Agnes and Anna Black stood mesmerized by the beautiful music flowing from the strong fingers of their guest. They stared at his face, marveled at how expertly he could play with his eyes closed, his head thrown back as though he were being transported to another sphere of existence. They took in his measured breathing, the way his wide shoulders seemed to fill the room, the grace with which his hands caressed the piano keys to draw forth the breathtakingly beautiful music that flowed with ease from the Steinway.
“Heavenly,” Agnes sighed, staring at his handsome face, caressing that lean jaw with her fevered gaze, wanting desperately to touch his glorious hair.
“Truly magnificent,” Anna agreed, allowing her vision to smooth over their guest’s high forehead and stroke his glossy dark hair.
Syntian did not need to see the faces of the women to know they were beyond where they stood. He had taken them with him to another world: a world where he ruled and where he decided all that was of any importance. He was mesmerizing them, carrying them to a place where neither had ever been. His fingers might have been running over the ivory keys of the Steinway, but to Anna Black, his fingertips were stroking the high insides of her thigh. He might well have been bringing forth the brilliant music of a composer without equal, but he was also bringing forth pants of pleasure from Agnes Black’s wrinkled lips.
Anna was unaware of the trembling hand she reached out to place on her guest’s shoulder. Even as her fingers moved over his back to caress the thick queue at the nape of his neck, to fondle that silky hair, she was not cognizant of doing so. Had she seen her face: pupils glazed, mouth slack, face high with color, she would not have recognized the woman staring back at her with rapture.
Likewise, Agnes was as unaware of her sister, and her sister’s transport into fantasy, as she was of her own state of excitement. She seated herself beside her gentleman caller and was running the palm of her arthritic left hand up and down his taut thigh, marveling at the strength beneath the leather of his pant leg as his thigh muscles tensed and relaxed as his foot plied the pedals. She squeezed his flesh, caressed him, so wrapped up in her own dream world, she did not know her fingers had strayed to the boldness between his legs.
Syntian smiled as he felt her stroking him, barely flinched as Anna placed her dry lips against the side of his throat and kissed him. He continued to play, to draw from the Steinway the music that had so enthralled the old women. He knew they were supremely oblivious to the fact that he was repeating the same measures over and over again. He had brought them to this place and was now letting their fancies run wild, allowing them the dreams they had long been denied.
“Touch me, Agnes,” he whispered and smiled knowingly as the woman’s trembling fingers unzipped his fly and moved without hesitation into the opening. He heard her gasp of pleasure as her hand cupped him.
Anna trailed kisses over his jaw line and when he turned his head toward her, she claimed his lips, groaning as his tongue thrust against her own. She slanted her mouth tightly over his and thrust her tongue deep inside the warmth of his mouth, feeling the heat of him far down in the shriveled, never-touched core of her sagging belly.
“Pleasure me, Agnes,” he whispered against Anna’s mouth.
Agnes slid to the floor at his feet, bending awkwardly as she slithered between the piano and the bench. She put her head in his lap and covered his flesh with her lips in an attempt to draw from him the same wonderment that filled her ears with such intoxicating sound. Her body thrilled as he moved his legs further apart to accommodate her and she fastened on him like a hungry leech.
Syntian stopped playing, knowing the women were beyond hearing or feeling or seeing or caring what they did. He stared into Anna’s lust-filled face as she continued to kiss him, her mouth now covering his own so wetly, saliva oozed from the corner of his own mouth. He felt the rush of his seed spiraling toward climax and he let himself relax, let the two of them have him. He reached behind him and drew Anna around the side of the bench, insinuated his hand under her prim and proper dress and found that part of her that had never known a man’s touch. At almost the same moment his fingers unerringly found their way inside her wetness, she exploded around them with violent pulses of rapture and she threw back her head and trilled with satisfaction.
Agnes slurped at him, drawing away every last drop from him, as though she had been a woman dying of thirst. Suddenly, her entire body tensed and she jerked in the throes of such a powerful climax, her lips clenched too painfully around his shaft.
