by Deb Stover
"Oh, my. Did you say ravish, sir?" She batted her lashes again, giggling when the impatient waiter pounded on the door again, more loudly than before.
Luke released her and threw open the door. The waiter brought in two bottles of champagne, opened one and filled two glasses. Luke tipped him then ushered him out and closed the door.
He handed her a glass, then took one for himself. "You know something?"
"What?" He was so close she could smell the tangy substance the barber must have put on his skin, and the musky male scent that was Luke's alone.
"I've never tasted champagne before."
A moment of regret threatened her happiness, but she dismissed it. "And I don't remember tasting it before, so this will be a first for us both."
"Here's to us...and to our future together." Luke tapped his glass gently against hers. It made a melodic ringing sound as he linked his arm through hers and raised his glass to his lips, while she did the same.
She took a long drink of the cold, bubbly liquor. "Mmm."
"Mmm," he echoed, his gaze on her over the rim of his glass. "It's very good, but I've tasted one thing I like even better."
"Dr. Pepper?"
Luke threw his head back and laughed, spilling his glass of champagne down the front of her exposed cleavage. "You're so romantic, Sofie," he teased, looking at her. "Hmm, shame to waste good champagne."
Before she realized what he intended, his warm tongue was following the cool droplets of spilled champagne along the curve of her breast. He dipped his fingers into his glass and sprinkled more champagne across her flesh.
Breathlessly, Sofie watched him repeat his earlier behavior, licking and sucking sparkling droplets of champagne off her skin. She eyed the bottles sitting on the table, wicked thoughts dancing through her mind. "Luke?"
"Hmm?"
She touched her finger to his lips and summoned her sultriest voice, "Unhook me, lose the monkey suit, then bring that champagne to bed."
His eyes bulged, but he nodded vigorously. She slipped from his embrace, then turned so he could release the endless row of hooks at the back of her dress. That he kissed every millimeter of skin as he exposed it was an unexpected perk. By the time she stood before him wearing nothing but a corset, her breasts protruding high and round above it, she was already dangerously aroused.
She watched him nearly tear off his suit and fling it over the back of a chair. Her gaze gravitated to his proud manhood, jutting out from a nest of dark curls. He was big and hard.
And hers.
The expression in his eyes was filled with promises, and Sofie knew he would–and could–keep every one.
"Unlace this thing?" She turned her back to him, surprised to feel his hands on the bare cheeks of her butt instead.
"Later," he whispered, urging her to face him again. He leaned back to gaze down at her approvingly. "Got a whip stashed anywhere?"
"Luke!" She giggled, reaching down between them to hold his solid erection in both hands. "I don't think we'll need one. Do you?"
He shook his head. "More champagne?" Reaching to the side, he grabbed the open bottle off the end table. With a wicked smile, he pressed his thumb over the opening and gave the bottle a gentle shake.
Then he sprayed her.
Sofie gasped in shock as the cold liquid splattered across her bare breasts. Her nipples hardened instantly and her surprise turned to something much more powerful than humor.
Suspiciously nonchalant, he took her hand and pulled her toward the bed, the open–and far from empty–bottle in tow. Chuckling, he nudged her playfully into bed and placed the bottle on the nightstand.
Sofie giggled, but as she witnessed the transformation in his eyes, her laughter dissolved into a gasp. He put one knee on the bed, hovering over her in the well-lit room. His gaze raked her, and she took the opportunity to study him thoroughly as well.
She couldn't bear to look and not touch, so she reached for him, but he grabbed her hand. "No way, wife. I'm in charge now." He gently but firmly gripped her wrists and pressed them to her sides as he climbed over her.
"Wife?" She could barely breathe as his heady scent and her own desire gripped her.
"I like the sound of that." He nuzzled her neck, just below her earlobe, then kissed and nipped his way downward, stopping to lick champagne off her flesh along the way. "Wife," he murmured against her tattoo.
