by Gina Danna
“Shh, darlin’,” he warned as he lifted her skirts and petticoats.
She inhaled sharply as the cool air hit her below.
With her skirts bunched at her waist, held there by his body, he reached down to her thigh at the opening in her drawers. She parted her legs as his fingers got closer to the apex. She was panting, but she realized and accepted that and wanted more. His fingertips skimmed the folds to her core. Her lower lips swelled and became heavy. As his finger slid into her, she gripped his shoulders and parted her legs a tiny bit more.
He inserted two more fingers inside her. “You’re so wet for me,” he growled, as he withdrew them and then plunged them back inside her. She moaned and curled one of her legs around his hip. It almost undid her when she heard the sound of her juices laving his fingers as he stroked her insides.
“Jack, please,” she whimpered. She worked a hand between them and down the length of his clothed erection.
#
Jack so wanted her, to be buried deep inside her, and he knew she was ready for him. When she stroked his arousal through his wool pants, the heat from her hand and the pressure of the buttons on his fly against his sensitive organ made him hiss.
He’d already decided to pleasure only her, knowing later she’d regret it if he took her fully. As his fingers pumped harder, he felt her slickened sheath clenching at them. When she began undoing the buttons on his pants, his started losing his resolve to avoid taking her completely. If she actually touched his skin, he’d lose the battle entirely. She clamped a hand onto his shoulder, digging into it, and kissed him hard.
He wanted her, needed to claim her, make her his. His carnal need, primal, began to surface as she clumsily worked at the buttons on his drawers. With a low growl, he pulled his fingers out of her and finished the unbuttoning himself. She gasped when he withdrew his hand, and he knew she had been on the verge of climaxing. After taking her to that plateau, he couldn’t leave her unfulfilled.
“Emma,” he muttered, his arousal resting against her curls as he smashed her into the rock. “You don’t want me like this.” There, he’d said it and put his own fears out on the table.
#
She didn’t listen. Her hand wound around his hardness. The skin itself was so soft. She felt the large vein along the organ vibrating rapidly. Smiling to herself, she stroked the heavy sacks below–something she’d never done to her husband. Of course, the times she had been intimate with Billy could have been counted on one hand. Wiping that thought from her mind, Emma fingered the head of Jack’s manhood, tracing the ridge. She heard him swallow hard, a low rumble coming from his chest. She touched the opening with her fingertip and was surprised to find it wet.
“Oh my God, Emma,” he rasped.
She looked into his darkened eyes. She, too, ached with need, and it would be so easy…She gripped his shaft and brought it against her soaking entrance, placing the head inside her wet folds.
That was his undoing.
He plunged into her as his mouth captured hers again. She gasped as he filled her. He was so big, and, for a moment, she burned as he buried all the way in. Within an instant, though, her body accommodated him. He withdrew almost completely, and she whimpered. Again, he filled her, her back and bare shoulders getting scraped as he lifted her against the boulder. Over and over, he delved deep inside, filling her. She braced herself between Jack and the rock as she wrapped her legs around his hips.
He groaned against her neck and she panted wildly, gasping for air as he took her higher and higher. She clung to him as she approached the precipice of something she hadn’t experienced before. He plunged into her again, and she lifted her hips to meet his thrust. With Jack’s next thrust, her world shattered. With her eyes shut, she saw the stars explode into a million pieces.
Jack thrusted one more time, moaning at his own release. And as his seed filled her, he buried his teeth in her bared shoulder. As he showered her womb, the exquisite pain from his bite made her climax again.
Together they slid down the rock to the hard ground, Emma on top of Jack. He wrapped his arms around her and her skirts covered them. She’d never felt so sated. She was exhausted, happy, warm, in love. Her head fell to his shoulder as a sigh escaped her.
#
What the hell had he just done?
He had acted like a complete scoundrel, no better than his father. He had taken what wasn’t his. Hard. Against a rough stone, exposing them both to the cold and possible discovery. He’d simply lifted her skirts and claimed her, although she wasn’t his to claim.
