by Linz, Cathie
“But naturally I would be curious about a woman with your fashion sense and beauty,” Susannah returned, deciding to appeal to the other woman’s vanity. “As you can see, I am but a poor peasant when it comes to such matters. My parents were of an artistic nature—” Well, her dad was a painter. A housepainter. “And they did not teach me in such social matters.”
“Your father is an artist? I visited Paris a few years ago and saw some of the paintings of that awful school they are calling Impressionism. They are fools. Such garish colors.”
“If I were you, I’d buy as many Monets as I could afford,” Susannah advised, knowing full well the other woman would ignore her.
Which she did. “I can understand your saying that since, as you say, you know little about matters such as correctness of taste or refinement. Where did you come upon such a gown as you are wearing now? Surely not from France?”
“No, not from France. From my landlady’s attic,” Susannah cheerfully replied. “You see, our trunks of clothing were stolen when we reached the train station and we had to rely on the kindness of strangers in matters regarding our clothing. Until we can get our own made, that is. Come to think of it, I think I saw a store near here that advertises ready-made gowns.”
Mrs. Hilton sniffed disapprovingly. “I would never wear such a thing.”
“Would you rather I kept wearing what I have on?”
Mrs. Hilton shook her head. “I’d best go with you and guide you,” she stated firmly. “You have to watch these shopkeepers.”
Susannah beamed. “You’re so kind.” This was a great opportunity to talk more to Mrs. Hilton. While the other woman was an opinionated snob, that didn’t make her a murderer. Besides, women tended to let down their defenses while shopping. Susannah just had to make sure she wasn’t the one getting caught in any lies.
Mikey got that long-suffering look on his face that he wore whenever they went into a store. He promised to wait outside and looked relieved not to have been forced inside.
Since Susannah had no intention of getting caught wearing her twentieth-century bra and bikini beneath her camisole and petticoats, she made some excuse not to try on every gown Mrs. Hilton suggested. As Susannah looked over the calicoes, satins, silks and serges, she plied the other woman with questions about her life: Did Mrs. Hilton have many friends? Did she miss her husband? Did she see herself ever getting married again?
The one question Susannah wanted to ask and couldn’t was: Did you push Elsbeth down those steps?
“Are you one of those nickel-nursers?” Mrs. Hilton finally demanded in exasperation when Susannah turned down yet another dress, saying it was too expensive.
“Excuse me?”
“One of those persons for whom it is difficult if not impossible to part from their money, only buying items if they are on sale.”
It was true that in New York, Susannah did get most of her clothes from outlet stores. So she nodded.
Mrs. Hilton sniffed her disapproval. “Every two years I go to Paris and have my wardrobe designed by Charles Worth himself.”
Susannah was impressed. Judging by the prices at this store—250 for a sage green silk street dress—Susannah imagined the gowns in New York or Paris cost even more, especially at the House of Worth, the supreme dictator of fashion. This at a time when the average worker earned no more than five hundred dollars a year and rent on a suite of rooms was ten dollars a month.
Susannah got to wondering exactly how wealthy Mrs. Hilton’s first husband had been—and how quickly the woman had gone through his money.
By the end of their time together, Susannah came away with the information that Mrs. Lucille Hilton had many acquaintances, no friends, didn’t miss her rich husband one iota, was not a nickel-nurser, and definitely saw herself as getting married again. Susannah also came away from the encounter with a pair of walking shoes that looked like boots and felt like butter. She had to have them; her velvet flats had never recovered from her jaunt into the cemetery and she’d been getting some unwelcome attention from ruffians because of her ankles showing.
Susannah also came away with her feelings about Mrs. Hilton’s connection to Elsbeth’s death unchanged. She just didn’t think this woman had done it.
Granted that at times, Mrs. Hilton had looked guilty and acted uneasy, just as that law clerk, Gordon Stevens, had. But perhaps that was because both of them knew of Hayward’s dastardly deed. Perhaps they feared for their own safety. After all, if a man killed his own wife, there was no telling what other crimes he might commit.
