Magnate

by Joanna Shupe

  He rose to grip her hips as he sped up, sweaty skin slapping together in the otherwise silent room. Muscles clenching, he threw his head back and shouted, movements stuttering as he poured himself inside her. She marveled at the sheer power and strength of him, the unrestrained masculinity.

  He collapsed on top of her. His head dropped into the curve of her throat, while Lizzie’s arms came around his neck. They caught their breath, his body still joined with hers. A warm feeling of contentment washed over her, a sense of rightness. This was the man, the one she’d imagined would cherish her, protect her, yet allow her to chase her own dreams. True, he hadn’t wanted to marry her—but that was in the past. They were married now, and perhaps they were far better suited than she could have hoped. As Emmett had said, many couples began with much less. Not everyone had this attraction, this all-consuming desire the two of them shared.

  Who said that could not evolve into something more over the years?

  The point was, she wanted to try with this man. No one else. No one else had risen so far with so little. Provided for his brother and taken in his half sisters, raised them. And certainly no other man had ever affected her this deeply. Every time she considered the annulment, her chest ached. Leaving would be difficult; lying in a court of law would be impossible.

  The only thing left was to give him the truth. “I have changed my mind about the annulment.”

  * * *

  Emmett froze, certain he had misunderstood. Before he could question her, however, he had to deal with practicalities. Withdrawing from the warm grip of her passage, he came to his feet and went to fetch another cloth. He heard Elizabeth gasp as he walked away and immediately cursed his forgetfulness. Shit.

  “Emmett, your back. Dear God.” Revulsion? Horror? Pity? He couldn’t quite pinpoint what he heard in her voice, but continued on to the washroom.

  While waiting for the water to warm up, he cleaned himself off as best he could with the freezing stream from the tap. When he had a cloth ready for Elizabeth, he strode back to the sofa. She had curled up on her side, like a kitten, her gray eyes missing nothing as he traveled the floor. Sitting at her hip, he rolled her until he could gently clean between her legs. The flesh of her sex was red and swollen, and guilt shot through him. He should not have taken her a second time, no matter how much they’d both wanted it.

  “Why are you staring at me like that?” she asked.

  The pins holding her hair had come loose, her blond locks now falling around her shoulders. He swept a long strand off her smooth forehead. She was so beautiful, so perfect. He’d done nothing in life to deserve having this woman by his side every day, but he’d be damned if he’d give her up now. “I was thinking that you’ll be sore tomorrow, and I was regretting that we will have to wait.”

  Her mouth kicked up at the edges. “I’ve always been a quick healer.”

  “Is that so? I guess we’ll have to see then, won’t we?” He bent to place a quick kiss on her lips. “Let me build up the stove so you stay warm. I don’t plan on letting you put clothes on yet.”

  He returned the cloth to the sink and came out to add more coal to the stove. Elizabeth used the water closet, and he took a moment to appreciate her lithe, naked form as she traversed his office. Unashamed, she winked at him on her way back to the sofa.

  Once the fire had been properly stoked, he grabbed the blankets he’d purchased from the tavern and carried them over. He slid in behind her so she’d be closer to the coal stove and covered them both with the heavy wool. She turned toward him on her side, and her head found its way onto his arm, using him as a pillow, while her hand caressed his chest.

  “Your back,” she said quietly. “Was that the accident you told me about?”

  “Yes.” Nothing more to say on that subject. The tissue had healed in long, jagged white scars. An ugly reminder of his struggle out of the gutter, not one he cared to think on if he could avoid it.

  Elizabeth seemed to understand, nodding. The fact that she was still here, even after learning a tiny portion of his sordid past, seemed an incredible gift. One he intended not to squander.

  “So the annulment,” he asked. “You’ve changed your mind?”

  “Yes, I have. Unless you think we should still go through with a separation.”

  “I was against the damned thing in the first place, Elizabeth.” He slid his palm over her hip and around to cup her buttock. Squeezed. “I am curious as to what changed your mind, though.”

  “It wasn’t that, in case you were wondering.”

