by Beth Ciotta
His assistant handed him a folded paper. “Another from London. Nothing from Wright.”
“Guess you’ve got business to attend,” Zach said, his voice laced with anger and disappointment.
Athens flushed with guilt. He’d stepped out of the political limelight to devote more time to his children. He’d yet to strike a balance. “Not tonight.” He pocketed the note to read later.
“Step right up!”
Athens bellied up to the brightly painted booth, placed his fingers over Zoe’s mouth before she could comment on the barker’s dramatic appearance. He was pretty sure she’d never seen a man sporting a pompadour, waxed moustache, hoop earring, and enough face paint to rival a dove’s. Growing up in the theater business, he’d seen it all. He smiled at the man, indicated himself, Parker, and the kids. “Four tickets, please.”
Zoe nudged away his hand. “Five.”
“Sparkles doesn’t need a ticket, baby.”
“Course not. But Miss Kaila does.”
Heart pounding, Athens looked to where his daughter pointed. Sure enough, Mrs. Dillingham had joined the long, winding line.
Zach craned his head around. “She the cookie maker you told me about?”
Zoe nodded. “Best cookies ever.”
“Sure dressed fancy for the circus.”
“She’ll be standing in line for some time,” Parker noted. “It’s a scorcher today.”
“What’d she wear so many frills for?” Zach asked.
“Be a real shame if a fine lady like that wilted from the heat.”
Athens frowned at Parker. Was he playing match-maker or did he, himself, have designs on the lady?
Zoe tugged at his shirt sleeve. “Papa.”
He suppressed a sigh, plunked more money in the barker’s hand. “Five.”
CHAPTER 16
Napa Valley, California
Seth had just finished patching a leak in his bed-room ceiling. Before that he’d tended to two leaks in the kitchen. Temporary, but the best he could do. All the while he lamented the way he’d bullied Emily. He’d played the friendship card. Manipulated her. This was only the beginning. He still had a blackmail scheme to bust and a marriage to arrange.
She’d kept to herself while he patched and hammered. He’d welcomed the silent treatment as he processed all the information regarding her father. But now he was tending a cracked window pane in the sitting room and she was staring through a window on the adjacent wall. He couldn’t tell if she was angry or depressed. The possibility he’d driven a wedge between them chafed. “A penny for your thoughts.”
Emily addressed his question without turning. “I’m thinking they’ve been gone a long time.”
They being Bellamont and Mrs. Dunlap. “Only two hours.”
“Seems longer.”
“A watched pot never boils.”
“What?”
Seth set aside his tools, took off his spectacles, and sleeved his moist brow. He’d changed out of his good suit into loose brown trousers and a comfortable shirt. She still wore her tomboy get-up and braids. This was the first time he’d ever fancied an ass in trousers over an ass in a skirt. Not that he’d ever jump over to Pinkerton’s side of the tracks. This was a unique situation. A doomed attraction. Now was as good a time as any to bring up Athens. But first he needed to smooth things over regarding suitor number one--the weasel winemaker.
“Bellamont would be a fool to travel in this storm.” The northwestern tempest made a desert monsoon look like a sun shower. “He didn’t strike me as a fool.”
He struck him as shady. She was deluding herself if she thought he offered marriage out of the goodness of his heart. Even if his efforts to protect her father had been sincere, his intentions toward Emily stemmed from lust. There was no mistaking his desire. That didn’t make him a bad man, Seth conceded, just a man.
He set his spectacles on her writing desk as he crossed the room and moved in behind her at the west window. A hard blowing rain pummeled the glass pane. The roads would be flooded by now, thick with sucking mud and he’d venture lightning had cut down a tree or two. At this rate, Bellamont and Mrs. Dunlap might be stuck in town until tomorrow.
Alone with Emily all night. His dick twitched at the thought. Nuns and puppies. Nuns and puppies.
“You’re hovering.”
“I am.”
“I don’t mind.”
