Lilac Temptress

LILAC TEMPTRESS

By

Elizabeth Davis

SMASHWORDS
EDITION

Published by Elizabeth
Davis

on Smashwords

Copyright ©2003,
2013

by Elizabeth
Davis

Adult Reading
Material

ISBN:
978-0-615-70532-3

This book is a work of
fiction, however inspired by places and historical figures. Any
resemblance to events is purely coincidental. All the characters
are productions of the author’s imagination, and are used
fictitiously, though Charles Morgan was a real person. Brief
mentions reference him as the railroad tycoon that he was during
the period, and the version of Charles in this novel is
fictional.

All rights reserved. No part
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for brief quotations to books and critical reviews. This story is a
work of fiction. Characters and events are the product of the
author’s imagination. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead,
is purely coincidental.
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Cover design by Carrie
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Acknowledgements

Above all others, this book
is for my husband Pawel and our son Aiden. Thank you mother for
always believing in me, no matter what I set out to accomplish. I
thank my mentor, June Michael, who always remained patient while
advising me and supporting my life purpose and Millie Knox who has
taught me how to overcome obstacles. Thanks to my best friend
Nicole Leigh, whose editing services were much appreciated, and my
dear friend Beth Medina, who was the first to read this work and
encourage me to complete it. And lastly, to all of you readers who
plan to read this work or already have—thank you for joining me on
the ride.

Chapter 1

Louisiana 1878

A smile gradually played on
Drake McCalister’s lips as he recalled a universal truth; every
town he’d visited, no matter how established or
desolate,
had a bar—and he, along
with his childhood friend and business partner, Girard Larivière,
were damned thirsty strolling the dirt-paved road. The seemingly
never-ending day had finally given way to night, and light
illuminating from dull buildings lined the deserted streets. Drake
heard faint music coming from a tavern a short distance away and
his present thoughts about women, money, business and even small
towns dissipated. All he could think of was quenching his thirst
when he reached the tavern’s swinging doors, pushing through them
with Girard in tow, to scour the scene.

The tavern, alive and extremely rowdy,
seemed to horde every man in town, including several scantily clad
women who served them. A pianist played a rather simple, cheerful
tune in the corner of a curved stage while four pretty young girls
sang and danced in step to the jingle. Men drank clear amber, or
burgundy liquid from thick glasses, and ate hearty meals of beef
stew and potatoes. A few ruffians yelled an assortment of
obscenities at the women on stage, but nobody seemed to care—not
even the women, whom treated their remarks as par for the course.
Drake noticed a large, outstretched bar opposite the entrance with
a slim bartender mixing drinks. To its immediate left some
suspicious looking tricksters were wagering at tables—no doubt
playing games of faro, poker or craps.

“
Howdy, I’m Stella. Can I
get you two fine fellows a table?” A short, plump, older woman with
curly brown hair said approaching them.

Drake greeted her with a tilt of his
hat, and couldn’t help but notice her flesh bulging out of the
tight, drab dress she wore, which matched her ordinary feminine
features. Her giant bosoms heaved up and down against her corset,
and her breaths came out hard. She cut unrelentingly through the
crowded walkway, leading the men to their seats.

“
Hey Stella! Get us another
round over here!” a grimy rough-edged scoundrel barked at
her.

“
Wait a minute, Benny.
Can’t you see I’m moving as fast as I can? Hey Marlene, get up off
your rump and get Benny’s table another round!” she bellowed to a
young pretty girl, sitting on a stool counting bills and copper
coins on the other side of the tavern while her customers were left
waiting.

“
How about this one?”
Stella said, turning her attention back to the outsiders and
motioning them to take their seats at a center table in the midst
of the rowdy crowd.

These fine-looking, polished men were
probably big spenders, she mused to herself, hoping that a better
view of the stage would go a long way toward a generous tip at the
end of the night.

“
This will do Stella,”
Drake nodded as he and Girard plunked down into the hard,
unaccommodating chairs and relaxed as best they could.

“
What will you gentlemen be
drinking tonight?” Stella offered flashing her best
smile.

“
Whiskey,” Drake answered
immediately.

“
That’s a hard drink
for a man with a
comely
face like yours,” she drawled.

“
Well, can you think of any
other ways that I might be able to quench my thirst, Stella?” Drake
countered suggestively, returning her friendly greeting with a wink
of his own and a vibrant white grin. He leaned against the round
table on his elbow and pressed his fingertips to his temple while
looking up at her, waiting on her response.

“
And a smooth talker at
that. Ain’t you a sweet thing, playing on my sweet spot?” she said
flirtatiously reveling in the attention and the chance to trade
quips with this handsome stranger. “But that’s all right, honey.
You don’t have to prove nothing to me. I’m too much woman for you
to handle anyhow,” she teased, her even voice becoming a cheerful
giggle.

Drake delivered up a deep throaty
laugh in return.

“
I’ll get you men your
whiskeys,” she said somewhat revived.

