by Chris Lange
Legs quivering from sudden weakness in need of support, she put her arms around his neck and brushed her breasts against his chest. He caught his breath. She could feel him rock-hard upon her belly.
“Tracy.” His voice spoke to her heightened senses.
He’d called her ‘Tracy’ for the first time and the sound of her name on his sensual lips triggered sparks deep within her loins.
Ensnared by her lasciviousness, he forgot his rigid politeness. “Dear Lord, I fear holding back is beyond my means. Would you please allow me to honor you?”
Tracy had to repress a sigh. That was a question no men ever asked her, at least not in this deferential fashion. But Garrett belonged to another world, and he made the request with reverence. It was wholly unexpected and staggering. She had longed for him, now the desire he fully admitted eclipsed her expectations.
“Yes, oh yes,” she said a bit breathlessly.
He bent his knees a little, seizing her waist, lifting her, letting her fall down on him. She engulfed him into her moistness, taking his stiff shaft all the way up inside her. The fierce sensation extracted a cry from her lips.
She clung to his shoulders, her movement accelerating his ragged breathing. Tightening his grip on her waist, he began slow up and down motions, igniting pleasure she might not withstand.
Yet, she wanted more. She needed more.
Holding on to him, she wrapped her legs around his hips and opened herself to the power of his erection. She cleared the way in and out, splitting her thighs apart to bear his forceful strikes.
In tune with her, he slid his strong hands under her buttocks, increasing his pace, letting himself be swallowed up, coming out again, driving himself into her until tears of passion brimmed in her eyes.
They were both panting now, unbroken sighs and moans flowing from their lips, tied to each other, consumed by an acute craving for each other, bound by a bottomless fervor neither of them could have predicted.
Keeping a firm hold on her, he toppled her onto the bedcover. Fully erect, his skin glistening with sweat, he paused over her sprawled body, her legs wide apart, awaiting his domination. He kneeled on the bed in front of her and grazed the inside of her thighs with light fingers.
No, she wouldn’t be able to take this torture an instant longer. She glanced at his hard-on then at his face. “Please, Garrett.”
Her breath caught in her throat when he inched his hands up, his caresses ever closer to her wet folds. “Please, you’re killing me.”
“I know, darling.”
A passionate undertone seeped through his words, and the endearing term caused a new surge of wetness. How could this stony man suddenly turn into a sensual lover? The thought escaped her as he bent over her face to take her lips and penetrate her mouth. With intensity, with tenderness.
All her senses in turmoil, aching for the fullness of him, she reveled in the fervent proof of his desire. Then he kissed her neck, her breasts, licking the hard nipples, nibbling them till she arched her back.
“Tell me what you want, Tracy.”
“I want you. I want you inside me.” She was dying for his touch, dying to feel the masculine power of his strikes inside her again.
“Wrap your legs around me, darling.”
She complied. His moan when he rammed into her cut through her last barriers. She released a primitive shout, overwhelmed by the sheer force of his charge, her mind and body surrendering to his will.
He moved inside her, his deep, long, mighty thrusts submitting their bodies to the call of love. In and out he went, guiding them relentlessly to a new era, to a dimension where they could not be kept apart.
Heightened by passion, unconditionally unbridled, he relinquished his reserve and spoke to her in hushed, tender, half-formed sentences, letting her drown him in the luscious warmth of her embrace.
He was driving her mad, his fierce shoves sending jolts of pure delight through her body, his affectionate, mumbled words carved in her mind as if with a red-hot poker. She wanted this precious moment to last forever and ever, but she was coming, and no power on Earth could stop it.
She cried her pleasure when he brought her to the height of her senses, bliss raking her. She sensed him discharging into her, felt his violent shudder of ecstasy, heard his rough grunts of rapture.
Time stood still.
He shifted his weight after a while to lie against her side, burying his face in her neck, putting a protective arm around her waist. Damp bodies loosening, spirits blank from their inconceivable fusion, she dozed off before him.
Lingering coldness combined with the sound of crumpling fabric woke her. She didn’t know how long she’d been asleep, but night still ruled outside when she glanced at the window.
Garrett stood a few feet away from the bed, clad in his rich bathrobe, the belt tightly knotted around his waist. One of his hands gripping the door handle, face somber, he was watching her.
Chapter 8
“I am deeply sorry,” Garrett said. “This was a mistake.”
The very words a woman craved to hear after such passionate lovemaking. A heart-piercing sensation taking control of her, Tracy remained motionless while she stared at his dark expression.
“Your father is my mentor as well as my friend,” Garrett said. “I owe him so much, I cannot disrespect his daughter.”
Speechless, Tracy watched him open the door then shut it soundlessly behind him. She should dismiss the incident and sleep but even the deepest slumber didn’t have the power to mask her feelings for him.
She had fallen into her own trap.
She slept ill for the rest of the night, Garrett’s final words reverberating in her head, his smell wafting from the pillow. Making love to her, Garrett had revealed his true, liberated self. Was he ashamed of his actions? Did he view lack of discipline as contemptible? Whatever the reason, she wasn’t about to let go of him.