A pleasant surprise.
“You don’t make me nervous anymore. I’m not mad anymore either.”
Hot damn.
“I know you meant well. You’re right. Friends confide in one another. What happened with my father, it’s difficult . . . I don’t like to talk about it.”
“You know you’re not to blame. For his drinking. His death.”
“I know. I just wish . . . I wish he could have loved me half as much as he loved her.”
Well, hell.
“I wish we wouldn’t have fought the night he died. I wish . . .”
He wanted her to turn around so he could pull her into his arms and show her the affection denied to her by Walt and Alice McBride. Even though his own home situation had been less than perfect, he’d never doubted his parents’ love for their only son. “You have to let this go, Em.”
“I said something similar to him about my mother.” She shook her head. “It’s hard. But I’m going to try. I think it helped, talking to you about it. It’s not the awful secret that it was. The awful burden. Mr. Bellamont has offered a sympathetic ear time and again, but I just, I wanted to forget it ever happened. Now I’m thinking maybe it’s better to accept it and move on. Thank you, Poet.”
“For upsetting you?”
“For being my friend. It’s nice to have someone to talk to. Someone I can trust. I do feel that bond, I do.”
He should’ve felt good about that. Instead he felt like an ass. She didn’t trust him. She trusted Phineas Pinkerton, a man who’d prefer wearing her drawers as opposed to getting in them.
She rolled back her shoulders, sighed. “You’ve probably sensed that I’m a little . . . preoccupied.”
“That the same thing as tense?”
She’d yet to turn around, but he could see her reflection in the window pane. Her mouth lifted in a slight smile, but then she closed her eyes and scrunched her brow. “I need to talk to you about something very important.”
Thank you, Jesus.
She turned abruptly, knocking into him.
He steadied her and stepped back to give her space.
She surprised him by closing the distance. “Remember that pesky plot problem I mentioned yesterday?”
He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to jockey his thoughts. This was out of the blue and not what he’d hoped for. But at least she was talking. Maybe he could steer the conversation around to her blackmailer once he grabbed hold. “You wanted to run it by me.”
“Right. Well, I thought it was a plot problem, because I was stuck on a certain scene. But I’ve been giving it a lot of thought and I think it’s more of a sensory problem.”
“Sensory.”
“The sense of touch, to be exact.”
“You’ve lost me.”
“I’ve been working on this story about a man and a woman, mostly this woman, but there’s this man. A pirate.”
“A pirate.”
“Yes. You know. A swashbuckler, a treasure hunter, a rogue and a rake.”
“Got it.”
“The woman, well, she’s an explorer, an adventuress. He’s never met anyone like her and he’s fascinated. Not only that, he thinks she’s . . .”
“Pretty?”
She blushed. “Well, yes. But more than that. He’s, well, entranced. He wants to . . . May I be blunt?”
God, no. “Sure.”
“He wants to ravish her.”
She was wringing her hands. Nervous. Just now he wasn’t all that at ease himself.
“I can’t imagine,” he said, tongue in cheek.
“T
hat’s too bad. I was hoping . . .”
He took an unconscious step back.
“It’s flat,” she said, coming toe to toe.
Like hell. “Excuse me?”
“The scene, every scene between Constance and Antonio that’s supposed to be . . . passionate. It reads flat. I didn’t understand that until this morning. I knew something was wrong, but I didn’t know what. Music publishers once told Paris that her lyrics lacked depth. I told her it was because she was writing about things she had no personal connection to. She was writing about love but she’d never been in love. I told her she had to get out there and live, take chances. Life experience inspires passionate prose.”
He backed into the bookshelves.
“I’m trying to write about soul-searing kisses and I’ve never been kissed.”
“Ever?” Damn. Had his voice cracked?
“Surely, you’re not surprised. Look at me.”
What the hell was that supposed to mean? “I see a beautiful woman.”
She smirked. “Yes, but you’re not wearing your spectacles.”
