Mallory Rush - [Outlawsand Heroes 02] (4 page)

"Was that a pulse?" Lori wondered. "No, it couldn't be." She pressed his jugular harder. "Slow, faint, but yes... yes! I'm getting a pulse! Blood pressure? Sixty over forty... one more time to be sure. It's rising, rising fast, blood pressure eighty over fifty. And temperature, what is his temperature?

"Damn, quit shaking, would you?" she commanded herself when she nearly dropped the ear probe into the water. "Water, I need more hot water. But first I have to get his temperature. Why did I try to do this by myself? I need help. I need Ryan." Did she have time to dial 911?

"Temperature... eighty-four degrees—no, eighty-six. My God, I don't believe it, he just jerked." Lori felt her own pulse leap as she whispered in disbelief, "he's actually starting to move."

Was he ill? Noble wondered. Bloody hell, but he was freezing, the shudders inside him pounding to get out. And his feet, they felt as if a thousand pins were pricking them, making them twitch and tingle painfully.

"But he's not breathing. Oh shit, where's the hypo, the adrenaline?" Latching on to both, Lori groaned, suddenly unsure if she should give it to him. Would it be too much of a shock to his system? A doctor, he needed a doctor, not a nurse. Lord, she must have been out of her mind to think she could pull this off by herself. What if she resuscitated him only to kill him because she did something wrong? Could she be charged with murdering someone who'd been dead for a hundred years?

He couldn't catch his breath. Why couldn't he catch his breath? Was he dead? Was this hell? No, surely not. Not unless hell greeted its newcomers with a kiss.

A mouth was on his, a warm, soft, utterly feminine mouth. Her lips were open and she was breathing hard, sharing the flavor of cinnamon. Despite the needles of pain shooting through him, compounded by the heat of her breath, which filled his protesting lungs, Noble warmed to the kiss that surely had to be coming from a harlot. No proper woman would kiss a man with such force and desperation. As for her pinching of his nose... it must be a tart's trick unknown to him.

Suddenly she was no longer kissing him. She was tearing at his shirt then pushing on his chest and screaming, "Come on, damn you! Damn, don't you leave me now!"

He wanted to say, he wouldn't dream of it. But the words were trapped in his throat. While he struggled to make them emerge she resumed pinching his nose and kissed him even more fiercely.

Such a lusty wench! The chill was still making him shiver, great shivers that erupted from the chest she was now massaging. But he also felt a rising heat, fast seeping around and through him.

Sensation spread as she stroked him almost everywhere—except for where he most wanted her to stroke. He reached for her from what seemed to be an impossible distance.

"He's breathing now, really breathing," Lori panted. In amazement, she realized he was trying to move his hand toward her—but with little success. Her heart sank. Nerve damage, how much had been done? Had he lost the use of his fine-motor skills? Or, horror of horrors, what if she'd revived him only to give him a fate worse than death? Able to breathe, even think, but unable to speak or move?

He seemed to be trying to release the gun she hadn't been able to free from his paralytic grip. But he was trying. Good, good. Only, he couldn't do it by himself. Not good.

How very sweet she was, gripping his stiff hand and relieving him of the familiar weight he wasn't inclined to give up. It was, after all, his gun. His gun? What in the blazes was he doing with a gun while keeping intimate company with a woman? Even if she was a harlot, it was imperative to apologize for such an unpardonable breach of etiquette.

His lips thoroughly warmed by her kissing, which he was eager to resume, and his halting breath coming fast, Noble forced a whisper past the rawness of his throat.

"My... lady. My... apologies."

"My God! Oh my God, you can talk!"

But of course he could talk, he wanted to tell her. And would have had those few words not taken such an uncommon amount of effort to get out. It was just as difficult to raise his eyelids so he might see her face. But she assisted him with that as well, gently lifting first one and then the other—and shining a sharp, irksome light into each.