“
Much obliged, Stella.”
Drake grinned, grabbed the brim of his hat and tilted it toward
her, watching her bustle away, before removing it and laying it on
the table.

Girard sighed at Drake’s
rakish behavior and decided to remind him why they had traveled so
far from home. “According to Daniel, we can find William Hunter
here, the owner of this
fine
establishment
,” he said sarcastically,
before adding, “the only tavern in Jadesville as it turns
out.”

“
Well, it may not be meet
our standards back home,” Drake said, eyeing the furnishings and
the rough-neck crowd firmly rooted in the hard wooden chairs, “but
you have to admit the stage girls are damn pretty.”

“
Damn pretty,” Girard
agreed—his sour disposition vanishing as he turned his attention
toward the stage to watch the dancing girls.

“
Here’s your whiskeys,”
Stella said, momentarily diverting the men’s attention as she sat
their drinks down and offered a friendly wink and grin to Drake
before leaving.

Drake quickly tipped back his whiskey
and swallowed it in a few gulps. The liquid fire burned as it went
down, just the way he liked it.

He turned his attention once again to
the stage as the ladies disappeared one by one behind a tall, red
velvet curtain just as a previously unseen girl, stepped into view.
Her bright ruby costume adorned with ribbons and lace, flaunted a
fitted satin corset that exposed her generous cleavage. A billowy
thigh-high skirt and lace stockings pinned up by silk garter
straps, met white, soft leather lace-up boots with Louis heels and
decorative stitching. This was not just another pretty girl. She
was painstakingly beautiful and the men, drunk and sober alike
showed their appreciation with rowdy hollers of
approval.

Drake studied the beauty. Her thick,
crimson hair flowed about her oval face reaching down to her svelte
waistline, wavy and free. Green resonant eyes, enhanced with dark
liner, smiled upon high cheekbones painted with light rouge. She
was taller than average, perhaps five foot seven, and had a slender
curvy figure that enticed him. He had never seen a woman move with
so much vitality and self-confidence. In her honor, the piano man
changed his jingle to a slower, gentler melody and the woman in red
began to sing.

Drake couldn’t take his
eyes off her cherry lips, as a melodic sound flowed from them. Her
sparkling eyes elicited lewd thoughts that made him want to touch
her smooth, glistening skin. “I find her
very
interesting.” Drake’s mouth
curved into a smile. He was unable to look away.

“
Rethink your affections. A
woman that appealing can only mean trouble in a small town like
this,” Girard cautioned, eyeing Drake momentarily before turning to
share in his appreciative assessment of the siren’s beauty. “Look
at her, shameless and deliberate with a body that is meant to
seduce us.”

Drake leaned back in his seat,
curiously rubbing his chin as he watched the lovely lady move off
the stage and dance her way toward her pleasure-seeking audience. A
woman like that could make a man lose his wits, he thought. Seldom
had he witnessed a woman seduce such an audience fully
clothed.

She sashayed through the crowd,
eventually resting her rounded bottom on one rugged man’s lap, her
arched back facing him while she caressed another rogue’s cheek.
Her routine wasn’t particularly unique, but the responses from her
patrons were. This lovely creature was spreading herself across
tables, stretching her long silky legs as her generous breasts
threatened to spill from her bodice. The men smiled, but kept their
hands respectfully to themselves, except when handing her
bills—respectfully in her hands—that she stuffed strategically in
her costume. Drake might have mistaken her admirers for gentlemen
if it were not for the lascivious way they treated the other
dancing girls, cleaving to them at every opportunity. For some
reason this girl was off limits. Not a single hand groped her while
she passed from table to table, demanding attention with her silky
vocals.

“
Drake, this woman is, or
is connected to, someone important. Men are giving her entirely too
much respect,” Girard reckoned.

A simple enough stated assumption,
Drake thought, but it was meant to ward him off any licentious
thoughts he might have been contemplating. He heard his friend, but
had no intention of heeding his warning.

* * *

Sierra acknowledged the exquisite
gentleman sitting ahead of her. His penetrating eyes seemed to
pierce through her as she sauntered in his direction. Wavy,
sable-brown hair loosely touched his shoulders. His soulful eyes
were an arresting shade of blue. The strong outline of his jaw was
well set by a cleft in his chin. A tinge of a five-o’clock shadow
lent an air of ruggedness to his otherwise well groomed features,
while the hint of dimples offered the promise of a devilish boy
lurking just below the surface.

He seemed to literally
grow, though he remained seated as she came closer.
He looks tall
, she
thought, spotting his husky legs barely contained under the table
and crossed at the ankles. His shoulders, partially concealed under
fine traveling clothes, were broad and likely well muscled, she
imagined
.
She
continued to watch him watching her. She found it difficult not to
succumb to his profound stare and struggled to keep her legs stable
underneath her, careful not to misstep or, at least she must be
prepared for a quick recovery. She redoubled her efforts,
determined to steady her nerves and concentrate on wooing the man
into emptying his purse on her—every last coin if she could
manage.