by Jenna Kernan
“Is this what you want from me, Ellie?” he growled.
She shook her head in adamant refusal. He gave her a cold smile and a little snort.
“I didn’t think so.” He pushed off the bed, looming over her now, gazing down. And then he made a mistake. Just before he turned away, he let slip his cold, murderous exterior and gazed at her with a look of pure tenderness and she knew she had been duped. He’d been trying to frighten her, chase her off, protect her even from herself. And it had nearly worked.
He sat on the edge of the bed and scooped up one boot. She reached for him, coming at him from behind, circling his waist beneath his shirt, feeling the warm flesh and crisp hairs dusting his belly. She pressed her cheek to his.
“It won’t work, Chance.”
He stiffened, turning to stone beneath that warm, velvet skin. She stroked him, feeling the muscles of his stomach twitch at her passing. He grasped her wrist to stop her.
“Ellie. I’m trying to do what’s right.”
“Running,” she whispered.
“Yes. Now get out of here before someone sees you.”
Her chin began to tremble and her voice quavered. “I don’t know why you push away everyone who cares about you. You can’t keep the world forever at arm’s length, Chance.”
His chin sank to his chest.
“Is it really better to be alone?” said Ellie.
“Compared to what? Having the people you love die on you? Yeah, I’d say better.”
Ellie held on to him, wrapping her arms about his torso and locking them together, refusing to let him go.
“I never thought I’d see you run from me, Chance Cahill.”
He turned his head, glancing back at her. “I run all the time. I ran from my responsibilities at the 4C. I ran from my brothers after the funeral. I’m a good runner, Ellie. Let me go and I’ll show you just how good.”
She lowered her head against his warm skin. “No.”
The muscles of his back stiffened. “You’ll regret it.”
“That’s what everyone keeps telling me, but my body is humming for you, Chance. Don’t make me beg.”
He dropped the boot.
Chance knew his bluff had failed. It was a rare thing. Men couldn’t see through him; women, either. How had she? Ellie knew him better than most, but he didn’t know a female alive who wouldn’t have been scared to hysterics by the stunt he’d just pulled.
Ellie turned up the lamp’s wick and stood on the opposite side of the bed now. His body jumped and twitched with the need to take her. If he picked up his gear and ran for the door she couldn’t stop him.
He stood immobile as Ellie regarded him steadily. She unbuttoned the last of her blouse and Chance knew he was finished. His conscience drowned in a roaring surge of blood and desire.
Chance stripped out of his shirt and dropped it with the rest. When he set himself in motion, it was toward Ellie, not away.
His fingers were nimble and quick. He made short work of the tiny pearl buttons and then swept the gauzy fabric over her pale shoulders. Ellie was small, reaching only to his chin and she was so narrow he could span her waist with his two large hands. He kissed her on the bare shoulder and worried he was too big to rest on top of her.
Chance turned her so that she faced the full-length oval looking glass on the opposite side of his room. Ellie gasped as she saw their reflection. She, small and light, he, tall and dark—they were a mismatched team, yet when he held her nothing had ever felt so right.
He found the hook and eyelets at her hip and released her skirt. She stepped out of it with her gaze still pinned on him. He knew that look. Ellie on a dare. Ellie released from her mother’s grip and roaming over the 4C, Ellie free to do as she pleased.
He pulled the ribbon fastening her first petticoat, the satin ribbon slipping between his fingers. The ruffled skirt fell to her ankles as did the next. Her bloomers billowed out about her. Chance needed to see those legs. He recalled them as strong and remembered the flash of white as she ran through the timber by the river, smooth slippery calves sticking in the air as she performed a handstand on the muddy bottom of the river. He bent to kiss her neck. Her head dropped back and she leaned against him, her chest rising and falling, the swell of her breasts exaggerated by the cinching corset. He could pluck them from the chemise like picking ripe fruit.
