His dark gray eyes sparkled with a brazenness few men could manage successfully. He managed it exceedingly well. He downed the last of the imported French champagne and smiled enigmatically. “One request, then, before I go. One dance.”
“I said nothing of dancing,” she protested as his fingers closed over her wrist. In spite of her resentful tugging, they were as inexorable as steel manacles.
“Come now, just one dance.”
Cameron struggled in earnest as he pulled her from her chair and slipped his arm around her small waist.
The lone piano player began to play a haunting waltz as the rogue ushered her toward the open floor.
“Humor me,” the intruder whispered, his breath warm and entrancing in her ear.
“I don’t want to dance,” Cameron murmured. Now that she was on her feet, she was feeling the champagne. Or was it he who set her off balance, making her feel slightly tipsy? “No one else is dancing. The music is completely unsuitable—”
He clasped her hand and put his other hand firmly on her waist, entrapping her.
“You looked so beautiful sitting there alone at the table beneath the windows, so solitary, so vulnerable and yet so courageous. I’d put you up against a band of renegade Confederate soldiers any day of the week.” He caught one red curl, wrapped it around his finger and inhaled the scent. “God, you smell good.”
Cameron felt dizzy and utterly consumed by the man who held her in his arms. The scent of his masculinity, the feel of his arms around her, was what she dreamed of alone in her bed at night. She had never viewed herself as one of those weak-kneed females who could be overcome by a man in a single glance, by a single silly compliment. But she was overwhelmed by this man.
“I have a key in my pocket to a suite right here in the hotel,” he murmured huskily, brushing his lips across her rice-powdered cheek.
The dance floor seemed to spin around her as they waltzed, the candlelight glittering like constellations of stars. “Sir, I couldn’t. They’re all watching. The table. Dinner.”
He dragged his hot mouth across her cheek, making it difficult for her to think clearly. “We can eat later.”
“I’ve left my reticule.” This last protest was weak, barely audible.
“I’ll buy you another and fill it with gold coins.”
Cameron could hear the murmur of voices around them rising above the piano music. She’d be the gossip of the town yet again, and she’d not yet recovered from the last bout brought on when she had mounted a bucking Arabian that had thrown one of her trainers. It wasn’t appropriate for a lady of her status to straddle a horse, they said. It wasn’t seemly.
Cameron’s face began to burn. Now everyone was staring at them. He practically dragged her down the length of the dining room, past all the couples who were just sitting down to dinner, past the dowagers with their fluttering fans and raised eyebrows, and the waiters with their discreetly shuttered faces. Out into the marble lobby and up the lushly carpeted grand staircase he led her, turning to look at her only once to inquire if she’d rather be carried up the staircase.
He halted halfway down the long corridor and pushed her up against the hand-painted wallpaper, holding her hands to her sides as he covered her mouth with his.
When he at last tore his mouth from hers, she couldn’t speak. Couldn’t think. Suddenly nothing mattered but his touch as images of bare flesh to bare flesh flashed in her mind.
He grabbed her by the arm and hurried down the corridor toward the double doors at the far end.
“Please,” she managed to say, breathlessly. “So many saw. I’ll not be received in any home in—”
“As if you’ve ever cared about what anyone thought.” He halted beside the doors of the Potomac Suite and again pinned her against the wall. As he took her mouth, he brought one hand up to cup her breast.
Her breast tingled, then seemed to bloom at his touch, suddenly aching with desire.
As his kiss deepened, she parted her lips, savoring the taste of him and the champagne he had consumed. She moaned aloud as his hand brushed the swell of her breast and his thumb slipped beneath the low-cut bodice of blue silk to stroke her nipple.
“Someone will see us,” she groaned as she tried to push him away.
Still pinning her against the wall, he put an arm above her head and gazed into her eyes. “And what will they see, my love? A man who passionately desires his wife?”
Now she laughed wantonly and threw her arms around him. He drew her tightly against his hard, muscular frame, pressing her pelvis to his, and stroked her hair.
