Read Online Deep as the Rivers (Santa Fe Trilogy) by Shirl Henke - Free Book Online
Authors: Shirl Henke
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beige lace of her low-cut chemise. “You’ve ridden long and hard, my poor darling,” she cooed.
“Not half so hard as I’ll ride now,” he ground out, seizing a fistful of her silvery hair and yanking the pins from it as he pulled her against him for a brief, brutal kiss. He bit Tish’s lip none too gently, turned her to face the bed, and then guided her to a kneeling position upon it. Flipping up the dressing robe and ripping away her undergarments, Richard bared her lush rounded buttocks. As he struggled to rid himself of the buckskin trousers, he alternately kissed and nipped the delectable flesh as Tish groaned and wriggled in anticipation. When he succeeded in working the trousers down his thighs, he drove into her. The blonde moaned and her upper body collapsed on the bed.
Richard thrust slowly, savagely. “And now for that ride.” Suddenly, he slapped Tish’s rump a stinging blow with the flat of his hand. She shrieked. He crooned as if speaking to a wayward mount. “Now, pet, a rider must use a touch of the crop to put his mare through her paces.” He laughed as Tish moaned, but thrust her hips into him. “And sometimes,” he continued the violent pumping of his own hips, “a touch of the spur helps as well.” He reached between her legs to pinch the tender flesh of her inner thigh. Tish buried her face in the rumpled bedclothes to muffle her whimpering moans of pain...and pleasure.
* * * *
Spring came early to St. Louis in 1811. Although March had just begun, buds grew fat on the cottonwoods and willows stood tall and thick along the riverbanks. Warm winds blowing from across the vast western prairies smelled sweet with the greening of grass. A hint of spring wildflowers wafted across the high-ceilinged room whose wide glass-paned doors had been thrown open to let in the fresh air.
Soon Santiago Quinn’s men back in Santa Fe would begin preparation for their long journey to St. Louis, but he had wintered in the American city this past year with his wife, Elise. Or Liza as her stubborn American brother insisted on calling her.
Quinn looked across the crowded ballroom of the Chouteau mansion, watching his wife charm a circle of male admirers, cleverly extracting information from them as Samuel observed in silent amusement. The whole reason the Quinns were here in this press of people, dressed to the nines in uncomfortable clothing instead of home enjoying the warm beautiful evening with their children, was to aid his brother-in-law.
As respected members of St. Louis society, even if they only resided in the city a few months a year, the Quinns could give Samuel an introduction to all the socially prominent citizens. And hopefully a lead on the British agent who had been stirring up dissension among the local Indian tribes. The mysterious Englishman had a sympathizer high up in the social hierarchy of the city, someone who had given him information about St. Louis’ defenses.
Santiago smiled as Elise and Samuel made their way across the polished walnut floor. They were two of a kind. Spies. Once the idea had appalled him, but that was when his wife had still been actively engaged in the dangerous profession. Now she had retired to raise their children, leaving Samuel to chase villains threatening the security of the fragile American republic.
Quinn’s dark auburn eyebrows arched sardonically as he raised a crystal goblet of champagne and saluted his wife. She smiled serenely as they exchanged glances. Samuel felt the subtle chemistry between them charge the air like summer lightning. Santiago Quinn, son of an Irish mercenary and a Spanish noblewoman, had always been a bit of an enigma to Shelby but the russet-haired rogue made Liza happy. In the final analysis, that was all Samuel really cared about. Although if he were to resign his commission after the impending war and join in the Santa Fe trade, it was best that he and his
“Not half so hard as I’ll ride now,” he ground out, seizing a fistful of her silvery hair and yanking the pins from it as he pulled her against him for a brief, brutal kiss. He bit Tish’s lip none too gently, turned her to face the bed, and then guided her to a kneeling position upon it. Flipping up the dressing robe and ripping away her undergarments, Richard bared her lush rounded buttocks. As he struggled to rid himself of the buckskin trousers, he alternately kissed and nipped the delectable flesh as Tish groaned and wriggled in anticipation. When he succeeded in working the trousers down his thighs, he drove into her. The blonde moaned and her upper body collapsed on the bed.
Richard thrust slowly, savagely. “And now for that ride.” Suddenly, he slapped Tish’s rump a stinging blow with the flat of his hand. She shrieked. He crooned as if speaking to a wayward mount. “Now, pet, a rider must use a touch of the crop to put his mare through her paces.” He laughed as Tish moaned, but thrust her hips into him. “And sometimes,” he continued the violent pumping of his own hips, “a touch of the spur helps as well.” He reached between her legs to pinch the tender flesh of her inner thigh. Tish buried her face in the rumpled bedclothes to muffle her whimpering moans of pain...and pleasure.
* * * *
Spring came early to St. Louis in 1811. Although March had just begun, buds grew fat on the cottonwoods and willows stood tall and thick along the riverbanks. Warm winds blowing from across the vast western prairies smelled sweet with the greening of grass. A hint of spring wildflowers wafted across the high-ceilinged room whose wide glass-paned doors had been thrown open to let in the fresh air.
Soon Santiago Quinn’s men back in Santa Fe would begin preparation for their long journey to St. Louis, but he had wintered in the American city this past year with his wife, Elise. Or Liza as her stubborn American brother insisted on calling her.
Quinn looked across the crowded ballroom of the Chouteau mansion, watching his wife charm a circle of male admirers, cleverly extracting information from them as Samuel observed in silent amusement. The whole reason the Quinns were here in this press of people, dressed to the nines in uncomfortable clothing instead of home enjoying the warm beautiful evening with their children, was to aid his brother-in-law.
As respected members of St. Louis society, even if they only resided in the city a few months a year, the Quinns could give Samuel an introduction to all the socially prominent citizens. And hopefully a lead on the British agent who had been stirring up dissension among the local Indian tribes. The mysterious Englishman had a sympathizer high up in the social hierarchy of the city, someone who had given him information about St. Louis’ defenses.
Santiago smiled as Elise and Samuel made their way across the polished walnut floor. They were two of a kind. Spies. Once the idea had appalled him, but that was when his wife had still been actively engaged in the dangerous profession. Now she had retired to raise their children, leaving Samuel to chase villains threatening the security of the fragile American republic.
Quinn’s dark auburn eyebrows arched sardonically as he raised a crystal goblet of champagne and saluted his wife. She smiled serenely as they exchanged glances. Samuel felt the subtle chemistry between them charge the air like summer lightning. Santiago Quinn, son of an Irish mercenary and a Spanish noblewoman, had always been a bit of an enigma to Shelby but the russet-haired rogue made Liza happy. In the final analysis, that was all Samuel really cared about. Although if he were to resign his commission after the impending war and join in the Santa Fe trade, it was best that he and his
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