An Extraordinary Union

by Alyssa Cole

  “Maybe you can’t make me happy,” she tossed over her shoulder. “Ever think of that?”

  “No,” he said, his answer as much a surprise to himself as it seemed to be to her. He reached out and turned her so that she faced him, and moved his hands to her chest. She stiffened, ready to retreat, until she realized what he was doing. He carefully slid each button back into its hole, resituating her dress. “No, I haven’t thought that, and I’m not inclined to start now.”

  He buttoned on in silence, his eyes trained on his task instead of her face. As he moved to slip the last button through, her small hands rested lightly on top of his.

  He looked into her wide eyes. “It seems gauche to give this to you now, after acting like such a fool. I’m not trying to buy my forgiveness. I meant to give it to you before I treated you so poorly.”

  “What are you on about?” she asked.

  He reached into his pocket and passed her the note. He didn’t have her memory, but he knew most of the short message as she read it aloud, her voice growing progressively more strained.

  “M—

  The slave named Daniel has been purchased from bondage, after much haggling, by a local woman, a true Unionist who specializes in this type of rescue. I do not yet know if he is the man you search for, but he shall be free, whatever the case. Will have more info shortly.

  —A.”

  Elle’s hard expression crumpled in on itself as she fought to control her emotions.

  Malcolm frowned. “I wish we could be certain it was him—”

  Elle touched his forearm to stay him. “I dearly hope it’s Daniel. If it’s not, a man who was enslaved is now free, and that is no small matter. Thank you.”

  “Don’t,” he warned. He knew he should’ve been happy with the way she was looking at him, but he wasn’t. “When you were angry with me just now, I knew it was how you truly felt. Don’t be kind to me out of gratitude. I didn’t do anything but pass the information along to someone who takes an interest in these matters.”

  “Okay, Fitzwilliam. You’d rather I focus on your behavior before you presented me with this miraculous letter? Fine. It was blue-bellied, undignified behavior and I expect better from you. Don’t you ever even think of treating me like that again,” she said in a tone that had him standing up straighter and swallowing hard. She fingered the note and then placed it gently on her rickety dresser. “I shouldn’t admit this, but I never felt so alone as when you walked away from me.”

  Malcolm felt hope flood through him like the Mississippi topping her banks. She wasn’t only speaking of their work—it wasn’t just him caught up in this storm of emotion. He wasn’t alone in sensing the connection between them that defied society and common sense.

  “I won’t,” he said, and he meant it. “I won’t ever leave you again, I promise.”

  His lips pressed to her forehead, a chaste kiss that shook him as much as their more heated moments because she returned it after a beat, dropping a soft kiss on his chin in return. He wasn’t sure that she believed his words, but he believed them and that would have to do for the both of them.

  She shook her head and emitted a mirthless chuckle, although her eyes still flashed with emotion. “‘The expert in battle moves the enemy, and is not moved by him,’” she said as she walked away from him and went over to a small table that had a ceramic bowl of water and a bar of white soap beside it.

  “Shakespeare?” he guessed, and she rolled her eyes.

  “Not all that sounds profound is from the Western canon, McCall. Sun Tzu was an ancient Chinese strategist. I had to memorize his words before I became a detective.”

  “So you apply military strategy to our interactions now? I think I preferred the Hawthorne,” Malcolm said. “I thought we already established that I’m not your enemy.” He was disquieted by her words, by all that lingered beneath the surface of their every interaction.

  “No, we established that you are for the Union,” she said. “Honestly? Your behavior confounds me, but then, so does my reaction to it. To you.” She dipped a cloth into the water and rubbed it against a thin scrap of soap, and the familiar smell of roses filled the room. Malcolm’s nostrils flared, wanting more than just her smell. He wanted her taste and her touch, too.