Syntian laid a restraining hand on Agnes’ head. “Enough,” he said softly. He waited silently and patiently until her pleasure had settled then bade her rise.
Agnes lifted her head and politely re-fastened his clothing then scrambled out from under the piano.
“Sit,” he commanded and both women moved as though in a trance to where they had been sitting. Gracefully they sank to their seats, folded their hands primly in their laps and came out of their revelry at the same moment.
“That was lovely,” Agnes was the first to say.
“You are very good,” Anna awarded him.
Syntian lowered the piano lid and stood up, gazing down at the two old women with a half-smile. “I am happy to have pleasured you.”
“More tea?” Agnes asked.
“Perhaps just a tad,” he answered, grinning at them as he resumed his seat. He held his cup out to Agnes and winked up at her as she poured.
Agnes nearly dropped the teapot. Her cheeks rushed with color and she glanced guiltily at Anna, hoping her sister had not seen the handsome gentleman caller flirting with her. It just wouldn’t do. Anna would be jealous!
“I have wanted to come over to speak with you ladies for some time now,” Syntian said, gaining their immediate attention. He let his hot gaze bathe them with its intensity. “I am sure you know I have been courting Miss Fowler.”
Agnes nodded politely. “We thought you might be.”
Syntian’s gaze sharpened. “Miss Fowler is a fine woman.”
Anna’s brows drew together then relaxed as her guest’s attention narrowed on her. “She certainly is.”
“And very well-educated,” Syntian added. “One must, of course, overlook her parentage.” He took a sip of his tea and peered at the two old women over the rim of his cup.
“Lauren can’t be held responsible for the kind of father she has,” Anna agreed.
“Or mother,” Agnes put in.
“Naturally not,” Anna said emphatically.
“Miss Fowler is what we call in Boston ‘a lady of genteel breeding,’” Syntian informed them. “A woman to be respected.”
“And admired!” Agnes echoed.
“She is, sister,” Anna admitted.
Syntian set aside his cup. “I am, as you must be aware, quite taken with Miss Fowler.”
“Who can blame you?” Anna asked.
“Lauren is such a delight,” added Agnes.
He stood up, looking down on the women with a benevolent expression. “I would take it as a personal favor if you two sophisticated and worldly women would take Lauren under your wing, so to speak. I would not think of entering her home without a chaperone.”
“Gossips can do a good woman’s reputation much harm,” Agnes said sadly.
“We would be most pleased to chaperone you, Mr. Cree,” Anna breathed.
“Synti,” he corrected her and stepped over to take her hand in his. He kissed the parchment-like flesh and heard Anna’s quick in drawn breath.
“Synti,” Anna sighed, lost once more in his infinite eyes.
“And perhaps you could speak to Mrs. Malone?” he asked, still holding Anna’s hand. “Inform her that I will be calling upon her this morning?”
“Yes,” Anna said dreamily. Her brows drew together. “Why?”
Syntian smiled. “Tell her I am your nephew, a distant relative. I am Cousin Maureen’s son.” His gaze bored into hers. “Anything that grants me entry to her home.” He tightene
d his hold on her hand. “I must have her permission to enter to do what I must do.”
Agnes shot out of her chair as though she had been snagged on her skinny rump by a hellhound. “I will call her!”
“The phones are not in service,” Anna said, not taking her gaze from Syntian.
“Yes, they are,” he answered and stared into Anna’s face as Agnes hurried to the phone and jerked up the receiver, dialing Henrietta Malone’s number so fast she broke a fingernail.
“Henrietta? Agnes Black. Have you noticed we have a visitor? Yes. Oh, yes! But did you know he’s our nephew?” There was a brief pause. “Boston. Our cousin Maureen’s boy. He wants to meet you.”
Nina Atherton opened the door with a smile. “Mr. Cree, so nice to meet you! Henrietta has told us all about you! Won’t you come in?”
Thaddeus Atherton put out his hand as their guest entered the living room. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Cree. I didn’t know Henrietta had a nephew living up in New Haven! You are originally from Boston, eh?” He glanced at his wife. “And to think he’s been over to Lauren’s and we didn’t even know he was practically kin!”
