by Zoë Archer
“I did,” she answered, more honestly than she had ever spoken of David before. “He was so funny, so droll, the way he saw things, just slightly askew. He could make me laugh, sometimes, with only a look.”
Will, strangely subdued, nodded.
“But,” she continued, “he hadn’t made me laugh in a long time. I found myself missing him even while he was alive, missing our marriage and what it had once been.”
“Liv—”
She blinked hard. “Could you tell me about Denver? And Leadville?”
He frowned, confused.
“I want to hear more about where you come from,” she said. “And...I don’t want to talk about the past any more.”
Thankfully, he nodded in understanding. He was a natural orator, comfortable talking and spinning yarns. He continued to speak, describing the wild, brash cities and towns he’d lived in, the outrageous people who also called them home and the tenacity they needed to keep rising above adversity. His voice was deep and gravelly, smooth as whisky, and just as warming.
Olivia found herself rapt in him, watching his face, the small, concise gestures of his hands. She lay down on her side, cushioning her head on her outstretched arm, with his duster pulled over her. Soon, the clouds of sorrow, weariness and fear unwound themselves around her heart and were replaced with something she was unfamiliar with—happiness. To be away from London with Will, hearing him talk of his home, covered in his coat, warmed by the fire and by his presence. An unusual gift. One she would not refuse.
Despite lying on the hard ground and her lack of dinner, she soon found herself drifting off to sleep. She was exhausted. The past few days had worn her out completely. And she felt so safe with him nearby. She gladly escaped into slumber.
When she awoke some time later, the fire had gone out and the night was very, very dark. A nocturnal hunter flew overhead. Somewhere out there, Pryce plotted her destruction, and his mercenary was ready to do whatever it took to eliminate her. The world was huge and black, threatening to swallow her. Her corset pinched.
“Will?” she asked, voice very small.
“Yeah?” He didn’t sound as though he had been asleep.
“I’m cold.”
“Want me to light the fire again?”
“Could you...lie next to me?”
The longest pause Olivia had ever heard followed. She thought perhaps he’d gone to sleep. But then, “Yeah.”
She heard his weight shift and the rustle of leaves. His shadow crossed the inky sky. And then he was stretching his long body out behind hers, pulling up the duster to cover them both as he fitted himself along side her. For a moment, he wrestled with his body, trying to get it positioned rightly, until, at last, he seemed to surrender and drape his arm across her waist.
If she had thought to sleep, she knew now it would be impossible. But how much better, she thought—feeling the hard, muscled length of him settle into her softer curves, his breath on her neck that was answered by every inch of her skin, the welcome weight of his hand pressed into her ribs—how much better to suffer this all night long than to pass the time in oblivion. As she had all her life, until that moment.
Chapter Twelve
The thought was plain in Will’s mind, as clear as if he had spoken out loud: That’s it. I’m in hell.
Because what other way was there to describe what was happening right now? Lost in the boondocks, lying on the ground, and pressed up tight against the one female he wanted more than any other but couldn’t have. He remembered hearing of that one man in Greek mythology, Tantalus, from a traveling theatrical show called The Agony of Hades. Old Tantalus was being tormented for eternity with a hunger he couldn’t satisfy and a thirst he couldn’t quench—food and drink just out of reach. And here, beside Will now, was the grandest banquet he’d ever known, the feast of Lady Olivia Xavier. But even with his napkin tied around his neck and his plate in hand, he was being turned away.
She shifted, sighing a little, trying to get comfortable. As she did, he could feel the movement of her body, the breath coursing through her, the arrangement of her limbs, long legs, slender arms and all that skin he wanted to touch. Over and over until he’d learned her body as well as he knew the mountains of his home. His hand rested as lightly as it could on her waist, but he was prevented from feeling her by the stiff cage of her corset. He hated corsets. Who wanted a woman who couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, and all for the sake of a too-narrow waist? Besides, Will had a feeling Olivia didn’t need much corseting. She was as slender as a doe, and just as quick.
