by Joanna Shupe
“Why, because you’ll ravish me?” She laughed, the husky sound like a stroke over his stiff cock. “My dear man, I’m having the hardest time preventing myself from ravishing you.”
Chapter Nine
He lunged.
Ava found herself pressed against the side of the car, her bustle riding up as Will covered her with his tall frame. His mouth descended, taking hers with an uncivilized force that electrified her. She clutched at him, equally desperate, and he ran the tip of his tongue over the seam of her lips, seeking entrance. When she opened her mouth, he delved inside, emitting a growl from deep in his chest that sent a thrill through her limbs. His tongue skillfully stroked and licked, stealing her breath. God above, what is happening? He surrounded her, his chest crushing her breasts and his woodsy, clean scent winding through her like a drug.
She’d been bold, pushing him a few moments ago, but a fierce curiosity to see what could happen had urged her on. Might he lose some of his precious control? As he ravaged her mouth, she was thrilled to discover the answer was unequivocally yes.
Her fingers threaded his hair, holding tight to the silky strands, as the kiss dragged on. Had she ever thought kissing him a mistake? Raw and wild, Will’s kisses felt necessary to her very survival. If he pulled away now, begging might not be out of the question.
Please, don’t stop.
“I won’t,” he said against her mouth, and she realized she’d spoken aloud. “I can’t. I need to kiss you, Ava.”
She whimpered and he groaned, their mouths meeting once more to devour each other. Her skin felt too tight, all the need and hunger threatening to break through at any moment. Strong hands gripped her waist, fingers digging into her corset, and her breasts ached with a delicious, sweet torture. Though it had been years, she remembered the excitement of being touched there. Her nipples puckered, frantic for attention, and she arched her back, shameless for more.
Will’s palms traveled higher, along her ribs. He took her lower lip between his teeth and bit down gently. Ava inhaled sharply, the bite of pain echoing between her legs, slicking her cleft.
“Your mouth, my God. The things I want your lips to do. . . .”
Shifting to press open, wet kisses on her throat, he placed his palms over her corseted breasts. She’d never wished for less clothing in her life. “Will.”
“Shall I stop?”
“Do not dare.”
He chuckled, a rare laugh from such a usually somber man. She liked this rough, unrestrained side of his personality. He kneaded her breasts over the layers of fabric and whalebone. “I wish I could see all of you. Undress every creamy inch of your pink skin.”
Her hands glided over his sturdy shoulders, muscles shifting beneath the fine fabric. “I’d much rather see all of you.”
He kissed her once more, his tongue finding hers as she wrapped her arms around his neck and dragged him closer. His arms banded about her torso, the heat pouring off him to make her limbs weak and heavy. Then he bent his knees and rolled his hips, pressing his heavy erection to the juncture of her thighs, and she moaned into his mouth. She was drowning, reeling, unable to reach the surface, the heady desire muddling her mind.
She swayed, rubbing her aching breasts across his silk vest, the nipples taut against the rough fabric of her chemise. He slipped his hands below her bustle to cup her buttocks, then lifted her to her toes, rocking their groins together. Hardness against softness. Pure wickedness, a devil in the flesh. She sank her teeth into his bottom lip and was gratified to hear him growl in the back of his throat.
“May I touch you?” he broke off to ask. “I need to feel you, to stroke you. Please, Ava . . . I am delirious with it.”
“Yes,” she rushed out, beyond the point of caring. “God, yes.”
His fingers left her backside, and air rushed over her calves. Fabric rustled as her skirts rose, and Will dropped scorching kisses on the side of her throat above the neckline of her shirtwaist. Higher went her skirts until clever fingers reached between her thighs, into her drawers. He wasted no time, dragging one finger through her folds, causing her to shiver.
A deep rumble of masculine satisfaction gusted across her jaw. “You are so wet. You want me, don’t you?”
She nodded, incapable of much else, and his fingers began exploring. She clung to his shoulders as he found her mouth, his lips sucking and working to drive her mad. He traced the folds of her sex, teasing—so close—but not where she ached most. He rimmed the entrance to her body, moisture easing the way, and dipped a fingertip inside. It wasn’t enough. She craved the fullness, the stretch of tissues deep within her.