* * *
After dinner that evening, Kane announced he was going out for a walk. Susannah retired to her room alone. It was hot and the humidity was stifling. So was the tension between herself and Kane. How much longer could this last? She was reaching the end of her rope.
Unable to stand the heavy layers of clothing a moment longer, Susannah peeled down to her petticoat and camisole. After putting on another layer of insect repellent, she blew out the lamp—she still avoided the gas wall fixture like the plague—and opened the shutters to what little breeze there was.
Aiming the rocking chair toward the window, she sat down, remembering the sounds of summer in her own era—car horns, police and fire sirens, airplanes and car alarms, her neighbors in apartment 15 who always had the stereo blaring and who argued at the top of their lungs. She’d never realized how much noise there actually was until she heard this...peaceful silence.
Yet it wasn’t a vacuum without sound. She could hear the rustle of the palmetto leaves in the slight breeze, the chirping of crickets and tree frogs. And, in the distance, the rumble of thunder.
A storm was brewing. Susannah could feel it, sense it in the air. The breeze stopped and the air went still with that brooding anticipation that precedes turbulent weather.
She had her petticoat hiked up to her thighs, her feet resting on the wide seat to get the most airflow possible.
A flash of heat lightning illuminated the room just as Kane entered it. He saw her frozen in that brief moment, sitting like a goddess on her throne, her hair piled on top of her head, with tendrils sliding down her nape, her lovely legs ivory in the flash of light. The storm was rolling in, getting closer.
Another sheet of heat lightning lit the room as he moved closer. Sensing his presence, she turned to look at him. He saw the questions in her eyes. And he knew the only answer.
“Isn’t it time we both stopped fighting and just gave in?” Kane murmured before lifting her out of the rocking chair and kissing her.
Nine
Lightning flashed, not only in the night sky but in Susannah’s very soul. There was no anger in Kane’s kiss. Instead there was acceptance and a hunger too overwhelming to ignore a second longer. She knew the feeling well, for she felt the same way herself.
Their attempts to fight the growing attraction were as futile as trying to stop the rain. It poured from the sky the way his kisses poured over her face as he caressed her eyes, her temples, pausing to swirl his tongue in her ear before returning to the wet promise of her parted lips.
With the acceptance of their mutual surrender came a newfound sense of anticipation. For now, no part of their psyches was bothered with fighting. Instead, all efforts were devoted to increasing satisfaction.
Susannah poured her heart and soul into their kiss, telling him with her lips and caressing hands what she couldn’t say in words. That she loved him. That he was the only man for her. That no one had ever made her feel the way he had.
She wanted to believe that the way he was kissing her said the same. The tenderness in his touch was balm to her bruised heart. He whispered her name with delightful approval, not censure.
Kane slid his hand up her thigh, lifting her lacy petticoat out of his way as he did so. He took his time, pausing to trail his fingertips over her sensitive skin as if he took delight in the mere act of touching her.
Susannah was doing some exploring of her own, fumbling with the button
s on his linen shirt, tugging his shirttails out of his pants before remembering he was wearing suspenders. She slid her fingers beneath the waistband of his pants to grapple with the suspenders’ button fastenings. When they proved stubborn she tried the fastenings at the back of the waistband, but was distracted by the muscular firmness of his tush. Afraid he’d think her too bold if she caressed him there, she hurriedly undid the suspenders, which almost hit her and him in the head as they flew forward.
To her delight, Kane actually laughed, his devilish gambler’s smile something she’d missed intensely the past few days. The gleam in his blue eyes was positively wicked as he peeled off his clothing.
She blinked at what he wore underneath. They looked like biking shorts, cut off at midthigh. And wonderful thighs they were, too—lean and muscular.