Sometime during the day, she’d lost her bonnet, and now the back of her neck was open to him, a few inches from his mouth. Even in the dark, he could see the pale glimmer of that skin, the downy wisps of dark hair that curled and were swept up into an unraveling bun. He took a deep breath to settle himself, but doing so, a tiny lock of her hair was drawn into his mouth. Silky strands played across his tongue as he gently savored her, wanting to pull her all the way in, take her completely.
He was having the damnedest time remembering why they were staying away from each other. He’d been up against some of the toughest hurdles nature could throw in a man’s path—floods, drought, avalanches, winds so sharp they cut tears out of his eyes. Here was the most mouthwatering woman he had ever known lying right beside him, wanting him as much as he wanted her. All the shrill voices screaming that they couldn’t be together were miles away in the city, trapped behind brick walls and wrought-iron fences. The fools that never said what they meant, whose women were sheltered and whose men lead two lives. What the hell did they know about what was right and what was wrong? Not a damned thing.
He bent his head closer and ran his tongue up the nape of her neck, tracing the arc and tasting her skin—warm and floral, succulent.
Olivia moaned. She tilted her head forward, offering herself, exposing more to his searching mouth.
He brought his lips to the shell of her ear and the juncture of her jaw and neck, exploring, learning. She was so soft, so ripe and fragrant. He sucked her earlobe into his mouth and gently nipped at it with the very edges of his teeth.
She moaned again and pushed herself against him. Through the heavy folds of her dress, he felt the lush curve of her bottom press into him. And damn, she had to know what he was about, because he was as hard and upright as a saddle horn, ready to take the grip of her hand or any other part of her.
“Liv,” he groaned along the bend of her neck, “if you want me to stop, you have to tell me now.”
“If you stop,” she said, husky and low, “I’ll go mad.” She turned to face him.
He wasn’t in hell any more. He’d call it heaven, but he didn’t think angels felt what he was feeling. Because she was kissing him and he was kissing her, and he’d never, never in his whole life felt anything like what he was feeling now. Their tongues moved together, their mouths opened, and she overwhelmed him. She had so much to give, but she took from him, too. And he wanted her to. He wanted her to take as much as she wanted, and keep on taking until he had nothing left to offer.
She pressed against his chest while he moved his hands up and down the narrow span of her back, gripping her hard with palms spread wide. And then her fingers were everywhere, deftly working at his vest and unbuttoning his shirt. The cold night air stung him while the burning embers of her fingers touched him and he sucked in his breath at the feel of her on his skin, the way he’d wanted her for it seemed like the whole of his life.
He needed to touch her, too. But the damned dress she wore was covered in hooks and buttons and a hundred other kinds of fastenings. Plus the corset underneath. And the immense number of underclothes. But unless they stopped what they were doing and spent the next thirty minutes carefully undressing her, there would be no way to touch her completely—and he couldn’t wait any longer.
He bunched her dress up in his arms as his hand reached for, and found, the slender form of her calf. He growled. He’d pictured her leg
s so many times in his mind and now that he could actually feel them, shapely and covered in silk stockings, he nearly exploded. She mewled into his mouth as her hands continued to spread across his chest, moving to his stomach which quivered like a stallion’s. He slid his hand farther up her leg, past the delicious bend of her knee, under the ruffled hem of her drawers, past the garter, finally reaching, Sweet Lord, the bare skin of her thigh.
She jumped, then panted into the curve of his neck, “Yes.”
A surge of pure possessiveness burned through him. He wanted to brand himself into her, his skin against hers.
He glided his hand up, over the satin of her thigh and higher. He palmed the surprising roundness of her buttock, more pert and full than he would have expected to find on such a slender woman. She had the kind of behind men dreamed about, like a split peach, firm, and he stroked it proprietarily.
