Gideon, Robin - Desire of the Phantom [Ecstasy in the Old West] (Siren Publishing Classic) (9 page)

“What is it? Did they hear us? I’m sorry,” Pamela whis
pered, crawling on hands and knees until she was behind
him, her hands light on his shoulders.

Together they looked down at the men throwing dice
against the wall, Pamela peering over Phantom’s shoulder, quite
unaware of the warmth of her breasts lightly touching his
back. When he looked at her, their faces close together,
he realized that if he would seduce her, his name—albeit,
as the Midnight Phantom—would be added to the list of
men who had at some time taken advantage of her,
in one way or another.

It was not a list either Garrett Randolph or Phantom wanted
to be on. No matter how aroused he’d become because of
Pamela’s unique, ineffable allure, he had honor.

“I’ll get you safely out of here,” he whispered, feeling
the need to say something, yet not quite knowing what
the appropriate words were.

The far door to the livery opened, and a uniformed maid
from the mansion stuck her head inside. She was immediately greeted with whistles and catcalls from the men. Pamela and Phantom ducked low, keeping hidden.

“Bugger you all,” the maid said in disgust.
“It’s time to get Mr. Napki.
He’s passed out stone-cold in the game room.” She
slammed the door quickly before the loutish men could
say anything more to her.

“It’s time,” Phantom whispered, turning to Pamela.

For several seconds, they looked into each other’s eyes, each
knowing they were parting company.

“What now…for us?” Pamela asked
.

Phantom took Pamela’s hand and helped her to her feet. He
knew words needed to be spoken, thoughts and feelings
needed to be expressed. He also knew that he could not
do that now. Chaotic emotions collided with beliefs he’d held deep within himself for a long time. He could not
speak.

He led Pamela to the rear of the stables where they had
entered. After a quick inspection of the shadows to see if
guards were nearby, he slipped down the ladder with Pamela
close behind.

On the west side, where the carriages were all lined up
waiting to be occupied, Pamela saw the largest private car
riage she’d ever viewed. It took six horses to move it, and it was Tyler Napki’s. Enormous and ornate, it was the fit
ting symbol for a family man with a wife and eight chil
dren. Garrett knew that when Tyler Napki went to church on Sunday
morning, his entire family surrounding him, his hangover from his Saturday night binge howling in his ears, everyone knew he was a successful man—and penitent for his
behavior of the night before. That, anyway, was what Tyler
Napki hoped the good people of Whitetail Creek thought, much to Garrett’s amusement.

Pamela and Phantom climbed onto the roof of the carriage
and, lying flat on their stomachs, waited breathlessly in
the dark. Very soon, they could hear the coachman grunt
ing drunkenly with exertion as he assisted his employer,
the wealthy and even more intoxicated Tyler Napki, to the
carriage.

“In you go, sir, and we’ll get you right home,” the coachman groaned, pushing his employer into the plush confines.

“I’ll be fine,” Tyler said, one foot still outside the carriage door. “All I need is forty winks, an’ I’ll be back in the game fresh as a daisy.”

“The daisy’s done wilted, sir. Get some sleep, and I’ll wake you when we get home.”

Pamela caught her lower lip between her teeth and bit hard,
causing pain. She needed the pain to keep laughter from
bubbling out. In her mind’s eye, she could picture the two
men, Saturday night after Saturday night, going through the same ritual.

She looked over at Phantom. Behind his black mask, his
dark eyes were shining like wet onyx, twin
kling with the
joie de vivre
that seemed as much a part of him as the color of his hair or the dimple in his cheek.

He’s such a handsome man,
Pamela thought, smiling at
the mysterious stranger who had changed so many of the
beliefs she’d had about herself.
Even with the mask, he’s so handsome. Too handsome for my own good
.

The carriage rattled under the high stone archway at the gate and onto the street beyond. Glancing over her shoulder, Pamela looked at the massive mansion that hours
earlier she had broken into, and the exciting events of the
past hours came back to her. She breathed a sigh of relief,
suddenly realizing how tense she had been, even if she hadn’t been totally aware of it.

The horses settled into a leisurely pace, knowing the way home.

When the carriage had traveled several hundred yards,
Phantom rose to his knees and motioned for Pamela to follow
him. Soon they’d jumped to the ground as the carriage
continued into the night
.

“Over here,” Phantom said, his hand on Pamela’s elbow, lead
ing her off the street, moving between several houses so
they wouldn’t be seen.