A slight tremor running through her limbs, vivid images and sensations burning her mind, she recalled the unbridled passion that had swept over them in the heart of the night. His deep kisses, the feverish feel of his hands on her body, the smell of his glistening skin, the sight of his erection, his compelling need of her. She’d never been loved with such intensity and devotion.
Despite his idiotic attitude on leaving her room, she’d be a fool to believe he didn’t care about her. An even bigger fool to assume people changed overnight. He was set in his ways, and she needed to respect his education, but that didn’t mean she had to yield to his will and let life pass her by.
Confronting him about what went on between them would be a bad move. He’d either turn her down or steel himself against any argument she might try. She had to play it smart. She had to play it cool.
Her prince of a man looked on himself as accountable to her father. Did her dad even know that? To show Garrett she, too, was worthy of his trust, she’d better spend as much time as she could with him.
If she acted detached and unconcerned, as though last night never occurred, he shouldn’t feel threatened but might actually open up to her. With a little luck, maybe even in broad daylight.
She’d never been one to conceal her emotions or opinions, and she hated playing that part to the man who was able to set her heart fluttering with a single look. Yet she’d do it. She might have lost a battle, but, whatever the cost, she intended to win the war.
Her mind made up, she felt composed and hopeful as she stepped into the bathroom. Her reflection in the mirror indicated a lack of sleep but she was ready when breakfast time came, anxious to find out what lay ahead.
With the assistance of her new allies, she’d do whatever turned out necessary to locate the safety catch in the painting, find her father, deliver him from the loony who kept him prisoner, and show Garrett what life was really about.
After the maid departed, she stood in front of the full length mirror. A single glance showed her she had nothing to fear. Looking rested and ready to charm her new lover, she descended the stairs.
Breakfast was laid out in the almost-empty dining room with five plates and cups. Sitting alone at the table, looking cold-blooded and impeccably dressed as usual, Garrett sipped tea while shuffling documents.
Gosh, wasn’t he the hunkiest guy on the planet, both planets included? Also the most severe one.
He lifted his gaze when she halted before the threshold as though he sensed her presence in the doorway. “Good morning, Miss Richardson.”
So, they were back to Miss Richardson, last night’s Tracy and darling having gone down the I-am-a-man-of-principles drain. Well, she knew the encounter was going to be that way. No surprise there.
“Good morning to you, Garrett.” She replied with a joyful tone while she walked around the table to take the closest seat beside him. “Could you pass me the toast, please?”
He kept still for a few seconds, a disconcerted glint in his eyes. Then he delivered the small plate. “Would you care for a beverage?”
Yeah, she probably would.
Polite as ever, he nevertheless avoided her gaze as well as the fullness of her breasts revealed by the low-cut neckline of her dress. She should thank the maid for bringing her this fresh gown.
“I’d love a cup of tea.” She barely contained her glee when she saw the bewilderment expanding his gaze at her laid-back behavior. If he expected tears, he’d have to knock on another door. Playing the part of the-dumped-girl-who-couldn’t-care-less-anyway tapped into her spirits, but right now it was so, so worth it.
“As you wish.” He poured some tea in a delicate porcelain cup and she accepted the offered drink with a gracious smile. Their private little game might have gone on for a while, but for the arrival of Weedon, White Fur, Jake Cooper, and Jessica.
Garrett couldn’t hold back a low sigh, patently relieved to see them. “Good morning to you all. I trust you had a good night’s sleep?”
Weedon chuckled, beaming with mischievousness, eyes glinting with merriment, and jumped on his question. “Absolutely, my dear friend. I slept like a dead log. That is, after all the door banging, of course.”
Tracy felt heat to her cheeks and dipped her nose into the steaming tea.
Jessica smiled knowingly while Jake clapped Garrett’s shoulder with a boisterous “Well done, Your Majesty,” before taking a seat.
Did shame burn a person on the spot?
Unable to quash a fit of giggles, Weedon slumped into a chair and covered his face with a napkin. Jessica sat down beside him, trying to subdue a grin while Jake glanced toward the dining room door. “The momentous matter of who slept where being settled, can an honest man get some food around here?”
Having sorted out his documents with great care, Garrett stood, seemingly oblivious to their banter. “Before we depart for Gold Run, you all need to be prepared for anything that might come our way.”
In the process of filling her plate with bread and butter, Jessica stilled her knife and raised her head toward him. “Is there something particular on your mind, Garrett?”
“Miss Richardson was assaulted twice yesterday and it doesn’t bode well. I fear another attack is brewing.”
Tracy wanted to disappear as Jake’s blue eyes slowly shifted from Garrett to her, mockery bloating his handsome features. “Now, now, who perpetrated that felony?”
Lips tightening with tension, brow furrowed, Garrett stiffened his grip on the documents he’d shuffled earlier. “This is no laughing matter, Jake. Weedon and I haven’t been able to identify the men responsible. However, I gauge they were working for William’s abductor.”