“Talk like that pisses me off, Emily.”
She pursed her lips. “I don’t understand you, Poet. One minute you’re soft, the next you’re hard.”
Christ.
“I don’t understand your . . . kind.”
“You surely don’t.”
“We’re friends, right?”
“Right.”
“Friends help each other out.”
Please, God, bring up your blackmailer. “Yes.”
“I’m just going to come out and ask.”
“Go ahead.”
“Have you always been . . . that is . . . Was there ever a time . . .”
“Spit it out, Em.”
“Have you ever been with a woman?”
He’d never been amused and scared shitless at the same time. Interesting. “Yes.”
“Did you find it . . . disgusting?”
He bit back a smile. “No.”
She leaned in. “So, it wouldn’t disgust you to . . .”
He put his hands on her shoulders, keeping her from pressing up against him. Never in his life had he resisted a woman’s advances. At least he thought that’s what was going on here. He couldn’t be sure. She’d shocked and seduced him at the same time, an odd combination that left him befuddled. Another first. “You don’t know what you’re asking of me, Em.”
“I know it’s a huge favor to ask of a . . . friend, but I’m desperate, Poet. I’ve been working on this story for more than a year. It’s the story of my heart. Even if another soul never reads it, I have to know that it’s my best effort. That it reads sincere. I’m asking you, from one writer to another, in the name of research and artistic integrity . . . Kiss me.”
He raised an eyebrow, an almighty effort since his body had seized up. “Just a kiss?”
She bit her lower lip then licked it. “Well, I was hoping . . . that is . . .”
“Spit it out.”
“I was hoping for a specific kiss. A hot and wet, boner-inducing kiss.”
He laughed. Swear to God, he couldn’t help it.
Her face crumpled. “What?”
“I’m sorry.” He flattened his smile, smoothed his hand over wavy locks that had escaped her braids. He adored those messy braids. “Do you know what a boner is, hon?”
“No.”
“It’s a slang word for a man’s erection. When a man gets aroused, he gets a boner.”
“Oh. So you can’t give me one.”
“No.”
“I’d have to give one to you.”
“Yes.” No. Shit.
She stood on her tiptoes, leaned into him, her breasts against his chest, her lips against his mouth. Nice, but . . .
“I think I’m supposed to put my tongue in your mouth,” she whispered. “Don’t be alarmed.”
Holy hell.
The moment he felt the flick of the velvety tip, he lost control, took control. He flipped her around so that her back was pressed against the bookshelves, framed her face, and plundered her mouth. Slow and sweet, hot and wet. And, hell yeah, boner-inducing.
She whimpered, soft, sexy sounds as he tasted her, sampled her, tutored her. She wrapped her arms around his neck, splayed her fingers through his hair.
An earsplitting crack of thunder coincided with his heart slamming against his ribs. He tightened his embrace, swept his lips over her brow, her cheeks. He nipped her chin, her lower lip. He prompted her to open her mouth wider, allowing his tongue free rein. She melted against him and followed his lead, oblivious to the storm raging outdoors, stirring the storm within. Again, his heart expanded. His body throbbed, ached. He knew lust. This was lust, and beyond. Love. The force of it, the pureness, damn near brought him to his knees.
He took liberties, gliding his hands over her trembling body, memorizing every slight but feminine curve. One kiss. One time. He cupped her sweet ass. She moaned and wiggled against him, deepened the kiss of her own accord.
His mind blanked, his breath stalled. It was the single hottest moment in his life.
Soul-searing.
Emily pulled back, blue eyes clouded with passion and curiosity. “Is it working?”
His mind scrambled.
“Am I giving you one?”
Ah. Don’t do it, Wright. “In the name of research?”
The nod was barely perceptible, but all he needed. He clasped her hand and pressed it against his arousal. He expected her to jerk back. The fabric of his trousers was the only thing between her palm and his hard and heavy shaft. She didn’t flinch. She looked at him with a sense of awe, and he thought, if she applied any pressure in the least, one squeeze, one stroke--in the name of research--he’d lose it.