His hand splayed across her stomach, inching north to free her from the confines of whalebone stricture. He held her warm, tender flesh in his hand as he kissed her neck and then moved to the shell of her ear. He was rewarded when Ellie groaned and arched against him. He glanced to the mirror to find her eyes still pinned on his. She had lifted her arm to caress his head as he nuzzled along her soft neck. She was slim and pale and lithe as a dancer. Her gaze now flicked to his hand, cupping her breast. He squeezed and she gasped as her eyes fluttered closed.
Chance slid his hands away and she made a throaty sound of protest. But she would have to be patient for a few moments.
“I want to see you naked, Ellie.”
She turned to bury her face against his chest. He watched himself unlace her corset strings until the stiff garment gaped and dropped to the floor. He bent before her to roll down her stockings and unlace her shoes. Then he placed a hand at each hip and drew down her bloomers, glancing to the mirror to marvel at the round curve of her bottom and the twin dimples just above them. He stroked the soft curve of her backside and Ellie rocked from side to side as he rose to stand before her. Whether intentionally or accidentally, she pressed briefly against his erection. This caused Chance to grit his teeth as he struggled to keep from taking her hard and fast. He wanted to lift her up and then lower her down on top of him. He wanted to bend her over the bedrails and plunge into her from behind. He wanted her on her back, gazing up at him as he touched her wet, velvet flesh and rocked deep within her.
Instead, he drew down the delicate ribbon straps of her chemise. Ellie’s hands looped about his neck but she leaned back to give him access to the buttons that closed the last barrier between them. He glanced in the mirror. Her back was a map of small red lines where the wrinkled chemise had been pressed into her soft flesh by the restrictive corset. Chance rubbed her back, trying to erase the marks as she hummed in approval. He drew her close, whispering to her.
“You’re so beautiful, Ellie. Turn around now. Let me see you.”
She pressed her face against him and lifted a hand to cover her eyes as if ashamed of the perfection of her body. If she were his, he would spend every night telling her how lovely, how appealing, how sensual, he found her.
He spun her slowly. She didn’t resist or use her hands to cover herself as he expected. Instead, she looped her arms about his neck and stared up at him, watching him as he admired their reflections. Her breasts were small and round as apples, her nipples pale pink and drawn into perfect buds. Her torso was so narrow that he could see his own ribs on each side of hers. Her stomach was flat, save the slight rounding above her sex. He stared at the triangle of dark curls. Unable to resist, he slid his hand over her hip and down into that nest of hair. She whimpered and stiffened as his fingers slipped between her legs, but she did not shy at his touch.
She was his, only his. For reasons he would never fathom, Ellie had chosen him. He vowed to do all he could to make her glad.
He drew her back against the warmth of his body, rubbing himself against the temptation of her backside as he stroked her soft, wet flesh.
“Look at us, Ellie.”
She opened her eyes and stared transfixed at their reflection, rocking in rhythm to some secret music that only their bodies knew. Her mouth dropped open and her breathing grew erratic. She pressed back against him, closing her eyes as he moved his slick fingers faster, using both hands now, entering her with two fingers as he stroked her with the others. She shook her head no and bit her lower lip. Her body flushed and she seemed to glow from within with a soft light.
From deep in her throat came a
low animal cry. Chance held her about the waist with one hand as he petted her with the other. Ellie arched against him, while deep inside her body, he felt the rolling contraction. How he longed to be inside her.
She went slack, but he held her, dipping to scoop her up in his arms. His first thought was to run with her, back to his horse, away from this place.
But instead he laid her on his bed and stripped out of his trousers and drawers. She roused herself now, opening her eyes, and reached for him as he slid a knee between her legs. She glanced down between them and her eyes went wide. Chance hesitated, feeling something was wrong. But she spread her legs for him without his urging, so he poised himself above her.
She gave him a funny little smile and the smallest of nods before he slipped slowly into her warm, liquid folds and straight into the barrier he had feared and anticipated. Chance pulled back.
Ellie was a virgin.