Pamela leaned back against a small smoke
house. The air, now that she was no longer surrounded by
the Darwells’ high stone wall, seemed fresher, cleaner. She
inhaled deeply just to reassure herself that this was true.

Phantom stepped back into the street, looking in all di
rections until he was convinced their escape had gone
completely unnoticed. As he returned to Pamela, his hat,
mask, and cape still in place, she watched him practically dissolve into the shadows next to her, and she understood once again why the stories concerning the Midnight Phantom
had always sounded so fantastic.

“We made it,” Pamela said in a whisper.

Her heart accelerated as Phantom stepped closer. She
tried to remind herself that he was an outlaw, that she
should have nothing but contempt for him. After all, didn’t
she hate the Darwells because
they
were outlaws?

“Yes. Despite the odds and a few unforeseen obstacles,
we made it, Pamela.”

“Was I one of the ‘unforeseen obstacles’?” she asked.

When he nodded, Pamela wished desperately that he would
take off his mask. Who was this handsome stranger?

“A delightful one, to be sure, but an obstacle just the
same.”

Phantom took his hat off, letting it hang from the neck cord down against his back. Then he placed his hands
against the smokehouse wall on either side of her, trapping
her between his arms without ever touching her.

“What are you going to do now?” he asked softly. “You
know if you ever try anything like that again, you’ll get
caught. You would have gotten caught tonight if
not for me.”

“I owe you for that,” Pamela whispered, her mouth dry.

When she inhaled deeply to compose her erratic think
ing, her breasts rose and strained against her shirt. She
saw Phantom’s gaze touch her breasts tenderly.

As though he had touched her physically with his gaze, her nipples instantly hardened, tenting the much-washed
fabric, an undeniable incrimination of her body’s respon
siveness to him.

“T–thank you for the money,” Pamela said, her voice sound
ing strained. She couldn’t think of anything else to say, and silence with Phantom so near was intolerable.

He was very close now, his lips tempting her. For one
second, Pamela thought of crossing her arms to hide her
breasts from his view. In the next, she thought of unfas
tening another button or two so he could see even more. Phantom inspired in her erotic urges that were unprecedented for Pamela, who had never experienced pleasure in a man’s arms.

“The money should be enough for you to live on for a long time,
provided you don’t get extravagant. And don’t spend the money too quickly, or Jonathon Darwell will be on to you.”

“I told you before the money’s not for me. There are others who need it more than I do. Like Mr. Beaumont. Darwell has almost ruined him.”

“You’re really going to give the money to people who
have been hurt by Darwell?”

“I told you that before.”

Pamela didn’t know what to think, what to feel. As much
as she hated not being believed, she detested even more having to explain all over again her reasons for behaving
like a common criminal.

Through the darkness, Phantom looked deep into her eyes. She did not look away. She didn’t even blink. She
sensed he was challenging her in some way, waiting for her to back down or perhaps suddenly admit she
was lying and that the money was really for her own needs.

He reached into his pocket, extracting the remainder of
the money he’d taken from Jonathon Darwell’s safe. Pamela breathed a sigh of relief, finding it easier to breathe now that his arms were no longer surrounding her.

“In that case, as long as you’re an angel of mercy, you should have this as well.”

He handed her the money. Despite her surprise, Pamela calmly folded the money in half and tucked it into her
back pocket. When she did this, bending her arms behind
her back, her shirt opened even more, exposing her breasts
and chemise to Phantom. She immediately brought
her hands forward, beginning to work the buttons with
trembling fingers.

“Don’t.” His long fingers curled around Pamela’s wrists. “Don’t do that,” he added softly. “You’re so beautiful. I like being able to look at you.”

Pamela didn’t know what to say. She felt naughty and dar
ing, especially knowing she was displaying cleavage
.

“Who are you?” she asked quietly. “What are you? You
seem to know all about me, and I know nothing about you at all.”

“That’s not quite true, on either count.”

Phantom pulled Pamela’s hands apart, and she did not resist
when he pinned them lightly against the smokehouse wall.
His gaze went down to her cleavage and her pebble-hard
nipples.

“We are strangers,” he whispered. He leaned forward
and kissed her lightly on the forehead, his lips brushing lightly
. “The only thing we
really know about each other is that we excite each other.”
He kissed the tip of Pamela’s nose then placed a firm, demanding kiss on her lips, silencing her protest to the truth he’d spoken. “Don’t try to deny it. I can feel it in you.
You
can feel it in you.”