He worshiped her without words, leaning her back across his arm and caressing her breasts. Her nipples peaked, and he bent to pull one into his mouth, lips and teeth nipping gently. She cried out at the exquisiteness of his mouth on her. Knowing this time they wouldn’t stop with caresses, she felt a delicious heat course through her.
He transferred his attentions to the other breast, and every nerve in her body tingled at the delicious tug he exerted. He laid her back against the pillow. She sighed with reluctance when his mouth left her. He tugged on her dress until it slid all the way off. His callused palm etched a heated path from her ribs downward. When he stopped to twirl a finger in her navel, the erotic sensations left her shaking.
“Max?” She cried his name in anguish when he left her side, his hands and mouth no longer on her.
“I’m right here, Angel.” She opened her eyes to where he stood by the bed, removing his breeches. The light from a single candle played off his bronze skin. Abby let her gaze follow the lines of his body from head to toe and back.
He stood close enough to touch. When she did, he sucked in his breath, and his manhood lifted in response. He was soft, like velvet, but hard as steel. Her hand circled his length, caressing him, drawing him toward her.
“You’re killing me,” he moaned, coming down on top of her and forcing her to let go. He kissed a path across her collarbone, up her throat to her chin. Before he reached her mouth, he kissed downward to her breasts.
“You’re so…different from me.” She slid her hands up his back, enjoying the freedom to touch him anywhere she wanted.
“We were made that way, to fit together perfectly,” he said, his reply muffled when he kissed her stomach.
“Teach me, Max. Show me how we fit together.”
Max’s control snapped at her plea. She was his, forever, and he worshiped her. His hands and mouth moved across her skin, leaving no inch untouched. He sucked her nipples to peaks. His fingers slid between her legs, preparing her. She was already wet and hot and he desperately wanted her.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispered, settling his hips between hers. He rocked back and forth, the tip of his shaft sliding along her cleft. He slipped inside, penetrating her one agonizing inch at a time. He reached between them, rubbing that secret, sensitive spot, and she climaxed, squeezing around him until he thought he would die. At the height of her orgasm, as she cried his name, Max pushed through the barrier of her virginity and sank deep into her.
Instead of crying out in pain, Abby wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled him closer still.
“More.” Her frenzied whisper caused him to pulse in response. He began to move, slowly at first, then faster. Abby clutched her legs tighter around him.
Her passion ignited fires he’d never known. The harder he drove into her, the more she seemed to want. He was about to burst when she stopped beneath him. He lifted himself to his elbows and looked at her.
Her eyes were wide with passion, her sweet lips forming a silent “O”. Then he felt it—the first tremors of another climax. A glorious smile broke across her face. “Again?” she asked in genuine surprise.
“Oh, yes, Angel. As many times as you want.” Max thrust again and then again, pushing her over the edge and quickly following. It was the most wonderful, consuming experience of his life.
* * *
In the aftermath of their passion, Max lay sideways to Abby, his head on her stomach and one hand resting on her breast. Her hand caressed his hair, brushing the damp strands off his forehead. Strange that she felt no embarrassment lying there naked.
“Did you mean what you said?” His throaty drawl drew her attention; that and the lazy circles he made on her breast with his finger.
“Mmmm—that it was wonderful?” She smiled dreamily.
“Well, that too, but…” He sounded hesitant, but she understood what he needed to hear.
“That I love you?” She lifted his hand to place a kiss in his palm.
“Yes, that.”
She sighed, letting his hand drop to the mattress. “I’m afraid so.”
He lifted himself up, leaning on one elbow, a frown marring his features. “What kind of answer is that?”
She couldn’t look at him. “I guess I don’t live up to the standards of independent women, if I succumb so easily to the wiles of a man.”
He rolled over, bringing her on top of him. She felt his heat against her leg.
“You’re being ridiculous. I’ve found that being independent doesn’t necessarily mean being alone. A man and woman can create a union while at the same time supporting each other’s separateness. Being married doesn’t mean you give up who you are. I’m the other half of you, and you’re the half that’s been missing from my life. Together we make a whole.”
Abby squirmed against him. “You do have a way of putting things that makes it sound right.”
“Of course I’m right, Mrs. Grant,” he growled. “Let me show you just how right I can be.”
Chapter Fifteen
Max assured Abby it would only take a few days—three at the most—to get to San Francisco now that the railroad was complete. They would transfer lines in Cheyenne, going from the Denver Pacific to the Union Pacific. Once they reached Ogden they would transfer to the Central Pacific, which would take them through Reno and south into San Francisco.
He had told her this in a roundabout way in the middle of the night as he lay in bed beside her. She’d been trying to catch her breath after he’d passionately loved her yet again. Though he’d been able to speak, her hand on his bare chest had assured her that his heart, like hers, was far from back to normal.
She thought if she had a choice, she would prefer to stay in bed with him for the entire trip. Last night’s lovemaking was more exquisite than anything she could have imagined. He’d treated her with a tenderness she found impossible to resist. By giving to her, he’d allowed her the freedom to express herself—to enjoy what he did, knowing it was a natural part of the union of a man and woman. He had told her they were partners—equals. Abby knew how special that admission was, for it was quite different from the attitudes of most men of her acquaintance.