Chapter Seventeen
Chance gritted his teeth, poised above her, battling between what he wanted and what he needed to do.
At last he pulled out, but he’d gone too far, waited too long and so he bucked like a wild horse against her stomach once, twice and then felt the hot rush of release, even as she cried out in surprise at the warm fluid that spilled between them.
Chance lowered himself against her. “I’m sorry, Ellie. I couldn’t wait.”
“But, but,” she stammered. “I thought…”
“Hush a moment.”
She did as he asked, but lay immobile as a rabbit hiding from a fox, only the rapid drum of her heart hammering between them. Chance rolled clear and off the bed. He snatched up his drawers and tugged them on, then strode over to the washbasin, pouring water from the pitcher and bringing back a damp cloth for her.
He returned to find Ellie curled on her side, covering herself with her upraised knee and her arms crossed over her chest. Rather than modest, the picture she presented was one of the most provocative he’d ever witnessed. He found everything about her appealing, except for her shame. Her disgrace scorched him like hot iron. She wouldn’t look at him and he thought she was trying to disappear.
Since he’d come home, he couldn’t think of other women because he wanted Ellie so badly, but he had no right to do this. Now he had one more thing to regret, one more mistake he couldn’t live down.
“Ellie?”
She could not meet his eyes.
He sat beside her on the bed and washed her stomach as best he could while she covered her eyes with her hand. Then he threw the towel at the basin. He stooped to retrieve her chemise and voluminous bloomers. She snatched them from him, holding them before her like a curtain.
Chance drew on his shirt and sat beside her on the bed. His heart felt so heavy. And then he knew why.
Suddenly they were strangers again, awkward, silent, regretful. He wished he could go back to the instant before he’d kissed her. He’d push her back into the hall and slam the door in her face.
Or would he just do it all over again? Chance hung his head. He didn’t know what was right anymore. He only knew that hurting her was like peeling off his own skin.
He couldn’t go back. The past two years had taught him that much. All he could do was live with this whole new set of bad decisions.
“Is there something wrong with me?” Ellie’s voice held a quavering tone of anguish that ripped into him like the claws of a cougar.
“I just don’t feel right about taking what should be your husband’s.”
She rocked up to sit on the bed, behind him, facing away as if trying again to disappear. Her words were muffled by the fabric she held before her face. “But I wanted you.”
“You’ve more sense than this, Ellie. I know you have. You don’t want me. I’ll only do you harm. I already have.”
That made her cry. He held her, stroked her head as she sobbed, wishing he were back in jail. Anything would be better than making Ellie cry.
“I’m going.” He stood.
Ellie wouldn’t look at him. But he looked at her, a good long look at what he’d done. Most of the pins had come loose from her hair, which now fell over her shoulders in thick ocean waves of lustrous brown silk. Her shoulders jumped with each shaky breath and that white cotton was not working to gag her sobs. Chance had thought that his heart could only break once, but he’d been wrong. Ellie’s tears shattered it all over again.
Likely she was just recognizing that she’d made the worst mistake of her life.
Chance drew on his holsters and tied them around his thighs. He tugged on his boots and set his hat low over his eyes. A pink shaft of sunlight poured over the windowsill, flooding the room with a rosy glow that only darkened his mood.
He removed the chair from beneath the knob and paused to glance back. “Ellie?”
“Please, Chance, just go.”
If only she had said that half an hour ago, he thought as he opened the door to find the sneaky desk clerk standing in the hall craning his long neck to see into Chance’s room. He grabbed him by the throat and shoved him to the opposite wall.
“What are you doing?”
“Nothing,” he squeaked.
Behind him the cursed door swung open, revealing Ellie wrapped only in a bedsheet, staring out at them with wide eyes.
It took Ellie some time to compose herself. She had thrown caution to the wind and that wind had blown her right off her feet.