He would go to hell for it. And the troops ahead of them would gladly escort him to the gates.
His heart slowed from its frantic pace. He felt her body draped over his and knew he had satisfied her, but no true gentleman would have done what he did. He had treated her no better than a slave…he cringed at the memory of that night long ago.
The sweet smell of Emma’s hair and her self invaded his senses. Like roses. Somehow she still carried that scent, now mixed with the scent of their arousal. He was still inside her but softening, depleted.
He closed his eyes, trying to shut out the fear threatening to overwhelm him. She felt so warm covering him after he’d caught her as they slid to the cold ground. She shivered as he held her, startling him. She was halfway undressed because of him. She could catch cold and die!
“Emma, Emma,” he prodded, sitting up with her still in his arms.
“Hum?” she murmured sensually.
He began to harden again. No! In one swift move, he lifted her off him as he scrambled to his feet. Her skirts fell into place as she found her footing and he released her to shove himself back into his drawers, buttoning them and his pants shut.
She looked confused and blushed slightly at the sight of her exposed breasts.
With more expertise than he cared to reveal, he gently tucked them back inside her chemise, rehooked her corset and began buttoning her bodice.
“I can get that,” she said languidly, pushing his fingers away.
He watched her, running his hand through his hair. He hoped the bruise on her shoulder would fade soon. Deep in the throes of passion, he’d been powerless to stop himself from biting her. As Emma finished dressing, he wanted to run his fingers through her loosened hair.
“Let me take you back to the others. I hope they’re asleep,” he muttered, praying they hadn’t heard him or Emma scream in ecstasy. That was a memory he wouldn’t forget.
Smiling shyly at him, she nodded.
Back at the camp, he picked up Nathan and placed him in the curve of Emma’s body as she laid down. He covered them with the quilt and blanket he’d used for the past two weeks. Carefully, he snuggled around her backside, kissing her lips quickly before settling down.
“Merry Christmas, Jack,” she whispered.
“Merry Christmas,” he murmured against her ear. He saw her smile and close her eyes.
He waited for her to fall asleep, which didn’t take long. Quietly, he got up, wrapped the coverings around her and the babe and walked away.
Saddling Goliath, he patted the horse’s neck and mounted him. With one parting look at his son and Emma, he rode off, knowing the army ahead of them, Major General William S. Rosecrans’ Army of the Cumberland, waited.
And the Union Army waited for his return.
My paramount object in this struggle is to save the Union…if I could save the Union without freeing any slave, I would do it; and if I could save it by freeing all the slaves, I would do it;
and if I could save it by freeing some and leaving others alone, I would also do that…
—Abraham Lincoln, in a letter to Horace Greeley, 1862
Chapter Twenty-Four
Tennessee, December 25
Emma woke slowly to the sounds of Nathan chirping on the ground next to her. She refused to open her eyes. It was cold, and she huddled further under the blankets. The child let out a wild yip but began baby talking again. She finally pe
eked out at the early sun, which was barely above the horizon. She felt stiff and sore. Her hips ached, as did the insides of her thighs, and her back felt as though it had been lashed or scraped. She eased herself up onto an elbow and winced at the pain in her shoulder. She tried to figure out why she felt so miserable until the events of the previous night hurtled back into memory.
Jack had made love to her standing upright, propping her against a rock. And he’d actually bitten her on the shoulder. A warm and comfortable wave washed through her. That was the way it was supposed to be between them…
She smiled. Jack. She reached behind for him, but all she found was bare ground. She looked around, but there was no Jack. He’d left her again. She felt abandoned but tamped down the emotion. He promised he’d be back, and this time, she believed him.
Looking at Nathan, she found the baby fascinated with a new toy—a carved wooden horse. Jack must have left it as a Christmas gift for his son.