The train rocked along the tracks. Dawn had just begun to chase away the dark, and she knew they would be in Cheyenne before long. She wondered if there was time…
Rolling over, she brushed a hand across Max’s chest, sliding the sheet downward. He snorted in his sleep and tried to retrieve the cover, but Abby maintained a tight hold. When he relaxed again, she continued her mischief, uncovering inch after inch of glorious skin.
She loved looking at him. His chest rippled with muscle, and though he was strong enough to bring a man down, he’d been extremely gentle with her. Well, not so very gentle part of the time, she recalled with a smile.
Propping herself on an elbow, she began tracing a pattern across his chest with her finger. His chest continued to rise and fall in even sleep. She circled his nipple. He certainly slept deeply, she thought, leaning forward. She licked the small, flat nipple until it pebbled.
She shivered with anticipation when she slid her hand over his rib cage to his flat stomach. His skin quivered beneath her touch, and she delighted in knowing that even asleep, his body responded to her.
She now knew what lay beneath the sheet that barely covered his hips, but she felt shy about embarking on this discovery mission. Still, he was asleep and probably wouldn’t notice. Her hand delved beneath the sheet, feeling the smooth skin of his hip. Not able to conceal her enthusiasm for this wicked pleasure he’d introduced her to, she lifted the sheet to reveal his manhood.
Heat curled through her at the sight of him, long and thick and beautiful. Novice that she was, she hadn’t taken the initiative to explore him last night. Now, she decided to rectify that oversight. She closed her eyes and caressed him, enjoying the throbbing heat, the silky smoothness. Circling his manhood, she slid her hand along his length, tightening her hold when it throbb
ed.
“I have died and gone to heaven.” He caressed her bare back. She turned her head to look at him, but didn’t remove her hand.
“How long have you been awake?”
“You don’t think I could possibly sleep through that, do you?” He slid his hand around to capture her breast. His thumb and forefinger rubbed her taut nipple. “Could you?”
She rolled over, laying her head on his hips and stretching, opening herself to his caresses. She doubted she could get enough of him in a lifetime of making love.
“Can we do it again?”
“Do what?”
She turned, sliding sensuously up his body, the coarse hair on his chest abrading her breasts. His glittering blue gaze told her he knew exactly what she wanted, but preferred that she ask.
“Make love to me, Max.” She wiggled against his hips. “Please?”
Groaning, he rolled her over, pinning her beneath him. She loved the pressure of his body on hers.
“We shouldn’t. You have to be tender after last night.” Even as he spoke, she felt his manhood slide against her.
“I’m not.”
“You’re not?”
She shook her head. “Does that mean I did something wrong, or did you do something very, very right?” She punctuated her words with kisses to his chin. Her fingers stroked down his back.
Max growled, his hips positioning his manhood perfectly. “It was more than right, Mrs. Grant. It was…” He slid into her, a deep sigh escaping.
She sucked in her breath. “Wonderful?”
“Superb.”
“Magnificent?” She gasped when he rocked forward.
“Spectacular.”
By then Abby was beyond talking.
* * *
Max and Abby returned to the Pullman after stretching their legs while changing trains in Cheyenne. When Max opened the door for her, they found Connors setting the table for dinner.
“I decided to try my luck on the Union Pacific. Besides, the Kansas Pacific became rather mundane after you both left in Denver.” He grinned, motioning Abby to a chair.
“It’s nice to see you again,” she greeted him, taking the seat he offered. Max sat across from her.
He poured wine in two glasses. “I see you’re recovered, Miss O’Brien.”
“It’s Mrs. Grant, now.” Max smiled, lifting his glass in silent salute.
Abby’s heart flip-flopped. She was happy to see Max smile much more often now.
“Well, congratulations. I’m glad I asked the chef to fix something special when I heard you were to be aboard.” With a flourish, Connors removed the covers from the platters. “Beef Wellington, asparagus in hollandaise sauce, parsley potatoes and strawberries in cream for dessert.”
“Fantastic, Connors. Remind me to keep you around.” Max delved into the meal, scooping large helpings of everything onto his plate. Abby laughed. He looked at her, fork halfway to his mouth.
“I’m sorry.” She hid her giggle behind her hand. “You act as though you’re starved when we just ate in Cheyenne.”
He frowned. “Having a biscuit and tea at that little shop is not eating.” He lowered his voice to a whisper, his gaze shifting to where Connors was placing the covers on the tray, then back to Abby. “That’s like saying nibbling on your ear is the same as making love to you.”
“Max!”
He laughed and went back to his meal, leaving her with knots in her stomach just thinking about making love to him. That seemed to be all she did think about.
* * *
After dinner, Max spread his papers across the table. He needed to get a handle on the extent of Dillon’s thievery before they reached San Francisco. He hoped to settle the matter without drawing the authorities into it, but he would call them if needed.
