by Lynda J. Cox
He whispered, his lips moving against the folds of her ear, “I want this whole night.”
His words sent waves of warmth crashing over her. Another whimper of longing and need broke from Allison’s throat, while she felt as if his very voice caressed her bare skin. Tremors racked her, leaving her clinging to him.
A.J. brought his mouth to hers, again, his tongue thrusting into her mouth, a blatant promise of a later act. Allison caught his tongue between her teeth, drawing him deeper into her. She felt a shudder pass through him when she pulled his tongue even deeper into her mouth even as he struggled to hold back a deep groan.
He pulled his head back from hers, watching her face as he slowly and with deliberation trailed his hand from her bottom to her hips and then delved between her legs. A tiny whimper sounded from her throat when he lightly brushed his fingers over the triangular mound of dark chestnut hair. With that whimper, his other hand wrapped in her hair tightened. A shuddering breath left his chest when he parted the satiny folds hidden at the juncture of her legs.
His hand stroked against her, parting the dewy folds with his fingers, delving into her, using his thumb in a circling motion against the tiny nub hidden there.
Allison couldn’t contain the sobbing cry of his name. Her whole being had centered under his ministering hand. She clung to him, her nails digging into his back. She shuddered, deeply and repeatedly, as she cried his name in a whispering litany.
She barely heard A.J. when he grated out, “Look at me.”
Allison struggled to open her eyes and keep them open. In the dim light she clearly saw the features of his face, angles and hollows filled with shadow and light. So much banked heat radiated from him it was as if he contained an inferno within and that molten heat blazed in his eyes. Allison welcomed that warmth into her very soul.
“Look at me,” he repeated in a rough voice. “I want to see it in your eyes when you come.”
Those words threw her over the edge. She arched against his arm, pressing even more tightly into his demanding fingers, and a thin, high, soft scream of release in the form of his name broke from her throat. She didn’t even register he had lowered her to the bed until her back came into contact with the cool sheets.
A moment later, his mouth left a scalding trail of kisses down her throat to her breasts. His teeth lightly grazed over the sensitive nipples, evoking a quick gasp of anticipation before she instinctively arched up into his suckling mouth. In feather light, rapid fluttering strokes, his hands moved up and down her sides, slipping under her to briefly cup her bottom.
****
A.J. brushed his mouth over the arch of her rib cage, felt her whole body shudder when he nipped her lightly. His whole body had been enveloped in flames and now blazed totally out of control. He wanted to drive himself deeply into her and he also knew if he did, it would be over too soon. The last thing he wanted was to hurry through this. He brought his mouth over her trim stomach, his tongue flicking into her belly button.
Allison’s breathing grew even more ragged as his kisses moved a little lower on her stomach. “No,” she whimpered, her voice trembling with the shudders racking through her. “I’ll break into a million pieces if you do that.”
“No, you won’t,” he assured her. “I promise, you won’t break.” He kissed the top edge of her mound. “I want to hear you say my name like you did a few minutes ago. I want to kiss you everywhere, Alli. I want to taste you, smell you, and feel you when you come.”
Her tiny cry of anticipation rolled over him, encasing him in fire. A.J. pressed his mouth against her, this time stroking her with his tongue. Allison arched up to his mouth, her body quivering and small, whimpering gasps shuddering from her. He slid his hands under her, lifting her to his mouth even more. He kissed her, tugged at the small button of flesh hidden within the folds of her womanhood with his teeth, caressed that small nub with his tongue. He then laved her with his tongue, delving into her most secret place until he could feel her thrashing helplessly on the bed.
He heard her sobbing in incoherent fashion even as deep inside of her, he felt her tighten convulsively. A.J. traced a path of warm, nibbling kisses up her body, propping himself up onto an elbow next to her. He let her slowly come back to coherent thought, just brushing his hand lightly over her face.
Several moments later her small hand brushed across his chest. He flinched as her light touch trailed down his stomach and he forced himself to keep his breathing level. She tugged at the first brass button at his waist, and hesitated.