  “Elle—”

  She raised a hand to stay him. “Now I shall tell you what I would have if you hadn’t ignored me in the stable. The man I was talking to, Ben, is Dix’s slave,” she said as she brought the cloth to her neck and wiped it slowly across. “He says that Dix is heading out somewhere tomorrow for an important meeting. They leave before dawn. I intend to follow them and see what this is about.”

  She spoke the words calmly as she lathered the cloth again and ran it over her face and up her arms. He knew she was performing an act of daily hygiene, but the sight of her made him want to fall to his knees in supplication. Instead, Malcolm walked over to her and took the rag from her hands. She’d done enough scrubbing that day.

  “And how do you intend to do that?” he asked, rubbing the cloth along her neck, massaging her through the rough material.

  “I’m a detective,” she said, throwing his words back at him. She leaned her head forward to give him more access as he caressed her neck with the soapy rag.

  “I’ll go with you,” he said, moving the cool cloth down to the juncture of her shoulder and neck, and massaging the taut muscles there.

  “I wouldn’t be opposed to that,” she said. “As long as you don’t act a fool again.”

  Malcolm knew better than to promise her that.

  “What would you have done when you got home tonight if I wasn’t here?” he asked, pressing harder against a knot of muscles. She hissed, but then relaxed as the tightness eased. She placed her hands behind her, against his thighs, to steady herself, and his manhood thickened as if stretching toward her splayed fingers.

  “After cursing you to hell and back? I would have done what I’m doing now. What you’re doing now,” she said, her voice breathy. “I would have undressed and washed. I feel like a pig that’s been rolling in the mud all day.”

  “You are far from that, lass,” he said. “But if it’s a bath you want, I can give you that.”

  He wanted to see all of her, to run his hands over each curve and indentation of her body until he had them memorized. As his mind was far less refined than hers, it would take him a very long time.

  She turned in his arms and took the cloth from him.

  “I don’t want you to bathe me,” she said, looking up at him with trepidation. “I want something that is the very last thing I should be seeking from you, but which you provide so very well.”

  A sensation of pins and needles ran up and down his spine at the shy words spoken in that smoky voice of hers.

  “Comfort?” he asked. She gave him a prim nod, as if hiding her desire would make her feelings for him more acceptable. Malcolm was tired of talking, of pretending, of not saying the right thing. He grabbed her by the chin, tilted her head up, and kissed her. Her hands went to his shoulders, the pressure of her pulling herself into their kiss an unexpected addition to his excitement. His mouth moved over hers slowly, but not softly. He intended to show her exactly how he felt since his words kept failing him.

  His hands encircled her slim waist and she gasped into his mouth, seemingly responsive to his every touch. He could feel the heat of her through her dress, just as he had the first night he touched her, and he wondered what it would feel like to be skin to skin with her, finally freed of the encumbrance of their clothing. It was his turn to groan then, and she licked up into his mouth.

  Their tongues played a cat and mouse game, tangling and then retreating. She responded to his kisses, but there was still hesitation in her touch. Her thin fingers slid over his chest, brushing over his pectorals as if petting some unfamiliar and possibly dangerous animal. Pleasure radiated out from each point her fingertips pressed into him, and he pulled her closer, heedless of the full erection tha
t tented his pants and pressed into her belly.

  “Dear Lord,” she murmured against his lips, and Malcolm felt as if he could take on the entire Confederacy himself in that moment. He pulled her into a more secure embrace, their lips still locked, and then spun and deposited her onto the bed. She drew her legs up beneath her skirts and knelt, looking up at him with shining eyes and glossy lips.

  “I could have saved some time by leaving these undone,” he said as he crouched and retraced his path as he unbuttoned her dress. He undid them slowly, running fingers beneath the stiff fabric panel to caress the soft weight of her breasts beneath. He had her raise her arms and then drew the dress up over her head. She wore a thin beige chemise that clung to her every curve.