Seeing her gaze, Kane explained, “I bought a few pairs of men’s drawers and then borrowed a pair of Mrs. B.’s scissors to cut them shorter. I got too hot.”
“I know the feeling,” Susannah murmured, fanning herself with her hand.
Thunder rolled around the room, echoing off the walls. It only mirrored the thunder of her own heart. Lightning flashed again, illuminating Kane in all his splendor as he discarded the underwear and stood before her wearing nothing but a grin.
Holding out his arms to her, he whispered her name.
She came to him without regrets. She returned his kiss with equal passion, matching the thrust of his tongue with an ingenious twist of her own. She helped him undo the ribbons and buttons on her camisole, before tossing it aside. The room was dark as she guided his big hands to the fullness of her breasts. She gasped her approval as he cupped her, rubbing his thumbs over the rosy peaks.
He made love to her with his mouth, the rhythmic thrusting of his tongue mimicking the joining that was yet to come. Then his lips lowered to her bare breasts to seduce her there, as his hands shifted southward to untie the drawstrings holding up her petticoat. Once they were undone, the lacy cotton slid to the floor, leaving her wearing nothing but her bikini underwear. Her fingers slid into his hair as he knelt before her and erotically ravished her through the thin nylon—with lips and tongue that knew exactly how and where to create havoc.
Her fingers tightened as bolts of raw pleasure swept through her, as sharp as the lightning bolt zigzagging across the sky outside their window.
Unable to stand another moment, Susannah sank to her knees. Face-to-face with Kane, she slanted her lips over his as she reached down to take him in her hand, caressing him with stroking fingers. He was hard, hot steel overlaid with velvet. When her thumb brushed the very tip of his masculinity, he stiffened and, groaning her name, moved away from her.
“Wait!” he gasped.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Cupping her face with his hands, he kissed her reassuringly but very briefly. “I’ve got a condom in my wallet.”
He grimaced at the bluntness of his declaration.
Susannah just smiled. “Then go get it. It’s certainly not doing your wallet any good.”
He did. And while he was doing that, Susannah moved from the floor where they’d been kneeling to the bed where she removed her bikini underwear while waiting for him to join her. He did so a moment later, his fingers trembling as he removed the latex condom from its wrapper.
“There’s no hurry,” she murmured seductively. “After all, we’ve only waited a hundred and eleven years for this.”
“It feels like it,” he growled in agreement.
“It feels wonderful,” she whispered as she reached out to help him slip on and slowly unroll the condom.
“Enjoying playing with my...toys, are you?” he asked in a sexy whisper.
“I’d enjoy it more if you were...mmm,” she purred as he slid his finger inside her inner passage for a few teasing strokes. “If you put your toys where they belong.”
“And where would that be?”
“Here.” She guided him home, slipping her hands around his hips to the small of his back as he came to her in a slow, sliding drive, not pausing until he was lodged deep within her.
“How does that feel?” he whispered in her ear, shifting against her with the slightest of twists.
She nipped his shoulder to pay him back for his darkly erotic teasing.
“Or do you like it this way better?” He rocked his hips against hers.
She saw the flare of passion darken his blue eyes as she tightened around him. No more words were spoken as she lifted her hips and he began rocking against her in a pagan rhythm as old as time itself—the sensual glide in, the blissful friction of the slide back.
The pace picked up as Susannah gasped his name and held on to him. A firestorm of anticipation was building inside her, the undulations spiraling tighter, lifting her to a dizzying peak of excitation, before suddenly snapping free and sending her into a clenching free-fall of sensual rapture. The quivering, swelling waves rippled and then thundered through her, propelled her from this world to another.
Only when Kane felt her climax did he focus on his own satisfaction, shouting her name as he stiffened, joining her in that blissful free-fall.
* * *
“That was worth waiting a hundred and eleven years for,” Susannah dreamily murmured sometime later.
When Kane made no reply, she propped herself up on an elbow to study his face. “What are you thinking?”