“I missed you,” she whispered, surprised as emotion welled in her throat and she found she was suddenly near to tears. “I’ve missed you so much, Jackson. And it seems as if it’s been worse since I knew you were coming home. I thought tonight would never come.”
He drew back and gently wiped her single tear with his thumb. “Well, I’m home now and, God willing, I’m not ever going to leave you again.” He brushed his lips against hers.
Cameron returned his gentle, husbandly kiss, but the moment she felt his lips against hers, the fire within her began to flame again. She melted into his arms, parting her lips, needing the taste of him more greatly than she needed the air to breathe.
With one hand, he held her in his arm to keep her from falling. With the other hand, he turned the brass key in the lock. Pushing the paneled mahogany door with his booted foot, Jackson swept Cameron into his arms and carried her over the threshold.
2
The luxurious hotel suite glowed with candlelight. The rich, dark silk bed linens had been drawn back enticingly, and a bottle of champagne and two crystal flutes rested beside the bed. A silver tray of cheeses, fruits and breads was nestled amid lavish bouquets of roses.
“You conceited rogue.” Cameron tipped back her head, gazing at him through slanted amber eyes, and laughed. “You had this all planned.”
“Guilty as charged.” Jackson lowered his mouth to her throat and pressed a slow kiss to her throbbing pulse. “I’ve thought of nothing but this for weeks.”
Cameron lifted her head and encircled his neck with her arms, meeting his mouth, her tongue flicking out to brush his. “And what if I had refused you? That was all quite embarrassing in the dining room. It would have served you right if I had gone home without you.”
He grinned wickedly, still holding her in his arms. “Had you left me, I’m quite sure I could have found another woman from that room to take your place.”
“More unfounded arrogance,” she purred, running her hand over his fine, blue coat lapel. “Now, close the door, else we’ll surely have an audience.”
He kicked the door shut with his boot and let her slide through his arms until her new kid slippers, dyed blue to match her gown, met the floor.
“You haven’t been eating,” she whispered, kissing his cheek, his chin and then his mouth again. “You’re thin.”
“Not from lack of food—” he pressed her hand to his beating heart “—but lack of love.”
She laughed, hearing the huskiness of her desire for him in her throat. “But I have always loved you, Jackson, loved you since that day you rode up my father’s elm-lined drive the summer I was barely seventeen.”
“That’s not the kind of love I meant.” He reached beneath her gown to slide his hand over her silk-covered calf and then higher. “And you well know it.”
Cameron giggled and pushed his hand away. “You are incorrigible.”
“Just the way you like me.” He grabbed her shoulders and spun her around. His fingers found the endless length of tiny pearled buttons of her new gown and he began to loosen them, one at a time. As he worked them free, he buried his face in her hair and inhaled the scent of her.
Cameron leaned back against Jackson, her husband until death did part them, and lavished in the warmth and strength of his arms and the teasing of his fingertips on her bare back. She arched her spine and pressed her buttocks to his groin. He
was already eager for her; she could feel him hard and hot, even through the layers of silk and wool clothing.
“Oh, do hurry, Jackson,” she whispered, blood suddenly pounding in her temples. She ached for him from the tips of her toes to her tingling scalp.
“Hurry, my love?” he crooned in her ear.
“Yes.” She breathed in short gasps. “This is all taking too long.”
“Well, we certainly can’t have that.” He grasped the delicate material of the gown and tore it open. The fabric split with a great ripping sound as buttons shot about.
“Jackson! My gown.”
“I’ll buy you another gown. A dozen. You see, I’m in a hurry as well. I cannot wait another moment longer for you.” He spun her around in his arms, tearing the costly silk off her shoulders.
Their lips met in another dance as he pushed the ruined gown over her waist and to the floor. He yanked at the strings and ribbons of her undergarments. In moments she was standing naked but for her slippers and stockings, surrounded by mountains of silk and starched crinolines.
“Can’t we put out some of the candles?” she asked, the uncertainty apparent in her wavering voice.
