He took in the lush elegance of mahogany furniture and silk curtains surrounding the madam. “Business seems to be flourishing.”
Lydia nodded proudly. She’d elevated decadence to a new level. Every suite was fitted with a fireplace, imported carpets and a grand-sized bed with sumptuous decorations. The crème de la crème in each was the porcelain bathing tub fit for a king.
As a madam in a dissolute town where sin was a common commodity, she’d set her place apart from the other bawdy houses by providing refined women with poise and beauty and showcasing them against a backdrop of genteel luxury. Her competitors had scoffed at her excesses, claiming she’d never make enough money to cover her costs. Apparently they’d been wrong.
She’d imported a chef famous for his culinary skills and more than one politician had been known to dine at the Pleasure Dome, eating delicious cuisine in the hall lit by crystal chandeliers. Lydia’s services were circumspect, exotic and expensive.
Deacon wasn’t here for the food but socializing with the infamous madam was part of the ritual of receiving information, another commodity that Lydia provided for her customers. When he visited, he always brought a little gossip and a few facts she might sell or give to another—nothing that might damage his own interests but might someday further her own.
He figured most of her customers did the same thing, feeding her tidbits that didn’t affect them. Like an elegant spider, Lydia sat spinning straw into gilded treasure in the midst of her beautiful Hell’s Half Acre web.
Deacon gazed at the subtle but expensive décor and wondered if Lydia had spun fool’s gold to pay for it. He pulled out two fake bank notes, laying the ten beside the hundred on the table next to her.
“Really, Robert, don’t be crude. I’m not a store clerk collecting money.” Lydia flushed and frowned.
“Counterfeit,” he said and leaned forward, pointing at the bills. “I thought you might want to know more like those two are being circulated here in Fort Worth.”
“Dear God, show me how to tell the real from the fake.” Shock replaced anger in her expression as she stared at the bills, waiting for his help in determining the phony money.
Lydia’s response of genuine horror left little doubt that if the Pleasure Dome was being used as a conduit, the owner knew nothing about it.
“The banks are checking bills.” He pointed out the serial number on each and explained how to differentiate between the real and the false.
“This makes everything that much more difficult,” she complained and wasted no time devising a means to counteract the threat to her profits. “I’ll have to have each escort checking money now.”
“You need to pass on the information.” He nodded at the bills. It was understood that she’d alert businessmen and politicians alike. Her reach extended to the inner chambers of the rich and powerful.
He hesitated. He should be on his way. By warning Lydia, he’d done his duty to Fort Worth commerce and fulfilled part of his goal. He wasn’t going to find his young competitor among the Pleasure Dome’s elite clientele.
Deacon gazed around the room, weighing the pros and cons of staying. Inhaling the scent of decadence, he decided his good deed of finding Beauregard could wait.
“I’m going to need a room for the night.” He pocketed the two counterfeit bills and decided to further his stay.
“Only the best for you, Robert.” Lydia stood, smoothing nonexistent wrinkles from her skirt before heading for the door. “I’ll have Calvin escort you upstairs when your bath is prepared and your suite ready.”
“I’ll dine before I go up,” he answered. It would be interesting to see who was in Lydia’s fancy dining hall.
“No, you won’t. Don’t forget in your zeal to catch criminals that my establishment is neutral territory.” She showed him the ruthless face of the Pleasure Dome’s madam and said shrewdly, “I’ll have your dinner delivered. Enjoy your stay, Robert.”
Deacon’s interest sharpened at her determination to keep him away from her other guests.
She started to leave then paused. “You’ve certainly saved me from possible problems. I’ll send someone special to you tonight.” Her message was clear.
Eat, drink, debauch at will. But stay away from my customers.
“Not necessary,” he answered as she closed the door. He wasn’t sure that she’d heard or if he wanted her to. He thought about the ribbon of scars on his back, still pink and tender. It wasn’t a sight he particularly wanted to share.
