by Sharon Page
“Johnny,” she murmured. And, since this was her fantasy, he behaved exactly as she wanted him to.
“Yes, my Tess? How may I please you?” he asked in that low, molten voice. “I’ve waited all day . . . could barely restrain myself while Edgar escorted you around the factory with his arm around your shoulder. Was he fondling you? Like this?”
Tess sucked air at such naughtiness: Johnny was behind her now, reaching over her shoulders to knead her breasts as she squirmed with the pleasure of it.
“Did he touch you this way?” Johnny repeated, closer to her ear.
She moaned as he sent jolts of electricity through her body . . . which all landed between her legs, where she longed to be filled with this man. “No, Edgar was behaving himself—which is why I like you better, Johnny.”
She giggled. Never had she admitted such a thing to a man. Nor had she let on to Henry that she’d imagined other men taking such liberties with her. Faithful, devoted wives had no such thoughts!
“May I play with the curls where your thighs come together?” he whispered. His mouth was so close to her ear she felt him forming every alluring word.
“Only if you don’t stop there,” she replied. “Put your finger inside me. Run it around the rim of my hot little hole and make me beg for you!”
His low laughter assured her that such an unladylike suggestion didn’t offend him in the least. As he caressed her midsection, the rounded sides of her belly and the curve of her hip, Tess’s mouth dropped open. Sheer need made her hips wiggle.
“I’m going to rub your mound . . . squeeze it lightly, to accustom you to my touch,” he murmured. “No screaming or crying out, now. Edgar’s on the other side of this wall. If he thinks you’re pleasuring yourself, he’ll be in here to help.”
“Can’t have that,” she murmured through a fog of desire. It pooled inside her, sliding lower with his hand until his fingers were firmly tucked around her fleshy pillow of coarse curls.
Tess bit back a cry of utter need. How fabulous it felt, to tell a man what she wanted and to have him speak so freely of what he’d do to her. As her hips moved in his hand’s rhythm, she felt hot inner spirals intensify toward a climax—a sensation like she’d never felt before.
“Inside,” she whispered. “Please, oh please, dip inside my cunt! Rub me until I can’t stand it anymore!”
Where had that come from? Never in her life had she uttered such a foul word. Where had she even heard it? Johnny’s ragged sigh told her it affected him in a fierce sort of way—and that she’d answer to him before long. With the first stroke of his long finger in her cleft, Tess convulsed. He held her against the back of the tub with his other arm as that wayward finger tormented her inflamed flesh.
She panted his name—anything to keep her mind grounded while her body tried to fly. Tess writhed shamelessly against his hand, driven toward a destination she couldn’t name, yet Johnny seemed eager to take her there. In and out went his relentless middle finger, and then another digit joined it, gently squeezing her sensitive little button between them.
Tess grimaced. Told herself not to scream, yet she couldn’t keep her hips still. She pressed Johnny’s hand harder to satisfy her need, finding just the right spots to take her where her body wanted to go. With a whimper and a gasp, she spasmed. Couldn’t stop—drove his hand deeper inside as her body tightened . . . tightened . . . and there was nothing to do but cry out with—
Johnny swallowed her outburst with a passionate kiss, even as his hand refused to stop driving her to madness. On and on it surged, making her wriggle and splash and buck until she became one quivering, mindless, pleasure-seeking core, writhing in the water.
Finally she let out an ecstatic sigh and went limp all over. She wanted to float in this warm water as she regained herself and some semblance of sanity. Damned if he didn’t tease her nub again, chuckling when she jerked.
“My God . . . such a passionate woman you are, Tess,” he murmured, sounding awestruck. “I hope you’ll pleasure me, too, sweet lady. My cock’s throbbing so hard I had to let it out of my pants.”
The image made her go hot all over. Maybe—maybe—her body would recover enough to accommodate him, even though she wanted to drift into a sweet sleep like she hadn’t known for months.
“Let’s dry you off and get you to bed,” her lover whispered. “You won’t want to wake up in this water when it goes cold. I’ll get you a towel.”
