The adrenalin rush of his escape ebbing, the pain of Maguire’s beating made itself felt in a myriad of aches and pains, some more insistent than others. He couldn’t breathe through his nose, and his chest ached with every inhalation. Blood crusted in his moustache made it itch, but when he touched it, he accidentally brushed his nose. The resulting agony made him believe it might be broken.
With Devereaux’s men likely to be in hot pursuit at any moment, shelter was his priority. He hadn’t explored much, but thought there might be caves higher up the slope. As long as he kept the camp at his back, he’d be fine.
The horse abruptly sidled, surprising Yorke into clenching both fists in its mane. His injured wrist protested with a white-hot blast of pain. He attempted to tuck his arm close to his chest to shield his wrist from further jolts.
“Damn animal,” he bit out, mentally cursing the rush that didn’t give him time to saddle the animal.
Snorting and making abbreviated neighs of distress, the horse danced and jigged in place. Impatiently, Yorke dug his knees and heels into its sides. It took a few mincing steps. Without warning, it reared back and away. Yorke, torn strands of mane stuck between his fingers, was tossed off like a sack of potatoes. He hit the ground, the impact knocking the air out of him. Winded and gasping, he stared as the squealing horse disappeared back the way they had come.
Once he realized it was really gone, that he was alone and on foot in the woods with a search party on his tail, pain quickly morphed into fury. Angrily, he swatted at the spiky shrubs hemming him in, ignoring the sting when the raspberry bush’s barbs scratched his hands and face as he got to his feet.
The sound of a coughing grunt made his blood run cold. Behind him, he heard the rustle of leaves and branches. Something made a snuffling sound, and another coughing grunt. It was coming closer. His neck prickled with dread as a primal certainty filled him. If he didn’t get away now, right now, he was dead.
Yorke took a single step. The animal growled.
A heavy weight hit the middle his back with the power of a mallet. Yorke landed on the ground, hard. Something sniffed his head, his neck. Hot, moist, foul-smelling puffs of air ruffled his hair. A deep, throbbing rumble almost too low to be called a growl seemed to vibrate his bones. Then he sensed the animal backing off. He listened, but couldn’t hear it breathing. Maybe it was gone, or had lost interest.
Yorke choked down a cry of helpless fear. Putting his hands under him, weakened wrist forgotten, he prepared to crawl away. Before he could move, claws dug into his side and flipped him to his back. Yorke screamed. A huge shape loomed over him. Reflexively, he tried to scrabble away. A paw the size of a dinner plate settled on his chest, cutting off Yorke’s panicked screams as he lost the ability to inhale. The weight on his chest grew heavier as the creature leaned closer. At that moment, a beam of moonlight struck its head. Yorke saw sagging jowls dripping with saliva, glistening white fangs surrounded by black lips and small, glittering eyes.
Yorke quaked with terror, and his bowels let go. Almost without volition, his arms and legs flailed, and he began to slap and punch and kick at the animal, not knowing where he struck, if he struck. The grizzly took its paw off his chest, and Yorke sucked in a gasp of mountain air. Then, almost casually, it smacked Yorke’s head, taking a good portion of the side of his face off with its claws.
Then, painfully, it began to feed.
* * * *
The search party’s horses alerted them to the danger. When they tried to follow Yorke’s trail, the animals refused. Then the stolen horse came tearing though the trees like all the hounds of hell were nipping at its heels. The search was called off until daylight. They didn’t find Yorke, but the single bloody shoe—foot included—and bedraggled scraps of a once-fine suit coat convinced Devereaux he needn’t waste the manpower on further investigation.
Chapter 23
“A railroad is a project the scope of which we won’t likely appreciate until years after it is complete, if then. It is comprised of hard work, determination, and vision every bit as much as it is wood and steel and stone. And a touch of the human soul.”
— Charles Lowell Adams, Dispatches from The Iron Road, Great Western Rail Company
Loaded down with equipment, Conn concentrated on walking softly. It was several hours before dawn, and the camp had finally settled in for what remained of the night. A faint whistle heralded the approach of one of the sentries, and he froze. With Yorke dead and Murchison incapacitated by fever, the danger had lessened. Even so, Devereaux intended to keep up the sentry details until the excursion guests departed for their return trip East in the morning.