Ben Hurlbert looked up from his report and frowned. “I’ve been looking for you, Mr. Cree.”
Syntian smiled. “So, I’ve heard.” He sat down on the chair in front of the acting Sheriff’s desk. “How may I help you?”
Chapter Fourteen
Lauren’s face showed her surprise when she answered the knock on her door. She unhooked the latch and pushed the screen open. “Miss Agnes,” she said, confusion drawing her brows together at the warm and friendly smile on the old woman’s face.
“Anna and I were baking cinnamon rolls this morning and thought you just might like some with your coffee, Lauren.” She moved past the startled younger woman and entered the living room. “We just knew you’d have made this place as pretty as a picture.” She turned, looked lovingly at Lauren then cocked her head to one side. “And you have, haven’t you?”
Lauren stared at her, taking the proffered plate of warm rolls in her hand as the old lady extended them to her.
“And where is that adorable little ragamuffin?” Agnes chirped, sweeping her gaze about the room. “What is it you call him, again? Onyx?” She bent forward, clucking her tongue. “Here, kitty-kitty! Come here, you pretty boy, you!” The old woman ventured on into the dining alcove, then pushed her way into the kitchen, calling the cat the whole time. “Here, kitty-kitty!”
Lauren’s brows shot up and she just stood where she was, rooted in the middle of the living room floor, hearing odd sounds in her kitchen as pots and pans rattled. As the tap turned on and she heard the unmistakable sound of water filling a boiler, she managed to make herself move, walking slowly toward the kitchen as though a madman were lurking about inside.
“He’s out there on the picnic table,” Miss Agnes informed Lauren as the young woman entered the kitchen. “Just look at him sitting there like a little prince!” She carried a two-quart boiler over to the stove and turned on the burner.
“Miss Agnes?” Lauren asked, placing the plate of cinnamon rolls on the kitchen table. “May I ask what you’re doing?”
Agnes Black giggled as she began to rummage through the cabinet over the stove. “I woke up this morning,” she said, pushing aside spices, standing on her tiptoes to reach for a tin of sage, “and I said to myself, ‘Aggie, that young woman works all day long and has to come in and fix herself supper.’” She flipped up the lid of the tin and began to shake a liberal amount of sage into the boiler. “So, I discussed it with Sister and we decided to make you a nice pot of chicken and dumplings!”
Lauren’s eyes grew wide and she had to reach out to grab the edge of the table. “Chicken and dumplings?” she echoed.
Agnes nodded. She peeked out the window and clapped her hands together. She looked around at Lauren and winked. “Here she comes!”
There was a shadow moving across the side window off the back stoop and Agnes Black hurried to the door to unlatch it and open the portal for her sister. Anna Black climbed the steps and came into the kitchen with a wide grin of pleasure on her wrinkled face.
“I thought this one would do, don’t you agree, Sister?” Anna asked, handing a small broiler chicken to Agnes.
“Perfect,” Agnes answered. She hefted the chicken and then carried it to the sink where she began to remove the plastic wrap. “It’ll do nicely.”
Anna startled Lauren when she came over to her and embraced her, putting a dry kiss on her cheek. “Did you sleep well, dear?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Lauren watched the two old women bustling about her kitchen, getting out bowls and spices and milk and shortening. She sat down with total confusion as Anna found the rolling pin for Agnes as the other woman tore off a sheet of waxed paper, moistened the counter top and then spread the waxed paper on it.
“Keeps it from sliding about,” Anna explained to Lauren.
“You make the dumplings while I stew the chicken, Sister,” said Agnes.
“Sister!” Anna exclaimed, making Agnes turn in surprise.
“Have we forgotten something?” Agnes asked, frowning.
“She hasn’t had her coffee!” Anna said in an aggrieved tone.
Lauren’s mouth dropped open. “Really I don’t think--”
“She has to have her morning coffee, Agnes,” Anna reprimanded. “You know she does every morning!”
Agnes looked apologetically at Lauren. “Forgive me, my dear. I just got so carried away, I entirely forgot to make your coffee.” She rushed to the Mr. Coffee machine and jerked up the canister to fill it.
