Mogul

by Joanna Shupe

  He rarely stopped talking, even during intimate moments. Words were not only his livelihood, they were both a source of comfort and a weapon. Intent on shutting him up, she reached below to roll his balls in her palm, squeezing gently, and he stiffened. “Faster,” he said. “Tighter. Jesus, Lily, I’m burning alive.”

  She doubled her efforts, bobbing up and down, lips pulling, tongue fluttering, until his muscles began shaking. The rougher she was with him, the more she scratched and squeezed, the more he loved it. Soon he cursed, his hips rocking as he thrust into her mouth. With a shout, he spent down her throat, his body atremble.

  When the pulses finally ceased, she shifted to press kisses to the red scratch marks she’d left on the taut plane of his abdomen. Her own core was wet with desire, arousal throbbing in time with her heart. How long would he need to recover?

  “Come here, you witch.” Large hands slipped under her arms and lifted her over his body. His expression achingly tender, he pressed a kiss to her lips. She relished the taste of him, the way their lips fit together so perfectly, the rasp of his tongue as he invaded her mouth. Love burst in her chest, every pore filled with a sense of rightness that settled in her bones. “I love you madly,” she whispered when they broke apart.

  The backs of his knuckles found her cheek and he rubbed the skin gently. His blue eyes were dark, drunk with pleasure, his smile crooked. “I love you utterly and completely, Lily, my love. Forever and always.”

  Her heart swelled behind her ribs. “How lucky I am to have met you.”

  “The fortune is entirely on my side. You’re Lillian Davies; you could have your choice of men—”

  She placed a finger over his lips. “If that is true then I choose you, Calvin—and you’re being modest. I know there is a string of women in your past.” Though he may not be wealthy, Calvin was the type of man that women watched. Striking looks and a lithe frame, he exuded power and grace, with a swagger to his gait that stopped just shy of bravado. His sharp eyes missed nothing, while a twinkle in their blue depths hinted at a secret joke. This was a man who caused a woman’s mind to turn to wickedness. To wonder what the devil might be capable of inside a bedroom . . .

  How fortunate that she no longer needed to stare and wonder. No, she knew precisely what talents he possessed in this area—and she had no intention of ever giving him up.

  “In my past, perhaps, and that is where they shall stay.” He cupped her breast, clever fingers teasing the nipple until it peaked under his touch.

  “They had better. I have no intention of sharing you, not with anyone.”

  He squeezed the tender, plump mound, causing her to gasp. “Nor I you. All those beaux you were stringing along had better be cut when we return to New York.”

  “Stringing along?” She tweaked his nipple and he gave a gasp this time. “Take that back. I do not string men along.”

  “Are you growing angry? You know what it does to me when you’re peeved.” Removing her hand from his chest, he brought her fingers to his mouth and kissed the tips. “And I count no fewer than four of Manhattan’s most eligible bachelors who hope to ensnare you, my lovely. Shall I name them?”

  “They merely want my father’s fortune, not plain Lily, the stubborn, bossy daughter of a miner.”

  “You are wrong. I see how they stare at you, with adoration in their eyes, not greed. It’s the exact same manner in which I stare at you.”

  Her belly warmed and dipped, and she held the compliment close, never wanting to forget the sweetness this man had brought to her life. She tangled her legs with his, rubbing his rough skin with the soft pads of her feet. “The night we met, you asked me to dance. I had no idea who you were.”

  “I didn’t know your name, only that you were the most beautiful, captivating woman in the room. I couldn’t stay away. I had to learn all I could about you, touch you, even if just to dance.”

  “And you, the mysterious reporter in the room, watching the party with observant, clever eyes. No one quite had a clue what to make of you.”

  “I think most of the crowd mistook me for a footman,” he said wryly.

  “Not a chance. Your bearing is about as subservient as . . .”

  “Yours?” he offered.

  She laughed and his lips found her throat. He nipped and licked, teased her skin, until she squirmed against him. Desperate. Wanting. “How much recovery time did you say you needed?”

  He rolled her onto her back and settled between her thighs. “My lovely Lily, a man’s mouth never needs any recovery time.” Sliding down her body, he kissed a trail to the very heart of her and proceeded to steal her breath.