He continued the shallow thrusts of one finger, never going in far enough. All her concentration, all her eagerness focused on that one motion, and the restlessness of his denial caused her to rock her hips, chasing him. His palm swept over the tight bundle of nerves at the top of her cleft, leaving her panting.
“Is this fun enough for you?” his deep voice whispered over her cheek, bringing back her earlier words. “Do I seem fun now?”
Everything in her began to wind tighter, the pleasure climbing. “Will!”
“Beg me, Ava.”
Desire had shredded her pride, and she did not think twice about complying. “Please, Will. Please, give me more.”
Without warning, he sunk the digit to the hilt, sliding all the way in, perfectly filling her. She threw her head back, loving the slight burn that accompanied his invasion.
“Oh, my darling woman. I’ve died and gone to heaven.”
Ava thought perhaps she was the one experiencing eternal bliss, especially when he withdrew and pushed forward again. After a few more thrusts, he added another finger and increased the pace. She bit down on her bottom lip, squeezed her eyes shut, muscles drawing taut. He seemed to know precisely how to touch her, the best angle, the most delicious pressure, and she could only hold on and try not to melt into a puddle at his feet. Then his thumb flicked the swollen bud, and she feared her eyes might roll back in her head.
Within seconds, the sensation crested, orgasm rushing through her, while her vision sparkled and her limbs trembled. “Ah, God, yes!” She clung to him, riding out the exquisite sensation until her limbs stopped twitching.
As she floated down, she realized he was supporting her with one arm, keeping her upright, and kissing the exposed skin of her neck. His labored breathing rushed over her skin, proof that he desired her but had restrained himself.
Part of her longed to unbutton his trousers, free him from his underclothing, and draw him into her primed body—but a bigger part recognized that as a terrible idea. She had let desire ruin her life once; it would not happen again. No matter how enticing or attractive, Will Sloane was no good for her.
He withdrew his fingers, his forehead dropping to her shoulder as they both recovered. “I may very well go to hell for that, but it was damn well worth it.” She heard him suck his fingers, the ones he’d used on her, into his mouth. His resulting groan set off a quiver deep inside her.
Stepping back, he cupped her elbow and led her to the small sofa. Once she sat, he strode to the crystal decanters and poured two healthy glasses of a dark liquid, giving her ample opportunity to study him. With his clothing out of place, hair askew from her fingers, eyes dark and wild, he looked like a man on the razor’s edge of sanity. His bespoke trousers could not hide a sizable erection. I’m responsible for that, she thought with none too little satisfaction .
The man beneath the polished veneer was entirely unexpected. Raw, earthy, demanding. No doubt used to getting what he wanted since birth, he was appallingly high-handed. But this Will Sloane, the one who took care with her, who repeatedly asked her permission, who made her body sing and demanded nothing in return . . . this man was dangerous.
She could actually grow fond of him.
* * *
“What is wrong with you tonight?” Lizzie asked as she lowered onto the sofa.
It was Tuesday evening, and
Will was stuck in his brother-in-law’s garish mansion for dinner. The upside was spending time with his sister, whom he saw infrequently now that she’d married.
Lizzie poked his shoulder. “You are more ill-tempered than usual. Are you not feeling well?”
Will smoothed the fine wool of his evening trousers, trying to gain some time before answering. Truthfully, he did not know the cause for his dark mood. He’d been feeling off ever since Saturday. Edgy. Restless. His stomach ached more than usual, and he’d been distracted at work.
“Come on, Will. Tell me what’s going on with you. Are you upset over the riot at the rally on Saturday?”
He winced at the mention of the rally, but not for the reasons she would assume. The day hadn’t turned out anything like he’d expected. He could still taste the sweet tang of Ava’s arousal, hear her breathy cries when she’d reached orgasm. Feel the way her walls had milked his fingers. His blood simmered at the mere memory.
