River Road

by R. C. Matthews

  She smirked. “Far more than you can afford. Last night I fetched one thousand dollars. Besides, you’re not cursed. I only said that so you would help me.”

  He froze, certain he had misheard her. That couldn’t be accurate. “I read the cards.”

  “Yes, and without any skills to speak of,” she accused, rolling her eyes. “A cursed person selects the devil card for the first position. Believe me, you’re normal. Without the devil in position one, the remaining cards are meaningless.”

  “You manipulative little—”

  “Shut up and kiss me, Hatchet. Your methods for getting what you want are questionable as well. You knocked an innocent man unconscious so we could gain entrance to the auction.”

  “Point well made,” he said, unbuttoning his shirt at his leisure. Her eyes darkened with desire. So long as their relationship stayed firmly planted in physical attraction, he was ready to let go of his past. But until he wrote to the cook and clarified the facts surrounding Jenny’s death, Hatchet wouldn’t let his guard down about the curse. The implications of being wrong were dire.

  “Don’t steal my heart, Hope.”

  She sighed, standing to cup his face. “I knew you wouldn’t believe me. But you needn’t worry. I’m not a fool. You’ll be gone by the first days of summer. So let’s enjoy what little time we have together.”

  “On one condition,” he said, shrugging out of his shirt. “You will go into society with me. No hiding our admiration for each other in the confines of this house. I want to enjoy the pleasures the city has to offer with you by my side. Victor and Mercy have made many plans, and we wish to spend more evenings together. Come with us.”

  Her brow furrowed, and she leaned her forehead on his chest. “I haven’t been in society since . . . ” She met his gaze. “My kind doesn’t mingle with your kind anymore. We’ll attract unwanted attention because . . . you know why. People will—”

  With a finger over her lips, he quelled her objections. “I don’t give a damn what ‘people’ will say or think. All I care is that I enjoy your company, and my friends are eager to spend time together with us. You’re as free to savor the splendors of this city as any other. Show me a little of the courage I know you possess.” He held her closer and inhaled the exotic mixture of lilacs and honey that was uniquely her. “Be with me, Hope. Teach me to live again.”

  She blew out a breath and nodded.

  “That’s my girl,” he said, pulling her to her feet. “Now let me cherish you properly.”

  He took care in unfastening the pearl buttons down her back. The deep-purple gown was a delectable little number, pushing up her ample bosom and showcasing her tiny waist.

  She stepped out of the satin confection and hung it on the corner of her dressing screen before turning toward him with sultry eyes. The globes of her breasts pushed against her lace-trimmed corset, and her cheeks flushed pink. He lingered over each mound, kissing and suckling as he worked the ribbons on her undergarments. She shivered under his touch, moaning. Sweet, sweet music.

  “You’re an inordinately patient man,” she murmured. “If left to my own devices, I would’ve been undressed and lying naked in bed more than a minute ago.”

  “Hush, I want to etch our first night in my memory.”

  Turning her around, he trailed kisses down her spine, revealing the path to her bum inch by inch. When the last ribbon drifted away, he tugged her undergarments off but left her stockings on. He cupped her buttocks in his hands, kneading the fleshy mounds. Her head fell back, and she released her hair in a tumble of black waves down her back, hiding her luscious curves.

  He growled and spun her around, coming face-to-face with a thatch of curls. Leaning closer, he inhaled her scent. Lord help him, but his patience crumbled. All he wanted was to bury his tongue in her sweet folds and taste the nectar glistening on the nub hidden within. Just one taste.

  She cried out, holding his head steady. His fingers delved between her folds, finding her core, so wet, so warm. He ran the pad of his thumb over her clitoris and kissed her inner thighs, glorying in the soft moans he elicited with every stroke.

  “Hatchet . . . ” Her plea was breathless.

  He stood and gazed into her lust-filled eyes. “I know, sweetheart. Lie down, and let me cherish you properly.”

  She pressed her naked body to his. Her pliant chest melded with his hard one, and he groaned, burying his face in her neck.

  “I’m quite enjoying the improper version,” she drawled.