“That I’ve never met anyone like you.”
“Is that good or bad?”
He tenderly brushed his hand down her bare arm until his fingers were entwined with hers. Lifting their joined hands, he kissed her knuckles with courtly gentleness. “It’s good,” he whispered. “Very, very good.”
She smiled her relief. “I can only think of one way it could get better.”
“How’s that?” His words were muffled as he was engrossed with sliding his tongue into the sensitive valley between her thumb and index finger.
“By having an air conditioner. Despite that storm, it’s still sultry.”
Sultry as in incredibly humid. Horror-hair weather. Susannah knew her hair was acting up—other women’s hair flowed like a cloud over a pillow. She was certain hers looked more like a thunderhead.
As if reading her thoughts, Kane stopped seducing her fingers long enough to reach out and twine his hand around a swath of her dark wavy hair. “You have the most incredible hair,” he murmured in amazement.
“Yeah, I know. It’s awful.”
“No, it’s not. It’s beautiful.”
He kissed the look of amazement from her face before jumping out of bed.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“It’s a surprise.”
“It’ll be a surprise for the rest of the household if they catch you running around with no clothes on. It’s only nine o’clock at night, I’m sure they aren’t all in bed yet.”
“Don’t worry.” He tugged on his pants, and hurriedly buttoned his shirt but did not put on his suspenders. “I’ll be right back,” he promised her. “Don’t move until I return.”
It was too hot to move.
True to his word, he came back shortly, carrying a bowl.
“Tell me you brought me coffee ice cream and I’ll love you forever.” The truth was that she loved him, no matter what.
“I brought you something even better.”
Susannah couldn’t imagine anything better than coffee ice cream, unless it was a lemon ice-cream soda, and that wouldn’t fit in a bowl. But chunks of ice did.
“Ice?” she murmured.
Kane nodded, taking one of the irregularly shaped pieces and gently running it over her flushed face. “I got it from the icebox in Mrs. B.’s kitchen.”
Susannah closed her eyes at the blissful coolness he was creating. But the coolness was only skin-deep, for inside she felt a fire returning to life.
Kane was mesmerized by the teardrop-shaped drop of water meandering down her neck, heading for the smooth indenti
on above her collarbone. He could wait no longer. He leaned down to capture the runaway waterdrop with his tongue.
“Oh!” Susannah exclaimed, amazed at the streak of excitement Kane had created by the mere touch of his tongue.
Kane skimmed the ice cube over every inch of her bare body. He didn’t miss one inlet or curve. From the hollow behind her ear, to the instep of her foot. From the tip of her finger to the pulse at her wrist and inner elbow, to the underside of her breast, to the circular indentation of her navel....
He spent a good three minutes around her navel before meandering downward. She gasped as he cooled her with the ice and warmed her with his tongue. She clenched the sheet in her hands, her head thrashing at the darkly exciting sensations sweeping through her.
Lifting his head, he whispered, “I’m making you all hot and bothered again. I’ll have to cool you down once more,” he said, his look one of grave determination embroidered with hungry passion. And so he started all over, with another piece of ice, from her temples to her toes.
A blinding flash of lightning filled the room, distracting Kane.
“There’s another storm coming,” he noted.
“You bet there is,” Susannah murmured, finally having enough breath to speak. “And it’s starting right here.”
Taking the melting ice from his hands, she slipped it over his chest, sliding it around his nipples, which immediately hardened.
Intrigued, she wondered if other parts of his anatomy would respond similarly.
“Don’t even think about it,” he warned her, scooping her up in his arms and taking her over to the wide rocking chair that was placed near the open window. He only paused long enough to grab another condom on the way.
Sitting on the rocking chair, he settled her over his bare lap so that she was facing him. She felt his arousal moving against her.
“You’ve left your toys out again,” she sexily chastised him even as she made herself more comfortable, her bare legs bracketing him, her bent knees resting against the back of the chair.