Touching her had been unbelievably inappropriate, yet he burned to do it again.
Exhaling, he shifted to meet Lizzie’s concerned gaze. “The rally was disappointing, but we cannot expect them all to run smoothly. And I’m not ill-tempered.”
“Aren’t you? Some days, I think you are a doddering old man.”
“Thank you, dear sister.” He threw back a healthy portion of Cavanaugh’s Armagnac. An unpleasant burn in his stomach resulted, a sharp twinge of the near-constant pain he was experiencing. He set the crystal goblet on a side table.
Her astute gray gaze, so like his own, remained trained on his face. “Are you all right? Should I be worried?”
He waved his hand, unwilling to cause her concern. She was due to give birth to his niece or nephew in December. Furthermore, he’d tried to protect her so often it was second nature by now. “I’m fine. Far better than you, I hear.”
She grimaced. “My stomach cannot seem to settle, no matter what I do. I have yet to throw up, but the urge occurs all day long.”
“Delightful,” he murmured. Proof of the pregnancy continued to unnerve him. He did not want to imagine Cavanaugh in bed with his petite younger sister. If he did, he might very well throw up first.
“Stop.” She shoved his shoulder once more. “I know what you’re thinking, and I love him.”
“I know, and I’m trying. I’m here, aren’t I?”
“Yes, though you’ve spent more time talking to Mr. Harper than my husband.”
“True, yet so has your husband, I might add.” If Harper weren’t here, silence would have been the theme of the evening. “How did you like the tea set I sent over yesterday?” Handcrafted Haviland china, the tiny porcelain set was perfect for a child’s tea party.
“It is too precious. I burst into tears when I unwrapped it.” She clasped his arm. “Thank you. I cannot express what your excitement over your niece or nephew means to me.”
He shifted, taking a moment to straighten his cuffs. Sounded silly to be so overly excited about his sister’s child, but he’d nearly raised Lizzie. He felt close to her . . . proud of her in ways he couldn’t articulate. “Someday, perhaps you’ll return the favor.”
“Yes, your search for the perfect bride. How goes the hunt?”
He waved a hand. “Miss Rives is due to become engaged to the younger Bryce boy, so I’ve eliminated her. Other than that, no progress.”
She took a moment to sip her tea. “The papers mentioned you escorting a woman from the parade route in Albany to your railroad car. Anyone I know?”
Will took pains never to read articles about himself. They were generally false, the facts lost somewhere between gaining readership and plain incompetence. The only person he trusted was Calvin Cabot, and that’s because Calvin printed exactly what Will told him, verbatim.
“You shouldn’t believe everything you read,” he said by way of answer.
“I generally don’t, but this was quite a specific report.”
“Lizzie,” he sighed.
“Fine, but if you’re serious about this marriage business, you should not be running higgledy-piggledy with a mysterious woman.”
“I have never, ever run higgledy-piggledy in my life—and I thought you were against my marrying.”
“I want you to marry, but not any of the girls from your list. I prefer you to have something real, a marriage that will make you happy. Like what our parents had. And what Emmett and I have.”
Ignoring the guilt over the comment regarding their parents, he shot a glance at Cavanaugh. The steel magnate was across the room, speaking with Harper and Harper’s wife, but his gaze was locked on Lizzie. “Please,” Will drawled. “My dinner is still settling.”
She laughed and Will’s mouth hitched in amusement. He’d missed her. She had been a constant presence in his life for twenty-one years, and to not see her every day still struck him as odd. Lizzie and Northeast had been his only focus for more than a decade.
“My darling brother, you would be unbearable if I didn’t love you so much.”
“May I have a word?” a deep voice broke in.
Will glanced up to find his sister’s husband hovering by Lizzie’s side. Cavanaugh lifted his wife’s hand and kissed her fingertips. Feeling like an interloper, Will rose. “I’ll leave you two alone, then. Excuse me.”
“Wait, Sloane. It’s you I need to speak with.”
That was unexpected. The only two things they had in common were Lizzie and business. Will didn’t particularly care to discuss either at this moment. “Can’t it wait?”
