, drunken miner came her way.
    “Tell the Flowers I’m expecting Pete Waters tonight.” Daisy
nodded obediently as she continued rifling through McIntyre’s desk. Pete owned
a profitable claim and was a big tipper. Better yet, he always bathed before
visiting her. The girls knew better than to distract him from Rose…or there
would be Hell to pay. The thought of tormenting her fellow soiled doves with a headless
rat in one bed or the other brought a smile to Rose’s face.
    “Daisy,” McIntyre called irritably from downstairs. “Hurry
up, girl.”
    “Got them, Mr. McIntyre!” She ran out the door with the mail
in her hand, without looking back at Rose.
    Delighted with her power, Rose stretched herself out on
McIntyre’s sofa. After nearly two years here, they had established a
comfortable routine before heading downstairs to work. He would be up in just a
moment, a snifter of whisky in his hand. She would massage his shoulders, then
they would move to the bed and make love, the only passion for her since anyone
after that was merely a customer, and then they would sleep for a while. At
least, he would sleep.
    Rose would stay awake, whispering dark prayers over him,
prayers passed down from Mayan mothers to their daughters for centuries. When
she uttered the words of her ancestors, she could hear their voices, and they
would tell her things. Show her things. Someday, Defiance, McIntyre and all he
owned would be hers. The voices had promised her−
    McIntyre entered the room, glanced at Rose, then went to his
desk and sat down. Her brow furrowed with uncertainty. She had seen something
in his eyes just then she didn’t like. Had it been boredom? Disappointment?
Something else? Deciding to overcome it, she got to her feet and glided over to
him. As he studied the liquor inventory, she rubbed his shoulders, reaching
deep into the muscles, opening his mind to the scent in the air.
    “Tell me about the gringa women,” she purred in a silky Latin
accent. He was more tense than usual. “Do they upset you? Your muscles are like
guitar strings.”
    He slapped his pencil down. “They do not upset me.”
    Afraid of losing the moment, she moved to a fresh set of
muscles, kneading them, caressing them. Slowly, she felt the tension turn to
liquid and drain away. He leaned back in his chair, inhaled deeply and let her
work her magic.
    “They are sisters,” he murmured. “The middle one, I think,
she lost her husband back on the trail. The other two aren’t married.”
    “Did you offer them jobs? I saw them here earlier.”
    “Women like that don’t work in saloons.” He rolled his head
around, loosening the tense muscles. “Bible-toters we call them. They think God
told them to settle here in Defiance, so I gave them Whicker’s building. The town
needs decent women.”
    “Decent,” Rose scoffed. “They sound crazy. And any woman,
desperate enough, would work here for you, my love,” she whispered, snaking