by Jodi Thomas
The memory made him smile. He had liked her for that. In truth, he liked a great many things about her, but most particularly he liked that she was never boring. Aside from the females in his family, he had never lived with a woman. There had been pleasant evenings with many, nights of pleasure with some, and on a few occasions, it had pleased him to stay for breakfast. Nat Church had had the company of women, but he had never known a woman as a companion.
Felicity Ravenwood had changed that. She was his companion.
The fact that he thought of her as his did not register at first, and when it did, he only considered it long enough to realize he wasn’t troubled by it. Perhaps he should have been troubled by that, but if Nat had learned anything in his line of work, it was that time spent worrying about what couldn’t be helped was time he could have spent helping.
He stood, rubbed the back of his neck as he rolled his shoulders, and then walked to the washstand, where he began sharpening his razor.
Felicity stood on tiptoe to look over the top of the screen when she heard Nat get up. She followed his progress, dropping back to her heels when she realized what he was about. Her fingers fiddled with the satin sash at her waist while her conscience pricked at her resolve. Closing her eyes, Felicity let her conscience have its say, and although it presented a reasoned argument, there was still air enough in her balloon to tug her out from behind the screen.
Nat paused, the straight razor poised just above his Adam’s apple, when he saw her approaching. Her heavy auburn hair was loosely bound and lay over one shoulder. She wore a cotton shift and the red dressing gown. An angel in scarlet. The devil’s handmaiden in white. She was neither one nor the other. Felicity Ravenwood was both.
Felicity halted when she stood just behind him and a little to one side. She regarded him in the mirror. “I can do that,” she said. Without taking her eyes from his, she held up one hand, palm out.
A glimmer of a smile touched Nat’s mouth. “All right.” He placed the razor in her hand and sat down in the chair she pulled out for him.
“Lean back. I know you have more than a nodding acquaintance with that posture.”
Again, Nat complied. He closed his eyes, offered up his neck to the straight razor, and although he was not wholly relaxed, he did not so much as twitch when she laid the blade against his throat. Her first stroke was deft, competent, and his fingers uncurled from where he was surreptitiously gripping the seat. Clearly, she had practical experience here, and as an overture to seduction it played very well.
Felicity cleaned the blade expertly between strokes. She applied herself to the task with more care than quickness, giving his well-defined jaw its due, and paying special attention to the faint cleft in his chin. When she had cleared it of lather, she kissed him there. It might have seemed as if she was acting on the impulse of the moment, but it was something she had been thinking about for days, and his lack of response emboldened her rather than having the opposite effect.
She laid her lips against other places she had cleared: the hollow below his ear, the underside of his jaw. She carefully considered his face before she applied the blade again and chose the space above his upper lip so that when she leaned down and touched him there, his mouth was under hers. She did not linger long, so whether he might have responded was unknown to her, but she did feel his breath hitch and knew a heady satisfaction in that.
“Don’t move,” Felicity said. He didn’t, and she wondered how he came by his unnatural composure as she examined her work. She returned the razor to the washstand and picked up the damp towel he had used to soften his stubble. She wiped away bits of lather at his ear and chin. “I’ve done very well by you. Would you like to see?”
Nat opened his eyes and found himself looking directly into hers. He had no desire to exchange that view for his mirror image. Instead, he ran his hand over his face as he moved his jaw from side to side. “Smooth as a well-worn saddle.”
“Smoother,” she said, tossing the towel aside. Because she wasn’t certain what to do with her empty hands, she took his. With very little effort she drew him to his feet. She could not recall that they had ever stood face-to-face in such close proximity. He was tall, but then so was she, and she had always judged they would be a good fit. It was gratifying to learn that she was right.
Felicity inched forward, closing the gap between them. She set his hands at her waist and then raised hers to his shoulders. She lifted her face, held his darkening gaze, and because she knew no way to be other than direct, she leaned into him and kissed him full on the mouth.