“No. Follow me to my office.” He leaned over and kissed Lizzie’s cheek, then straightened. Will trailed the other man into the hall, where Cavanaugh led him deeper into the gaudy house. Christ, how did his sister stand it? The amount of gold leaf was embarrassing. At least the artwork was tasteful, with a few Dutch masters sprinkled in with popular American painters, like Flagg and Whittredge.
Cavanaugh’s office, which Will had visited before, was a tomb, the modern equipment silently waiting for business hours to begin. Cavanaugh threw the switch, lighting the space, and gestured to a chair. “Have a seat. Cigar?”
Will selected a cigar from the enamel box Cavanaugh presented, and his sister’s husband followed suit. When they both were settled, lit cigars in hand, Cavanaugh spoke. “I want to buy Northeast Railroad.”
A mouthful of smoke descended into Will’s lungs, causing him to sputter, and his eyes filled with water. He struggled to compose himself. “Jesus,” he wheezed. “Are you insane?”
Cavanaugh grinned. “As much as I enjoy catching you off guard, I’m entirely serious.”
“No. The answer is no.”
“Wait, hear me out first.”
Will folded his arms across his chest. Cavanaugh had been after Northeast ever since that business with the fraudulent investment firm late last year. Yes, Will had suffered a financial setback, one that had sent Lizzie to seek out Cavanaugh in the first place, but the company had recovered. Handsomely so. Northeast was no longer in danger of collapsing—and Will had no intention of selling.
When it was clear Will would not argue or walk out, Cavanaugh said, “I know you’ve recovered from the embezzlement disaster. The company is in excellent health—”
“Thank you,” Will said sarcastically.
“But I’m uncertain how you plan to give Northeast the attention it needs if you’re in Albany. Let me buy you out. You’ll remain on the board, keep your stock. But I think I can do better, especially when I join it with East Coast Steel.”
“Join it!” Shooting to his feet, Will pushed his evening coat open and placed his hands on his hips. “You arrogant bastard. You think I’d allow the company I’ve built to be absorbed into your holdings, allow it to disappear? If so, you’re out of your goddamned mind.”
“Be reasonable. You know how business operates. For every successful company, there are fifty failures. Do you want to let Northeast falter when you can’t devote enough time and energy to it—or would you
rather see your legacy built upon? I promise you, together we can put Carnegie out of business.”
“I have no intention of allowing Northeast to falter,” he ground out.
“Then you are deluding yourself. I don’t understand your desire to hold political office, but the idea must have some significance for you. If you win, that will take up most of your time. What happens to Northeast, then?”
“There are plenty of competent members of my staff who can oversee it in my absence.”
“Who, Pryor and Helmstead? Come, Sloane. You know those men cannot grow the business like I can. You’d be lucky to survive six months with either one. Don’t be a fool.”
Unsurprising that Cavanaugh had pegged the two Northeast vice presidents as Will’s choices for the temporary president position. Cavanaugh traded in information, never afraid to use muscle or money to learn what he wanted to know. Still, Will seethed, his stomach roiling. “I am not a fool, and I do not plan on selling. Even if I did, it certainly would not be to you.”
Cavanaugh shook his head, a muscle twitching in his jaw. “I know you and I share a rocky past, but our association works for a reason. We’ve made each other very wealthy in the last four years. Not to mention I’m married to your sister, for fuck’s sake. If I cheated you on this, Elizabeth would never speak to me again.”
Will opened his mouth to say that result would suit him fine—but Cavanaugh held up a hand. “Don’t say it. She’s mine and I’m keeping her.” He stood, shoved his hands in his pockets. “Think about letting me buy you out, that’s all I ask.”
* * *
“Is this fun enough for you? Do I seem fun now?”
A hot flush blossomed over Ava’s body as she remembered Will’s words. She hadn’t expected him to be so . . . seductive. Wild. Tempting. Yes, she had pushed, recklessly taunting him into a reaction. God only knew what had come over her on the train, but she’d needed to affect him. Needed to discover what lurked under that polished veneer.