  * * *

  A knock on the hotel room door penetrated Calvin’s brain. He stirred, fighting the effects of both sleep and an insatiable wife, stretching out the soreness in his lower back. Only one person would dare to disturb them, and Calvin knew he would not knock unless it was urgent.

  Hoping not to wake his wife, Calvin shifted to the edge of the mattress and reached for his trousers. Wife. He liked saying that. He liked it quite a bit. His childhood was spent traveling the globe with parents, devoted to spreading their religion, never leaving them in one place for very long. Temporary lodgings, temporary friends. Never anything permanent or real—not until Lily. She now belonged to him.

  He glanced over his shoulder to glimpse her sleeping form. Blond hair streamed over the cream sheets like a streak of sunshine. She lay on her side, both hands under her cheek, prayerlike. Emotion welled up in his chest, a bone-deep sense of rightness he’d never experienced before. And with this woman, of all people. They were from two different worlds; Lily’s comprised of parties and champagne, while his was one of sheer determination and grit. Yet somehow it worked.

  Another knock brought Calvin to the door. Hugo, his best friend and sometimes valet, stood in the hall, eyes full of worry. “Her father’s here.”

  Calvin froze. “Her father? Lily’s father? Here?” At Hugo’s nod, Calvin’s stomach plummeted. “Shit. He’s supposed to be in Dakota.”

  Hugo shrugged. “All I know is he’s downstairs, asking for you.”

  Calvin’s mind spun. He hadn’t met Warren Davies, but he knew the man’s reputation. A hard-hearted businessman who crushed rebellion and dissension by any means possible, even bloodshed. The last attempt to organize a union at Davies’s silver mine had resulted in the death of over fifty men. Davies was known for getting what he wanted . . . and Calvin suspected this would not be a pleasant visit.

  “Give me two minutes and I’ll be down.”

  He shut the door and hurried to collect his clothes off the floor. Though he’d bathed regularly, he hadn’t worn clothing in at least a week, not since he’d left the room to buy Lily ice cream from a parlor down the street—a treat he’d licked off her delectable, naked body, he recalled with a smile. He found his shirt, clean but wrinkled, and his necktie was a crumpled mess. Not exactly the way he’d wanted to meet his father-in-law.

  After he dressed, he checked his face in the mirror. A two-day growth of unkempt whiskers covered his jaw. He winced. No help for it now, he thought and ran a comb through his unruly hair.

  “Calvin? Where are you going?”

  He spun at the sound of his wife’s husky, sleep-roughened voice. “Your father is here.”

  “Daddy’s here?” She sat up, the sheet dropping from her body and revealing the most luscious breasts he’d ever set eyes on.

  “He’s downstairs.” Calvin reached for his frock coat and tugged it on. It was his best coat, a dark blue wool he’d purchased only last year. He brushed dirt off the sleeves and fixed his cuffs.

  “How did he find out where we were?” On her feet now, Lily scrambled for her clothing. He noticed her hands were shaking as she fumbled with her chemise. “He’s supposed to be visiting the mine.”

  “I haven’t a clue. We’ll soon find out.”

  He strode over and grasped her shoulders, stopping her frantic movements. “Darling,
wait.” She straightened and stared at him, eyes wide with panic. He kissed her nose. “We’ll be fine. He will understand, I promise.”

  She swallowed but nodded. “Of course. You’re right. I should come down with you, though.”

  “No, that’s not necessary. I’ll head down first. Take your time getting yourself ready. There’s no rush.”

  “I will.” Her fingers gripped his lapels. “Calvin, I love you.”

  He smiled at her, sliding his hands down to palm both her breasts. “And I you. Hurry, before he decides to storm the room.”

  He left Lily to dress and went into the hall. As he headed downstairs, he reminded himself of all the reasons Warren Davies should approve of him as Lily’s husband. Like Davies, Calvin had grown up in poverty but was making his own way in the world. He was gainfully employed, had all his limbs. Even had all his teeth. He would never mistreat or harm Lily. Most of all, he loved her with all his heart. What father wouldn’t want his daughter to be happy and well-loved?