She muttered softly to herself, sounding somewhat distressed. All in all, this was a most confusing encounter. Again, he tried to open his eyes, and managed a slitted gaze.

Noble beheld what appeared to be an angel. The light now shimmered behind her, like a halo around her golden hair. He thought it fashioned strangely, fringes wisping over her forehead, the rest cut short, reaching no farther than her shoulders. But it was lovely hair just the same, and he rather liked the peculiar way she had cut it.

He liked it almost as much as her eyes. They were blue and reminded him of periwinkles in bloom. She really had no need for the paint she wore, although ladies of the night often did rouge their cheeks, their lips, and even their nipples. But other than the smudges of color about her eyes, she wore no paint that he could readily see.

Her complexion was luminous but far from pale. There was a subtle fragility about her, but all in all, she was lacking in a delicate appearance. Even so, she was a handsome woman and the strength of her features appealed to him. Her mouth was especially exquisite. And how well she plied the skills of her trade, no teasing coquette in her kisses.

A violent shudder overtook him and his eyes slid shut as he battled with this strange malady that had a dreadful sense of timing. He heard her mumble something that sounded like "hypothermia" before she said with an unmistakable urgency, "I've got to get you out of these clothes, they're cooling off the water."

It was then that he realized he was in a long, deep tub. Fully clothed. Had he imbibed a bottle of whiskey before seeking the favors of this fetching woman? Though he wasn't inclined to drunkenness, it would explain much. Except for the racking shivers. They offered him little help as she cursed profusely and struggled to remove his coat.

He heard it thud onto the floor before she tugged at his shirt, which gaped open from her earlier romp upon his chest. He resisted her struggles, and she gave it up and went on. Off went his chaps, followed by his boots.
No
resistance from him with those; he raised his hips as best he was able and her fleet hands inched down his pants.

Despite great anticipation once she'd gotten them off, he was sorely vexed since the small effort had taxed him and his lax manhood was surely less than impressive.

Not that it dissuaded her, determined angel of the night that she apparently was. Noble surrendered to the luxury of her ministrations while he rested. The sound of running water, the hot feel of it, surprised him somewhat. Such modern conveniences were rare in these parts; clearly, this brothel was of a far higher quality than the one he usually visited.

Most definitely it was, he decided, when she sought to arouse him with an exotic array of sexual paraphernalia.

Nothing seeming quite real, despite the very real sensations she provoked as her fingertips stroked his ear and she pressed a blunt apparatus slightly inside, which faintly tickled. Removing it, she whispered, "temperature rising, that's good, so good." And then she strapped a black cuff onto his upper arm, squeezed it tight with a peculiar attachment. Noble assumed it was some sort of bondage game she was playing, though for the life of him he couldn't say what the accessory, which ran from her ears to the silver piece she pressed to the inside of his arm, was for.

But it was over so quickly, he wondered if he'd imagined it all, if he was suffering from some sort of delirium. If so, he hoped never to recover—at least not until she finished with what was proving to be an incredibly stimulating massage.

Her hands were marvelous, rubbing his chest, his arms, even his feet, with a skillful fervor. Indeed, though the overly warm water was a balm to his chilled flesh, her touch was hot as a branding iron.

The chills began to subside. His shuddering breaths came easier. And though he still felt unaccountably weak, Noble could feel his strength growing.

He flexed a foot. Then crooked a knee. His arms felt equally stiff, but he moved them anyway, opening them to the sweet lady of tender ministrations.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, then pressed her fingertips to his throat. "Strong and steady. Sweetheart, you're gonna make it." She said the last with a heated passion as she pressed her lips to the pulse he could feel beating hard and quick, such was the magic of her kiss.

His loins responded, too, but not as well as he'd have liked. So it was with his mind, taking all of this in while a fuzziness dulled the edges. One thing was clear, however, this was no ordinary harlot.