“Don’t stop,” he urged. He gave up the struggle to maintain any composure and let his breathing quicken with each parted button. A tremor rippled through him as she tugged his denims off his hips.
He was already hard and aching for her. When she wrapped a hand around him, stroking him, he ground his teeth to keep his groan contained. He caught a handful of her hair, tugging her head back to watch her face.
Her eyes were hooded, dark, and the half-smile tugging at her lips almost undid him. A.J.’s breathing became ragged and unsteady and he was losing his battle to stave off completion. He caught her wrists. “Stop. If you don’t, I’m going to spill in your hands, and that isn’t where I want to be when I come. I want to be deep inside you.”
To his relief, she complied. He turned his head into her caress when she trailed her fingertips along his jaw. His breath caught at the back of his throat as she leaned into him, her soft breasts brushing against his chest. “I want you,” she murmured.
What had he ever done to be blessed with this woman?
He rolled onto his back, catching her waist at the same time and lifted her onto him. Her eyes widened as he slid into her. They widened more when he said, “Bring your knees up to my waist.”
Clenching his teeth to keep a semblance of control, he held her hips, lifting her and then lowering her onto him again. Her soft gasp was like fire in his blood. Within moments, she was riding him, pushing him closer to the edge. She was close, too, if her quiet moans and the manner her nails dug into his shoulders were any indication. He welcomed the slight pain because it pulled him back.
He skimmed his hands up her sides to cup her breasts and stroked the pad of his thumb across her nipples. She gasped his name, almost breaking his control. He caught her face between his hands, dragging his thumb across her lower lip. He couldn’t stop his hard push up into her when she caught his thumb between her teeth.
“A.J.”
“Just let go, darlin’.”
She shook her head, a frantic light in her eyes. “…with me…” she gasped.
A.J. grabbed her waist and rolled her under him without breaking the connection of their bodies. He hooked his arms under her knees, pulling them up and thrust as deeply as he could into her. Her hands were everywhere on him, nails raking the length of his back. She was gasping with every advance.
He was so damn close…when she tightened around him, he captured her mouth with his, her high thin cry of his name mingling with his groan as he spilled into her. He slowly collapsed onto the mattress, falling off to her side, struggling to catch his breath. He was dimly aware of her hand running through his hair, her voice whispering his name over and over.
When he finally caught his breath, he shifted onto his back and gathered her into his arms. He pulled her head down onto his shoulder and was shocked to feel hot tears falling onto his chest.
“Did I hurt you?” he asked, suddenly concerned.
She shook her head against him. After a long moment, she said, “Senza di te non voglio esistere.”
A.J. tightened his arms around her. Even though he knew exactly what she said, he murmured, “I need a translation.”
“I don’t want to live without you.”
“Mia amata, dolce mia, morirei senza di te.”
“You didn’t need a translation.” She lifted her head from his shoulder. His heart leaped with the sight of her face glowing in the aftermath, her lips swollen from his kisses. Even with the tears st
ill shimmering in her eyes, she had the appearance of a woman well and thoroughly loved. She added, “My father insisted that I learn two languages. Why did you learn Italian?”
“I had a mother who loved opera and went every chance she had. It was either learn Italian or be bored out of my head when she started taking me.” He brushed the back of his hand along the side of her face. “I just needed to hear you say it again.”
“Say what you said to me again, please.”
“My love, my sweetheart, I would die without you.”
She dropped her head to his shoulder again and he felt a small shiver pass over her. “I’m scared.”
“I know.” He drew a long, deep breath. “So am I.”
The sound of the door to the suite opening and then closing reached them. “I wonder where they’re going,” Allison murmured.
“More like where have they been. When I said I was coming in here to talk to you, Drake decided the better part of valor would be to drag Harrison to the saloon.”
