by Sandra Jones
He grimaced while removing his shirt. Recalling his injury, she went to aid him. She could barely control her jerky movements as she helped peel the shirt off his arms, exposing his wound.
“You n-n-need a new bandage. You’ll g-get an infection.”
“Later. I’ll be fine.”
He cupped a hand to her shoulder, sliding it down her arm to take her hand in his. With a look of concern, he pulled her toward the bed. He went behind her and worked quickly down the lacing of her undergarment. She pulled her hair out of his way and felt his warm breath wafting across the backs of her shoulders. Each tiny tug brought her more relief and more heat as his lips replaced the touch of his breath. His kisses floated across her skin as he worked, creating a line of fire. She should stop him, but like earlier, she felt helpless beneath his touch.
The corset fell away, and she cupped her breasts to shield them. His hands slid inside the drawstring closure of her soggy drawers to her bottom, rounding over her curves as he removed her underwear, until she stood naked before him, quaking uncontrollably from the frigid river. The room grayed in her vision, and she wanted nothing more than to lose herself in the comfortable fuzzy haze. Stay awake. At any moment, she would likely slide to the floor from hypothermia or faint from the way her brain rattled inside her chattering skull. Her eyelids drooped closed. Oh, the sheer embarrassment of it all. First, calling out a murderer and ruining Rory’s game, then nearly drowning them both, and now this…dying slowly as she stood naked in his bedroom.
Vaguely she heard a clink and the sound of a bottle stopper. Then whiskey vapors burned in her nose as the rim of a glass touched her lips. A warm hand held her jaw steady, then she swallowed the liquid fire.
Warmth surrounded her suddenly. She forced her eyes open and found she was wrapped in a soft blanket in the circle of Rory’s arms. He carried her to the middle of the bed and climbed beneath the covers with her. Her cheeks went hot, thinking him naked, until she felt the caress of fine cotton against her side and realized he’d put breeches on while her eyes had been shut. She wriggled to give him space.
“Be still while I warm you.”
His whispered command roused suspicion in her sluggish brain. How did he intend to do that?
His hand rested on her bare stomach as his lips pressed against her neck. Delight curled through her as she felt the tip of his tongue trace her skin, his teeth grazing over her collarbone. His warm breath rushed out as he spoke across her, “I dreamt of you this way, but the reality is infinitely better.”
His thoughtful ministrations were too much, causing her composure to crumble. With the help of the whiskey that he’d poured down her throat, she found her voice. “I’m sorry I ruined your g-game. I’m s-sorry about Molly’s dress, and—”
“Philadelphia.” He pushed up on one elbow to look down at her, and his hair fell in shaggy waves around his face, reminding her of when he was an awkward youth. Charming. “That game meant nothing. It was supposed to be practice for you, and you were brilliant. The dress—I confess you were fetching in that dress, but I’ll buy Molly another. I’ll buy you scads more. I’m the one who should be apologizin’ for taking you there with little protection. I should grovel at your lovely feet.” He kissed the valley of her throat and his hair brushed her chin. He murmured, “Actually, I think I will.”
The bed shifted under his weight and he disappeared underneath the blanket. She lifted her head to see what he was doing when his large form maneuvered beneath the covers. Again she wondered at his intentions until she felt his coarse hands curling around her calves and his lips on the soles of her feet.
The tickle of his stubbled mouth sent vibrations humming through her. She squealed and clawed the bed, struggling against the impulse to kick. “Stop, stop!” she laughed.
Obediently, he left her feet, turning his kisses to her ankles, causing waves of heat to travel up her limbs. Higher and higher, his lips inched over her, pressing more tiny kisses along the inside of her leg.
Suddenly Rosemary Hughes’s priggish life as a schoolmistress dimmed in comparison to tonight’s adventures.
“Is it working?” he murmured between kisses.
“What? Oh. Yes.”