But her fingers, God, also explored. They moved over his stomach and then lower. He groaned as her dexterous hand cupped him, tracing the outline of his shaft, which reared up under her attention. He couldn’t think, couldn’t place himself past the sensation of her touching him through the fabric of his trousers.
He didn’t think he could last much longer. No—he knew he couldn’t. Not without feeling her, too. Not without touching her as intimately as he could.
Shifting his hand, he slid it over her thigh again until he found the juncture of her legs, her sex, slick and furnace-hot. Dampness soaked through her drawers. Her body jolted again, but she pressed herself closer to him as she set up a stroking motion of her own, up and down, as his fingers worked to find, and then entered her opening.
Olivia jerked and vibrated like a bow releasing an arrow. She cried out into his mouth and he felt her contract around him as her own hand stilled. For some time, she was like that, drawn taut, leaning into his hand, as thousands of small earthquakes shook her.
“Will,” she gasped, “Will Will Will.”
Yet even as the final tremors subsided, she was fumbling with the buttons on the front of his britches, pulling at them until they popped open. His eyes rolled back as her bare hand wrapped around him.
“Don’t make me wait for you any longer,” she breathed.
“No, ma’am,” he growled.
With a sharp, tearing tug, he removed her drawers. He hooked one hand behind her knee and brought it up, settling his legs between hers. His other hand gripped her waist tightly. One deep thrust, and then he was inside of her.
Paradise.
Olivia wasn’t a virgin, but she was tight, so damned tight that he saw stars. Those same stars flooded him as he moved, slowly at first, finding their rhythm together. An unbelievable sliding, a slight hitch and catch each time. And she moved with him, her arms around his shoulders, words that weren’t words flowing from her mouth.
He’d wanted her naked, but having them both almost fully dressed made him burn with arousal. Surrounded by clothing but joined together as intimately, as profoundly as possible. And the sweet hotness of her, surrounding him but filling him, too, with herself.
He rolled over onto his back, taking her with him. Despite the dark, he felt her surprise as she straddled him.
“I’ve never...done this before,” she managed to gasp. “But,” she added, adjusting her hips, “I like it.”
“I like it, too,” he rasped. Which was as much as an understatement as calling the Grand Canyon a ditch. He held her hips as she braced her hands on his chest and moved experimentally. He nearly came then, feeling her discover her pleasure, learning what made her feel good and the power she had to make it possible. But soon she knew exactly what she wanted and how to get it. Leisurely at first, and then with more and more speed, she rode him, throwing her head back and holding his hands against her. He felt as wild as a mustang under her, but he wasn’t trying to throw her; he wanted her on top of him forever.
Forever came a little faster than he expected. She tightened, arching, and her release triggered his own. His whole body became condensed to one small point that burst outward like a meteor shower. It seemed to go on eternally, his pouring himself into her welcoming body, a kind of pleasure he’d never experienced, never dreamed he would know.
She tumbled down onto his chest with a little “Oof” of release, limp and languid. Spread out over him in a tumble of skirts and legs and arms, Olivia made the sweetest blanket.
“Will,” she murmured, running her fingers through his hair and down the bridge of his nose, “so beautiful. Such a beautiful man.”
He wrapped his arms around her, holding her as tight as he could without crushing her, wishing, wishing that everything could stop now. That there wouldn’t have to be a tomorrow. Everything would fall away and there would be only this, he and Olivia, still joined together, the stars spread overhead that saw without judgment, two people intertwined in the most profound communion.
A falling star shot by, and he made his wish. But he knew that it could never come to pass. He’d only been granted a brief taste of what could be; then tomorrow would come. No wish could prevent the dawn.
She must have slept, because the next thing she knew, Will was gently nudging her awake. He was true to his word to head out at dawn—the sky was just beginning to pearl with daylight. Olivia unwound her arms from his neck; she had been lying across him as he stretched out on his back. In the gray light, his face close to her own, she saw the shadows of stubble darkening his jaw and upper lip, and her hand went up to rub its roughness.