Lydia promised someone special every time he visited. He suspected that was a pat phrase she used on her patrons. When the door clicked shut, Deacon knew he had two choices.
He could prowl through the gaming hells and saloons in Fort Worth and spend the night looking for Beauregard or he could sit tight and let himself be escorted upstairs. Since exploring the brothel was unlikely given the many security guards Lydia had patrolling her house, staying overnight was an indulgence.
The skin on his back itched, his muscles ached and the spicy scent of something cooking in the kitchen made his belly rumble. He focused on the main reason why he should stay. A long soak in one of Lydia’s tubs would feel good. As if conjured by his thoughts, she popped back into the room.
“I’m afraid Calvin has left his post to smoke for the last time.” Lydia wore a frown as she fussed about her butler. The expression made her appear years older.
“As you well know, Robert, I cannot tolerate the smell of tobacco. It ruins the carpets and fouls the air.”
He knew Lydia’s rules as did every other customer ten steps through her front door. It appeared she wasn’t fussing about tobacco as much as her butler though.
“If he wasn’t such a pretty boy I would already have fired him.” Doorman absent or not, Lydia had no intentions of turning Deacon loose to roam.
“Benjamin will see you upstairs.” Benjamin was a bruiser dressed in a fine suit tailored to fit smoothly across muscles and concealed weapons.
Deacon remained silent as they climbed the broad sweep of stairs leading to the suites above. Upon arrival, he handed the escort a stack of greenbacks, which the man refused.
“Lydia says you’re her guest this visit. Dinner will be delivered at midnight. Enjoy your stay at the Pleasure Dome.”
Deacon waited until the other man disappeared down the steps. Then he fitted the key into the lock, entered and relocked the door before he faced the woman who’d been sent to entertain him.
Shock coursed through him. Lydia’s promise of someone
special
had for once been fulfilled. Deacon crossed the room and stood before the waiting girl. Women rarely reached above chest high on Deacon since, even barefoot, he dwarfed most men. But his night’s companion met his gaze without tilting her head or craning her neck.
Sooty lashes framed gray eyes flecked with silver, making her appearance strangely exotic. Charcoal brows contrasted with both her pale skin and the white-blonde hair hanging in a silken mane down her back.
“You work for Lydia?” His astonished words were out before he could stop himself.
“Tonight I work for you.” She laughed and touched his sleeve.
Surely she remembered him. But she didn’t mention that the last time they’d met, he’d been staked out over an anthill with strips of flesh torn from his back. Was it possible she’d never gotten a look at his face?
That was the first surprise. Her clothes or lack thereof was his second. Usually Lydia had her girls decked out in transparent costumes that left nothing to the imagination.
This woman wore a ruffled white shirt buttoned from shirttail to neck. It revealed little but what he could see made his breath catch in his throat. His gaze trailed upward, enjoying the shape of her bare feet, defined calves, not quite bony knees and pale columns of sculpted muscles. His gaze stalled on the tail of the shirt where it touched the top of her thighs.
She brushed her hands down her front as if trying to make the material cover more of her. The gesture served only to mold the fabric to her plump breasts, marking the white shirt with dents from the stiff peaks of her taut nipples.
She glanced at her chest and unexpectedly chuckled, the husky sound making its way straight to Deacon’s groin. He forgot about his mission to save Beauregard and ended all thoughts of spending the night alone.
Matter-of-factly she raised her arms to divide the thick mane hanging down her back. When she pulled two thick strands over her shoulders, her shirt pulled taut, displaying puckered nubs. He wanted her.
“I need to clean up,” he said abruptly. She gestured at the tub in the middle of the floor. He shook his head. “Shave first, then bathe.”
He scrubbed his hands and then made short work of lathering his face. He didn’t want to get dirty prints on the white material when he removed it. Excitement rippled through him. “Unbutton your shirt so I can look at you while I scrape off this beard.”