"You're extraordinarily good at what you do," he told her with all sincerity. Though his voice was raspy, he was grateful for the ability to speak freely again. But most of all, he was grateful for this beguiling woman, the likes of which he'd never met. Not in England, and surely not in this primitive land of Alaska.

"Just doing my job," she said, her smile shining and bright. "But with you, it's more than that. We don't really know each other yet, but you're special to me."

"A mutual feeling, I promise you." Suddenly Noble wasn't at all sure that he wanted to share her. Women were at a premium and this one seemed an impressive cut above the rest—despite her rough language.

Had he ample gold in his discarded belongings to purchase her favors solely for himself? If not, he had hidden gold aplenty, and if he could woo her into agreeing... surely she would prefer the amorous attentions of one man to many.

"However I came to be here," he murmured, "I thank the gods for it." The glow of her smile warmed him and he had to wonder just how he
had
come to the good fortune of her presence. "Where am I?" he asked, hoping to nudge his memory.

She hesitated before saying, "Juneau."

Juneau! That would explain his lack of familiarity with the brothel he was in. A large ransom hung over his head here; it was not a place to linger. Noble suddenly stiffened.

She urged him deeper into the water and asked with concern, "Are you having trouble breathing? Is your heart starting to hurt?"

"If I'm having trouble catching my breath, it's because you take it away. And no, my heart feels no pain, but without doubt you could break it. Now please, cease speaking, I'm having enough difficulty thinking as it is."

He concentrated hard, and a flash of white came to him. And before that... before that, Bitter making a terrible sound then falling over a ledge. It had been night. Why had he not taken more precautions about the safety of their trail? Had they been trying to escape... pursuit?

Yes, yes, it was coming back to him now. The posse and their gunfire too close at his back. What was to be his last bank robbery, gone awry.

"How was I found?" he demanded shortly.

"You were... you were buried deep and at first thought dead. But someone believed you might live against the odds, and so you were brought here."

He didn't have to think hard to know who that someone was. He'd warned Attu not to follow him, but when had his stalwart friend ever listened? Attu, his dearest and most trusted friend, who had an insatiable taste for harlots.

But he wouldn't share this one even with Attu.

"I presume that we have a mutual friend in Attu. Where is he now?"

"He's—he's... I'm sorry, but he's gone."

"Ah, back to Skagway to make excuses for my absence." The agility of his mind returning, Noble pieced the logical sequence of events together: Attu had trailed him, dug him out of the snow—no doubt nearly freezing himself in the process—then returned to the closest town due to his weakened condition. The local doctor would bear no trust; a whorehouse was far more reliable.

"Tell me," Noble asked urgently, "How long have I been here?"

Again she hesitated. "Nearly a week."

A week! No wonder his dreaming and dark lapses had seemed to go on forever.

"I must go." Noble made to rise, only to find the woman pressing him back. He cursed softly. But he didn't bother to apologize, given her own propensity for swearing.

"You can't go now," she protested.

"Allow me a fortnight to see to my responsibilities and I'll come fetch you." As for the bank, he would wait out the winter to rob it. Yet he could not wait that long to claim this sweet, lusty lady. "Have you a horse that you could lend me? I promise not to steal it." Despite the frantic need to find his friend, Noble permitted himself a strained chuckle at the small joke he'd made. She did not laugh with him.

Rather, she said fervently, "I want you to stay with me. You
have
to—at least for a little while. If you go now, you won't be safe, and I'd never forgive myself if something bad happened to you. Please, don't try to leave."

Her palms gripped his shoulders and she pressed him deeper into the tub. Water sloshed over the side and he noticed her white blouse was molded to a pair of breasts so enticing that he was sorely tempted to linger.

A short time would not make much difference. But he could afford only a few stolen moments.

"My good woman," Noble murmured, "I find your character as exceptional as your feminine charms. Unwise though it is, I'll dally with you for as long as I dare." Already he dreaded their parting. But he would make such exquisite love to her first, she wouldn't hesitate to promise to save her favors for him, and only him, until he returned to claim her.