Naked and wanting, she treasured each touch of his lips, each swipe of his warm tongue against her bare skin. She felt foreign and exotic, detached from her physical being, yet acutely conscious of every rising need that charged through her.
Her insides trembled and she grew increasingly aware of the emptiness Luke would soon fill. She craved this coupling even more desperately than before. After all, this was their wedding night.
She watched in awe as he tasted her, kneading her supple flesh just above the corset. Her nipples stood proud and ready, appearing as if she'd applied blusher to make them more prominent. But the mere thought of Luke's mouth made them tingle and grow with need.
"Mine," he murmured against her flesh, drawing her nipple deeply into his mouth.
"Yes, always." Moaning, she arched against his wonderful mouth and secured her hands behind his neck. She cherished each caress of his tongue, each gentle pull of his lips against her breast.
Her body wept for him as he left her breast and kissed his way downward. Eager to feel him inside her, Sofie tightened her grip on him, but he quickly shifted himself between her quivering thighs.
Instinct told her his intentions, though she had no way of knowing whether or not she'd ever experienced this delicious torture before. This was madness. Sweet, delicious madness.
She shivered, but definitely not from cold, as he kissed the slope of her hip and placed his hands beneath her bottom. He held her securely, tipping her toward him as he kissed his way lower. Molten heat concentrated between her legs as she anticipated his touch.
Then, wondrously, he tasted her, slowly and gently. She'd weathered some intensely erotic dreams these past few weeks, but she'd never even imagined anything this wild and wicked.
Fever consumed her. She heard an odd, low sound–her own purr of pleasure. This was primal. Ruthless.
Spectacular.
She immersed her fingers in his short curls as she climbed higher and higher. Nothing existed except his possession, his mouth, and her need.
He was all-powerful. Merciless. His tongue possessed her, his hands held her hostage. Her hips arched ever-upward. Ever-closer. She shattered into a billion dazzling fragments as completion swept through her.
Then he kissed her thighs again and maneuvered himself upward, cradling her breasts in his skillful hands. Something wet sprinkled across her breasts, and she realized it was the champagne again, but now she welcomed the cold droplets, because she knew what would follow.
No longer gentle, he nursed at her breasts like an infant, pressing them together to sample each in turn. "Sweet," he murmured, tugging and suckling, driving her to the brink of madness.
She was on edge, near the fringes yet again. He hadn't let her come down far and she was ready for more. Gently, he rolled her onto her side and released the laces, slipping the corset from her sweat-slick torso. She moaned as more droplets of champagne touched her skin, followed immediately by his warm, wet mouth.
"Now, Luke," she breathed, unable to form coherent thoughts, let alone speech. She only wanted and needed, and knew he could end her misery.
His mouth took hers again as he covered her with his hot, hard body and stroked her tongue with his. Then she felt his heated arousal tantalizing the tender folds of her vagina. She was ready–so ready. His first hard plunge made her cry out in victory.
"Yes." She wrapped her legs around his waist, inviting him even more deeply into her starving body. Hot and hungry, she fused herself to him. A moan rumbled from deep in her throat as he retreated then returned again. And again.
And again.
He murmured words of endearment as his delicious torture went on and on, pushing her higher and higher, to spiral out of control. Each thrust grew more forceful than the one before, more demanding. He reached for her legs and draped them over his shoulders as he continued to possess her.
Hard. Fast. Deep.
She crossed into a shadowy dimension of delight and pleasure where nothing else mattered. Every movement exposed a piercing new pinnacle, a more luscious layer than before. She opened her eyes, but the light faded, then returned even brighter.
Deep and sure, he came into her again and again. She was brainless, primed for every stroke of his body, answering his quest with several small orgasms which built and snowballed into one continuous, achingly divine moment.
He filled her with himself–branded her, made her his in every way. Sofie held him deep inside, never wanting to let him go.
He kissed her deeply, breathlessly, then eased his weight to her side, gathering her against him. She curled onto her hip with her back against him, cherishing the tender kisses he bestowed her bare shoulder.
