He grinned. His hands closed over her shoulders, pulling her close. Still dazed, Candice didn’t try to draw away. “Candice, I’m not a marrying man.”
She stared, bewildered from the magnitude of everything—what she’d done, what they’d done, what he was doing now. “But—I don’t understand.” She knew she was more than marriageable—she was the most sought-after belle from Arizona City to El Paso.
He raised her chin. “You were made for loving, Candice. And marriage just isn’t my game.” His grip tightened. “God—I want you. I’ve never wanted any woman as much as I want you.”
It was sinking in. She tore away. “You lied! You promised—you told me you loved me! You said we would get married as soon as we found a preacher. I ran away with you!”
He laughed. “I’m afraid, dear, that you’re going to have to learn to play the game according to new rules. Mine.”
She backed away. “What are you going to do?”
“Surely, Candice, even you aren’t that naive?”
She was afraid. Her back hit the wall of the small room they had just checked into. “God, Virgil—no.”
“I’m going to make you my mistress, darling. And I’ll make you very happy, I promise.”
She choked in shock.
“Candice, don’t look so damn innocent. You were made to be a man’s mistress, my dear, in beautiful silks and taffeta, diamonds and lace—not some rancher’s wrinkled-up wife. Come here.”
“You’re mad.”
“Mad? Maybe. About you. I’m just glad I’m going to be the first.”
He reached for her. Candice didn’t think. She had never had to hit anyone before, never—not with three strapping brothers to chaperone her. But now her hand shot out and she sent a ringing slap to his face as hard as she could. He immediately backhanded her brutally, sending her spinning to the floor, stunned.
“Get it through your head, Candice. You are no longer Miss Carter, belle of the Southwest. You are my woman, and you do as I say.”
She raised herself to her elbows, panting, her ears ringing, her face throbbing. She shook her head once to clear it. Fear spread icy claws deep into her intestines. “No.”
He grinned. “Fight me, then.”
Her eyes went wide as he threw his jacket casually on the bed and knelt beside her. Candice scrambled to her knees. He yanked her back by her waist. She cried out, writhing. He clamped an arm around her and flipped her onto her back, hard. Candice was terrified, and when she looked into his eyes she saw that he was laughing—he was enjoying himself. With a tremendous effort, she kicked out, one of her feet catching his jaw.
He yelped, releasing her.
Candice crawled frantically toward the door.
“Bitch!” He grabbed her ankles and pulled, hard.
Candice’s arms went out from under her, and her chin hit the floor, sending a spasm of pain through her. She was on her stomach, helpless. Virgil wrenched her hands behind her back, hurting her. He prodded her legs apart, and sheer terror and sudden understanding coursed through her. “We can do this any way you want,” he said, panting, as he tossed her skirt and petticoat up over her hips.
Horror.
He was going to mount her as a stallion does a mare.
He released her hands, tore down her pantalets, and grabbed the cheeks of her behind. Candice felt something thick and hard rub against her.
With a desperate cry, she twisted onto her side, legs flailing. He reached for her hands to capture them, but lost her balance from her frantic motions. She reached for the gun that was strapped in the holster at his side. He loomed over her again, his face bright with lust, on his knees between her thighs, his member obscenely enlarged and poking the air. Candice’s hands closed over the smooth handle of his gun. In one abrupt movement she wrenched it free. His eyes widened. Hers closed—and she fired.
CHAPTER TWO
The rider leaned low over his stallion’s neck, urging him on.
Behind him, the United States Cavalry was in hot pursuit.
He glanced over his shoulder. Long sable hair whipped his face. Sweat trickled down from his temple, despite the red cloth headband. It gleamed on his bare, powerful back, thick muscles rippling as he rode the stallion as hard as he could, pumping the beast furiously with his body. The entire column was chasing him, an eighth of a mile behind.
The black’s hooves tore into the dirt and dry grass, pounding furiously. The rider guided him with his buckskin-clad legs through a stand of saguaro, then into a dry wash. Ahead