women passionate and she wants her own parlor house more than she wants any man.”
“Really? Then this should be a suitable farewell token.” He set two gold coins beside Fannie where she slept on the daybed, still sprawled as her climax had left her.
“Good luck, Pearl.” He paused to kiss her forehead as he left.
“Good-bye, Donovan,” she whispered as the door closed.
He made for the stairs, both women forgotten before he took the first tread, while he considered the night’s true surprise.
What the devil had he dreamed of? His oldest dream perhaps, a faerie queen spun of moonbeams and night, lithe and strong and quick-witted…and so beautiful that an Irish lad would count himself blessed to steal a single kiss from her rosy lips? But no dream of that lady had ever shaken him so deeply as last night’s fancy.
He was still pondering the question when he reached Main Street and a flash of silver-gilt caught his eye. He froze and stared. Viola Ross was coming up the hill from the hut she shared with Maggie Watson. Morgan had said she’d gone into business with Maggie after Ross’s death, but he hadn’t reminded William of her heart-stopping beauty.
Walking was too mundane a word for how she moved. She glided like a faerie maiden, as if her feet and skirts floated free of earth’s heavy tug. She held her head high with a queen’s poise and balanced a heavy laundry basket on her shoulder as if carrying it were a royal prerogative. A few strands of silver-gilt hair escaped her faded blue sunbonnet. If she came closer, he’d once again see eyes like the true blue of spring’s first bluebells, an indigo not yet purple. And hear a voice whose faint huskiness only enhanced an aristocratic clarity of speech.
The West offered a hard life to men and a harder one to women with its unforgiving climate, continuous danger from Indians, and isolation. It took a strong woman to survive it and William readily honored those who did. Viola Ross had done more than just survive in her five years on the frontier. She’d founded and run a small business after her husband’s murder. All in all, she had a great deal of sand, as his teamsters would say.
A small girl ran out to her and she stooped quickly to answer. William sucked in his breath, immediately reminded of how he’d first seen her almost a year ago. While peacefully watering his horse Saladin, he’d heard shrieks of delight and peeked through the cottonwoods to see the cause.
He’d discovered Viola splashing in the stream with two small children. She’d been soaked to the skin, so wet the thin calico dress had clung to her womanly form, outlining her boldly upthrust breasts and nipples begging for a man’s mouth. She had a waist so small he could wrap his hands around it, and hips made for cradling him when he settled into those dark shadows between her thighs. Her beauty was as clear to his enraptured eyes as if she’d slowly shed her clothes for him in a boudoir.
But she’d cared nothing for society’s conventions as she enjoyed the children’s company. Rather than shriek in horror or try to conceal herself, she’d laughed heartily as she chased the two imps. She’d been a faerie maiden come to life, who could captivate even a stream’s guardian spirit.
Long minutes had passed before he’d been able to move away. He’d asked who she was, of course, hoping against hope she was unmarried and Irish. But no, her husband, the lucky fool, had been pointed out as he staggered from a saloon.
Now William’s cock swelled as strongly against his trousers’ denim as it had for her the first time. He cursed vehemently and spun on his heel. He’d take another route to his compound and avoid seeing her again, the image of everything he hungered for and had always been rejected by.
Hell, he didn’t have to dodge her for long. Once she married Lennox, she’d be gone in a flash, back to the high society that had formed her and barred him from being anything more than a well-trained servant. He needed to stop thinking about unattainable women and find himself a respectable Irish girl to marry, someone who’d tend his house and bear his children. And likely never wonder where his deepest desires were.
A half dozen strides down the boardwalk, his inner voice finally answered part of his earlier question. Last night’s fantasy had involved the