  Malcolm had been to many dubious establishments on his various missions, but no show girl decked out in sequins and lace had ever been sexier. A surge of desire stirred low in his groin, the desire to drive into her and claim her as his own. He resisted the impulse to move quickly—Elle was far too important to ever be something he possessed by brute strength. Instead, he reached his hands out and caressed her, dragging his hands over the thin fabric and then pulling that up over her head, too.

  Her smooth skin was warm to the touch, soft as silk. Her breasts overflowed in his hands, but her nipples were small and nearly flat, barely pressing into his hands even though they were tight with need. He smoothed his hands down her waist, over the flare of her hips, cupping her ass to hold her steady. And then he leaned forward and drew the tip of a breast into his mouth, his tongue playing over the textured areola again and again just to hear the sighs and moans the action pulled from Elle.

  “Malcolm,” she whispered, and her voice made his whole body shake with need.

  Her fingers slid into his hair as he lavished attention onto her other breast, and the reaction it stirred within him was so strong that he nipped at her. She arched her back, pressing her breast forward, closer to his tongue and teeth.

  “I want to see you, too,” she said, pushing him away. “I want to see you out of that uniform that signifies everything wrong with this world.”

  He stood and quickly unbuttoned and pulled off his jacket, followed by the homespun shirt beneath it. He reached for his trousers, but Elle leaned forward then.

  “Let me,” she said. Her voice was confident, but she fumbled as she undid his belt, unbuttoned the fly of his pants, and sent his pants and drawers southward. It did something to him, to see her nervousness; her hands hadn’t shaken like this when she’d pulled her gun on him. Trickles of pleasure skimmed through his body as she worked, but when his cock sprang free and into her waiting hand he bit back a hoarse cry.

  She wrapped both of her small hands around his shaft and stroked him, from his root to his head, and back down again, as if savoring the heft of him. He rocked his hips forward, increasing the friction on his member. It felt wonderful, but he knew if she continued the motion he would spend himself much too quickly.

  He gently pushed her back on the bed as he extricated himself from the warmth of her hands. When she was flat on her back, his mouth moved to her cheek, grazed her lips, skimmed her neck, and made its lackadaisical way back toward her breasts. His hand slid down between them, fingers finding the slick cleft between her thighs and pressing gently, rubbing softly at first but with increasing pressure as she began to writhe beneath him. Her hands gripped his arms and clasped frantically as he rubbed in time with the rasps of his tongue against her breasts.

  She moaned, her fingers moving to his chest to scrape up over his nipples as she pulled at him. “I need more, Malcolm.”

  His eyes flew to hers in question, the brown depths fathomless in the candlelight. She hesitated and then nodded. Malcolm felt a sweet relief at her signal; not because he would claim her, but because she’d asked him to.

  He slid up the bed, leaving his cock perfectly positioned at her entrance and, as he kissed her like she was his dearest treasure, he nudged his manhood between her folds and into the heated core of her.

  She was tight, and the entry was slow going, but when he filled her completely she fit him like a silken glove.

  “Oh, my Ellen,” he breathed into her mouth. She wrapped her legs around his waist, thrusting her hips up and squeezing his cock even more tightly within her, and he was lost to sensation. He pumped into her with abandon, circling his hips and driving up to hit that perfect spot that made her buck and cry out and bite into his shoulder to mask the noise.

  He rested his weight on his elbows, cupping her face with his hands as he fused his lips to hers. But as he continued to move over her and in her, Malcolm felt a waning in Elle’s passion, a mental withdrawal from their lovemaking that stopped him mid-thrust.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked. He didn’t understand how a woman who had been so vibrant in his arms could suddenly feel miles away from him despite the fact that his cock still pulsed within her. And then he felt the scalding tears begin to pool where his hand met her cheek. Her eyes were plaintive as she tried to turn her head away from him.

  “Elle?” His heart thudded heavily in his chest. “Have I hurt you?”

  Malcolm was totally unmoored. He’d been with a fair few women, but a roll in the hay usually required little emotional commitment from him. It was uncharted territory to have the woman he wanted so badly weeping in his arms; he had no idea how to make things right.