The remaining days of the expedition had been a rousing success, and Delilah was pleased. Some of the potential investors were put off by Yorke’s defection and gruesome demise—it was impossible to keep that a secret from them, and Delilah hadn’t even tried—but most were impressed by the Great Western Rail Company’s operation and prospects. If anything, the intrigue added cachet to the investment opportunity, from a purely social standpoint. The true test would come when their guests returned to Boston and entered negotiations with Worthington, but Delilah was optimistic that would go well and Hartendy, her father’s friend, agreed.
True, Conn’s current employment was dependant on the company’s longevity. But that was never high on Conn’s priority list. He only cared about the expedition’s success because it was so important to Delilah.
Right now, he just wanted to reach her side without getting the squinty eye from the whistling guard.
While Conn appreciated Devereaux’s thoroughness for Delilah’s sake, it was a nuisance for a man intent on seduction.
Finally, the guard moved on. Conn hefted one of his smaller crates higher on his shoulder and resumed his cautious pace. When he reached Delilah’s car, he went up the wooden steps, careful not to knock the equipment into anything. He secured the door as the sound of a low moan drifted from Delilah’s room. His cock, randy beggar that it was, recognized the sound before his mind did. His woman was aroused.
Conn took only the time he needed to pry off his shoes before padding catfoot to her room. He stopped in the doorway, captivated.
Charles had lit the wall lamps, casting the scene in a warm glow. Delilah’s pale flesh glistened like living gold in the lamplight. Since he’d left the bed, Delilah and Charles had shifted to a new position. Now, Delilah’s head was to the foot of the bed. Her lush auburn curls dangled over the edge, almost brushing the carpet. She lay on her back, pretty breasts hard-tipped and pointing to the ceiling. Her hands, fingers curled into tiny fists, lay on either side of her head. Her beautiful face flushed with passion, she moaned in need, the sound bringing Conn’s cock to ready attention.
Charles, hands bracing her upturned knees wide, lay between her thighs. Conn could only see the burnished golden brown of his friend’s hair, but from the tortured pleasure evident on Delilah’s face, he could imagine very well what Charles was doing. The remembered tang of her silky petals made him lick his lips.
They were sensuality incarnate.
Just as softly as he’d arrived, Conn eased away from the door. Fingers feverishly working the fastenings of his clothes, he stripped, uncaring of where the individual pieces fell. With the dexterity of long practice, he assembled his equipment and brought it to Delilah’s room. The couple on the bed was too caught up in each other to notice as he erected the tripod and fastened the box camera in place. Putting the crate of dry plates within easy reach, Conn prepared the flashpan. He wished he could rely on the lamplight to capture the perfection of the scene, but didn’t want to risk it.
Delilah tangled her fingers in Charles’s pale brown curls. Her hips thrust toward his hidden face, breasts quivering with each shaky exhale of breath as she neared her release. Her sexy, broken cries filled the room, as rich and enticing as the sea-salt scent of sex. Conn gripped the base of his cock, forcing his own release back. As soon as he was certain of his control, he
devoted his attention to taking the perfect photograph.
Delilah tossed her head back, mouth open on a throaty cry of satisfaction. Her face seemed to glow with the power of her release, lips lush and pouty, cheeks sweet as any rose, pale green eyes a sliver of color under the fan of her lashes. Contained lightning blazed from the flashpan as Conn took the shot, certain to his bones it was the most perfect photograph he would ever produce.
Delilah’s eyes blinked open. She stared at Conn, her expression a complicated blend of rapture and confusion. Charles looked up briefly and grinned. “I’ll take a print of that, friend.” Then he tipped Delilah’s hips toward his mouth and wrenched another passionate cry from her.
Limbs trembling with held desire, Conn set the equipment aside.
Delilah’s cry had subsided into soft mewls of pleasure. A gloss of sweat glistened on her pretty breasts, and Conn longed to lick it from her skin.
Charles released her knees. They sagged wider, creating a welcoming cradle as he crawled up her body. Delilah languidly twined her arms around his neck, and he obligingly sank into her kiss.
