Savage Impulses by Danielle Dubois Page A

revealed a body that was as pale as
cream and as smooth as she undressed.
    She was barely above medium height, but her
curves were voluptuous. In the fading light of the day, her skin
glowed, and her dark hair, still in its demure bun, took on hints
of copper. Against the cooler air, her coral-colored nipples
tightened making his dick hard.
    Marigold resisted the urge to cover them and
the curly hair between her legs. Instead, she took a deep breath
and turned to the clothes that had been provided.
    First were the flimsy drawers that barely
covered the curves of her rear, and she realized with a sick
feeling that they were made without a center seam. Anyone could
part the fabric and see her most secret parts. Underneath the
drawers were a pair of barely-there stockings and an old set of
tall heels that made her wobble. She flushed with shame when she
bent to fasten the clasps. Then was the corset, black silk and far
finer than her old canvas set, but it nipped her in so tight that
she gasped. It plumped up her breasts, forcing them high and round.
She realized it stood her up straight while pushing her rear out at
the same time. The skirt came last, a swishy fall of green taffeta
that rustled around her legs but barely came below her knees.
    “There's... there's no blouse.”
    Black sneered at her. “Of course there's
not,” he said.
    She realized with a fresh surge of horror
where she was and what Black intended for her.
    * * * *
    Langtry rose up out of the prairie like a
nightmare, and Jake Sloan scowled hard at it as he drew even
closer.
    Sensing her master's displeasure, Tamu
whickered, dancing nervously on the road.
    Jake calmed her with a soft touch of his hand
to her neck, murmuring gentle words in Comanche. She was a tobacco
paint horse, splotched pure white and deep chestnut. He had never
had a finer mount. She could be temperamental, especially if she
felt she had been slighted, but there had never been an animal as
responsive, as steady, or as even-tempered.
    He had acquired her from his cousin, who
lived with his mother's people. She turned out to be worth every
buffalo robe he had offered. Some of the elders spat at a man of
mixed blood riding such a fine Comanche horse, but he thought wryly
that he could live with the dishonor. On the ranch, she was worth
her weight in gold, but even selling her wouldn't have made up a
fraction of the money that he needed right now.
    In a drawer back home, there was a desperate
letter from his half-brother. They hadn't spoken in years, but
Peter had always treated him well. Now Peter's daughter Lily, who
Jake had last seen as a sweetly cheerful toddler in Boston, was
ill. The doctors of Boston had thought that she would die, but then
Peter had had hope in the form of a doctor in Vienna.
    Please, if I have ever done anything to help
you, if we have ever been family, please help us...
    Jake knew that he had to help where he could,
but he was also painfully aware of how precarious his own situation
was. He owned his own small ranch, his horse, and his cattle, but
they were just intended for his survival. Real cash was something
else, and he could only think of one way to get it.
    He rode into Langtry just as dusk was
falling. The streets were already filling up with drunks and
cowboys as he pulled Tamu sharply to one side to avoid a man who
was reeling down the street. The man got a good look at Jake's dark
skin and knife-straight black hair, spat, and swore, but when he
saw the rifle that was comfortably holstered at Jake's side, he
moved on.
    Jake hitched Tamu up outside of the Blue Cat
saloon, flipping one of the local boys a penny to keep an eye on
her, and walked through the batwing doors. He knew that what he was
doing was risky, but some part of him couldn't resist the thrill of
stepping back into a time of life he had thought long past him.
    * * * *
    Though she shivered in her thin clothes,
Marigold stood with her chin held high. Black had left her alone
for a bit, taking