Nat’s lips parted under hers, but he left it to her to direct the kiss. Her lips were firm and warm and tasted faintly of mint. The first press of her mouth was chaste, virginal. After a moment, she nudged his lips, changed the slant of her mouth, and sucked gently. With as simple a gesture as that, she unwound a thread of pleasure that spiraled all the way to his toes.
Nat’s fingers tightened at her waist. He jerked her closer. He felt her grasp his shoulders for purchase as he set her off balance. Tension pulled their bodies taut. Felicity’s mouth left his just long enough to suck in a ragged breath, and when her lips returned to his it was with a renewed sense of purpose and a better understanding of what was possible.
It was Felicity who moved them in the direction of the bed, inching backward until she felt the mattress behind her knees. She held the line there, forestalling his advance by placing her hands flat against his chest and applying resistance. With very little effort he could have pushed her down. He didn’t. Just on the point of deepening the kiss, he lifted his head and regarded her with a question in his eyes.
Felicity had a sense of such intense longing that it was all she could do not to force his mouth back to hers. She wet her lips and waited for the tightness in her throat to ease. “I want to undress you.”
It was unexpected, and it was not framed as a request. He wondered if she had gotten the idea from one of her ladies’ magazines or if she had conceived it on her own. While he was trying to decide if a response was in order or even required, she said, “I am a Progressive,” and began to unbutton his vest.
Nat offered minimal assistance, shrugging out of the vest when she eased it over his shoulders. She tugged on the tails of his shirt next, pulling it out of his waistband. He looked down and saw her fingers hover at his belt buckle, but evidently she reconsidered it and began to unfasten his shirt instead. Recalling her words about a challenge, he gave her no help in getting him out of it. She laid it over the vest at the foot of the bed before she turned her attention to his union suit. She opened it from his throat to his navel but did not attempt to get him out of it. Instead, she slipped her hands under the material and laid her palms flat against him. Nat’s heart slammed against his chest once and then became a steady thrum.
Felicity spread her fingers wide and passed her thumbs back and forth over his skin. He was warm, but she was warmer. Touching him did that to her, and she wondered at it, wondered that what she felt was satisfaction and not shame. Of their own accord, her fingers walked lightly down his chest until they came to rest at his belt. This time she drew the leather tip through the keeper, tugged once to release it from the tongue, and opened the buckle. She let it hang there while she fumbled with the steel button closure on his waistband.
Nat sucked in a breath as Felicity’s knuckles brushed his abdomen. His skin retracted. Her fingers dipped. His erection swelled, pressed hard against his trousers. Arching an eyebrow, he lowered his head until his forehead touched hers. He whispered, “Are you pleased with yourself, Miss Ravenwood?”
Was she? “I am, yes.”
As confessions went, it was a brazen one, and Nat liked her the more for it. He toppled her backward onto the bed and followed her down. The landing was awkward, and he lay heavily on her so she could not take a proper breath. What air she had in her lungs burst from her as an abrupt shout of laughter. Nat rolled onto his side, relieving her of his weight but not freeing
her completely. She managed a gulp of air before his mouth came down on hers.
He addressed the earlier promise of his kiss by beginning this one where he left off. This kiss was a thorough assault on her senses, deep and wet and lasting just this side of forever, and she answered in kind, compensating for her lack of experience with enthusiasm. They twisted and thrashed, seeking purchase with their hands and heels until they lay lengthwise on the bed. They paused, each taking stock, and without a word said between them, attended to what needed to be done. Nat sat up to remove his boots. He dropped them over the side. Felicity untied her belt and squirmed out of her satin robe. She pushed it out of the way and it slithered over the edge of the mattress and made a scarlet puddle beside Nat’s boots. Nat whipped off his belt and followed with his socks and trousers. Felicity rearranged the covers so she was under them before she loosened the ribbon that kept her shift modestly gathered at the neck, but when Nat lifted the covers to crawl under still wearing his union suit, Felicity shook her head.