  Hugo waited at the bottom of the stairs, a scowl on his dark face. “He’s in the front parlor,” Hugo said. “And he does not appear pleased. Two men are sittin’ outside in his carriage, one’s at the parlor door. Got a forty-five on his hip.”

  That information did not bode well. Why had Davies brought an army with him? “Thank you. Lily will be down in a few moments. Will you see her shown in?”

  “Yes, sir. And good luck.”

  A large man guarded the parlor. At Calvin’s approach, the man opened the door, then quickly shut it after Calvin passed through. Once his eyes adjusted to the afternoon light, Calvin found a stocky, well-dressed man at the front window. Warren Davies.

  Davies came forward, and Calvin saw the resemblance to his daughter right away. The same whiskey-colored eyes, light brown with flecks of gold, and a similar stubborn jaw. Davies had short gray hair and a long mustache, one you might see on a cowboy out in the Dakotas. His expression held no warmth, however, and foreboding settled into Calvin’s gut.

  “You are Calvin Cabot?”

  “Indeed, I am, Mr. Davies.” He extended a hand in greeting, which Davies made no effort to accept. After a beat, Calvin dropped his arm and said, “I know this may come as a surprise, sir—”

  “A surprise?” Davies sneered. “Boy, a surprise is coming home to find your cook’s baked your favorite dessert. A surprise is when you run into an acquaintance on the street. A surprise is having a good day on the Exchange. This is no surprise. Finding out this”—he gestured at Calvin—“piece of shit has gone and married your only daughter is a goddamned catastrophe.”

  Calvin’s skin went up in flames, anger rising in his veins like a flood. Stay calm, he told himself. Nothing good would happen if he lost his temper. He had to appease the older man, explain how he felt about Lily. “I know I seem an unlikely choice, but I love her. I will—”

  “I don’t care how you feel about her. Christ, marriage is not built on feelings, boy. It’s about legacy and position. She’s just had her come-out and I had plans for her. Not one of those plans included a two-bit muckraker from a newspaper no one’s ever heard of.”

  The jab drove deep, and Calvin crossed his arms over his chest to keep from punching Davies in the jaw. Yes, he worked as a reporter for the Bugle, but he had ambition. He wouldn’t always be a “two-bit muckraker.” Davies, it seemed, didn’t care about any of that. He only cared about Calvin’s suitability as Lily’s husband now.

  “Why are you here?” he asked bluntly.

  Davies’s mouth hitched. “Now we get to the point. I have annulment papers for you to sign.”

  “I’m not signing any fucking annulment papers,” he snapped, civility swiftly evaporating. If Davies wanted a fight, Calvin would more than gladly provide him one. “No matter what you say, I won’t give her up.”

  “How much?” Pushing the sides of his coat back, Davies thrust his hands in his pockets. “How much do you want?”

  “I don’t want your money. You don’t have enough to force me to leave her.”

  Davies threw his head back and laughed. “You know precisely what I’m worth. I’ve no doubt you researched me long and hard before approaching Lily. Before filling her head with your lies.”

  Calvin clenched his teeth so hard he feared his jaw might snap. “I have never lied to your daughter. And I did not approach her because she’s your daughter. I had no idea who she was when—”

  “Spare me, son. I don’t have the time or the patience for nonsense. When I tell you what I’ve learned about you, I think you’ll change your mind about those annulment papers.”

  Mind racing, Calvin tried to think what secrets from his past Davies could have unearthed . . . but nothing leaped out at him. He hadn’t led the life of a monk, yet he hadn’t committed any serious crimes. “Is that so?”

  Davies lowered himself into an armchair and placed his elbows on the rests. “I have two pieces of information you need to hear. The first is, though I love my daughter, I will cut her off without a cent if she stays married to you. The two of you won’t get one dollar from me or my estate. I’ll write her completely out of my will.”