  “That, meaning my bedding you?”

  “Yes. I wanted the annulment because my brother blackmailed you into marrying me. Besides being humiliated, I was convinced we would make each other miserable.”

  “The humiliation is mine, Elizabeth. I should’ve known better than to engage in any impropriety with you that night. But I’ve always struggled with keeping my hands to myself around you.”

  She tilted her head to kiss his jaw. “And I am glad of it. As you said, many married couples begin with less. I’ve always wanted a marriage like the one my parents supposedly had, with love and laughter.”

  Emmett blinked. He knew when faced with insurmountable odds, and this was damn close. Love? Laughter? Jesus, his parents had fought like sailors and hit each other—and that had been on the good days. What did he know of a happy marriage? “Well, I am not sure that’s—”

  “Don’t. Just because you did not have the same growing up doesn’t mean you do not deserve it now.”

  Had he been so transparent? “How are you so certain?”

  “Because you are not your father, and I am not your mother. I’m not going to leave, Emmett. I’m going to stick it out, and so are you.”

  He squeezed her backside once more. “Bossy, aren’t you?”

  “I can be, yes. But you want a woman who can stand up to you, who isn’t afraid of you.”

  How did she know that when he was only coming to realize it himself? “You are definitely not afraid to shout at me. My ears are still ringing from ten minutes ago when I used my fingers to—”

  She pinched his shoulder playfully. “Emmett!”

  He kissed her nose, her cheek. She was soft and smelled like lavender combined with their lovemaking, an intoxicating combination. “Laughter, Elizabeth. Don’t forget the laughter.”

  She smiled at him and something tripped in his chest, expanding. He’d never experienced anything so powerful. Then she yawned, and a quick glance at the mantel clock told him it was well after midnight. “Turn around and try to sleep.”

  She rolled over and pressed her round buttocks into his groin as he covered her from behind. He felt his cock stir and tried to think of the most boring, inane things he could in order to deflate his lust. Transit prices. Upcoming quarterly dividends. What he would do with the information Elizabeth had uncovered about Northeast Railroad. Anything but his wife’s luscious, very naked body against him.

  “The papers mentioned how you were seeing a . . . woman,” she said. “And I know you haven’t been sleeping at home. . . .”

  Emmett remained silent, and she twisted to shoot him an expectant look. “Well?”

  His lips twitched, but she appeared so serious he hated to laugh. “Just ask, Elizabeth.”

  An elbow dug into his ribs, a sign of her impatience. “Are you still seeing her?”

  “No. Not since the engagement was announced, and we hadn’t seen each other in the way you’re thinking of since before even that.” His fingers trailed up her thigh. “And if you elbow me once more, you’ll be answering to me, Mrs. Cavanaugh.”

  She giggled, a sound he was rapidly coming to love. Quiet descended, and he felt himself sliding toward sleep until she asked, “Why do you call me Elizabeth instead of Lizzie, like everyone else?”

  Idly, he stroked her hip, and the truth unexpectedly tumbled out of his mouth. “It’s a noble name, for a queen. A conqueror. ‘Elizabeth’ sounds like a woman strong enough to c
hange history, to chart any course she chooses. Anyone could be a Lizzie—but only you could be Elizabeth.”

  She drew in a shaky breath. “That’s . . .” She exhaled, long and slow. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

  He pressed his lips to the back of her head. “Go to sleep, Elizabeth.”

  * * *

  Unbelievably, the snow continued the next day.

  On the storm’s second morning, Lizzie sipped some water and looked out at the city she loved, now covered in white. The snowdrifts stretched to the second floor of most buildings, the streets still impossible to traverse. As Emmett had predicted, ice and wind had toppled the telegraph and telephone poles, and the electricity had yet to come back on.

  Indeed, with so much wrong, how could she be this happy?

  The door to the water closet opened, and she turned to watch her naked, freshly shaved husband emerge. Her breath lodged in her throat. Oh, yes. This would be the reason for her jubilant mood.

