by Lisa Cooke
“Kiss me,” he whispered in the darkness.
She shoved away the sheet to allow her more room to explore his body. He gave her control, and the darkness gave her courage. The combination was heady. She laid her hand on his cheek and turned his face toward her, drawing her thumb across his full lower lip in the process. She leaned over and lightly slid her lips across his before she pulled back and waited.
Dyer knew she was testing him. Waiting to see if he would allow her to remain in control. What she didn’t know was that she had been in control from the very beginning. From the moment she had stepped aboard the Magnolia Belle, he’d been lost. It had just taken him a while to figure it out.
He clutched the sheet in his fist to keep from jerking her against his body.
“Is that all you want?” he whispered, praying she wouldn’t say yes.
She brushed her thumb against his lip again, and his erection throbbed in response. He hoped her naiveté would not notice the tent over his groin as he forced himself to remain still.
Slowly, she lowered her mouth to his and nibbled. He bit back a groan when her tongue darted out to taste his lips, and still he didn’t move. Well, parts of him did, but she still hadn’t noticed.
She kissed his mouth, his cheek, and his jaw. Then, suddenly, little Miss Innocence decided to get brazen. She left his face to trail kisses down his chest, where she flicked her tongue across his nipple. He felt ready to explode.
She continued with her journey down his body, tasting, licking and nibbling any and everything she found. He had no idea making love could be so painful and pleas ur able at the same time. His hand ached from clutching the sheet. His jaw hurt from clenching his teeth, and as for the rest of him . . . something was going to have to give real soon.
“Lottie,” he whispered, groaning when her breath raked against the skin below his navel. “You’re killing me.”
“I am?” Her voice sounded tiny, and the hint of marvel in her tone made him glad he’d given her that control. He cradled her head in his hands, pulling her back up to his mouth for a much needed kiss. His hand glided down the silky skin of her back to her full hip and thigh while he nibbled at her lips.
“Dyer?” she breathed against his mouth. “What do you want me to do?”
He looked deep into her eyes, marveling again at the beauty of this woman. “I want you to be sure.”
She touched his face with a tenderness he had thought he’d never feel again. “I’m sure.”
And he knew she was. He saw it in her eyes and felt it in her touch. “Then love me, Lottie.” The words surprised him even as they came from his own mouth because he knew he meant them.
He wanted her to love him.
He needed her to love him, and not just to stop the ache in his body. He needed her to stop the ache inside of him.
“I do,” she whispered, pulling him toward her, offering her mouth and body to him in a way that left him awestruck.
The kiss was not enough. The crush of her body against his was not enough. He rolled with her until she lay under him, her golden hair fanning out on the pillow beneath her head. The blood pounded in his veins, and every inch of his body cried out for more of her, but she was a virgin. He couldn’t drive into her despite the way his body screamed.
He slid down her body to pull the tip of her breast into his mouth. She grabbed his shoulders and gasped.
“Take me, Dyer,” she pleaded, and he needed no more encouragement.
He quickly settled his hips into the juncture of her thighs, careful to just barely enter her. She was hot and tight, and feeling her against him drove his control well past its limits.
“I’m sorry,” he ground out. “It’s going to hurt.”
She answered his apology by kissing him. He slid a little deeper until he felt the tight barrier of her maidenhead. Her wince stopped him.
“Lottie, I—” He never finished what he’d meant to say. The sudden dig of her heels into his hips imbedded him inside her, and from that point on all talking, thinking and most breathing ended.
He had intended to go slowly. He’d intended to give time for her to adjust to him, but all reason was gone when she wrapped her legs tightly around his waist, leaving his body no choice but to pour into her. The anger and hatred and pain he had carried left him in a flood, and when the surge abated, a true peace washed through him for the first time in years.
He slipped carefully out of her and rolled onto his back, bringing her with him to lie on his chest. They lay in silence for several minutes before he finally said, “I’m sorry that I hurt you.”
She snuggled into his shoulder and yawned. “It only hurts the first time, right?”
He chuckled and hugged her closer. “So I’m told.”
“That’s good . . .” Her voice trailed off, and he knew from the softening of her body against his that she had fallen fast asleep.
He smiled and stared up at the ceiling, his mind whirling in thought. There were several churches in St. Louis, and he figured they could be married within a couple of days. Of course, there was the small matter of her not agreeing to marry him just yet, but that was irrelevant. He had taken her virginity and as a gentleman, he had no choice but to marry her.
Hell.
The truth of it was he loved her, and she wasn’t getting away from him. And if she thought she’d talk her way out of it with that sassy little mouth of hers, he’d have to teach her some better uses for it than talking. He smiled again. The thought of her sassy mouth caused some stirrings that were too soon to deal with, but come morning . . . that was another story. He would make sure her second time didn’t hurt.
A pounding on his door brought him back to Earth. “Mr. Straights?”
Dyer rolled his head on the pillow and glared at the door, attempting to will to death the son of a bitch that had the nerve to invade his solitude. “Go away.”
“Mr. Straights? It’s Wayne Dawson.”
Lottie lifted her head from his shoulder. “What does he want?”