  “Me, too,” he said, pushing her back on the bed. “But I promise you’ll find even more pleasure with a soft mattress under your delightful bum.”

  She scooted to the center of the bed and pushed herself up on her elbows, watching as he divested his boots, and pants. He preferred the freedom that came with no undergarments, and he smiled as her eyes widened when his stiff member bobbed.

  “You’re . . . ” She swallowed and met his gaze.

  “Going to give you so much pleasure,” he finished, crawling on the bed to lie beside her. “After I drive you crazy with my mouth and hands. Remember: cherish.”

  He crushed his mouth on hers, plunging his tongue inside, sharing the glorious taste of her cunny. He massaged one nipple into a taut bud then sucked it, rolling his tongue over the tip. She wiggled under his touch, and her fingers explored the contours of his back. Their kisses erupted, igniting a flame deep inside him.

  His hand slid down her waist, over the curve of her hip, and around to cup her bottom, pulling her body snug against his. Her belly pushed against his hard shaft, and he rocked against her with long, slow strokes. Every little moan he elicited from deep inside her throat sent tingles reverberating through him.

  He kissed her eyelids, cheeks, neck, memorizing the texture of her skin. Straddling her legs, he trailed his lips between the valley of her breasts, licking and kissing to her navel, then farther south. She purred like a kitten, craving his touch. Her musky scent beckoned him, but he hovered between her thighs, watching her hooded eyes as his hot breath teased her most sacred part.

  She licked her lips, and he kissed her inner thigh. Another kiss closer to her core. And then he was licking her full up the center, tasting her luscious nectar. Her cries of ecstasy washed over him. His ballocks ached with the need to spill his seed, and he could not hold back any longer.

  Why should he? They had all night. And once he sated his initial ardor, he would explore her at his leisure.

  “Don’t move,” he said, grinning. “I brought a condom.”

  She lifted an eyebrow. “Presumptuous bastard.”

  He pulled the box from the inside of his coat and rolled the rubber on, swaggering back to the bed. “I’m far from arrogant. You see, I never make advances on a lady unless I’m absolutely certain of success. If there’s one thing I excel at, it’s reading body language. And you were sending out strong signals since the moment we met.”

  She slapped his arm and giggled. “I most certainly did not!”

  “Oh, yes.” Spreading her thighs, he entered her slick channel slowly, holding her gaze. Her pupils dilated, and she caught her breath. He stopped midway, the urge to plunge into her sweet depths almost painful. But he wanted the truth to spill from her lips.

  “Don’t stop,” she rasped.

  He gritted his teeth. “Tell me you wanted me from the moment you laid eyes on me in the apothecary. I know what I saw.”

  She held his shoulders and panted. “Fine, you’re right. I’ve wanted this moment since I saw you. Let go, Hatchet. Give yourself to me.”

  With a howl of triumph, he filled her to the core, working his hips in the age-old rhythm of a man and woman. She held his gaze, her lips parted in ecstasy, and she cried his name as they both let go of their pasts.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “The French Opera House?” Hope asked, taking Hatchet’s hand while stepping out of the carriage. She hadn’t been to the theatre in years.

  He grinned. “Surprised?”<
br />
  She nodded, unable to give words to the joy burgeoning in her heart.

  “Don’t give him all of the credit,” Mercy said, coming to stand beside them. “I’ve never been to an opera. When Hatchet mentioned Mefistofele was playing, I suggested we all attend together.”

  As they stood, appreciating the grand façade of the three-story building, couples hurried past. Attendants in black livery held the doors open, greeting the patrons with inviting smiles. Nearby, street performers’ music was lively, their hats laid out before them.

  Mercy’s grin widened, and she patted Hope’s forearm. “It must be beautiful inside.”

  Indeed, the opera house was grand, and Hope had attended many performances with her mother, as well as her late husband. The French Opera House was the defining glory of social activity in New Orleans and beloved by all. She used to enjoy sitting in the second tier of boxes reserved for prominent Creole families. But times had changed.