“A.J., about what Harrison promised you—”
“Don’t, Alli. Please.” He didn’t want this moment ruined. For just a few hours, he wanted nothing from his past or a very possible future to intrude on this.
“When you can tell me, please do. I’m on your side, remember?”
She constantly surprised him. He assured her, “I will, when I can.”
He pulled the blankets over both of them and tightened his hold on her as she wiggled a little closer into his side. Within moments, he knew she was asleep.
A.J. stared up at the ceiling, watching the shadows shift as the coals on the hearth burned down and the occasional flame licked up. Allison’s level breaths fluttered across his chest. “Please,” he whispered. “I know I haven’t prayed in a long time, but I’m praying now. I want to grow old with her next to me. I want to fall asleep every night holding her for the rest of our lives. She makes me whole, again. I know the last time I asked You for anything, it was just to let me die. Now I don’t want to die.”
Chapter Seventeen
The arts of power and its minions are the same in all countries and in all ages. It marks its victim; denounces it; and excites the public odium and the public hatred, to conceal its own abuses and encroachments.
~Henry Clay
Allison hovered near the entrance to Helga’s dining room which had been turned into a courtroom. Drake’s questions to the prospective jurors were all the same: “Did you fight in the War Between the States? Did you know anyone who fought for either side? What are your political leanings?”
Any man who claimed to be a Republican was immediately recused. Any man who said he fought for the Union was recused. At one point, Ryan Bayless, the lawyer named as the prosecuting attorney, pushed away from the table. “Dear God, at this rate the whole county is going to be recused.”
Drake smiled. “Not the whole county, but at least those who still carry a grudge against the Democrats and the Confederacy.” After three days of interviewing jurors and negating five of them, and having four of those Drake approved of recused by the county prosecutor, the trial finally started.
Bayless started his opening argument by claiming that A.J. was a rootless drifter, that he had lost any moral compass a long time ago when he enlisted in the Confederate forces, and that he shot the three men he was accused of killing in cold blood. Bayless stated that A.J. was a threat to the community and when the trial was over, he would prove to the satisfaction of the jury that not only was A.J. guilty of the cold-blooded murder of three men, but that he deserved to hang.
Allison wasn’t certain that A.J. heard a word Bayless said. He sat as if carved of marble. Listening to Bayless made her want to jump from her seat and accuse him of being a liar and then march across the dining room turned courtroom floor and slap him.
When Bayless finished his opening argument, Drake sat for a moment, apparently looking over his notes. Every head finally turned to him and Allison realized Drake had waited until he held them in the palm of his hand. He stood, stepped out from behind the table, and made his way with deliberation to the twelve men seated behind a short railing. “Your Honor, gentlemen of the jury, and my esteemed opponent…let me see if I have this straight. Major A.J. Adams has been accused of cold-blooded murder, and it is claimed that he committed such a heinous crime because he has no moral compass, that his morality was destroyed when he took an oath to his country to defend her, and he is capable of murder because he is a rootless drifter. Do I have that right?” Without waiting for an answer, Drake leaned an elbow onto the railing separating the jurors from the courtroom. “Mr. Bayless says he will prove all this beyond a shadow of a doubt before this trial is over. Let’s start with whether or not Major Adams is a rootless drifter. Until two years ago, he owned a home in Kentucky. He held onto that property, because even though the house was falling apart, his deceased wife and two young daughters are buried there. They were murdered by men wearing Federal blue, and one of those men has confessed to the crimes.”
“Your Honor,” Bayless spoke up. “I object. What does any of this have to do with the charges against this man?”
Drake didn’t straighten but he said, “Mr. Bayless opened the door when he accused my client of being a rootless drifter, of not having a moral compass, and of being capable of cold-blooded murder.”
Judge Fishe waved his hand. “Mr. Bayless, it’s opening statements. And, Mr. Adams is correct. You did open the door. Over-ruled.”