Dyer removed his arm from around her and sat up to leave the bed. “Hell if I know, but it better be important.”
He dug around in the dark to find his pants and quickly stepped into them. “What do you want, Dawson?” he yelled, reaching for his shirt.
“I’m sorry to disturb you so late, but I have some information I think you’d be interested in.” He hesitated only slightly before he delivered his shocking news. “I know who killed your family and for a cut of your winnings, I’ll tell you where to find him.”
Chapter Twenty-six
Even in the darkness, Lottie could see Dyer clearly enough to know the statement froze him to the spot.
“My wife and son—” he whispered to her, unable to finish his explanation.
“I know,” she said. “Why don’t you talk to Mr. Dawson and find out what he knows?”
Dyer nodded, but the wariness in his stance spoke volumes. He walked closer to the door, still not opening it to speak to Dawson. “How do I know you’re not just lying to get my money?”
“In July of 1863, your wife and son were burned alive by a lone Confederate soldier. He carved the word ‘traitor’ on a tree in the yard outside the house before he rode away and left them to die.”
From the look on Dyer’s face, Lottie knew that Mr. Dawson’s information was accurate.
“I’ve never told anyone about the tree,” he said to Lottie. “I have to talk to him.”
“Of course,” she whispered, not sure whether she should be frightened or relieved.
“I’ll take him down the hallway so he won’t know you’re in here.”
She nodded silently and watched Dyer quickly don his clothes and run his hands back through his hair. He took a deep breath and opened the door but didn’t manage to close it completely before Lottie heard Dawson say, “His name is Harold Mason, and for fifteen thousand dollars of your winnings, I’ll tell you where the son of a bitch lives.”
Lottie cover
ed her gasp with her hand, her mind reeling with what she’d heard.
Harold Mason? Her own father?
It wasn’t possible. Lottie knew her father had been accused of a murder, but she had no idea whom he had supposedly killed. Surely her father wouldn’t have killed an innocent woman and child. She racked her brain, trying to remember if her father had ever talked about being in Texas, but he had refused to discuss the war.
The only time Lottie had asked him about it, he’d said it made men do things they would normally never do. Was this what he was talking about? Had her father, in a fit of war-born insanity, sought revenge on an innocent family?
She scurried from the bed and into her clothes while her mind darted through any and all possible explanations. In a normal state of mind, her father would never have done anything so horrible. But it had been during the war, and maybe he hadn’t known anyone was inside the home. Maybe he’d just meant to destroy the property of an enemy, and the deaths were accidental.
What ever the explanation, she had to get her father away from New Orleans and Dyer’s wrath before it was too late. She picked up the valise of money and peeked into the hallway. Dyer and Dawson were nowhere to be seen, but she could hear their voices around the corner in a lounge area. If she hurried, she could escape to the stairs and out of the hotel before he knew she was gone.
She felt guilty for taking the money, especially since she hadn’t truly earned it, but Dawson wanted fifteen thousand dollars for his information, and leaving Dyer to earn the money gave her more time to secure her father safely in another town and with another name.
The light of early dawn guided her through the streets of St. Louis to the train station. She purchased a seat on the first train going south, relieved to learn it was headed for Vicksburg. From there, she would be able to catch a riverboat home and with any luck at all, she should be at her father’s side within three days.
The valise felt heavy resting on her lap as she waited in her seat for the train to leave the station. By now, Dyer would have discovered she was gone. Would he care?
Probably not.
Dyer’s life was wrapped up in revenge, and to him she was nothing more than an evening’s entertainment. She only wished the feeling were mutual. A deep ache rolled through her, ending in a flood of tears she had no more control over than anything else in her life.
The loss of her home and her father’s health had almost been more than she could bear, but now fate had delivered the cruelest blow of all. It had allowed her to fall in love with a man she could never lay eyes on again.
“Lottie!” Dyer pounded again at her hotel room door before he finally gave up and kicked in the door. The lamp on the table cast a glow on the open travel case still sitting on her bed. A quick search found the few possessions she had still inside. All that was missing was her locket, twenty-five thousand dollars, and the lady herself.
“Damn,” he muttered, hands on hips as he scanned the room as though he expected to find her hiding under the table or behind a pillow.
“Lottie?” he yelled one more time, not caring whom he woke in the process.
He returned to his room, repeating a similar search before he finally ran downstairs to the lobby. She had left no note, and no one had seen her leave. He was forced to accept the fact that she had left him without a word, but not without her money.
If she thought that was the end of it, she had another think coming. He’d spent the last four years of his life searching for a man. He could spend the next four searching for a woman. Made no difference to him. He would find Lottie Mace and make her explain why she had run from him like she had, but first things first.
First he had to find Harold Mason . . . and kill him.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Lottie?” If Aunt Dorothy’s wrinkled face was any indication at all, a good cry was on its way. “You’re all right?” She grabbed Lottie’s neck and hugged until Lottie thought her eyes were going to bulge out.
“Yes, Aunt Dorothy. It’s me, and I’m just fine.” Lottie hugged back, as patiently as she could, but they didn’t have time for long family reunions.