  “You’ll not be disappointed,” Hope said, squeezing her newfound friend’s hand.

  Victor offered his arm to his wife. “Shall we go inside and see for ourselves? I’m sorry Maribeth isn’t here to experience this, too. We’ll have to come again soon.”

  “Who is Maribeth?” Hope asked.

  “A young lady under our care since she was five,” Hatchet said. “You may recall seeing her with me at Café du Monde. It’s a long story, one I’ll be happy to share another time.”

  “Bye the bye.” Mercy dug inside her reticule and retrieved a note. “She wrote to me this morning, begging us to visit soon. You’ll want to read this. I can’t make anything out of the last bit.”

  He took the letter, scanned the contents, then stuffed the note into the inside pocket of his jacket. “We can discuss a visit later.”

  They strolled behind Victor and Mercy into the opera house. Hope looped her hand over Hatchet’s forearm, smiling. The cloth of his jacket was superfine, his shirt the crisp white of the aristocracy. He was dressed to the nines for the occasion, though he’d left his silver hoop earring on. Quite handsome, if unconventional.

  Tonight, she’d donned her most exquisite gown, fashioned from silk and taffeta in an emerald hue with lace accents. ’Twas the last one she’d commissioned while on holiday in France with her mother so many years ago. Together, she and Hatchet made a stunning couple, if the stares they received were any indication.

  Or perhaps they were a spectacle. An older group of couples stared openly, whispering among themselves. Hope suddenly found the intricate pattern in the marble floor quite fascinating.

  What were they saying behind their fans? “A madame on the arm of an aristocrat. Shameful.” That was how the privileged citizens of the Garden District thought of her, anyway. Except for Hatchet. Her escort always made her feel his equal.

  “Heads up,” he whispered, grabbing her attention. “You are the most beautiful woman in attendance tonight, so people cannot help but stare.”

  His toothy grin reassured her, and she squeezed his arm, offering him a dazzling smile, until Victor presented their tickets to an attendant. The man read the location of their seats and glanced at Hope, hesitating.

  “Is there a problem?” Victor’s authoritative tone suggested otherwise.

  “No, sir,” the man said, clearing his throat. He ushered them down a quiet corridor and stopped before the first-level box closest to the stage. “Please, be seated.”

  Oh, goodness. No wonder the attendant had hesitated. Victor had purchased the best seats in the house, those reserved for the most prestigious families in New Orleans. Hope flipped open her fan as she sat and peered over the ledge at the other guests filling the auditorium.

  All eyes were on her. Mouths wagged. Whispers grew louder. The air hotter. Stares more hostile.

  She looked away, reaching for her mother’s set of pearls to calm her flighty nerves. It wasn’t illegal for her to sit in the first box. Still, she could feel hundreds of eyes directed her way.

  “This wasn’t a good idea. Please, take me home, Hatchet.”

  He laid his arm around the back of her chair, rubbing his thumb over her bare shoulder. “As scandalous as it may be, there are no laws against a pirate sitting here. The other patrons will simply have to deal with it. Better yet, let them faint and be carried out. Or are you ashamed to be seen with me?”

  His question was so far from the truth as to be laughable, and he knew it. For a pirate with questionable morals, he could be quite endearing. Tears pricked the backs of her eyes. “I know what you’re doing.”

  “And what is it that I’m doing?” he murmured in her ear, the heat of his breath warming her to her toes.

  “You’re distracting me from the true issue.” She met his silvery eyes, so full of mischief, and the butterflies in her belly settled. “People are not staring at you. There are unwritten rules within society, especially here. I’m not welcome to sit in this box.”

  He snorted. “I paid for these seats, and I dare any one of those popinjays to ask us to leave.”

  The corner of her mouth lifted, and she ventured another peek into the auditorium. No, the others would stare and whisper, but they wouldn’t confront Hatchet.

  “Even I wouldn’t dare suggest it with that scowl plastered on your face,” she teased.

  His eyes softened, and he caressed her shoulder again with rhythmic strokes of his thumb. “Never say you’re afraid of me. I couldn’t bear it. But say you’ll stay.”