  Impossibly wide shoulders, lean hips, muscles shifting under tanned skin as he moved . . . She would never tire of looking at him. He walked with confidence. Purpose. As if he owned all of New York—which, she supposed, he quite nearly did. The man might have started with nothing in life, but he’d taken all he’d wanted and more, making him both feared and respected.

  Today, he’d awoken first, left her sleeping under the blankets on the sofa to begin his morning ritual. She’d missed waking up next to him. Missed feeling all that strength and power under her fingertips.

  A knowing smirk on his face, he slipped his arms around her blanketed shoulders and pulled her back into the cradle of his chest. He rested his chin on top of her head as they watched the blur of falling flakes through the windows. “Beautiful,” he said softly.

  “It is, isn’t it? All that white snow.”

  “Yes, that, too.”

  She smiled. “Are you charming me again, Mr. Cavanaugh?”

  “I only tell the truth, Mrs. Cavanaugh,” he replied, and she could see his devilish grin in the reflection of the pane. “And why the blanket? You aren’t turning shy, are you?”

  “Merely cold,” she lied. Nakedness had been easier in the dark, even if Emmett hadn’t given her a reason to be self-conscious. She’d never been unclothed with a man before. People of her class never talked about marital relations, but she’d envisioned something civilized, undertaken with the lights firmly off. Lovemaking with Emmett was not anything like that. Raw, earthy, and wild, their encounters were better than any of her youthful daydreams.

  “How do you feel?” he asked.

  “Well rested. Hungry.” Then she added, “Not sore, in case you were wondering.”

  He huffed a tiny laugh, the great expanse of his chest billowing behind her. “Of course I was wondering. I am a man in the presence of my incredibly appealing wife, after all.”

  His palms wound under the blanket until he found her breasts, cupped them. He applied pressure, plumping the soft mounds, and then squeezed her nipples. Desire streaked down her spine, and her head fell back on his shoulder as her lids fluttered shut. Rolling the taut peaks in his fingers, he pressed his now-evident erection into her backside and whispered in her ear, “Shall I pleasure you right here? When anyone stranded in one of these surrounding buildings could be watching?”

  She gasped, both shocked and titillated by the idea. Still, there were practical matters to deal with first. She twisted out of his grip. “As soon as I wash up.” Gaze firmly averted from his aroused nakedness, she went to the small room at the far end to start her morning preparations.

  When she emerged several minutes later, Emmett was busy setting out food for their breakfast. He’d pulled on trousers, but remained bare above the waist, thank goodness. Her husband was a sight to behold.

  “I went ahead and set up the food,” he said as she approached. “I realize this is a far cry from what you normally have in the morning.”

  Growing up, she’d enjoyed hot coffee, eggs, ham, buttered rolls, anything she’d wanted for breakfast. The Sloane cook had prepared whatever Lizzie had craved each day. But that luxury paled compared to the simple fare that her husband had braved a storm to retrieve. Would she ever be able to eat salami again without thinking of him? Or recalling the weight of his body as he surged inside her?

  He glanced up, his dark eyes studying her. “Are you blushing?”

  “Of course not. I’m married. Married women do not blush.”

  “That experienced, are you?” He smirked. “Would you care for another wager, this time to see if I can make you blush?”

  She pulled the blanket tighter and lowered to the carpet. “Need I remind you who won our last wager?”

  “There are two things at which I excel. And they both begin with f. The first is finance, and the second is f—”

  “Emmett!” Lizzie laughed, her skin flaming.

  “—orging steel.” His brows rose in exaggerated innocence. “Why, Elizabeth, what did you think I was about to say?”

  No chance she would say that particular word. “Fine. You succeeded in embarrassing me.”

  Though her face was hot, her insides fluttered at his teasing. Who was this playful stranger? Where was the cold, remote man she’d married? She liked this side of Emmett Cavanaugh, a side she guessed not many ever saw.

  “And here I thought Knickerbocker ladies didn’t know that word.” He popped a piece of the cured meat in his mouth and chewed. “You continue to amaze me.”