It took effort for Emma to rise, but she finally did, motivated by Nathan’s giggles as he played with his new toy. She changed Nathan and set him on the blanket as she began cooking porridge and making biscuits. But the ghost of abandonment, betrayal and fear threatened again to seize her. Her heart thudded faster, and her breathing shortened. She closed her eyes, teetering on unsteady feet, feeling both alone and at total union with Jack. She argued with herself—he had made love to her, she still felt his tender touch, deep but vibrant.
He left them to get supplies and would return. She believed him. She had to. When he took her the previous night, it was clear he truly wanted her, that he didn’t just need her for Nathan’s sake. Steeling herself against feelings that threatened to spoil her newfound happiness, she inhaled deeply, resolving to fight them.
The smell of burning biscuits suddenly invaded her nostrils, and she jumped to the cast iron pan, quickly removing the food from its hot surface. She had barely saved the biscuits from being ruined.
Knowing Jack wanted and needed her was clear. But nothing was clear about whether or not he loved her. Once, she had thought he did, until he married Caroline. She had survived that painful time, but now, was his want and need enough for her?
#
Up on the tree-topped ridge, Jack shifted in his saddle, peering over the town nestled in the distance. Murfreesboro. Nashville was in the other direction. Both were about equal in distance, but he could see white tents and blue uniforms below. Union. Perhaps it would be safer for him to go that way. If he didn’t run into a patrol, he could slip into the camp, purchase what he needed and return to Emma and Nathan by nightfall. But the hairs on the back of his neck bristled. It would be dangerous if he were stopped, so he remained where he was for the time being.
Emma had been on his mind all night. He could still hear her moans, her panting as he entered her. The feel of her legs wrapped around him, her mewling as he slammed her against the rock wall, plunging into her over and over again. He’d behaved as though she was a whore. He never meant to take her the way he had, but when she placed the head of his swollen arousal in the folds of her wetness, his resolve had crumbled. Even just the memory of what they’d shared had begun to excite him again. Damn!
Jack was so distracted by his thoughts that he’d lost his focus. It returned with lightning speed at the sound of rifles being cocked on either side of him.
From among the trees, another horseman appeared, dressed in federal blue.
“My, oh my, what do we have here?” the rider asked as he got closer. “A Rebel?” His eyes moved from Jack to his horse, and Jack saw them widen. “On a Union mount, I see. Stolen, no doubt,” he sneered.
Jack tightened his grip on the reins. He’d forgotten about the damn U.S. insignia on the bridal. His mind raced, trying to figure out his odds as he stared at the man who shared Jack’s rank.
“I see our secesh thief here’s tongue got tied.” He laughed as did the two cavalrymen aiming at Jack. “Mind telling me your name, boy?”
Jack’s eyes narrowed. “Captain Jack Fontaine, Army of the Potomac.”
The man raised his eyebrows as he continued to grin. “Really? Here in Tennessee?” He chuckled. “Are you lost, soldier?”
“And you are, Captain…?” To hell with protocol, Jack thought.
The man sat straighter in his saddle, but the smirk didn’t leave his face. “Captain Wright, under Major General McCook, Brigadier General Sheridan’s command.”
Sheridan, West Point class of ’53, had graduated before Jack. He remembered the man well. Sheridan had been an aggressive little bastard, letting nothing get in his way. He was the type to do well in the military, and, considering his rank, apparently he had. Or, Jack mused, perhaps Lincoln had simply become desperate for officers. Oh yes, Jack well remembered Sheridan’s hot temper after losing a horseracing contest to him. Jack’s old mount, Windswept, had beaten Sheridan’s nag fair and square. But Sheridan had protested to the commandant, claiming the race had been rigged.
McCook also was a former Pointer, two years older, but Jack had no specific memory of him. Hell, half the armies in the war were commanded by West Point graduates. The question was, what would Wright do with Jack?