When his arms slipped away from her body, Tess realized the bathwater was already cooling. She grinned. Johnny Gazara kicked up as much heat as she’d imagined from the moment he’d stolen that first kiss. Or had she initiated that sudden, unthinkable breach of propriety—right there in her potential employer’s foyer?
Not that it mattered. She was going to relax in the water a bit longer, to relive that excruciating excitement her fantasy man had introduced her to....
“Stand up, love. Let me dry your exquisite body.”
Her hands found the rim of the tub. She rocked slowly forward....
Open your eyes or you’ll lose your balance. Do you want to flounder like a fish, or worse, fall and hurt yourself? Everyone will come running and find you naked.
Her eyelids fluttered open. Reluctantly, she brought herself out of fantasy’s trance.
The Johnny Gazara standing beside the tub with a fluffy white towel was very, very real. And very aroused: His manhood jutted from his fly to gaze at her with that single eye, just inches from her face. He might as well have splashed her with cold water, the way goose bumps suddenly covered her body. That had been no daydream! Johnny had so deftly followed her script while she whispered her desires; he’d made it real. And now he expected attention in return!
She suddenly remembered that no decent woman would tolerate such behavior. “How’d you get in here?” she demanded in a hoarse whisper. “And who gave you permission to take such liberties while I was—”
“Your tub was running over.” He gestured toward a pile of wet towels he’d mopped the floor with. “You fell asleep before you turned off the water, and once you begged for my attention—telling me what to do to you—well, who was I to deny a lady’s delightfully decadent requests?”
Delightfully decadent. Was that anything like naughty? Growing up a sheltered young lady and marrying early had prevented much temptation from crossing her path. It was a novelty to sit in a bathtub with a devilish man’s erection pointed at her. She had the sudden urge to take it into her mouth.
Did proper women do that? She’d never considered such a thing with Henry, yet at this moment it seemed . . . decadent. Most likely delightful, too—especially for Johnny.
The tautness of his face and stance drove her to boldness again. “You’re probably wondering if I’ll reciprocate your favors.” It came out in a husky voice she didn’t recognize as her own.
“No doubt in my mind you will, Tess,” he rasped, his eyes closing in anticipation. “Since the moment we met, I’ve wanted to . . . oh, Jesus, woman . . .”
Tess smiled—very carefully, as she’d taken the tip of him into her mouth. Johnny sucked air between his clenched teeth as one hand went to her cheek and the other steadied that proud cock. She drew her lips up over the ridge and then found that enticing little hole with the tip of her tongue.
Johnny moaned. “Just once more—take me into your sweet, hot mouth and draw your lips slowly up my shaft . . . yes, oh, God, yessss. Tessss . . .”
He was quivering, totally at her mercy, with his head thrown back and his hips thrust forward. She carefully took in inch by warm inch of a male member that seemed a lot larger than what Henry had put inside her, down there . . . all of it done in the dark and without much ado. She marveled at the springiness of the black hair, the taut heat of his egg-shaped testicles. As she traced the deep pink skin back up the length of him and felt the pulse in his veins, her own heartbeat hammered. She felt slick between her legs again. What were these crazy sensations?
“You c
an’t torment me this way or I’ll shoot all over you,” Johnny whispered. Again he held up the towel, entreating her with a look that made her melt. “What a shame to come too soon, after waiting so long for a woman to love.”
She cocked her head. “You live here with Blythe and Daphne, and you do without?” she challenged. “I met them only briefly, but—”
“Edgar decreed, my first day here, that I could look but never touch. Had he caught me in this position with either of them, I’d have been long gone.”
“So why are you here with me? Surely the same rule applies.”
“Not if I stake my claim before he lures you into his web, sweetheart.” He lowered his face to hers. “It’s a fine life here, don’t get me wrong—and you’re the perfect Penney Candy girl, Tess—but how the hell’s he supposed to pleasure three of you? And why should I stand for that? Enough’s enough!”