  His praise generated more fluttering. There were deep emotions beginning to surface, somewhere in the vicinity of her heart. They unnerved her. Yes, he was her husband, but she’d never experienced this rush of tenderness toward a man before. The sensation caused her to feel both weak and powerful, and she needed time to examine the possibilities. To weigh the benefits and risks for the future. To ensure she was not the only one invested in this marriage.

  She reached for the bread, and the two of them ate in silence for a few moments. “Do you believe the snow will keep up?”

  “Hard to say.” His gaze transferred to the window. “I haven’t ever seen a storm like this before. You must be anxious to return home, to a soft bed and warm bath.”

  “Not at all. I am enjoying myself,” she answered honestly, which caused his brows to snap together. Worried she’d given too much away, she added lightly, “Though even a cold bath would appeal at this point.”

  “If we run out of coal, that might be easier than you think.”

  She sat up straighter. “Is that a possibility?”

  “Not a chance. Don’t worry, the cellar is full of coal. We won’t freeze. Though we may have to find more food if the storm goes on any longer than tomorrow.”

  Though the dancing light in his eyes gave him away, she bumped his hip with her foot, saying haughtily. “Are you implying that I am eating too much? It’s rude to comment on a lady’s appetite. We are delicate creatures.”

  “Delicate?” He snorted. “I should have known you were trouble the minute you argued with me in my office over backing your investment firm.”

  “Which you did not want to do, as I recall.”

  “Even I have moments of stupidity. Surely you know that by now.”

  “I am going to make you a lot of money,” she said, dusting the crumbs off her hands.

  “Us. You are going to make us a lot of money. Now, are you finished eating or would you care for more?”

  “I am finished. Shall we clean up?”

  He reached out and snagged the end of her blanket, slowly pulling the fabric toward him. “Not just yet. I’d like to borrow your blanket first.”

  The cloth was disappearing from her naked body, so she clutched the edges tighter. “Wait, why do you need it?”

  “I don’t. I need you, actually. Naked, so that I may taste my favorite part of you for breakfast.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Be quiet and composed under all circumstances.

 
—American Etiquette and Rules of Politeness, 1883

  Emmett cast a surreptitious glance at his wife across the carriage. Disheveled, wrinkled, and dirty, she’d never appeared more beautiful. Fortune had indeed smiled on him the day she walked into his home. The last few days with her had been as close to heaven as a man like him would ever get—and he’d be damned if he’d ever regret it.

  Yesterday, once the snow had stopped, he’d ventured outside and shoveled until his back ached and his calluses sprouted calluses. Fifteen or twenty other men had joined in, citizens determined to get the city back on its feet, to clear enough that the snow removal wagons could get through. While he was working, the sweat had rolled down his back, soaked his shirt and underclothes, and continued to his feet. The sensation, so reminiscent of times he’d rather forget, had caused bile to regularly rise in his throat, which he resolutely pushed down. Elizabeth’s safety was what mattered most, not the nightmares of his youth.

  Elizabeth. His wife. Sweet Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. She was far more adventurous than he’d even dreamed, amenable to his every suggestion. The memory of her astride his hips this morning, riding him, would stay burned in his brain for a lifetime. Variety in positions had never given him a second thought before, when he’d fucked other women. So without thinking, he’d switched to place Elizabeth on top. Thank Christ, she’d enjoyed the new angle.

  He shifted in his seat, adjusting his trousers to hide his burgeoning erection. Each time he had her only worsened his craving. In fact, he was dying to get her up to his bed the instant they arrived home.

  The brougham moved slowly through the slick, snow-covered streets, giving them ample time to study the destruction wrought by the storm. Poles had collapsed, bringing wires down with them. Carriages and carts had been stranded, their owners desperately seeking shelter. Horses frozen and stiff in the street. A stalled streetcar nearly blocked Twenty-Third Street and Sixth Avenue. Men were everywhere, some with shovels, some starting fires in the drifts in an attempt to melt the snow, while children scampered about, throwing snow and sliding in their boots. Loaded wagons carted the snow to the river, an arduous task that would take weeks.