  She bit her lip. “My presence will cast a shadow over the magical evening for Mercy.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Mercy said with a bright smile. “My evening will be ruined if you’re not here to enjoy it with me. You’ve never seen Mefistofele, and this box cost a fortune. Leaving would be a terrible waste of money.”

  They made an effective argument. How could Hatchet afford the luxury? He didn’t give the impression of wealth and privilege, but sometimes . . . I’ll outbid everyone here.

  Had he been serious?

  “Could you have outbid Omère?” she whispered.

  He raised an eyebrow. “You’re a dime short and four days late.”

  She poked him between the ribs. “Hatchet, do not tease me.”

  “I would’ve lain in the arms of Madame Leblonc all night, had you let me.”

  But she hadn’t let him bid on her, and instead of inserting his own will, he had honored her wishes. So she would honor his and stay for the performance.

  “You’re welcome in my arms tonight, and every night,” she said as the lights dimmed. “For as long as you’re here.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  The moment the carriage rolled away, Hope was swept off her feet. Hatchet strode toward the front door of Le Havre with surprising speed.

  “Put me down!” She giggled, slapping his arm. “You can’t carry me all the way up the stairs.”

  “I’ll take that bet, sweetheart.” He pounded on the door with the heel of his shoe, grinning at her. “You can’t run with heels, and I plan to have my wicked way with you.”

  Albert opened the door, his eyes widening in shock.

  “Step aside, mate,” Hatchet said, shouldering past the stunned butler.

  He raced up the stairs, and she buried her face in his shoulder, ignoring the catcalls coming from the parlor. His breathing was somewhat labored by the last step, but his pace didn’t slow in the least until they stood in front of her bedroom door.

  “You’ll have to do the honors.” He twisted so she could turn the door handle.

  As soon as they crossed the threshold, he kicked the door shut and strode to the bed, laying her gently on top. His hands glided up her calves, to her thighs, bunching the material of her skirt up around her hips, until she was completely exposed.

  Her heart pounded, and moisture gathered in her most intimate parts as he unbuttoned the falls of his pants. His pants fell to the ground around his ankles.

  “You’re going to take me right here, fully dressed?”
<
br />   He nodded, hauling her closer to the edge of the bed by her hips. In one swift motion, her undergarments were gone. His hand cupped the base of his stiff member, and he stroked his shaft with his gaze centered between her thighs. The heat in his stare rivaled the sweltering days of summer, raising gooseflesh on her arms.

  She’d never been so desperate to feel her lover’s touch, to taste the bead glistening on the broad tip of his cock. This raw desire to possess him was thrilling and new, so unlike her past experiences in the bedroom. Hatchet was in complete control and took what he wanted, how he wanted it. No rules, no judgment, just pleasure.

  Leaning forward, he guided the tip of his member to her apex and ground his hips, covering himself with her moisture. The man was driving her insane, toying at the entrance of her sex.

  “Do you want me to stop?” His eyes were alight with humor, but his words heavy with need. “We could undress and get comfortable in bed while we talk about the opera.”

  She groaned and pushed forward until he slid inside her channel with ease, filling her to the core. “Yes, by all means, stop,” she said, stroking her hands over the muscular globes of his buttocks.

  “Cheeky girl.” His lips found hers, and the instant his tongue delved into her mouth, she was ablaze with desire. The insistent pounding of his hips, combined with the tender exploration of his tongue, was maddening. At once possessive and sweet. Taking and giving. His fingers found the nub between the folds of her sex and massaged, fanning the embers of her desire into flames that licked every inch of her body, crackling with an almost unbearable intensity.

  “Hatchet!” she screamed, holding his shoulders as he pounded faster, harder, causing her thighs to shudder as explosive pleasure radiated through her core in waves.

  When she fell limp against the bed with her arms askew, he pulled out and spent on her thigh, heaving in deep breaths. His gaze never left hers, so intense and satisfied. He finally caught his breath and sat beside her on the bed, his naked bum rustling against the fabric of her gown.