Almost at once, they sighed in unison. Charles’s hips rose and fell in an age-old rhythm, setting a hard and fast pace. Delilah twined her legs around his thighs. Watching them, Conn leaned against the doorjamb and fisted his cock. Now that he could pay attention to it, it was easier to keep the lusty beast in check. Liquid trickled from the tip, but other than that, it obeyed his unspoken command to wait. Wait.
He had always been a possessive man, be it of things or of women. While he and Charlie had shared women in the past, at first, he wasn’t so certain he could share Delilah. But the sight of the beautiful red-haired temptress writhing in his friend’s arms convinced him of the rightness of it. He loved the way she reveled in sex with either of them, both of them. She was uninhibited, glorious. Her body seemed tuned to theirs like no other’s. Conn wasn’t a man of fine words and poetry. That was Charlie’s world. But he knew what they had found together was rare and priceless and worth the cost, whatever it might be. And he wouldn’t let that go.
So maybe he was still possessive when it mattered most.
His friend’s broad shoulders began to quake, and he lost his rhythm, pounding into Delilah’s willing body in a frenzy. A guttural masculine cry twined with Delilah’s feminine tones. Ruthlessly, Conn ringed his thumb and forefinger around the base of his cock and squeezed to stem his own release.
Charlie slumped against Delilah. She murmured wordlessly, languidly lifting a hand to pet his damp brown curls.
Conn released his cock. It throbbed with thwarted urgency, a ravenous beast only temporarily subdued. He pushed away from the doorway and walked to the bed. Stretching out beside the drowsing couple, he propped his head up on one hand. In slow deliberation, he glided his palm along Delilah’s thigh where it still held Charles tight against her and smiled as her lithe muscles flexed beneath his touch. As if sensing his presence, Charles rolled his head on Delilah’s shoulder to meet Conn’s gaze.
“We really should let the lady rest,” he said, voice husky with repletion.
“I think it’s you who needs the rest,” Conn said. Noticing the green eyes watching their byplay from under lowered lids, he smiled. “You’re not tired, are you, love? Promise I’ll go gentle with you.”
Charles chuckled softly and nuzzled her throat. “Ah, I felt that,” he said, flexing his hips in a lazy thrust. “You like what he’s saying, don’t you? No, Maguire, Lilly’s not too tired.”
Delilah swatted Charles’s bare ass. “You think you’re just so clever.”
Charles grinned and pushed up on his arms, exposing the pretty pink flush on her breasts. “Hey, don’t blame me for what your body does when he talks to you like that.” Still laughing, he rolled off her to settle on her other side.
Conn immediately took his place between her welcoming thighs. Her slit was slick and hot. His cock nestled against her unerringly. In one smooth motion, he slid all the way inside her, enjoying the way her eyes closed and she sucked in a breath. She felt swollen, and he knew she must be sensitized to an exquisite degree.
He took her mouth in a fierce kiss, wild at the thought of Charles watching them. Delilah submitted eagerly. He manacled her wrists with his fingers, his hold gentle but unbreakable. Her breath hitched, and he felt her pulse leap. He drew her hands up beside her head and held her there. Only then did he end the kiss. Keeping his hips tight against hers, he lifted enough to stare into her eyes. Sparks of excitement and renewed passion danced in their depths, making them sparkle in the lamplight.
He slanted a glance at Charles, who watched them avidly. “Well, Charlie. You brought our little temptress twice. I’m thinking she’ll have her woman’s pleasure from me three times before I’m done.”
“You will, will you?”
“Count on it.” He pressed his lips to Delilah’s forehead. “Just lay back, love, and I’ll give you a proper fucking.” The deliberate vulgarity made her sheath spasm around him.
Conn shifted, spreading his knees until her thighs draped his. The motion pushed him a fraction of an inch deeper into her body, and they both sighed. Clamping down on his control, he lifted enough to put his mouth above one plump nipple. “What lovely tits you have, Delilah.” He caught her nipple between his lips and sucked, hard.
