The Mercenary's Kiss. Pam Crooks

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      Elena’s costume provided little warmth from the night’s chill, and she hurried toward the gaily painted, high-wheeled wagon she shared with her father—and the safe he’d bolted securely inside. Tomorrow, they would deposit the money into the nearest bank. Pop would be pleased to know the week’s bills would be paid in full with enough left over for some much needed extras.

      Upon reaching the wagon, she propped one foot on the bottom step and eased the cumbersome bags onto her thigh while she struggled to turn the knob.

      A man’s hand suddenly covered hers. “Señorita.”

      She froze at the heavily accented voice harsh in her ear, at the tequila on his breath.

      At the menace in his presence.

      She jerked her hand away and pushed against him to flee, but the cold metal of a knife’s blade at her throat stopped her.

      Her breathing quickened in fear. In horror. The low nicker of unseen horses nearby indicated the Mexican wasn’t alone.

      And she didn’t have a chance with any of them.

      “You want the money, don’t you?” she whispered shakily, a sickening sensation coiling faster and faster inside her at the impending loss.

      “Ah, señorita. That is not all I want.”

      Abruptly he spun her about, and she scrambled to keep her balance, her arms automatically tightening around the money. He plucked one of the bags from the heap and tossed it into the darkness, to the men mounted behind them. He did the same with another, and then another.

      Until Elena’s arms were empty.

      Dismay welled up inside her. “No! You can’t do this! You can’t!”

      The Mexican barked an order. Horses’ hooves pounded deeper into the darkness, then died away.

      She was alone with him. Her chest heaved, and she didn’t dare take her eyes off him. She wanted to claw him, to kick and scream at the unfairness of what he’d done.

      Of what he was going to do.

      But the knife’s blade appeared again and prevented her. The flash of metal in the moonlight left her vulnerable and defenseless. Terrified. His long, wavy hair framed the cruel planes of his face.

      Never would she forget that face.

      Raw, burning fear surged up inside her. She took a step back, but he was too quick. She turned to flee him, but before she could manage it, he had her in his grip again.

      Beneath the blade, the straps of her costume gave way. Elena cried out and clutched the fabric to her breasts. He snarled and pushed her to the ground. A savage yank on the red spangles ripped the garment in two. He clamped a grimy palm over her mouth, smothering her scream.

      “Silencio!” He straddled her, his weight rendering her immobile. He unbuckled his belt with his free hand. “I will kill you if you make a sound, señorita. And not even the good doctor’s medicine will help you, then, eh?”

      His head lowered; long, wavy hair fell across her cheek. With his mouth and tongue upon her, the stench of his lust, his greed, filled and sickened her.

      Afterward, when he left her cold and alone, Elena curled into a tight, miserable ball. And wept.

       Chapter One

      Laredo. Two Years Later

       J eb Carson wanted a night of hard drinking, wild whoring and a plate full of hot, American food. He didn’t care in what order he got them, just that he did. There were times in a man’s life when his needs overrode all else.

      Now was one of those times.

      He’d ridden hard through northern Mexico toward the Texas border for days. The anticipation drove him hour after long, dusty hour. He didn’t analyze this need to get back to his homeland, that being in America was where he should be. Now that he was back on her soil, he couldn’t wait to have what he’d always taken for granted.

      He swept an assessing glance around him. Laredo’s streets bustled with commerce and evening activity, signs that the place had grown since he’d been here last. No one seemed to notice a couple of strangers riding in.

      “That belly of yours growls any louder, the whole damn town will know we’re here.”

      Jeb glanced at Credence Sherman, the only person he trusted enough to call friend. “Can’t help it. Got a strong hankering for a big, thick steak.”

      “Sizzlin’ in its own juices.” Creed grunted. “Me, too.”

      They pulled up at a small saloon at the edge of the plaza and dismounted. The interior was cool, dim and unexpectedly crowded.

      Jeb preferred crowds. Easier for a man to go unnoticed.

      “What’ll it be, boys? A place at the bar? Or your own table?”

      He glanced at the first bona fide American woman he’d seen since he left the country six years earlier. She wore an apron around her waist, and she was older than he was by a decade or so, but she was clean and her features were pretty enough to warrant looking at twice. Jeb guessed by the way she was looking back, she was available, too.

      “A table,” he said, letting his gaze linger. “We’re staying a while.”

      “Glad to hear it.” She tossed him a provocative smile and led them toward the last empty table, wedged in a dark corner at the back of the saloon and hidden from view by anyone walking in. By the sway of her hips, she knew what he was thinking.

      And wanting.

      After seating them, she left with a promise to bring back a couple of stiff whiskeys. Jeb watched her go, his blood warming just looking at those hips.

      “Keep your pants fastened, compadre,” Creed said. “She’s practically old enough to be your mother.”

      Jeb allowed a small smile. He hadn’t thought of his mother in years, and he stifled the thought of her now. “Doesn’t matter. She’s warm, breathing and female.”

      “You’ve always been able to get any woman you want. Take your time. You’ve got all night.”

      “I’m not feeling choosy at the moment. Or patient.”

      Creed’s amusement deepened. “Damn, but you’re jaded.”

      Jeb hadn’t had a woman since…when? Havana. A little Cuban beauty who’d betrayed him the next morning to her Spanish-loyalist lover.

      The incident had nearly cost Jeb his life. But with a fair share of determination and guts, he had escaped the Spanish soldiers holding him prisoner. Within hours a riot erupted, and both the woman and her lover were killed.

      Jeb felt no remorse for his part in it. She had double-crossed him—and the United States, which had sent him there to help her people. She’d paid the price for her treason.

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