It was midafternoon when Kincaid entered her room. Candice stiffened every muscle and looked at him, hating him. He was unperturbed. “I’ve ordered you a bath.” He walked to the wardrobe and flung it open, riffling through the costumes within. “Tonight I want you downstairs. You’re going to entertain a friend of mine.”
“What?”
He threw something crimson and black on the bed, facing her. “Tonight I want you downstairs, dressed like a whore, acting like a whore—charming my friend until he can’t see straight.”
“Charming him? And what about later—when he wants to take me to bed?” She was horrified, thinking that her worst fears were going to come to pass—Kincaid was letting Lorna use her as a whore for the customers.
Kincaid grabbed her chin cruelly. “Perhaps, darling, if you showed a little enthusiasm in bed, I would be more inclined to keep you as my private stock. To be totally honest, raping you is like fucking a board, and it bores me.” He turned away.
Candice couldn’t react for a flat second, and then she was lunging after him frantically. “Virgil! You don’t mean …”
He laughed. “I do mean it, Candice. You’re beautiful and clean—I can make a lot of money from you. Tonight we start with Dick Anderson.”
“I won’t do it.”
“No?” He raised a brow. “Do I have to beat you to make you behave?”
She thought of her baby. She stared at the floor, her eyes swimming with tears. He laughed again and shut the door.
Candice sank onto the bed in despair.
Her worst fears were coming true.
“Dick, this is Candice,” Kincaid said, smiling, his hand tightly clasping Candice’s elbow.
“You were right,” Dick Anderson said, staring at Candice unblinkingly. “She’s gorgeous.”
“And feisty.” Kincaid grinned, his hand moving to her hip.
Anderson grinned. Feeling horribly self-conscious in a scarlet satin corset and a black beaded skirt that came to mid-thigh, Candice could not smile until Virge stared at her—and then she had no choice. Kincaid led her into the salon, already full with patrons and prostitutes, and set her in a chair. He and Anderson each took one on either side of her. Anderson was in his late forties, husky but not fat, with a weathered face and gray hair. His hand settled on Candice’s knee, kneading her flesh. Feeling Kincaid’s warning look, Candice managed to smile again.
“Why don’t you sit here, honey,” Anderson said, patting his lap.
Kincaid was signaling for drinks. Candice got up and settled gingerly on Anderson’s lap. The man promptly placed one hand low on her abdomen, fingers spreading. They dug into her flesh.
“Have you talked to Arnold?” Kincaid asked.
“Sure have. He says he’d sell out for two thousand, not a penny less.”
“Hmm.” Kincaid sipped his whiskey.
“’Course, what with the rustling and Indians, he might feel obliged to change his mind soon,” Arnold said, his hand sliding up to lift Candice’s breast. She stiffened. He began fondling it, his fingers searching out her nipple and stroking it to hardness.
“Why don’t we make sure that he does?” Kincaid said.
“To partners,” Anderson agreed, raising his drink. Glasses clicked and they drank. “Honey, you are so quiet. How about a whiskey for the lady,” he called to Lorna. He nudged her neck with his cheek. “You like that idea, honey?”
“Just fine,” Candice managed.
The next half hour passed at a snail’s pace. Anderson kept stroking and pinching her breasts. The two men discussed business and the current news, especially the latest slaughter led by Geronimo and his renegades. Anderson shifted Candice off his lap and excused himself. “But I’ll be back.” He grinned at Candice and gave her a kiss on the lips. She kept her mouth shut.
Kincaid grabbed her wrist and twisted it. “You’re not living up to my expectations of you,” he warned menacingly.
“You’re hurting me,” she protested.
“Do I have to take you back upstairs again?”
“No.”