“If you don’t mind,” she said, “I’d like to look first.”
“And if I do mind?”
She sighed. “Then I shall be disappointed.”
“Are you certain?”
“That I’ll be disappointed? Yes, quite certain.”
He cocked an eyebrow at her, not believing for a moment that she had misunderstood.
The challenging lift of Felicity’s chin was at odds with the becoming shade of rose coloring her face. “It might be my only opportunity,” she said. “After tonight, I’ll be a fallen woman.”
Nat rolled his eyes. “Even if that were true, that state would present rather more opportunities than less.”
In response, Felicity turned on her side, propped her head on one elbow, and waited him out. Anticipation stirred her blood and deepened her blush. She did not look anywhere but at him.
Nat shook his head, but it was disbelief, not denial, that moved him to it. He stepped to the side of the bed, stood so that he was facing her, and shucked his union suit. He watched her blink once, slowly, and then nod as though in confirmation of something she had suspected. He had no idea of the nature of her thoughts, and he did not ask.
She had primed the pump and brought this horse to water. He was definitely going to drink his fill.
Felicity edged further under the covers as he eyed her with the intent of a predator. She was not prepared when he lifted the blankets and yanked. Her nerveless fingers could not hold them. She reached for them, but his hands lightly knocked hers out of the way. He stretched out beside her. His fingers scrabbled in the hem of her shift, raising it first to the level of her knees, then to the top of her thighs. He let it rest there while he slipped his hand between her legs and fitted his palm to the inner curve of her thigh. His thumb made a single pass across her skin. Then it made another.
“Breathe,” he whispered, watching her. He saw her eyes dart to the lanterns burning around the railcar. She had not thought about turning back their wicks. “Too late,” he said, not at all sorry for the oversight. “We’ll leave the dark for another time.”
Felicity swallowed. She had not thought beyond this time. She said nothing.
Nat leaned over her, kissed her again. She warmed to the touch of his mouth immediately. Her lips parted; her tongue made a sweep across the ridge of his teeth. He met her foray with his tongue, licking, darting, sucking. She moved restlessly now. She stretched and arched and rolled her shoulders. She sacrificed her neck to his mouth. He sipped her skin, laved the hollow of her throat. Her pulse fluttered wildly in her neck.
Felicity pushed her fingers into his hair. She cupped his head and held him there. She wanted him to know the taste of her; she wanted him to have this memory.
Nat’s lips followed the neckline of her shift. He tugged on the ribbon with his teeth. Her fingers relaxed against his scalp, allowing him to drag his mouth lower. Her shift parted, and then his lips were at the rising curve of her breast. He nudged aside the fabric and exposed the coral aureole before his mouth closed over the nipple. He flicked it with his tongue. That pass lifted a small moan from the back of her throat.
Felicity ran her palms along his bare shoulders and then moved them to his back. Corded muscle bunched under her fingertips. She traced the defining lines and pressed her thumb along the length of his spine. His hips jerked. His erection was hot and hard against her thigh. It seemed he shifted only a few degrees, but it was enough to put him between her thighs. Until that moment, she was unaware of opening her legs to make that possible. He rubbed against her, hesitated, and then shocked her by lifting his hips and resting his hand on her mons. He slid a finger between her lips, then another. He spread them. Embarrassed by this as by nothing else, Felicity squeezed her eyes shut.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said.
She felt his breath on her cheek, but she didn’t dare look at him. “There’s something wrong with me. I think I must have—”
“Shh. There is nothing wrong with you. I needed to be sure you were ready.”
Felicity’s cheeks puffed as she blew out a breath. Her eyelashes fluttered. She stared at him. His hand still rested intimately between her thighs. “I thought I was. Now I’m not certain.”
“It’s all right. You will be.”