She bowed up on the bed, held down only by his hips and his grasp on her wrists. Conn laved his tongue over the creamy flesh of her tits, sucking and nipping her nipples until they were hard points. She squirmed on his cock, trying to entice him to fuck her. He thrust just once, enough to pin her to the mattress and still her rocking hips. She submitted immediately, pushing her breasts eagerly toward his mouth. As she did, her moans became cries, and she began to quiver. He only sucked harder. Her cunt clamped down on him, and he felt a wash of scalding wetness drench his cock. Taking deep breaths to calm himself, he watched her expression twist in pleasure as her hands curled into fists. Slowly, the tremors stopped, and she relaxed against the mattress.
Satisfied, he sat back on his heels, careful not to pull his cock from her. She was tight and giving at once, so sensitized even that small motion made her moan. Conn let go of her wrists. She opened her eyes, but didn’t move her hands.
Conn looked at Charles. Impressively, despite his friend’s unmistakably powerful release with Delilah just a short time ago, his cock showed signs of renewed interest. Conn waited until Charles met his gaze. Smiling smugly, he said, “That’s one.”
A breathless laugh broke their challenging stare. Delilah wiggled against Conn enticingly. “You said something about three?”
“My word on it,” Conn said. He clasped her hips, fingers digging into her lush bottom, and raised her up. Then, with just the power of his arms, he guided her up and down his shaft in a slow fuck that made his balls tighten. She lay lax, letting him do what he would. Her breasts jiggled in a distracting rhythm. As enticing as they were, he preferred to watch her face. Tiny auburn curls framed it, sticking to her damp, rosy cheeks. Her lips parted. She touched the upper bow with the tip of her tongue and groaned.
“Oh, Conn,” she said. “Oh. Mmm.” He changed the angle of her hips, tilting her until the hard nub of her clitoris rubbed along his cock with each thrust. Delilah tossed her head, pale white throat curving in a vulnerable arch he longed to taste. Another time. Closing his eyes, Conn tucked his chin against his chest and jerked her over his cock, harder, faster.
“You are so fucking good, Delilah,” he crooned. “Your tits. Your ass. Your sweet little cunt.” Again, his crudity set her off. Tears of pleasure squeezing from the corners of her eyes, Delilah’s voice rose in a breathless scream as she reached her peak.
“Two,” Conn said through gritted teeth. Shivers wracked his body, made him palsy like an oldster in the cold. He couldn’t hold off much longer. He couldn’t hold off at all.
With a growl, he pulled free of Delilah’s body while she still pulsed around him. Flipping her to h
er belly, he pulled her to her hands and knees. She wobbled. His hands roved up her chest to cup her breasts in hard hands. He squeezed once, twice. That was all he could take. Gripping her hips, he guided his cock to her cunny and pushed inside. With the last bit of his sanity, he moved one hand to tease her clit with his fingers as he fucked her.
Delilah mewled and pushed back against him, eagerly cushioning his driving thrusts against the softness of her ass. When he opened his eyes, he saw that Charles had left the bed. Standing in front of Delilah’s face, he stroked her hair, nudged her lips with his cock.
“Sorry, Maguire,” he said, groaning as Delilah sucked him inside her mouth. “You win. I can’t wait.”
“Win, hell,” Conn said, the words choppy. “Who fucking cares?”
Delilah’s cunt clamped down on him with brutal force, her cry of release muffled by Charlie’s cock. “Three,” Conn said.
With that, he hunched over, wrapped one muscled arm around Delilah’s waist and let himself go with a harsh shout. Dimly, he heard Charlie’s muttered curse and knew the three of them were irrevocably joined in that one moment.
* * * *
Charles blew out the lamps, plunging the room into darkness. Sinking back beneath the covers, he molded himself to Lilly’s back, while she in turn cuddled into the curve of Conn’s arm. Gradually, his eyes adjusted to the faint starlight that came through the windows above.
He was almost asleep when he heard her whisper, “I don’t want this to end.”
Conn stirred. “Then it won’t,” he said, voice gruff.
Charles smoothed his hand along Lilly’s thigh. “It won’t,” he agreed. “Do you love us?”
“More than I ever dreamed possible,” she said.
The Railroad Baroness Page 19