There was no mistaking either his intentions or the slow boil of her blood when his hands moved beneath her legs and bent her knees. His mouth scraped softly along her inner thigh. Edging steadily higher, rhythmic sensations alternated along her sensitive skin—the chafe of his stubble, the sweet pass of his lips, the nibble and tug of his teeth, and the dart of his tongue—all converging to bring life back into her flesh. His mouth moved into the hollow place at the top of her thigh.
Her shaking hands plunged beneath the cover and found him, cupping his face. “Rory, you can’t! It’s indecent.”
He lifted his mouth. “Is this you sayin’ I’m doing something you don’t want? I’ll stop if you tell me to.”
Damn! She wished she could see him. She could hear the roguish smile in his voice. He had her, and he knew it. She longed for him to continue. Her toes curled tight on the bed, bracing for the heat of his mouth. His breath told her he hovered just above the folds of her skin. So close, she had only to lift her hips and his mouth would connect. His gentle hands slid back and forth along the underside of her thighs, stoking heat along her cramping muscles. His mouth would feel exquisite.
The bed shifted again. His body stretched long against her leg, and dear God, his head rested against her hip. There! The gentle weight brought an ache deep inside her—an emptiness she needed to fill.
“I’m snug and warm down here, but I’m waitin’ for your answer.”
She swallowed, but for the life of her, she couldn’t tell him no. It simply felt too extraordinary. He didn’t wait long for her permission, however. His fingertips trailed back and forth in a line along the inside of her hip, closer and closer, until they slid into her needy valley. She jerked with surprise, but the weight of his head kept her still, at his mercy for his next move.
He turned his face into her, kissing her there, as his finger dipped back and forth. Glorious pressure built with each thrust, awakening the rest of her body. One of her hands cupped the back of his head, while the other clenched at her hip, struggling for the last threads of her composure as he opened her legs farther and replaced his hand with his mouth. His tongue swept inside, and she moaned with delight at the heat it brought. In and out, he kept the same tempo, while his hands splayed against her thighs. Her muscles wobbled uncontrollably around him, though now from need, not chill. A maestro creating music with his tongue, he brought her to the brink with his rhythm of savoring, thrusting and nibbling.
But her need grew more powerful with every sensation. Whatever it took to fill that need, she would have it done.
She knew in a heartbeat what she must have. Him. All of him. Inside her.
As if he’d read her mind, he lifted his head and drifted over her, spreading kisses along her stomach and ribs, pausing to suckle at her breasts. He pulled one at a time into his mouth, swiping his talented tongue over and around the aching nipples. While his mouth continued to play with one charged bud, he kneaded her other breast, and she wrapped her arms around his strong shoulders. His hips shifted against her, and his heavy erection strained through his breeches against her leg. She reached for his waistband, and he shot out a hand, catching her wrist. She gasped, surprised at the quickness of his reflexes.
He rose up from under the blanket to stare down at her, his face and lips flushed as the corners of his mouth quirked in that way that both irritated and delighted her. “Slow down, angel. You don’t want our sport to end too soon, do you?”
Shame warmed her skin but she refused to admit she didn’t know what he meant. She could only shake her head no, thus earning an enthusiastic grin from him. Standing on his knees as the covers dropped around him, he slid his hands inside his breeches and pushed
the clothing down. Curiosity made her peek, pushing up on one elbow, and her mouth fell open at the sight. She’d never seen male flesh before—at least not on purpose, not like walking up on a farmer taking a pee outside a barn—and the sight of Rory’s engorged flesh brought her fear crashing back. She’d heard of the pain of joining with a man. He’d looked away, busy discarding his clothing, and she was thankful for the time to regain control.
When he returned to her, he settled against her side and pressed his lips against her cheek so tenderly her panic dissolved like sand through a sieve. His wounded arm rested across her chest as he stroked her jawline with his thumb. “You make me crazy for you, Dell.”
He kissed her along her hairline, while his fingers made lazy circles around her nipples. His lips covered hers, and he showed her the strength of his need, slashing his mouth against hers. His tongue pushed inside, and she felt his organ, so heavy on her stomach as he moved over her. His lips ground against hers, gnawing, his hand holding the side of her face, tracing her bottom lip with the tip of his finger, urging her to allow him deeper still. And she did. She tilted her hips beneath him, bumping her maidenhead against the tip of his cock.
