A Lady of the West by Linda Howard Page A

Spanish. And, second, the man was Jake Roper.
    The knowledge was like a blow to the chest. Air left her lungs in a rush, and she could only hang there, unable to move or breathe. The most incredible, unreasonable hurt filled her, and she tried to turn away, to leave quietly. She didn’t want to see this, couldn’t bear it—
    But her legs still wouldn’t work. Her muscles were frozen, and she could only stare helplessly, taking in details she didn’t want to see.
    The woman was naked except for her skirt, which was twisted around her waist. Victoria could tell that much, even though the shadows cast by the single lamp covered the lower halves of their bodies. Roper’s shirt was off, revealing a powerfully muscled torso that glistened with sweat as he moved over his partner, the muscles tightening and flexing with his movements. The woman was clinging to his broad shoulders, her head thrown back and her eyes closed. Victoria stared at Roper’s face, which she could see better than the woman’s. It was tense and concentrated with fierce sensuality.
    The woman gave a low cry and thrashed wildly for a minute, locking Roper within the grip of her arms. He held her firmly and began moving even faster. Moments later a deep groan of pleasure sounded in his throat.
    A sheen of tears blurred Victoria’s vision, and she bit her lip to hold back a sob. The small pain in some way released her, and she took a step backward.
    Like an animal scenting danger, Roper’s head came up, and he stared right at her.
    It was only a second, yet it lasted an eternity. His face was dripping with sweat, the skin still pulled taut in the immediate aftermath of orgasm, his eyes fierce and his hand already on the heavy pistol that lay next to him in the straw. Victoria stood with her fist held to her mouth, her eyes wide and glittering with tears. She knew that he saw her, even in the shadows. She knew she couldn’t stand there another minute, pierced by that strange pain. Her limbs stiff, she forced herself to step more deeply into the shadows, one step at a time, until she could no longer see them. Finally she was able to turn and hurry from the barn, no longer caring about silence, wanting only to get away.
    Infuriated, strangely shaken, Roper lifted himselffrom the woman and hitched his pants back up. She was still lying on the straw, her lush breasts glistening with sweat. Those breasts had excited him just a short time ago, but now all he wanted was to get away from her, and she deserved better than that. Damn it, he couldn’t even remember her name. She’d made it plain, from the moment the tinker’s wagon had pulled in, that she was interested in him. He’d taken her at her word. It was just a little diddling, not meaning anything to either of them except for the physical relief.
    But Victoria had seen them. He thought grimly that the sex she’d had with the Major was probably starched and restrained, done in the dark with her nightgown pulled up only as much as was necessary. She had probably never dreamed of such things as nearly naked bodies rolling in the hay, sweating and straining toward completion.
    Thinking of what she’d seen made him feel ashamed. He tried to push the unfamiliar emotion away, but it stubbornly refused to go. Damn, he wished it hadn’t happened, wished Victoria hadn’t had that stricken look in her eyes, wished that he could go after her and explain that it didn’t
mean
anything. He wondered if she would understand that, or if she’d even care. But she’d looked at him as if he’d hurt her in some way she barely understood, and he was powerless to comfort her.
    The woman—what was her name? something like Florence—was languorously sitting up, her face still dreamy. Not Florence … Florida? Fiorina, that was it. She stretched, lifting her arms to better frame her heavy breasts with their dark brown nipples, and eyed him