“I want the light so I can see you,” Jackson whispered, chasing her uncertainties into the darkness again, at least for the time being. “All of you.”
He kissed her shoulder, her collarbone and then dragged his mouth lower. Cameron looped her arms around his neck, closed her eyes and felt herself sway in her heeled slippers as he cupped her breast and brought his lips to her puckered nipple.
“Jackson,” she half laughed, half moaned. “I’m going to fall.”
“I’ll catch you.” He tightened the pressure of his arm on her back and cradled her in his arms, sucking her nipple, laving it with the heat of his wet tongue.
“Jackson, please, can’t we go to the bed?”
He smiled a smile that could have brought any woman to her knees in surrender. “I thought you would never ask.”
“Arrogant scoundrel,” she accused as he took her by the hand and led her to the four-postered, silk-draped bed. “You never change, do you?”
“You’d have me no other way.” He caught her around the waist, kissed her until she was breathless again and then pushed her back onto the bed.
“This is unfair,” she murmured languidly. “Take off your clothes and come to bed, husband.”
“You’re not quite naked,” he said lasciviously as he lifted her foot and slowly slipped off her shoe. Next, he grasped her French silk stocking and slowly, seductively rolled it down.
Cameron’s breath caught in her throat as his fingertips brushed her thigh, her knee, her calf. Every inch of her skin seemed to pulse with need for him.
Jackson threw her stocking over his head and it fluttered to the floor like an abandoned battlefield pennant. She opened her eyes to meet and hold his gaze as he slipped off her other shoe and the last stocking.
She trembled like a willow leaf in a rising wind as gusts of emotions shook her to the core.
“Take them off,” Cameron breathed, looking up at Jackson. She gave his chest a playful push with her bare foot. “Take off your clothes. All of them.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He saluted as if she were General Grant. His gray-eyed gaze lingered over her, and she watched as he removed his coat, his waistcoat, his cravat and shirt. He kicked off his boots and shed his stockings. She nibbled on her lower lip, her breath increasing as she watched his fingers find the clasp of his trousers. An iniquitous smile crossed her face as he sprang forth from the rich fabric, tumescent and glorious in his maleness.
Cameron knew she should be ashamed of herself, ashamed of her wicked desire for this man. But she couldn’t help herself and pressed the length of her pale body to Jackson’s, molding bare flesh to bare flesh as he slid into bed beside her. She met his mouth and parted her lips to accept his tongue and slid her hand down over his taut belly, then lower.
Jackson groaned and pushed her hand away. “You are impatient, wife.”
She laughed huskily as he rolled her onto her back and rested on his side against her. “I’ve waited a long time, husband, for what is rightfully mine as your wedded wife. I will not be put off.”
“And I will not be put off. Have no fear of that.” He licked the tip of his forefinger and began to draw a line between her breasts. “I, however, have learned the virtue of patience, something you, my dear, know nothing about.”
Gooseflesh rose on her skin, though she was not cold. He drew his line lower. Licked his finger again and moved his hand even lower.
Cameron closed her eyes and lifted her hips instinctively as his finger came to the apex of her thighs. “Jackson,” she whispered.
“Cameron, my sweet Cameron. I cannot tell you what it meant to me all these months, these years, knowing you were here waiting for me.” He palmed his hand over the mound of short, red curls and she moaned in delight.
“Love me, Jackson,” she begged.
“Always.” He lifted up on the bed and pressed his mouth to the hollow of her belly. She gave no protest as his hot tongue drew a path lower.
Cameron’s first climax came quickly…hard. Jackson knew her, knew her body, better than she knew herself. He played her like a fine instrument, knowing just which strings to pluck.
“Oh!” Cameron cried, clutching Jackson’s broad shoulders as wave after wave of pleasure washed over her.
Jackson stilled and rested his head on her belly. She stroked his freshly washed dark hair.
“Would you like to lay upon me?” she whispered when she had again caught her breath. “I could show you a trick I know.”