But he caught her hand before she could touch him. “We have to go,” he said, hoarse and deep.
She slid her palm from his grip and sat up. She brushed at the leaves clinging to her skirts and the top of her dress, dislodging only a few. Abstractedly, she reached up to try to repin her hair, though it was a losing battle without a mirror or maid to assist her. As she did so, Will stood and shook out his duster, then replaced his hat and gloves. She couldn’t help but watch as he buttoned his open shirt and vest, catching only a glimpse of the bare chest and skin she had felt last night.
When she was fifteen, she and some of her giggling schoolmates had visited a museum, and she had been dared to touch one of the Greek statues of an athlete. Will’s body reminded her of that statue, the flawlessly defined muscles, the hard-contoured plane of his stomach, the absolute symmetry and precision of his physique, but where the statue had been cold marble, Will was warm flesh, and that made him even more perfect. She still felt his skin underneath her hands, even as she tugged on her own gloves, the echo of his bodily presence finally touched and experienced.
He reached out to help her to her feet, but both their hands were gloved, and there was too much fabric and leather in the way to feel him again except the guidance of his fingers. Their gazes caught and held.
“I wish we could stay out here and not go back.” Her voice was thick with morning and exhaustion.
“We can’t,” he answered.
“I know.”
He went to get the horse, placidly grazing on the remains of autumn grasses. She thought about retrieving her bustle and decided to leave it behind. Putting it back on seemed like too much of a bother, and besides, why should she care? Things like bustles became silly and inconsequential in light of last night.
Will helped her up onto the horse and then swung up himself. “I think we should head east,” he said.
She nodded. “I put myself in your hands.” She realized, too late, the many implications of this statement. She had been, literally, in his hand, and she shivered recalling that pleasure. Astonishing that a cowboy, a man who made his living using the strength of his hands, had been so gentle and yet so assertive uncovering the source of her ecstasy. And he had found it, better than she had ever on her own.
They slowly picked their way through the forest as Will scouted a trail back to the road and civilization. He kept one arm around her waist while he held the reins in his other hand. Tension stretched between them, and the contrast between the int
imacy of the night before and this awful morning nearly split her in two.
“What happened between us felt too good to call a mistake,” she said finally. It was easier because she sat in front of him, and she stared ahead at the Kentish woods as she spoke. She felt Will stiffen behind her. “But things will be different in London.” Even saying the name of the city made her sit up straighter, as though invisible eyes were observing her posture.
“I know.” His voice was flat and hard. “It’s going to kill me, havin’ you so close, knowin’ how good it is between us. And not bein’ able to do anything about it.” He swore softly. “It’s like cuttin’ my own heart out with my bowie knife.”
Olivia’s throat tightened. “I hate this.”
“Yeah. Me, too. But I have to stay away from you, Liv. I don’t trust myself around you.”
His words made her heart both sink and lighten. She understood well the temptation he offered, especially now that she knew what their passion could become. Yet no man had ever desired her so much that they could not restrain themselves, and the knowledge that she could make such a strong, physically potent man like Will lose control gave her a peculiar pleasure. Here was a uniquely feminine power she didn’t know she possessed.
“What about right now?” She indicated their bodies nearly, but not quite, touching as they rode the horse.
A tiny smile quirked in the corner of his mouth. She wanted to press her own mouth to that spot. “Darlin’, I’m too tired and hungry to do much besides sit upright, let alone pull you off this horse and seduce you.”
She didn’t think it would take much effort on his part to seduce her, since she was most of the way there already. But if he could keep his desire in check, she could, too. And so they continued through the woods in silence. Every fall of the horse’s hooves brought them closer to London, closer to the jeweled cage of society and away from the brief freedom of the woods. She couldn’t help but let her mind wander back to last night and even further back, into her past.