  “No,” she said. She sounded miserable, and almost angry. “Everything felt so good. You didn’t do anything.... It’s just—”

  She made a sound that was somewhere on the spectrum between an annoyed laugh and a sob, and Malcolm rolled over onto his back, holding her slight frame against his chest as she fought against her tears. She crossed her arms across his pectorals and rested her chin on them, head turned away from him.

  He thought of Daniel, the man he helped free. Maybe Elle had changed her mind about his proposal. She wasn’t a virgin—perhaps she’d been struck by a memory of a man whose company she preferred in the bedroom. His blood ran cold at that possibility. He withdrew from inside of her, but still cradled her. He’d promised to keep her safe, and he would, even if it was from himself. He spoke the next words and forced them to be true. “What is it, Elle? You can tell me. I will do anything I can to make things right.”

  “You can’t help with this. I can’t stop thinking, you see,” she said, turning her tear-stained eyes up to his. “All my life, I’ve been taught that this is wrong. I’ve been told that men like you only want women like me for one thing, and I should never give them that thing. And now here I am, wanting you so bad that I can barely stand it, but I can’t stop thinking what if—”

  What if they’re right? He finished her unspoken words. What if he is just using her?

  Frustration flooded him; not at Elle, but at a world that had forced her into that mind-set. He hated that she didn’t feel safe with him, but it was a necessary defense. He didn’t know how to make her see how much he cared for her, or even if he should try. He rubbed his hand over her back soothingly.

  She was entitled to feel the way she did, given everything he’d seen in his trips through the South. The leers that had been directed at her in the past few days alone were bad enough, and they were benign as those threats came. No matter what angle their relationship was viewed from, he ultimately held the power, even if he chose not to wield it.

  “Perhaps we should desist before it’s too late,” she whispered, although she still clung to him.

  “It’s already too late for me,” he said with a sigh. “But I cannot imagine how hard this is for you. I understand your hesitance, even if certain parts of me don’t currently reflect that.” She gifted him with a choked laugh, barely more than a cough, but it was something. He rolled so that they lay on their sides, facing one another. He could see the fear in her eyes and hated that he was contributing to it. “I know you have plenty of reasons to shut your heart and lock it up tight, but you’ve infiltrated mine as surely as you
have Caffrey’s household. I’d always reckoned that such a thing would be a hard task, but you seem to have accomplished the feat without even trying.”

  “It’s my heart that concerns you, is it?” she asked. She gave him an appraising look, as if searching for a falsehood in his words. He ran his hands over her hair, down her back, and over her buttocks, repeating the soothing motion as he spoke to her.

  “If I was the type of man who sought a tumble with the taboo, there are much simpler ways to go about it,” he said. “Ways that don’t involve my brain being so muddled by your presence that I can barely think straight. Elle, I spent a whole afternoon wondering what your voice would be like! And once I had heard it, I wondered what my name would sound like on your lips. And once I’d heard that, I wanted even more.”

  “You wanted my body,” Elle stated flatly.

  “I want all of you,” he said. “But you’re not mine for the taking. I’ll make do with whatever meager scraps you’re willing to give me.”

  He could see the tumult of emotions reflected in her eyes. Her hands moved to his biceps, as if she would either push him away from her or pull him close but hadn’t decided upon her course of action. Malcolm didn’t move, but spoke the words that came to his mind freely and without hesitation.

  “I want to be skewered by that sharp tongue of yours, always. I want to hear every mundane childhood story, and then some. I wanted to know everything about you, from your favorite color to your first spoken words.”

  “I love the color blue,” she whispered, her gaze locked on his. Her leg slipped over his hip, positioning his cock at the notch of her warmth. “And my first word was actually four: son of a bitch. My parents learned quickly that I would repeat everything the adults around me said and, later, that I never forgot those things.”