Drake dipped his head in acquiescence. “Let’s talk about honor, something Mr. Bayless claims my client doesn’t have through a lack of a moral compass. In April of eighteen sixty-five, Confederate forces opened fire on Fort Sumter. Less than a week later, a call went out to the men of the great Commonwealth of Kentucky to take up arms to defend the Confederate States of America. My client answered that call—not because he believes that any man is inferior to him, but because he believes that according to our Constitution, there are rights that the federal government cannot strip from the states. At the Battle of Tullahoma, my client was taken prisoner and sent to Johnson’s Island. Less than four months later, he was given an order to discover the whereabouts of six or seven payroll wagons, several of which had been stolen from the Federal forces. He was transported to Infernum prison.”
Allison watched A.J. The only visible sign he even heard a word Drake said was the way his shoulders tightened and his head dipped slightly. Most observers wouldn’t have noticed, the changes in his posture were so miniscule.
“I will assume none of you has heard of Infernum. Officially, it did not exist. While there, he was subject to some of the worst conditions and treatment any human being could suffer. I will not go into any detail, because of the delicate nature of some of the courtroom observers, other than to say the death rate at Infernum was as great as that cesspool in Andersonville, Georgia. When over half of those payroll wagons were recovered, Major Adams was offered the opportunity to leave that terrible place and await War’s end at Johnson’s Island. He refused, because honor—his honor—would not allow him to abandon the men under his leadership. As long as he was at Infernum, he could keep those men from the worst of the savagery aimed at them for imagined infractions. A less than honorable man would have walked away without a backward glance.”
Allison slid her gaze to Harrison. The marshal nodded minutely with Drake’s assessment. She sucked her breath in. It wasn’t about the gold. It had never been about the gold. It had been about protecting men who would be needed to rebuild a shattered and crippled country.
“As to shooting those men in cold blood, that is a blatant lie and I will prove it. When this trial is over, you will know—beyond all reasonable doubt, as the law requires—that my client never shot anyone in cold blood.”
Drake straightened off the railing and walked with a measured tread back to his seat. Allison saw the look Bayless sent both of them. He looked as if he been told his favorite dog had died. She tilted her head to
study the jury. All twelve men had their gaze locked onto the table with Drake and A.J.
Bayless stood to call his first witness. “The county would call Allison Webster to the stand.”
A.J. jerked his head up. Allison shrank back into her seat. Drake never even batted an eye. “Your Honor, the prosecution cannot call Miss Webster, as she is now Mrs. A.J. Adams. They were married the day before the alleged incidents occurred.”
A murmuring filled the courtroom, a low rumble. Fishe banged his gavel, calling for order. He looked right at Allison. “Is this true, ma’am?”
“We shared our vows on that day, yes.” Allison prayed her voice hadn’t wavered. As far as it went, it wasn’t quite a lie.
“Sounds married to me,” the judge ruled. “Next witness, Mr. Bayless.”
“Your Honor,” the prosecutor complained, “the witness wasn’t even sworn in.”
Fishe sighed, and even though Allison didn’t know this man from Adam, she recognized the same body language she had seen so many times from her father when he attempted to humor her or Alice. “Are you telling me the truth, ma’am?”
Allison drew a deep breath to steady herself and repeated, “A.J. and I shared vows the day before those three men tried to kill me, your Honor.”
“YOUR HONOR!” Bayless was turning a bright red and he tugged at the celluloid collar that appeared to be choking him.
“You opened that door, Mr. Bayless, when you argued the witness hadn’t been sworn in.” Fishe banged his gavel. “Next witness, sir.”
Bayless was even more shaken than before. He took a moment to tug on the lapels of his frock coat before he heaved a sigh. Bayless called Wilbur Davidson, the town’s undertaker, and Drake objected, as the man had very little formal training in anatomy or ballistics. Fishe over-ruled him, adding, “You’re welcome to object if the questioning veers into any area where you believe our undertaker isn’t an expert.”
“Thank you, your Honor,” Drake said, already scribbling notes on the paper in front of him.