“So, Captain, care to explain what the hell you’re doing out here in the west, if not joining the Rebs? Hearing how deep that secesh accent of yours is, you figure you’re close enough to home to desert?”
While weighing the predicament he was in, Jack regarded Wright. The man next to Jack spat on the ground, his gun never wavering in its aim. They were spoiling for a fight, but at three to one, Jack wasn’t fool enough to give it to them.
“I’m on special assignment from the Secretary of War, scouting the area.” Damn, that sounded foolish even to his own ears. But under the circumstances, it still might work.
Wright’s jaw ticked. “You’re dressed like a secesh.”
Jack guffawed. “Can’t be riding through here as a Union officer, alone, and not get shot. You know these Rebs.”
At length, the officer replied, “Fine, but we’re takin’ you in to let command figure what to do with you.” He turned his mount and started back to camp with Jack and the two soldiers following.
#
Phil Sheridan sat at the table outside his wall tent with his commanding officers. It was Christmas morning in Tennessee. He’d rather be anywhere else than there. All the major fighting was back East, but to get there, he’d have to do well at his current location first. The West was filled with low-lying Rebs that slithered about, claiming the land was theirs. His anger flared anew. Time to run the bastards to ground.
“Sir.” A courier stood before him, holding out a folded missive.
Sheridan, or “Little Phil,” a nickname that irked him because he was short, bit back the anger bubbling up. The soldier looked terrified. Sheridan enjoyed the moment and then nodded to his lieutenant, who took the note.
“McCook’s ordering us to get ready to move.”
The other men around the table mumbled as Sheridan smiled. He loved war, really embraced the beast, anxious to fire into its beady eyes. The next day, they would descend on that stinking secesh town along Stone’s River and crush the bastards…
Led by Captain Wright, men and horses headed toward his tent, redirecting his attention to them. Although Wright followed orders to the letter, Sheridan hated him. But he couldn’t find a good excuse for getting rid of the man, other than to use him in the infantry during a fight. Arms crossed, Sheridan leaned back in his chair.
“General Sheridan, sir,” Wright saluted.
Behind him, two soldiers stood with their weapons trained on someone Sheridan couldn’t see. “What’ve ya’ got today, Captain?” Wright was a wheedling little bastard and made Sheridan’s skin crawl, but at times, he had been invaluable.
“A Reb, sir. Claiming to be one of ours.”
Instantly, Sheridan’s interest was piqued. He motioned for Wright to move. The man they had been discussing stood there erect, his shoulders b
ack and head high. His civilian clothing was torn but not smelly, unlike the rags many of the Southerners wore. Sheridan frowned. The man looked familiar.
“Who the hell are you?”
The man looked straight ahead. “Captain Jack Fontaine, sir.”
“Claims he’s from…” Wright started to say until Sheridan waved at him to be quiet.
Silence. Sheridan’s eyebrows raised in an unspoken question.
The green eyes flashed as Jack looked straight ahead. Those eyes…
“Captain Jack Fontaine, sir, U.S. Army.”
Fontaine. Oh, yes, now he remembered. “Class of…?”
Smiling, Jack quickly glanced at Sheridan, his green eyes sparkling with pride. “’54, sir.”
Sheridan laughed, “I remember you.” His raked the man with his gaze. “You look like a stinking Reb, Fontaine.”
“Yes, sir,” the quick reply.
“Explain yourself.”
“On a mission for Stanton, sir, to check on Rebel numbers.”
Sheridan snorted. “You’re obviously with McClellan’s cavalry. An officer.”
Jack shuffled a little, and Sheridan noticed his jaw clench. “Sir, I’m here on a personal matter also.” His voice was low.
Sheridan didn’t like the sound of that. Command never let personal issues interfere. Ever. “Yes?”
#
Jack inhaled, hoping his story would pass muster. Sheridan apparently didn’t like Little Mac and his pretentious need for reinforcements. However, Jack knew “Little Phil” to be hotheaded and aggressive, so he had to be careful.
