Gideon, Robin - Desire of the Phantom [Ecstasy in the Old West] (Siren Publishing Classic) by Robin Gideon Page B

He had felt the lushly feminine graces of that curvaceous body hidden in man’s clothes, and could accept her as an ally in the war against Jonathon Darwell. She was a woman of courage and passion.
    “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