“And where did you learn this trick, madame?” He slid up in the bed and lay beside her, his hand resting casually on her bare hip.
She drew her finger down the center of his chest, over the patch of springy, dark hair. “Oh, this wicked man taught me.”
“Wicked, was he?”
She leaned down and caught his nipple between her teeth. Jackson groaned.
“Wicked, indeed,” she whispered. “A sly stranger who took my virtue from me out of wedlock and used me for his own sinful pleasures.”
“And did you enjoy those sinful pleasures?”
She brushed her hand over his muscular stomach. “Oh, very much, sir.”
He threw back his head and laughed, his rich voice echoing off the painted ceiling above.
Cameron closed her hand over the smooth skin of his warm, stiff member, and his laughter died away until it was a groan.
“You said you had a trick?”
“Several,” she purred. “He was an excellent instructor.”
Jackson brushed his mouth against her cheek and pushed her hand away. “Enough, woman.” He rolled over to straddle her and leaned close to gaze into her eyes. “Or the fun will end before either of us would like it to.”
She laughed and lifted her head to meet his mouth again. As they kissed, she felt his hardness against her damp, hot skin and she parted her thighs.
Jackson took her quickly, with one long, sweet thrust. Cameron cried out in surprise…in relief.
“Is this what you had in mind, my love?” Jackson pinned her wrists to the bed, loomed over her and lifted to stroke.
“Precisely,” she gasped as she closed her eyes and pursed her lips.
Jackson lowered his body and then rose over her again. She writhed beneath him. Lifted to meet his thrust and lifted again.
Ripples of molten delight quickly became waves. They washed over Cameron again and again. She tried to hold back, to make the moment last, but she couldn’t. She dug her fingernails into Jackson’s bare shoulders as every muscle in her body seemed to contract at once. She cried out, calling his name, arching her back. She heard him groan in her ear, and they lifted and met one final time before falling back in the bed, panting for breath.
Cameron held tightly to Jackson as the peak of ecstasy became waves and the waves became ripples again. When she
could find her voice, she hugged him and whispered, “Welcome home, Jackson.”
He slid onto his side and drew her against him. “I’m glad to be home.” He smoothed her cheek with the back of his hand, rough and callused, toughened by the years of the war.
“Ah, Cameron, I have great plans for us, for you and me and the family I hope we will have.”
She gazed into his eyes and then lowered her lashes, her heart beating. Why was she feeling so vulnerable again? “I should tell you about…about family,” she said, unable to meet his gaze.
He caught her chin and lifted it, forcing her to look into his eyes.
“What do you mean?” Jackson asked pointedly.
“You’re going to be a papa.”
When he didn’t immediately respond, Cameron felt a sudden panic in her chest. Her lower lip trembled. “You’re not pleased.”
His face lit up and he grabbed her, pulling her against him and crushing her in his arms. “No, no, Cam, that’s not it at all. I…I’m just shocked.”
“Shocked? Did you think me too old at twenty-seven to get with child?”
“Of course not.” He laughed and brushed the dark hair off his forehead, then hugged her again. “It’s just that we have been together so infrequently.”
“We’ve apparently been together enough.” She began to relax again. “Don’t you remember that night we shared in New York a month ago? I was visiting Taye and you came in through the window. You’re lucky I didn’t put a hole in your chest with my derringer, thinking you an intruder.”
“But it was barely a night—I left before dawn.”
“Barely a night is all it takes,” she teased.
“Oh, Cameron. A baby!” His dark brows knitted. “But are you sure? Only a month—”
She smiled. “I’m sure. Women know these things.”
“You and I are going to be parents,” he whispered as he kissed her forehead. “Oh, Cameron, wait until I tell you my plans. Wait until you see the land I’ve bought us on the Chesapeake Bay.”
“Land? Whatever do you mean?” The smile fell from Cameron’s face as quickly as it had brightened it.
He reached out to stroke her cheek but she pulled back. “Land to build a home, of course. I know you don’t like the city life. I knew you would want to move onto acreage once the war was over and it was safe again.”
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