"I love you, Mrs. Nolan," he whispered, his warm breath tickling the fine hairs at her nape.
She stretched and rolled onto her back, gazing into his beautiful eyes. "I love you, too, Mr. Nolan." She stroked his cheek with her thumb, praying their love would always be like this. Perfect and strong. Yes, time would temper their love to steel.
She smiled, remembering the remaining champagne. Reaching for the open bottle, she raised up on one elbow and pressed him to the mattress with her free hand.
"What...do you think you're doing?" he asked, looking warily at the bottle.
Sofie tilted the bottle and took a long pull of bubbly liquid. "Thirsty?"
Before he could answer, she emptied the bottle.
Right between his legs.
Graham startled awake at the sound of a trolley rattling down the street. His shoulder ached from lying on the cold cobblestones, and his stomach burned from too little food and too much rot-gut whiskey. He kicked the empty bottle at his feet and staggered toward the end of the alley.
The murderer and his bride were up there in a nice soft bed, while he slept in the gutter. He clenched his fist and shook it at the building as the city of Denver came awake.
He knew in his gut that Nolan would do something stupid today, and Graham would be ready. Everything was prepared and waiting. It was just a matter of time now.
The ache in his chest sharpened again, but he massaged it until it passed. He didn't give a damn what happened to him, as long as he finished his job first.
He'd remain in the shadows until the right moment came. And he knew it would.
After all, justice always prevailed.
Chapter 21
Pushing aside the 1891 version of The Denver Post, Luke watched Sofie button the front of one of Dora's baggy dresses. He took a sip of coffee, leaning back in his chair.
"I thought you left all those things in Redemption." He smiled at her answering scowl. "Oh, yeah. I forgot you aren't a morning person."
She walked over to him and smiled before delivering a pseudo-throat culture with her lips and tongue. "On the contrary, husband," she whispered, reaching between his legs. "That's not what you were saying about an hour ago."
"Touché." He loved her open sexuality. The thought gave him pause, then he chuckled to himself as she returned to dressing for the day.
"What's so funny?"
"I was just thinking what a modern, liberated woman you are." He watched a line crease her brow as she looked up at him from tying her hiking boots. The delicate slippers that matched her wedding gown wouldn't work for everyday. Besides, he loved those beat-up hiking boots. They were her.
"Well, I guess doctors have to be liberated." She shook her head. "I still don't see how I could be a doctor and not remember something about it, though. I guess Dr. Bowen will be able to help me with that, too."
Luke's blood turned to ice. Swallowing the stomach acid that rose in his throat, he stood and walked over to sit beside her on the bed. "Sofie, you still plan to see him?"
"Of course." She patted his hand. "Don't you want to know who you're married to?"
"I know everything I need to." That frigging guilt surged through him again. What right did he have to deny her the chance for memories like those he treasured from his own childhood? The answer came simply and swiftly. None. "Okay, then. I'll ask the desk clerk if she knows how to reach him. We can phone for an appointment."
"Oh, that's right, they do have telephones now." She grinned.
"You're a real nineties kinda gal." He grinned as she stuck her tongue out at him, struggling not to succumb to his recollection of her tongue and half a bottle of champagne.
"Very funny."
Jarred from thoughts of real lovemaking that had been more erotic than anything his imagination could have conjured, Luke cleared his throat. "How would you like to take a walk down my Memory Lane this morning?"
"I'd like that."
At least taking her to try on the traveling suit would postpone her seeing Dr. Bowen a little longer. Luke realized now he would have to accept the inevitable. Sofie would at least try to recover from her amnesia, and he had no right to stand in her way. In fact, he owed her the truth. Eventually.
"Memory Lane, Luke. Remember?"
"Yeah." He proceeded to tell her about his grandparents, about growing up in Denver in their old Victorian house, and helping his grandpa at the shoe repair shop. He even told her about the brick wall that had fascinated him yesterday.