And she was. He stroked, caressed, and took her mouth again. He lifted her to the exact pitch that caused every one of her nerves to vibrate. With no urging, she raised her knees on either side of his hips and cradled him. He would have eased into her, but Felicity would have it her way, and impatience made her bold. She thrust upward and was done with it. Her final act of seduction was drawing him into her.
Settled inside her, Nat did not move. He pushed himself up and looked down at her. She was biting her lower lip. He screwed his mouth to one side and cocked an eyebrow at her.
Felicity had no difficulty interpreting the look. It was not romantic. She released her lip and sighed. “I know,” she whispered. “I know. I should have waited, but I am no good at it, and in my defense, you made me want you.”
As defenses went, hers was not entirely unacceptable. Nat bent his head and gently kissed her bruised mouth. Her lips parted, and when she sighed again, he drank it in.
A rolling wave of tension pulled her muscles taut. She cleaved to him. Her arms, thighs, and calves contracted, and the same tightening was repeated where he was joined to her. She felt deliciously full and vaguely powerful, and although it was not in her nature to follow anyone’s lead, she did so now and was rewarded in a manner she had not been able to imagine.
He moved slowly, deliberately, testing the limits of her tolerance—and his. She stayed with him, striking the same rhythm, finding the steady beat that supported their dance. Her fingers curled into the sheet when the first notes of pleasure touched her. She had barely caught her breath, barely had time to register the urgency she felt, when the crescendo began to build. There was no part of her that did not respond to the steady rise of pleasure. It was not only her body that was lifted; it was also her soul.
Felicity wanted to know every part of this experience. She remained fiercely connected to each moment so she would have the memory of the whole of it. She never closed her eyes. He branded her with his mouth, with his hands, and she wished she might always have the marks as proof that she had not only been loved once, but that she had been loved by him. She listened to him, to herself, to the rumblings of the railcar as it sped along the track. She pushed her fingers through his hair and pressed her face into the curve of his neck. She breathed deeply of his scent. Every one of her senses was engaged in this act.
She had always imagined that she would feel vulnerable, and perhaps that would have been true had she been with any other man, but what this man did to her, what she allowed him to do, made her feel the opposite of that. And when she thought he had wrung the last scintilla of pleasure from every one of her nerve endings, he carefully showed how very wrong she was.
The jou
rney was a succession of peaks, not a long single climb. The pauses, those short moments where her body hummed but did not shatter, allowed her to catch her breath. Anticipation filled her much in the same way he did. Her eyes never left his face, and, watching him, she came to learn that his denial was in service of her pleasure.
She was afraid to think why that should be important to him. It was better to simply feel, and in the end, feeling was not a conscious choice. It was a state of being.
Felicity heard her voice, knew that she had cried out, but what she said was unintelligible to her own ears. Her body trembled; she pressed the back of her head into the bedding, exposing her throat. Her pulse beat wildly. She spread her fingers, extended her arms. Threads of fire unraveled in her belly.
She shuddered hard and then she was still. The sparks of heat that had made her body dance were quiet, softer, and what remained was a delicious sort of warmth that discouraged all thought of moving.
It did not appear to be so different for Nat. Pleasure had struck him down as well. Her cry had barely subsided when she’d heard him shout. His body shuddered with more force than hers; his final thrust drove him deep inside her. She had clutched him, cradled him, and now he lay heavily on her while his heartbeat slowed and his breathing calmed.
Felicity raised one hand to the back of Nat’s neck. She stroked the nape lightly and then idly twisted a lock of his dark hair around her fingertip. She withdrew her hand when he shivered.
It was a long moment after that before Nat determined that he could actually move. He lifted his head and regarded Felicity from slumberous eyes. She was infinitely more alert than he was, but then so was a slug. Satisfied with what he saw, Nat grunted softly, withdrew from her, and rolled onto his back. Although he closed his eyes immediately, he had the sense she had turned on her side and was watching him. She would want to talk, he thought. Women frequently did. He never understood it.