He listened to Abby hum and glanced over to where she sat in the window seat. She held some papers on her lap, leaning back against a cushion. A frown marred her features and she chewed on the nub of a pencil. She then scribbled on the paper, began humming again, and the frown disappeared. He wondered what she worked on, but knew she would tell him when she was ready. One thing he’d learned about Abby was her willingness to share. He snorted, thinking that applied also to her very righteous opinions on women’s rights.
His groin tightened when he recalled the precious gift she’d shared with him last night, and her passion again this morning. He would never get enough of her. She was beautiful and she meant the world to him.
“Have you found me so dull and easy to ignore already?” he asked, drawing her attention away from whatever she wrote. He wanted her to talk to him.
She looked across the width of the room. A gentle smile brightened her features. “Oh, Max. Regardless that Mary Wollstonecraft equated a husband to a convenient piece of furniture, I would never view you as anything so inconsequential as that.” She came across the room to settle on his lap. “Although you do provide quite a comfortable seat.”
She laughed when he tickled her, and he delighted in the sound. He kissed her neck, working his way up her throat to her lips. Just when he kissed one corner of her delectable mouth, she turned on his lap, surveying his papers.
“What are you working on?”
“Information Monty gave me. Most of the merchandise from the warehouse can never be traced. It was probably quickly sold along the wharf by Dillon and his cohorts. I hope that some of the other items, like the ten crates of Sharps rifles, will be discovered by one of the agents I have working on this case.”
“You think Dillon has a partner?” She leaned forward, propping her elbows on the table as she read his lists.
“Probably only hired thugs for the warehouse job. I can’t see Dillon sharing half a million dollars with anyone.”
“Oh, Max, that’s a fortune. Whatever will your father do?”
“The merchandise can be replaced, if I can recover the majority of the money.”
“What did Dillon do with the money?”
He frowned. “That’s the crux of the problem. Getting that kind of money transferred from the business involved Jerome Smith and Monty. According to Monty, by the time they discovered the mining venture was bogus, the money had already been transferred and was irretrievable.
“That makes me think there was an inside person at whatever bank they used. Monty will be looking into that when he gets to Boston. I have to find a way to get the money from Dillon’s San Francisco bank.”
Abby looped her arms around his neck, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. “You’ll figure it out.”
He felt lighthearted under her effused confidence in his ability. “I think this calls for the good Reverend Fishbone, and his new wife, Abigail, to make an appearance.”
“Hmmm, Jonas and Abigail Fishbone. It does have a certain ring to it, doesn’t it?” She laughed. “Good Reverend, I have a confession to make.”
He caressed her stomach with his palm, recalling her last confession when she’d told him she loved him. What could he do but play along?
“Tell me.”
“I’m guilty of the sin of obsession,” she said on a breathless little sigh. She leaned back, and he slid his hand upward to cover her breast.
“What are you obsessed with?”
She gave him a seductive smile. “You.”
His heart began to thump recklessly. His manhood swelled against her bottom when she squirmed on his lap.
“But that’s not all.”
“There’s more?” His voice squeaked.
“I’m also guilty of overindulgence and I’m selfish. I want you all to myself. Will you forgive me?”
“If I say yes, will you curb your obsessions?”
She nodded solemnly. “I could try.”
“Then I can’t forgive you because I’m guilty, too. I have these cravings.”
She had managed to unbutton his shirt and her hand slid beneath the fabric. He inhaled sharply at her touch, knowing if he had a hundred years with her he would still want
her.
“Yearnings,” she breathed the word close to his ear.
“Vagrancies,” he concurred, kissing a heated path along her throat.
“Obsessions,” she panted. “Maybe they’ll burn themselves out.”
“I certainly hope not,” he growled, standing with her in his arms. Purposeful strides took them to the bedroom.
* * *
Abby’s first impression of San Francisco was that of a beehive. The train station was a hub of activity with people bustling in all directions. While Max made arrangements for their luggage, she watched people. They appeared to be from all walks of life and cultures. She laughed as a little man with a pigtail down his back chattered away in a foreign language to the mule he had attached to a small wagon. She wondered if the animal understood what was being said to it.
“Ready?” Max was back at her side.
“Where are we going?” She took his arm and walked to the waiting carriage.
“Palace Hotel on Market Street.” He answered her and gave the driver directions at the same time. “It’s more elaborate than a poor man of the cloth can afford, but we can always say we are honeymooning.”
“I think before we begin this masquerade, I’d better purchase clothing more in keeping with the role of Mrs. Fishbone.”
He looked at her silk dress and flowered bonnet. “You look fine.”
She smiled and shook her head. “If we’re going to continue this partnership, you really need to acquire some fashion sense.”
He frowned “Abby, when I said we were partners, it regarded our personal life, not my business. I refuse to continue to put you in danger. You are only here—”
“Because you need me.”
“Because I love you and couldn’t imagine being away from you,” he said, surprising her with his openness.
She kissed him on the cheek. “Regardless, you do need me for this and you know it. I think it will be great fun to go on these adventures with you.”
Song of My Heart Page 27