He broke the kiss and lifted his bed-ruffled head. His eyes were hooded with desire as he gazed down at her, glorious and leonine. He pushed her legs open wider. With a hand on her hip, he straightened, lifting, and Dell squeezed her eyes shut, ready for the impact.
His hands froze on her body. A second passed. Then another. She cracked her eyes open.
He frowned and caressed her cheek. “Dell? Are you all right?”
“Yes. I’m just bracing.”
“You’re what?”
“Bracing. For the pain, you know.” She moved her shoulder in a half shrug, her cheeks heating, mortified. “I’m told it hurts at first.” Hellfire, what if those silly Sharpe girls from home had actually been fooling?
“‘At first?’” he mumbled, sinking to the bed beside her. He stared at his reflection in the mirror, and his expression made it clear he didn’t like what he saw. “You really haven’t known a lover.”
“No.” She’d never told him any different, but her lack of experience hadn’t deterred him from anything else he’d felt he needed to teach her.
His expression shifted. He picked at a strand of her hair, idly playing with it while he sat thinking.
She didn’t like his hesitation. She wanted to rise up, put her mouth to his and show him what she wanted. Him. Here. Now. The hell with propriety! She’d been a pariah all her life, why stop now? Besides, the Cumberland School in Peoria was a long ways east from the Mississippi River. No one there would know where she’d been, who she was, or what she’d done.
He exhaled raggedly and leaned close, giving her exactly what she’d hoped for, a fierce kiss. But it ended all too soon.
He stroked her cheek, holding her eyes with his. “I’ve done a lot of things I’m not proud of, but no one can say I’ve ever been the first to soil a dove.”
She wet her lips. “Rory, I—”
He pushed off the bed and retrieved his pants. His hands shook as he yanked the breeches over his sculpted legs and buttocks. He muttered, “Shoulda known. Idiot!”
Dell knew he didn’t mean her, but the idea of her being something he regretted rubbed salt in her wound.
Clasping the blanket to her chest, she sat up and swung her legs off the bed. “You’re older than me, but we’re both adults now. I’m not contagious.”
“I know that!” He cut his eyes away, looking angrier by the minute. When she stood, he held a hand out as if warding her off. “Just stay there. You move any closer, and we’ll both be sorry.” Barefoot, he padded over to the dresser, yanked open a drawer and dug violently through its contents until he pulled out another blanket.
“Look, you can sleep here. It’s your room.”
He shook his head stubbornly, sitting on the floor to tug on his boots.
Coward! The word hovered at the back of her mouth like a loaded slingshot. She ought to say it—to make him realize that was exactly how he was acting toward her, as well as toward the sleeping arrangements and his boss. Her eyes stung with tears of humiliation, but hell if she’d let him see her crying over his sorry ass! Most white men in Posey Hollow would’ve turned her away if they’d known she was mixed, or for being illegitimate, a fortuneteller, or because of her family’s moonshine, but Rory turned her away for being a virgin? Her heart beat so hard it hurt.
She huffed. “I’ll take the floor if you want, it wouldn’t be the first time. I’ve slept in worse places. You can’t leave the room like that.” She waved a hand at his crotch where he still stood firmly at attention—apparently having forgotten to tell that part of him that he was done with her.
“I’ll send Molly to check on ya.” He grabbed his folded blanket with a growl. Using it as a shield, he stalked to the door. “Can’t sleep. Don’t sleep. That’s the problem.”
He flung the door open and slammed it shut behind him.
Chapter Sixteen
Rory rose at daylight, closing the door to Dell’s former room as quietly as possible as he headed to the helm to take the first turn at the wheel that day. No one had seen him slip discretely into the vacant room the night before, and he prayed he’d not been excessively noisy while fighting his usual demons. As far as anyone knew, he’d spent the night in his own quarters with Dell.