She washed her face, fixed her hair and dressed. She was usually downstairs before six, but this morning she would be late. Neither of her parents would notice, of course, but she did not like sneaking about like a thief in her own home. Ah, but it wasn’t her home, not really. It was her parents’ home and she still lived here, well past the time when most women her age set out to start their own family. And now she knew why she was still here. It was not because she couldn’t land Quin or Bowie or Johny Fitzgerald or Ned Womack or Clancy Lewis. It was because she had not wanted to land them, not any of them. The realization froze her to the spot. She stared out of the window at the railroad tracks, now shining pink in the dawn light, and recognized that all this time she had been waiting for Chance Cahill.
Somewhere deep inside herself, she had always known that this would happen. It was why she’d never dared to tell him. Now she could no longer pretend that she didn’t have feelings for Chance. He knew and the knowing had only served to drive him off.
Had she expected that throwing herself at him would suddenly make him realize he could not do without her? Yes. She had. Yet, he’d been away for two years and never written her a single letter. Still, somewhere in her lonely heart she allowed herself to pretend he secretly cared for her, as well.
If she had an ounce of sense she’d marry Dr. Lewis.
She walked downstairs on wooden legs, planning to speak to Mr. Hoppock, the clerk who had spent the better part of his six-month employment at the Royale mooning after her and who, today, had seen her naked in a man’s room. She knew that he could ruin her reputation with a word.
No, she realized, she had done that quite handily herself and she would not chase after the clerk to try and silence him. Instead, she would be like Chance and accept the consequences of her actions.
Ellie passed in a fog through her duties with the staff. Her father appeared before nine, seeking her out and regarding her a long silent moment.
“Ellie? Your mother and I would like to speak with you.”
The consequences, it seemed, had arrived more swiftly than she had expected.
How did a girl as pure as snow learn to kiss like that? Chance wondered.
But it wasn’t the kiss. It was Ellie. He couldn’t get her out of his head, couldn’t get enough of her, couldn’t get clear of her fast enough.
Taking a woman now, even one as perfect as Ellie, was a real bad idea. The Cahills had enemies and he was about to go after them with both barrels. An association with him would put a target right on Ellie’s back. They’d already shot Merritt and murdered hi
s mother. Killing women was nothing to them. And if that wasn’t reason enough, the idea of telling Ellie how he really felt scared the tar out of him.
He knew she liked his company, but so did a lot of women. They were attracted to his image and the danger surrounding him. But that wasn’t him. Did Ellie know that?
He left the Château Royale in predawn light and headed to the livery, spending time with Rip until the sun was well up, then he headed over to Merritt Dixon’s boardinghouse again, but this time he went by way of the back door. It was still on the early side for a visit, but he wanted to see Bowie without everyone in town knowing about it and Merritt could fetch him. In all the excitement last night, he’d forgotten to tell Bowie what he’d seen the other night when he followed Ira and Johny.
He cupped his hands around his eyes and peered through the glass, spying a small woman cracking eggs into a large green ceramic bowl. Her clothes were spotless and her hair was pulled into a neat bun, and though her hair was silver-gray, her motions were quick and expert. He recalled that this was Meritt’s cook, Jemima. He rapped on the glass with his knuckles. Jemima stilled, then turned, lifting an eyebrow in his direction. But one look at him and she dropped the two halves of the eggshell into the bowl. She did not let him in, but scurried out of sight. He added spry to her list of attributes.
A moment later Bowie stormed into the kitchen with a hand on the grip of his pistol. Bowie spotted his brother and dropped his hand from his gun, but not the look of aggravation on his face.
Bowie tugged open the door.
“Chance, you scared the heck out of Jemima.”
“Well, I’m sorry. Can I come in or not?”
Bowie stepped aside and made a sweep of his hand that was decidedly hostile.
The marshal preceded him. “It’s just my idiot brother, Jemima.”
The woman stood between Merritt and Leanna, clutching a chair back. Her face had lost the cheery glow in favor of a grayish tinge. Chance worried she might faint.