"You mean," she squeezed his hand, "you bought my wedding dress in that same building? Luke, that's so special. Thank you."
"Yeah." He shrugged. "I couldn't resist going in and looking around, and since they had what I needed..."
"I've been thinking about something."
"Uh-oh, this sounds serious."
Sofie punched him lightly on the arm. "Hey, I am serious, buster."
"Okay, I'll be good."
"That'll be the day." She smiled, then grew sober again. "This time travel business..."
"Oh, that."
"Yes, that." Sighing, she put her chin in her hand and stared at him as she spoke. "If we're here now, will we exist when we originally existed?"
Luke chuckled. "When I first learned what had happened, I spent at least a week trying to figure out all the paradoxes of this." He shook his head. "I just don't know, Sofie."
"Well, assuming we'll still be born at the place and time we were originally born..."
"I think I need a drink."
"Last night you had enough champagne to hold you a while, I think."
"Mmm, look who's talking." He cupped her breast in his hand and brushed his thumb across its peak through her dress. "Fine vintage."
"The best and don't you forget it." Sofie grabbed his face and kissed him fast and hard, then pulled his hand away from her breast. "If you don't stop that, we'll never get to our walk down Memory Lane."
"So?"
"Get a grip on your hormones and pay attention," she said. "I'm trying to be brilliant here."
"You're always brilliant."
"Anyway, if we aren't born at the place and time we originally were, then how can we be here now?"
"I'm not going there." He laughed and draped his arm across her shoulders. "That's too complicated and completely unanswerable."
"Yeah, I suppose, but..."
"But what?"
She straightened and looked at Luke, her expression deadly sober. "Is there some way you could leave a message or sign for yourself?"
"I...don't know." Luke's stomach did a somersault and he straightened. "If not for myself, then maybe for Grandpa."
Sofie put her palm to his cheek very gently. "I see the pain in your eyes and feel it in my heart when you talk about him, Luke."
"Yeah." It hurt like hell whenever he remembered the note from Grandpa, still tucked in the back of Father Salazar's Bible. Rising, he wen
t to the leather pouch he'd removed from the priest's dead body the morning of the explosion.
Sofie remained seated on the bed, watching him, and he loved her all the more for granting him this moment's privacy. He looked at the note, the crucifix with Father Salazar's initials etched into its back, and the well-worn Bible Luke had used to perform a bogus wedding ceremony and dozens of funerals.
After several moments, he looked up at Sofie and sighed. "If there's any way to change what happened, to prevent the circumstances that sent me to prison and caused Grandpa's shame..."
"You have to do it." Sofie stood and walked partway across the room. "I'll do anything I can to help."
He nodded. "I need paper and a pen. Ink, I suppose. I don't think ballpoints have been invented." He wrapped the Bible in paper and tied it with ribbon, then carried it with the other items to the small desk near the window. "I suppose this is worth a shot."
Luke wrote three letters on the hotel's stationery. One to his grandfather, which included the note in Grandpa's own hand in the same envelope. All he told the old man was how much he loved him, that he'd been innocent of the murder, and that all he ever wanted was to make his grandparents proud.
Instead of a fancy symbol, he used his thumbprint to press the warm wax into place, remembering when he'd been arrested and booked for murder.
Unjustly.
The second letter was to himself, telling him to be good. Basically. The third letter was one he had to write even more than the other two. He addressed it to the liquor store clerk who'd died that night Luke's world had fallen apart. If he could convince that man not to go to work that fateful night...
Maybe these letters could perform another miracle, if they fell into the right hands at the right time. An image of him and Grandpa tearing down that brick wall flashed through his mind again, and he suddenly knew where to hide everything.
His heart collided with his ribs as the woman he loved fidgeted around the room, obviously trying to stay out of his way. He loved her so much it hurt sometimes, but it was a pain he never wanted to be without.
Now all he needed was a way to prevent his shame.