Naughty Marietta. Nan Ryan

sugar, that would be nice.”

      Three

      Cole Heflin arrived in Denver, Colorado, on a warm, still evening near the end of June. Tired and stiff, he stepped down off the train and took a moment to stretch and unwind. He raised his arms skyward, groaned and lowered them. Ignoring curious stares, he bent forward and touched his toes several times. He straightened, leaned back from the waist and twisted one way then the other.

      Once he’d worked the kinks out of his legs and back, he made his way through the crowded train depot and out onto the busy street. Cole walked the short distance to the corner of Larimer and Eighteenth, and the Windsor Hotel. A well-heeled fellow traveler had assured him that the British-built hotel was the very best accommodations Denver had to offer.

      Cole stepped into the Windsor’s vast lobby and looked around. His fellow traveler had been right. The Windsor was an oasis on the frontier. Elegant parqueted floors, sixty-foot mahogany bar and full-length diamond-dust mirrors.

      The uniformed clerk raised a disdainful eyebrow when the bearded, shabbily dressed Cole stepped up to the marble desk. Cole was unbothered by the man’s high-handed attitude.

      “Have a corner suite available?” he asked the scornful clerk.

      “Sir, our suites are quite expensive and I—”

      “Answer the question,” said Cole with a smile. “Any suites available?”

      “Well, yes, but—”

      “Good. Top floor. Front corner suite will do.” He reached for the register, turned it around and signed it as the snooty young man went to get the key.

      “Suite 518,” said the desk clerk and reluctantly handed the key to Cole.

      Key in hand, Cole said, “I noticed a haberdasher across the street.”

      “Why, yes,” said the clerk, “Miller and Son is one of the oldest—”

      “Fine,” said Cole as he took a bill out of his pants pocket and laid it on the marble ledge. “Have someone from Miller and Son bring several suits—size forty-two long—to my suite so I can choose one. Also a white shirt, underwear and pair of black leather shoes, size eleven. And, have a barber sent up. I need a haircut. Think you can manage that?”

      The clerk looked anxiously around, then eased the bill off the marble desk and nodded. “Half an hour. Will that be acceptable?”

      “Perfect,” said Cole who turned away just as a small group of expensively dressed ladies swept through the lobby on their way to the dining room.

      One, an attractive brunette who could have been anywhere from thirty to forty, glanced at Cole, nodded and smiled. Cole winked at her. She blushed and hurried to catch up with her friends.

      Cole stood and watched her walk away, liking what he saw, wishing he could get to know her better. She went out of sight and he dismissed her. Eagerly he headed for his suite, taking everything in, admiring the fine furnishings of the stately hotel. The Windsor, with its grand staircases, was built to resemble Windsor Castle.

      It looked like a castle to Cole.

      Once in his luxurious suite, he admired the elegant furniture, oversize bed and gold-plated bathtub. Cole promptly made himself at home. He stripped off his soiled clothes, flipped the tub’s gold faucets and marveled as running water flowed swiftly into the tub.

      After a shave and haircut, a hot bath, a couple of shots of bourbon and a fine cigar, Cole dressed in the new suit of clothes he’d purchased from Miller and Son.

      The transformation was dramatic. He hardly recognized himself. His tanned face was smoothly shaven and his shaggy black hair neatly trimmed. The new apparel, a well-fitting suit of lightweight navy flannel, pristine white shirt and maroon cravat, made him look like a gentleman.

      Cole laughed at the idea. He was no gentleman.

      And he’d like to meet a woman who wasn’t a lady. Perhaps later in the evening he’d stroll down to Holladay Street and visit the famous Mattie Silks.

      But first he’d have dinner. He was starving.

      Cole went down to the dining room and was shown to a table on the wall. Once seated, he casually looked around. His attention was immediately drawn to a round table where the laughing ladies he’d seen in the lobby were enjoying a leisurely meal.

      The attractive dark-haired woman that he had winked at began glancing boldly at him. She smiled seductively then lowered her lashes. Cole leaned back in his chair and returned her gaze. The flirtation continued as he ordered dinner.

      When the ladies finished their meal and rose to leave, the shapely brunette hung back and pointedly looked his way.

      Without sound, Cole mouthed the words, “Suite 518.”

      She flushed, turned and hurried away with her friends.

      Cole chuckled.

      Dinner arrived—a thick juicy steak, fried potatoes, hot bread and butter—and he forgot the brazen brunette. When he’d finished his meal and left the dining room, he debated the visit to Mattie’s. He decided against it. He was too tired. A night’s sleep was what he needed most.

      A half hour later, back in his suite, Cole was naked and ready to crawl wearily into bed. But just as he pulled the top sheet down and put a knee on the mattress, there was a knock on the door. Cole frowned. He wrapped a towel around his waist, tied a loose knot atop his hip and crossed the room to open the door.

      Before him stood the bold brunette.

      “I…I am not in the habit of doing this sort of thing,” she promptly assured him.

      Cole grinned lazily. “Why, no, of course not,” he said as he reached out and gently took her arm. He drew the woman inside and closed the door behind her.

      For a moment they stood there face-to-face, neither speaking. Cole towered over the woman. She pressed her back against the solid door and gazed at his wide, sculpted shoulders, his broad chest, the white towel covering him. Her breath was now coming in shallow, anxious little gulps. Her heart was beating rapidly, the swell of her full, pale bosom rising and falling above the low-cut bodice of her snugly fitted suit jacket.

      Cole raised a hand, cupped the side of her throat. “I’m glad you made an exception for me.”

      “Yes, well, I…I can’t stay long,” she said. “My…my husband is expecting me home by ten.”

      “I see,” mused Cole, letting his hand slip down to the buttons of her bodice. “Then we’d better waste no more time.”

      He dropped his towel to the carpeted floor and swiftly unbuttoned her jacket. He pushed the opened jacket apart, slipped his long fingers inside her lace trimmed camisole, and eased the slick satin garment down to release a full, creamy breast. She drew a quick breath as if surprised, but made no move to cover herself. And she exhaled heavily when Cole licked his forefinger and circled her stiffening nipple with his wet fingertip.

      The brunette’s soft hands fluttered along his slim hips before seeking his already straining masculinity. Cole took his cue from her. Without so much as a kiss, he shoved her full skirts up and, with her help, deftly relieved her of her underwear. Looking into her flashing eyes, he swept a warm hand across her flat stomach, then slipped his fingers between her legs. She swooned and tilted her pelvis upward, eagerly pressing against his exploring hand. Cole was amazed. She was as hot, wet and ready as if he had spent an hour arousing her. He took his hand away, pushed her skirts higher up, around her waist.

      “Want to tell me your name, darlin’,” he asked and cupped the twin cheeks of her bottom, pressing his body against hers, letting her feel his firm erection throb against her bare belly.

      “No,” she quickly responded. “And I don’t want to know yours. Just put it in. Hurry.”

      Cole