Edgar Penney—the man in the Santa suit who gave out candy and major donations to orphans—had both of those blondes as his lovers? And he’d ordered Johnny Gazara to keep his warm, tender hands to himself? Tess stood up, gauging this man’s reaction to her body. While he rubbed her dry, he devoured her with his gaze, kissing the skin where the towel had been. “So . . . this is really about staking a claim rather than any attraction you feel for me?” she speculated.
His face fell. “Oh, Tess, that sounded horribly crude, didn’t it? I never intended to make you feel that way, but once you become Edgar’s lover, he has a way of . . . keeping you under his spell.” He grasped her shoulders to make his point. “Blythe and Daphne realize he diffuses opium into the air, scented with peppermint. But he provides everything they need—more than they could possibly want—so they say they don’t care about how he . . . holds them hostage. Well, I care plenty. And I don’t want you falling into that trap!”
“Opium?” This situation sounded more bizarre—more ominous—with every word Johnny Gazara uttered. Was he making it up to dissuade her from taking the job? Too late—she’d already accepted Edgar’s offer! “All I know about opium is that it’s what laudanum’s made from and that addicts spend their time in dens promising their providers anything to ensure their supply doesn’t run out.”
“Not the future we have in mind for you.”
She considered this as he briskly rubbed the towel over her damp body. “How does he manage the candy business in such a state? And how do Blythe and Daphne appear in public—to give little children candy—if they’re constantly under the influence of . . .” Tess sobered. “Is that why my room smells like peppermint? I thought the aroma had drifted in from the candy factory.”
“I’ve never seen them pie-eyed in public, but they spend most of their time here, in the off-season, helping Ed with various phases of his business. Needless to say, they’re rarely without a smile,” he added wryly. “He keeps the dosage light enough to maintain their loyalty without overdosing them. You’ll notice that most days, everything here is carefree and happy. Playful.”
He caught the towel behind her, to hold her bare body against his. “I’m sorry I brought it up,” he whispered. “We were having such a fine time. But I thought you should know a secret about Penney Candy before you stay too long to escape that fate.”
Is that the poppy talking, or Johnny? He doesn’t fit the image of an addict, but what do you know about such things? You just met him!
Tess hesitated. Should she trust him? Johnny had taken advantage of her randy mental adventures while she was nearly asleep. He looked so earnest—but then, didn’t any man who held a naked woman?
Truth be told, sex had never held much fascination. It had occurred at Henry’s whim, and Mama had implied she wasn’t supposed to enjoy it as much as he did. Indeed, her husband had handled sex much as he had his business affairs: quickly and efficiently, so he could be on to his next task.
Yet right now, even as Johnny Gazara informed her of the potential pitfalls of this place, he had already met her secret needs without having to ask about them. And right now, that seemed reason enough to give him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe it was the incense of peppermint in the air, but Tess had never felt more alive. More daring. More playful. And wasn’t that a fine alternative to her mood when she’d escaped the house in Memphis and Reed Mahaffey’s manipulation?
“What do you want for Christmas, Johnny?” she murmured, running a fingertip through the ebony hairs on his chest. It was a question from out of the blue, but a man revealed a lot about himself when he spoke of giving and receiving.
“If I’m lucky, she’s right here in my hands.” He cupped her breasts as though they were exquisite treasures. “You’ve inspired me to finish my projects here and move on.”
Disappointment punched her in the stomach.
“And I’ll take you along,” he continued in a voice rising with excitement. “You can carry out your Christmas assignments here, and then we can leave together. It’s preposterous to think of such things so soon, but—”
“No more preposterous than hopping the train to Cascade, Colorado,” she mused. Why did her heart flutter like birds’ wings at the thought of going away with this man? She’d met him only a few hours ago!
“When I saw your sweet, sad face peering out of your cloak, something inside me came alive again, and—” Johnny nipped his lip. “I sound addled from the opium myself, don’t I? But you’ve inspired me to take my art to a higher level. I mean, how many more murals does Penney need? And who else will ever see them?”
