The Irish Devil by Diane Whiteside Page B

noise from the bustling corrals, then settled into his big oak swivel chair.
    “What can I do for you, Mrs. Ross?” He kept his voice gentle, his California drawl soft against the muffled noises from outside.
    She took a deep breath, drew herself up straight and tall, and launched into speech. “May I become your mistress, Mr. Donovan?”
    “What?! What the devil are you talking about?” he choked, too stunned to watch his language. He knew his mouth was hanging open. “Are you making a joke, Mrs. Ross?”
    “Hardly, Mr. Donovan.” She met his eyes directly, pulse pounding in her throat. “You may not have heard, but my business partner sold everything to Mr. Lennox.”
    He nodded curtly. He must have been right before: she needed money. “I met Mr. and Mrs. Jones on their way out of town. I won’t be doing business with them again,” he added harshly.
    “Quite so. But my only choices now are to marry Mr. Lennox or find another man to protect me. I’d rather be yours than an Apache’s.”
    “Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” William muttered as he stood and began to pace. Think, boyo, think. She deserves better than being your woman. Heat lanced from his heart down his spine at the thought of her in his arms every night. Marriage? No, she’d never agree to a Catholic ceremony. “There are other men, men who’d marry you,” he pointed out hoarsely.
    “I will not remarry. Besides, Mr. Lennox blocked all offers other than his.”
    “Son of a bitch.” The bastard should be shot. “What about your family?”
    “They disinherited me when I married Edward. Both families refused my letters informing them of his death.”
    How the devil could a parent abandon a child, no matter what the quarrel? His father had given everything to protect his children.
    William’s gut tightened at the thought. Condoms were helpful but not a guarantee. If she stayed in his bed long enough, the odds were good…
    “You could become pregnant,” he warned, his eyes returning to her face. Blessed Virgin, what he wouldn’t do to see Viola proud and happy, holding his babe in her arms.
    “I can’t have children.”
    “The fault could be in the stallion, not the mare,” William suggested, his drawl more pronounced. And this stallion would dearly love to prove his potency where another had failed, his cock caroled.
    Breathe deep, boyo, let the lust fade, his brain warned. You were trained by the best and you’ll not leap upon a woman.
    Viola stared at him and firmly shook her head. “All of Edward’s siblings have at least three children. No, the difficulty is entirely mine.”
    He considered her slender body thoughtfully as he remembered other fragile women who’d rarely, if ever, conceived. Viola could be correct about her infertility.
    More to the point, she was stubborn enough to continue insisting on this madness of becoming his mistress, no matter what arguments he mustered. Perhaps if he took her, he could sate his hunger before her inevitable departure. His cock eagerly agreed with this reasoning.
    He moved to the window before speaking again, trying desperately to think. She needed to be warned about what to expect if she stayed with him.
    “I have strong demands and unique tastes.” His voice was darker now. If she came to his bed, he’d play the games he loved, no doubt about it. But he’d never mastered a woman who hadn’t consented and he never would.
    “And I understand you pay Mrs. Smith’s girls very well to satisfy them. I should think you would be glad to have a woman constantly available to you.” A hot flush lit her cheekbones and her pulse pounded in her throat as she licked her lips.
    Blessed Virgin, she was aroused by this conversation, but did she know what he was talking about? His fist hit the rough wall. “Mother of God, Mrs. Ross, do you have any idea of what I might do with you?”
    She ignored his profanity. “No, but I’m willing to learn.”
    Dear God in heaven, the images those words