Absently he palmed the soap, rubbing it into lather while he surveyed her. The pale skin and light hair should have made her appear drab or dull but instead they served as a creamy landscape framing each vivid splash of color in her features.
Apricot blush tinted her cheeks as she obediently reached for the buttons closest to the bottom. Long tapered fingers unfastened the first four and stopped. The sight of her calloused palm and strong wrist startled him but he forgot about it when he glimpsed the soft nest of curls on her mound.
His glance traveled over the ruffles on the linen shirt past the full swell of unfettered breasts, up the elegant line of her neck. He paused and watched the tip of her pink tongue wet ruby lips. His gaze continued upward until he stared into her eyes. He’d been wrong. They weren’t gray but dark silver, the color of pewter. Laugh lines crinkled at the corners as she lifted a brow inquiringly.
“You don’t remember me?” He tensed, waiting.
“Of course I remember you,” she laughed, her tone husky when she added, “Beau said you needed rescued so there was no way out of it. You owe me a honeycomb. I’m glad to see I didn’t waste it doctoring you.”
“You let Beauregard talk you into going into that camp. That was crazy.”
“Well now,” she drawled agreeably, “we could talk about that. Or—we could play.”
It had been a long time since Deacon had played. A growl of pleasure rumbled in his chest. Though his hands were covered in lather, he touched the ruffled shirt’s neck, ran his finger down the front placket and paused when her breasts swelled on either side of his fingers.
“To here,” he said, leaving a wet mark that clearly defined where she could stop. He resumed shaving, staring at the reflection of his jaw in the mirror instead of at her. Deacon concentrated on keeping his hand from trembling as he scraped away dark whiskers.
“Want me to use that on you?” She gestured at the straight razor, stepping closer to him so he could see her reflection.
The button marking the wet spot he’d left in the middle of the shirt kept it from falling open. Lust roared through him.
“No, you do sloppy work.” He rinsed the razor in the bowl of water, flicking the excess water from it before slicing through the threads holding the last button in place. “You missed one.”
She leaned against the dresser and shifted her stance, displaying long, strong thighs covered in pale satiny skin—and the juncture between them. Deacon flipped apart the shirt, revealing the high, full breasts. A drop of water flicked from his hand to slide down her pearl-white flesh.
Her body was spare, without the usual softness or voluptuous curves he’d come to expect on a woman. Though her arms and shoulders were subtly defined by muscle, nothing on her body suggested excess other than the full bottom lip presenting him with a wickedly plump promise of sin—and the decadence of her breasts.
He held her gaze and cupped the rounded globes that defied the angles and planes of the rest of her. Need clawed inside him as the exquisite silk of her skin caressed his rough palms. Besides bringing his cock to life, she had a coltish grace that stirred a deeper part of him.
Instead of clipping his beard, he’d shaved it completely off. He felt almost naked without his facial hair.
“Where you shaved, your skin’s as smooth as a baby’s bottom.” She leaned closer, stroking the back of her hand along his jaw, and he turned his head, capturing her fingers in his mouth.
His reward was a startled hiss and goose bumps chasing over her skin. He kept her from removing her fingers and sucked on two of them, teasing them hard enough to make her nipples stand in stiff peaks. She moaned a husky sound of desire and swayed nearer, brushing against his shirt with her naked breasts. Relinquishing her fingers, he splashed water on his face before blotting the excess on a towel.
He wanted to close his lips around her nub, lave and suckle it until she whimpered and worry it with his teeth and tongue until she screamed and demanded more. As if she read his mind, she stepped back slightly, letting the sides of her shirt come together to hide her treasure.
“Your bath’s ready now.” Her hand trembled slightly as she pointed at the tub. Steam rose from the half-filled porcelain device that was big enough to accommodate both him and his companion.
Deacon grunted in appreciation. A woven screen decorated with pictures of exotic birds stood to the side, ready to give privacy if so desired.