“It’s much bigger than the ones I’ve seen,” she whispered.
He blinked down at her. “You’ve seen--”
“In books. Art books. Sketches. Sculptures.”
“Research?”
“The skinny-dipping knight. I didn’t know what a naked man looked like. I needed a visual reference. I thought Michael Angelo’s David was impressive, even though his, you know, is much smaller than yours.”
And still she palmed John Thomas.
“It’s very . . . hard. Like a statue’s.” She furrowed her brow. “I’m surprised they don’t call it a stoner.”
The thought of her studying classic nudes . . . This conversation . . . Innocent, yet erotic. He’d never been more aroused, and they were both fully clothed.
Then she did it, a slight brush of her thumb.
He sucked in a breath.
“Did that hurt?”
“In a good way.” He placed her hands around his neck. He kissed her, because he couldn’t stand another word, another stroke. Because this moment had to last him forever. He poured his heart into a slow, deep kiss, pulling away only when he could no longer trust himself not to go farther.
She splayed a hand over her heart, fought for an even breath. “Mercy.”
At least she was capable of speech. He couldn’t think straight enough to form a coherent thought, let alone word.
“That was . . .”
Incredible? Amazing? Earth rocking?
“Inspiring.” She brushed past him, hurried toward her desk. “I have to write this down.” She fumbled with a locket around her neck, took out a tiny key and unlocked the drawer. “Now I know how to handle that scene. I know what Antonio would do.” She grabbed her journal, a pencil. “Drat! I can’t write. I can’t see. I . . .” She picked up his spectacles, examined them. “May I try these, please?”
He held up his hands as if to say be my guest because, although his brain had kicked in, he didn’t trust himself to speak. I just silently, lovingly bared my soul and you’re thinking about Antonio?
“I can’t believe it!”
She took the words right out of his mouth.
“I can see!” She adjusted the spectacles, beamed at him. “Not perfectly, but
well enough to read and write. May I borrow these for a while?”
“Sure.”
“I’m going to grab a couple of biscuits and work in my room. Feel free to use my desk.” “For?”
“Writing. Yesterday you said that manual labor spurs your creative process. With all the repair work you did this afternoon, and I do appreciate it, I imagine you’re bursting at the seams.”
He shifted. “You could say that.”
“Have fun polishing your short story.”
“On the long side just now.”
“Need any help?”
“I think I can handle it.”
Clutching the journal to her chest, she turned to leave then turned back. Her grateful expression made him want to shoot himself. “Given your . . . preferences, you really went above and beyond with that kiss, Poet. You don’t know what it meant to me.”
Apparently, nothing near what it to meant to him. “Anything for art.”
Smiling, she disappeared into the hall.
He imagined her in her room, sitting on her bed, writing about Constance and Antonio, and boner-inducing kisses. He imagined himself . . . alone.
He prayed for the storm to break. For Mrs. Dunlap to come home.
He cursed the day he met Athens Garrett.
CHAPTER 17
Territory of Arizona
The American circus was as vibrant, raucous, and thrilling as she’d imagined. For two hours Kaila sat breathless and bedazzled by clowns, jugglers, acrobats, and various animal acts. The kaleidoscope of fun was heightened by Zach and Zoe. Their excitement and wonder was infectious. The man introduced to her as Mr. Parker appeared equally entranced.
The only fly in the ointment, if that was the correct usage of the American cliché, was Athens Garrett.
With the exception of the few times she caught him smiling at his children’s animated reactions, he looked decidedly unimpressed. She worried that she’d spoiled the experience for him. Although he purchased her ticket, a very thoughtful gesture, she had the distinct feeling he’d done so at Zoe’s urging. Mr. Parker was quite amiable and Zach, though guarded, didn’t seem to mind her joining the family outing.