“Miss Agnes,” Lauren protested, coming to her feet, finding a voice that was squeaky with absolute astonishment.
A polite tap came at the back door and all three women turned to see Syntian framed in the opened doorway. Smiles: two filled with rapture, one filled with bewilderment, slipped unerringly over the female faces.
“May I join you lovely ladies?” he asked.
“You certainly may!” Anna answered for them all. She hurried over and took his arm, led him to the kitchen table and pushed him gently into the chair beside Lauren’s. “Sister? Where’s that coffee?”
Lauren looked at him, shrugging at his questioning look. She gripped his hand as he slid it across the table to her and she re-seated herself, her puzzled gaze going to the two old ladies who were scrambling around her kitchen as though it were an every day affair.
Syntian leaned back in his chair, his fingers still clutching Lauren’s hand and an amused smile slipped into place. He cocked a brow at Lauren.
“I don’t know,” Lauren whispered.
“You are up and about early this morning, Synti,” Agnes accused as she poured water into the coffee maker. “Have you had breakfast, son?”
“Synti?” Lauren questioned, throwing him an arch look.
“Yes, ma’am,” he answered, his gaze going to the bowl of cat food on the floor. Though he did not eat human food, the feline part of him reveled in a nice presentation of fish...the smellier, the better. “Did you know Lauren had a guest yesterday morning?” Anna asked, grinning conspiratorially at Lauren.
Lauren looked away from the challenging look on Syntian’s face. “Ben Hurlbert,” she muttered.
“Ah,” Syntian laughed. “Our new Sheriff.” He grinned at Anna. “Think there’s something between him and Lauren, Miss Anna?”
Lauren gasped, jerking her hand from his tender grip.
“From the way Benny was looking at her,” Agnes giggled, “he’d like to come courting.”
Lauren swung her head toward the old woman and stared at her.
“Synti wouldn’t allow that, would you, son?” Agnes stated as she switched on the coffee maker.
“No, ma’am, I would not,” Syntian answered, meeting Lauren’s shocked look with a bland one of his own.
Anna came up to Syntian’s side and slid her arm across his shoulders, sighing with pleasure as he reached up to put a
hand on the small of her back. “Are you going to take her to lunch again today, Synti?”
Syntian turned and looked at Lauren. There was something electric in his gaze. “If she’ll go, Miss Anna.”
Anna chuckled. “Oh, she will, won’t you, Lauren?”
“Be a fool not to,” Agnes quipped from the stove. “Wouldn’t she, sister?”
Lauren swiveled her attention from the two old ladies to Syntian and wondered at the knowing looks that flowed between them. She sat back in her chair with bafflement.
Syntian patted Anna and the old woman moved away. He leaned toward Lauren. “Well?”
She looked at him. “Well, what?”
“Lunch?” he reminded.
Lauren nodded. “I suppose so.”
He smiled. “What about supper?”
“Did you make those reservations like we suggested?” Agnes asked, turning around to level a polite stare at Syntian.
“Yes, ma’am, I did,” Syntian answered. He winked at Lauren. “They’re holding a private room for us at Le Paradis for tomorrow night at seven.”
Lauren gaped at him. “Le Paradis? Syntian, that’s the most expensive restaurant in the Panhandle!”
“He can afford it,” Anna proclaimed. “Can’t you, son?”
Syntian’s smile widened. “Yes, I surely can.”
Lauren shook her head. “I don’t have anything good enough to wear to that place!”
“Well, pooh!” Agnes snorted. She turned around, ladle in her hand and shook it at Syntian. “Go buy her something pretty to wear, Syntian!”
Lauren gasped and swung her head toward the old woman. “Miss Agnes! I can’t allow that!”
“Whyever not?” Anna asked, putting her hands on her scrawny hips.
“Yes,” Agnes said. “Why ever not?”
Lauren stared at the women. “Because it’s not right, that’s why!”
Agnes glanced at Anna then both women turned their eyes to Syntian. “You haven’t asked her yet, have you?”
NightWind 1st Book: HellWind Trilogy Page 20