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

against Pamela’s soft cheek. When she turned her gentle green eyes toward him, he felt a strange tightness in his chest, a reaction that mystified him since he’d known the gazes of many a beautiful woman in the past and had never before reacted quite this way. “Jonathon Darwell has done something to you that he shouldn’t have, but I won’t force you to talk about it if you don’t want to.”
    “Thank you,” Pamela replied .
    She closed her eyes and rolled her head back on her shoulders, suddenly feeling very tired. It wasn’t a sleepy kind of fatigue, though, since she was still far too ener gized by excitement to even consider sleep. She had spent days thinking about how she would break into the Darwell mansion during the charity hospital ceremonies, and as it turned out, she had done almost everything wrong. If it hadn’t been for the Midnight Phantom, she would now be in the custody of some sheriff, sitting in a jail cell, or be the captive of Darwell, being tortured.
    The thought made Pamela shiver.
    “What’s wrong?” Phantom asked.
    “Nothing.” She shifted positions in the hay, curling her legs beneath her. Sometimes she wished he wasn’t quite so perceptive.
    Phantom unknotted the tie at his throat and then removed his cape and spread it out on the hay. Pamela ran her hand lightly over the black silk, enjoying its texture. She thought it a shame that he would put such exquisite material upon hay.
    “Sit on it,” Phantom prodded, taking Pamela by the upper arm and urging her onto the cape. “We’ve got a couple hours yet to kill, so you might just as well get comfortable.”
    Pamela knelt on the cape, though she was careful to keep her boots off the fabric as she sat with legs curled beneath her and to the side.
    “Why is it you hate Jonathon Darwell?” Pamela asked then, at last feeling a certain sense of safety after so many hours of unremitting emotional strain. “You seem to know an awful lot about him, his house, and all the people in it.”
    Beneath the mask that covered his eyes, Phantom’s mouth curled into a smile that touched Pamela deep inside.
    “I like your dimple,” she whispered.
    In a bold gesture for her, she touched his face lightly with her fingertips. That night he had reached out to her, but she’d never been the one to bridge the chasm that separated them physically.
    “You won’t tell me why you want to destroy Jonathon Darwell,” Pamela continued. “And you’re embarrassed about your dimple. ”
    Phantom tossed his Stetson aside. He’d had women tease him flirtatiously before, to be sure, but he’d never had anyone accuse him of having a double standard. He didn’t like the accusation, though he couldn’t blame Pamela in the least for voicing it.
    “I don’t mean to,” he said quietly. “For reasons that are crucial to me, I must keep my identity a secret. And because I must, I am in a position where I might be able to help you, but you can do nothing for me.”
    Pamela looked away. Phantom looked at Pamela’s profile, and another surge of emotion went through him, this one heated, sensual, irre pressible. Pamela was so different from the women he usually associated with, and the differences delighted him. She was independent and brave. He looked at her long blonde hair, which she left free and unbound, then down to the full breasts pressing against her cheap cotton shirt, which had obviously seen countless washings. Her men’s Levi’s hugged her hips tightly and seemed brand new. Her mouth was full lipped and absolutely heaven to kiss. There wasn’t a part of her that didn’t excite him. Even the holster and Colt on the gun belt strapped to her hips pleased Phantom, though, despite his considerable skill with firearms, he’d always had an aversion to them. The gun was just one more symbol of Pamela’s independence, and that was why it pleased him.
    The thought of what would happen to Pamela when Jonathon Darwell caught her stealing from him bore