Never had a man bared his soul to her. Never had Henry shared whatever passion he’d felt for his work.
That was it, wasn’t it? Johnny Gazara flushed with a passion that stirred her as much as his physical presence . . . not to mention the way his dark eyes worshipped her as he spoke in a tone approaching reverence. His stained-glass creations glowed with a talent that came from within, while Henry had bought and sold cotton others had raised. Bennett and Mahaffey specialized in shrewdness and market savvy, but this man turned pieces of glass and ceramic into scenes that had made her gape in awe during her tour with Edgar Penney.
Johnny’s gaze intensified. He’d stopped talking to recapture her attention. “I’m babbling,” he said with a shake of his head. “Been so long since I had someone I could really talk to and . . . well, what do you want for Christmas, Tess?”
Her heart rose into her throat. Johnny Gazara had remained remarkably patient, considering his aroused state . . . and his wand looked ready to make a kind of magic she hadn’t anticipated when she’d read that newspaper ad. Turnabout was fair play, but their talk took on a different tone when she had to answer her own question. “I want a home where love lives again,” she whispered.
Had she said too much? Tess watched for a reaction that suggested Johnny would flee the first chance he got. She could never have said such a thing to Reed Mahaffey: He would claim he was so willing to give her exactly what she’d asked for, but his concepts of love and home would never in a million years mesh with hers.
Johnny, on the other hand, looked awestruck. His Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed. He gazed at her with glistening eyes as though she couldn’t possibly be real. “Tess,” he whispered. “Oh, Tess . . . I can’t recall the last time I felt at home. But I’d like to get there for Christmas. Home for Christmas . . . with you.”
A tear spilled down her cheek. Tess twined her arms around Johnny’s neck as he pulled her against his warm, solid body. For several moments they stood, breathing together, awash in these fresh new feelings. With a contented sigh, Tess kissed his neck. Johnny’s lips found hers and the kiss deepened without feeling hurried. He cradled her head in his hands to lavish his affection on her, even as she felt the hard ridge of him riding her bare thigh. On and on their lips caressed, silk to silk, as their tongues teased in an elaborate dance. Tess’s towel had fallen, but she was becoming very warm . . . very aware of Johnny’s heat.
“Make love to me,” she pleaded softly. “I’ve never asked a man for t
hat—at least not when I was fully conscious.”
Johnny chuckled. “I’m damn glad you did, because the waiting is about to kill me. You’ll never have to ask me again, Tess.”
He scooped her into his arms as though she were a child, his dark eyes burning into hers. Tess clung to him, her heart racing. This was not the sort of behavior she engaged in. She was a wife and a mother—a widow. Part owner of Bennett and Mahaffey. A pillar in her church back home.
But she was about to become a lover, in ways she’d never before imagined.
7
Johnny’s hands trembled as he lit the candles on the nightstand. Tess Bennett was by no means the first delectable woman he’d ever bedded, yet she had an openness, a sweetness, that called out to him. I want a home where love lives again. Her words sent an electrical surge of Yessss through him, even though it was too soon to be getting so entangled. He knew so little about her . . .
But she’d responded to his touch, even when she was drifting in a dream. She’d seen him in her fantasy . . . and she’d let down her proverbial hair, using bold language and directives. Tess had crossed every boundary she’d known as a proper wife and mother, yet there was no guilt or apology. No shrinking away from what she wanted.
She’d also been deprived of the kind of loving that made her pulse race off the map, into her body’s uncharted territories. And didn’t he long to be her scout, her guide into passionate lands they could discover together? Didn’t his heart cry out to spend Christmas at home, with her? Wherever that may be.
Tess lay demurely on the canopy bed. Her blue eyes brightened in the candlelight as she watched his every move. Her golden hair had fallen loose to swirl on the pillow, tempting his fingers to play in its softness. And her bare body . . . now, there was a playground no man could resist. Yet he sensed Tess had allowed him liberties no one else—not even her husband—had taken.