When Jake appeared not to have any further comments, Jessica’s gaze moved from her plate to Garrett. “Do you think that person would attempt to kill Tracy? She’s the only one able to find the painting so if he wants it, what would be the point?”
“I believe he wants her alive and away from us in order to retrieve the painting without having to deal with us. We are The Circle.”
Garrett’s reminder made them all sit straighter in their chairs, even the slouching Jake.
“We are Miss Richardson’s guardians,” Garrett said, “and as long as we stand by her, she’s rather safe. The situation would be different should she be removed from our protection.”
Tracy felt her heart warm at Garrett’s reassuring tone. Still, she creased her napkin to ease the tension in her body. “I don’t want to be taken away from you.”
As though they suddenly found themselves alone in the room, Garrett’s gaze softened when he saw her concern. “Fear not, Miss Richardson. We shan’t let it happen.”
Weedon nodded while he bent over the side of the arm of his chair to scratch the ridge between White Fur’s eyes.
“All right, Garrett,” Weedon said, “I guess we’ll be on the lookout for anything out of the ordinary then. In any case, my boy and I will be ready.”
“Very well.” Garrett nodded. “For the present time, I’m afraid I have an imperative matter to attend but I shan’t be long. Our carriages will be waiting outside the front door after breakfast concludes.”
With that, Garrett left the room to cross the entrance hall and shut himself in the parlor.
After his departure, the conversation around the table dwindled to munching, slurping, and clinks of porcelain. Even Weedon remained silent, chewing toast and gazing out the window with a troubled look.
The six of them left the mansion half an hour later. Jake had convinced her and Jessica to hop on a plush, black carriage drawn by alluring horses, their brown and golden manes shining in the sun. A second carriage transported Garrett, Weedon, and White Fur, his snout flaring against the wind.
At last, Tracy thought, she was able to take in the nineteenth century scenery. She enjoyed every minute of it in spite of her inability to identify landmarks. Being in another era was both daunting and exhilarating.
They took a small, busy steamer to cross over to Oakland Long Wharf by the Creek Route. Standing on open grounds, she recognized her surroundings now and gathered the Bay Bridge hadn’t been built yet.
She had fun on the short ride, delighted beyond measure, an invigoratingly cool breeze biting her cheeks. Remaining a few paces away, she noticed that Garrett kept staring at her and she’d have given way more than a penny for his thoughts.
Oakland Long Wharf bustled with activity when they docked there. Located at the foot of Seventh Street on the eastern shore of San Francisco Bay, western terminus to the First Transcontinental Railroad, the noisy, crowded, and industrious place was used for transporting freight cars, and running local commuters as well as long distance trains. A century and some years later, things would be different.
Her new buddies flanking her, she walked past buildings and warehouses, two hired-on-the-spot men following them with their light luggage. White Fur darted right and left, having a hell of a time sniffing around.
On they went, past sheds and stores, she and Jessica crossing rails with help from their companions. They eventually reached a little track where she saw the train, its name written in red letters: The Drifter.
Jake grabbed her arm to guide her toward a kind of balcony situated at the rear of the train. “Dear Tracy, please allow me.” He offered his hand to help her boost onto the first step.
Jessica stood right beside him but, without acknowledging his girlfriend, he ascended in her wake and opened the car’s door in a sweeping gesture. “Welcome to my train.”
Garret chortled, and four pairs of eyes focused on him when his serious correction echoed throughout the balcony. “I didn’t know it was yours. I thought it belonged to the U.S. government.”
Unf
azed, Jake shrugged. “Me, them, what’s the difference?” He then placed his hands around her waist. Like she needed help to take the last step into the car.
“Thank you, Jake,” she said, “but I’m quite capable of walking. My parents taught me when I was a toddler.”
She heard Weedon’s chuckle as she glimpsed Jessica’s smile and Garrett’s cocked eyebrows. But what she focused on in that second was Jake’s disturbing gaze. Not pleasant. Not even in the neighborhood of courteous. If he hadn’t been their friend, she’d have called it downright malicious.
Something was wrong here.
The Drifter, on the other hand, was a marvel. The main car had been converted into a luxurious parlor with exquisite Victorian furniture, including a beautiful sideboard, oak tables, lavish couches on both sides of the train, and heavy brown drapes framing the large windows. All the room needed was a feminine touch.
It resembled a place where anyone could feel at home, a wealthy home. While the rest of the company came aboard, she sat on a plush couch, feeling the quality of the fabric, eyes widening with wonderment.
“This is amazing, Jake,” she said, meaning every word. “I love your train.”
Jake visibly relaxed, displaying a charming smile and flashing white teeth, the dimple in his chin adding to his sexiness. “Thank you. I guess it’s become my home over the years.”
The gunslinger behaved with a proprietary air that struck her as offbeat. Had she not looked at White Fur sniffing around, she might have let go of her perplexing feeling. But the animal did circle Jake. Twice. Strange, given that the wolfdog never got too close to him if he could avoid it.