The morning sky was gray and pink, the air full of the sound of thousands of geese in long V’s. He pulled the lapels of his thin coat up to stave the breeze and regretted leaving his thicker wool suit behind in his dresser.
He’d not make the mistake of going to fetch the warmer coat. It was too soon for him to be around Dell. He imagined the torture of being in close proximity with the woman after knowing her so intimately. The smallest details about his angel were ingrained in his mind: the honeysuckle scent of her hair, her small sighs of contentment, her contagious laughter and the taste of her.
It took all his willpower to stay away—as much as it had to leave her when she’d looked at him with such yearning in her eyes. Now to imagine her in his room waking alone in his bed after he’d brought her to the precipice of need and desire—it was unthinkable.
They would arrive in St. Louis today, and the first thing he planned to do in the city was visit Moreaux’s brothel. There he could be himself and not worry about sullying anyone’s virtue. In fact, Vivienne LeBlanc and her ladies seemed to prefer the clientele of a hardened reprobate like himself. They always made him feel welcome, and would do so for as long as his boss kept a roof over their heads. In exchange, Viv came aboard Moreaux’s ships from time to time, because even a monster needed to keep up appearances of normalcy.
Rory’s unspoken arrangement with his boss had always been the one duty he regarded with fondness. But if he couldn’t avail himself of Madam LeBlanc’s company that night, another willing lightskirt would have to do. Hopefully his addled mind wouldn’t picture Dell’s face looking up at him while some tart lay beneath him.
Half angel, half siren, Dell was always in his thoughts.
Keeping his head to the ground as he ruminated on the cause of his present woes, he didn’t hear the voices approaching until he nearly barreled into them on the stairs. Asa carried a box of tools, and on his heels was the minx herself with a handful of metal scraps and hinges.
“Good morning,” the boy said brightly.
Rory grunted. Seeing Dell’s blush usually delighted him, but today it made him feel as low as the boards beneath their feet. Thankfully, she said nothing, avoiding his gaze.
“Where are you going with all this?” He peered into Asa’s box and caught a glimpse of books beneath the various instruments.
“My new quarters. Quintus is letting me have my own room. Can you believe it? Now that I’ve shown him what I can make, he wants me to make more. I’m to use
Dell’s empty room as my bedroom and workshop.” He smiled.
Rory tensed. “That’s a bad idea. You’re too frail to stay alone. Think if you were to get sick in the night.”
Asa frowned. “I’ve been fine for days. I’m getting better again, and it should last for weeks, maybe more.”
“It’s out of the question.” Rory grabbed his shoulder, turning him around. “Besides we’ll have new passengers in port who’ll pay good money for a stateroom like that.”
Dell cleared her throat, and when he looked at her, she raised a brow. “Isn’t Quintus the one who makes the final decisions about who sleeps where?”
Stay out of this! Rory glared at her. She had no idea what was at stake.
Asa pulled loose from his hold. “Quintus says I need the privacy of my own room where I can make more devices. He’s asked me to design a holdout mechanism. The metal will run from the cuff of his sleeve all the way to the inside of his trousers. He said he’ll come by and inspect my work each night to make sure I get the right measurements.”
Bile rose in the back of Rory’s throat. This couldn’t be happening. He needed more time! “No, Asa. You’re to stay with the crew. That’s my final order as your captain. I’ll deal with Moreaux.”
“You’re just jealous ’cause I’m the favorite now!” Asa’s eyes hardened. With a violent shove to Rory’s shoulder, the boy dropped the box, spilling all its contents before he ran up the stairs.
“Honestly, Rory.” Dell shook her head. “He does look healthier.”
“This is crew business. You don’t know anything about it.”
“I think you’re being selfish. You stayed in my empty room last night, didn’t you? You want it for yourself. Is that what this is about? You should be glad Quintus is finally taking an interest in Asa.” Her eyes widened with a sudden realization of some sort. She jabbed an accusatory finger at his chest. “Or maybe Asa was right. You think Quintus sees more potential in the boy than in you, and you don’t want to be replaced? Is that it?” She searched his face for answers rather than waiting for his reply.