“How’s Daddy?” Lottie tucked a strand of hair into her bun and headed toward her father’s room.
“Oh, he’s doing fine, but he’s missed you terribly.” Aunt Dorothy waddled behind Lottie, talking as she went. “Where have you been?”
“I told you I was going to visit a friend in St. Louis.”
“Yes, but you ran in and out so quickly that night I didn’t have time to find out more. We were so frightened that something happened to you.”
If only Aunt Dorothy knew. “I’ve been just fine.” Lottie had to force her voice to sound calm and happy. “But we need to start packing. We’re going on a trip.”
“What ever are you talking about?”
Lottie didn’t take the time to answer. Her aunt would just need to listen to the explanation as she spoke to her father.
“Hello, Daddy.” She crossed her father’s room to give him a hug while he sat in his wheelchair by the window.
“Lottie?” His voice quivered, but the smile on his face made her grateful for all the trials she had been through in the last few weeks. She took a chair beside him and held his hand in hers. He was frail and childlike, and she knew in her gut he would not have killed Dyer’s family intentionally.
“Daddy, I have some great news. I won some money, and we’re going to use it to take a trip.”
“A trip?” He frowned. “I don’t think I can travel, dear. Maybe you and Dorothy should go without me.”
Lottie squeezed his hand. “Nonsense. I’ve purchased passage on a train for California.” She hesitated for a moment before she asked, “Have you ever been to the West, Daddy?”
Her father frowned in thought. “I don’t think so.” Her smile of relief was short lived when he added, “Maybe during the war, but I can’t remember.”
“California?” Dorothy asked. “Lottie, what ever are you thinking?”
Lottie kissed her father on the cheek, then left the room, motioning for Dorothy to follow. She led her down the hallway to her father’s study, where she closed the door to allow for privacy.
“Aunt Dorothy, do you trust me?”
Dorothy stood wringing her hands, a look of worry on her aged face and tears pooling in her frightened eyes. “What have you done, dear? What’s happened?”
“Do you trust me?” Lottie repeated.
“Of course I do.”
Lottie took a deep breath to begin her tale. On the long journey from St. Louis, she had sorted through what she needed to tell her family and what she needed to omit. Now it was just a matter of getting them to believe her.
“I won some money while I was away and—”
“Money? How?”
She blew a puff of air out of her cheeks. She should’ve known Aunt Dorothy wouldn’t let her tell the story without interruptions.
“I won it on a riverboat.” She held up her hand to stop her aunt from jumping in again before she continued. “But that’s not important right now. What is important is that we have to pack what we can carry and be on the train to California first thing in the morning.”
“What we can carry? But what will we live on? Where will we stay?” Dorothy’s face had flushed, and if her eyes got any bigger, she’d run clear out of forehead.
Lottie took her aunt’s hands in hers. “I have twenty-five thousand dollars. We can buy a house and anything else we need after we get there.”
“Twenty-five thou—Oh my.” Dorothy put her hand to her forehead and gasped.
“Don’t you dare swoon.” Lottie hurried to scoot a chair under her aunt’s ample bottom before Dorothy’s knees gave out. “We don’t have time for a swooning. We have to get packed.”
Dorothy fanned her face with her hand. “Lottie, did you—did you steal the money?”
Now it was Lottie’s turn to gasp. “My word, no!”
“Then why do we hav
e to run?”
How could she tell her aunt the truth? How could she tell her that her father—Dorothy’s brother—was being accused of murder again, and the man Lottie loved was going to kill him in revenge? She couldn’t.
And that was that.
“You said you trusted me.”
Dorothy nodded. “I do.”
“Then you’re just going to have to believe me when I tell you that there’s a man out to hurt Daddy, and if we don’t get him out of here . . .” She let her voice trail off, not for effect, but because she wasn’t sure what else to say. It seemed to work, though. The look of shock on Dorothy’s face changed to one of determination.
She frowned for a second, then stood. “In that case, we’d best get busy.”
Lottie sighed in relief as she watched her aunt march from the room to start the preparations for their journey.
Eventually, she would send word to their neighbor about what had happened to them, and maybe he would agree to sell their possessions and send her the money. She couldn’t risk telling him to night. When Dyer came looking, he would no doubt talk to everyone in the area, and she couldn’t take the chance of someone telling him they were in California.
She hoped that by the time Dyer arrived, they would be well on their way, and he would never know she was Harold Mason’s daughter. He still had to earn fifteen thousand dollars to pay Wayne for the information, and even as good as he was at the tables, that should take him a few days.
She stood, surprised that her exhausted body still had enough strength to carry her from the room. A couple of changes of clothing and a few personal items were all they would be able to take with them to the train station. In just a few hours, the nightmare would be over.
Then the loneliness would begin.
Chapter Twenty-eight
It was dawn, though the low, dark clouds and thundering rain made it difficult to tell. Lottie checked the clock on her mantel again to be sure of the time. They would need to leave for the train station in one hour, but given the inclement weather, perhaps they should move their departure up a little. Maneuvering her father’s wheelchair through the muddy streets might slow their progress, and she couldn’t take the chance of missing the train.