  Calvin frowned, his heart sinking. When they’d eloped, he hadn’t thought far enough ahead to worry about finances. Hell, he’d been raised with nothing and survived, but Lily loved the life of rich society girls with their wild parties, lavish dinners, and expensive toys. And while he absolutely had not married her because of her family’s money, he also hadn’t considered that such a lifestyle would be taken away from her. She’d be reduced to . . . lean cuts of meat instead of foie gras. Lager instead of champagne. Mending her dresses instead of buying new ones. Forget fancy balls and social engagements; she might need to find work as a secretary or a shopgirl.

  But how could he possibly walk away from her? Perhaps her father was bluffing. After all, Lily claimed Davies doted on her. Surely her father wouldn’t—

  “I can see you don’t quite believe me,” Davies said. “So let me tell you the second item. I have many friends in the US government—more friends than you, apparently—and they were more than willing to fill me in on your recent attempts at bribery. Seems you’ve been writing letters and offering money to anyone who’ll listen. Something to do with your wife, the one back in China . . .”

  Chapter Two

  Davies Mansion, Fifth Avenue

  April 1889

  Calvin Cabot, her former husband. Here, in her family home.

  Husband. Even the word sounded strange. The reminder of their brief marriage sat in her stomach about as well as spoiled oysters, even if he was still unconscious. Just seeing him angered her, the humiliation as fresh as if it had occurred yesterday. She blew out a long breath, determined to remain cool. Their unfortunate past aside, the man had to live long enough for him to help her.

  She needed to find her brother. Pinkertons had searched for weeks without results. Then a letter had arrived, one she didn’t fully understand but instantly recognized as dangerous. Undoubtedly, Calvin would agree once he awoke and she presented him with the letter.

  No matter what, this particular secret needed to stay buried.

  The next eleven hours were spent watching over him, as she tried to get water down his throat and washed him with a cloth. He was burning with fever, which seemed odd. She hadn’t trusted his care to her staff, none of whom knew Lily had been married. No, only two other people knew of their marriage—and she hadn’t been surprised when one of them had shown up on her doorstep at dawn.

  Hugo, Calvin’s friend and valet, had presented himself at the servant’s door, ready to tend to his charge. He had dark skin, kind brown eyes, and short black hair, his bulky frame well turned out in a chocolate-colored suit. Lily had welcomed him, grateful for a brief reprieve at Calvin’s side, and went to her rooms to freshen up.

  She’d met Hugo before, when she and Calvin were on better terms, as Hugo was never far from Calvin’s side. The story of how the two men met was a bit
murky, like much of Calvin’s background, but she knew a bit. While a teenaged slave in Missouri, Hugo had ended up in China with his previous owner, a businessman who’d died shortly after arriving in the Orient. Hugo had remained, and somewhere along the way he and Calvin became friends.

  Lily had been envious of their relationship. Calvin didn’t allow many people to get close to him, and she’d hoped to reach that level of intimacy one day. Yet she never had. Not that he’d been interested in a real marriage anyway. Money had been Calvin’s goal all along.

  She could still remember coming downstairs four years before to find her father standing all alone in the hotel’s parlor.

  “Where’s Calvin?” she’d asked Daddy.

  “Your new husband has left.”

  “Left?” She glanced around. “Where did he go?”

  “Back to New York, I suppose. In a hurry to spend the money I just gave him, no doubt.”

  Lily blinked. Money? New York? “I don’t understand. You gave him money?”

  “I offered him an annulment and he wanted a fortune. He took both without even blinking.”

  “Annulment?” Her heart squeezed painfully while her lungs collapsed, unable to pull in air. “Are you saying . . .”

  Her father picked up a piece of paper from the tea table and handed it to her. “I’m sorry, pigeon. He never wanted anything but our family’s money.”

  Calvin wouldn’t have left her, wouldn’t have ended their marriage, not without talking to her first. He loved her. He’d never cared about her father’s money. In fact, her body still sang from their recent bout of lovemaking upstairs. Certain her father had to be mistaken, she flipped to the signature page.

  That’s when she saw it. Plain as Sunday, there was no mistaking the name staring up at her. Calvin Cabot had been scrawled elegantly on the line. A sob escaped her mouth as tears pooled in her eyes and spilled over. One big, fat drop fell on the paper in her hand.