by Zoë Archer
After the clock ticked a few times, and Lawford finally looked back at Olivia, clearly put out, as ready for a fight as Will.
It was a good thing that Lawford was in Olivia’s corner, and that Will happened to be in that corner, too, since Will had the feeling the man could be a fierce fighter and a worse enemy. Even though he’d proved that Lawford could stand punishment, Will would be glad to see the last of him.
“Well, Graham,” Olivia said, rising, “I appreciate your concern, and I do hate to be uncivil, but I must seek the solace of my bed and try and catch up on some lost sleep. I have a feeling that the next few days are going to be even more trying than the last.”
“Before you go,” Graham said, stopping her, “I should let you know the reason I came over to your house in the first place. This concerns you, Coffin,” he added, glancing at Will. “We may have found your family.”
Will tensed. “Is that a bluff, or do you mean it for real?” He didn’t want Lawford fooling him.
The man looked as serious as Will felt. “It’s true. Another day or two, and my men will have a name and address for you. It took some doing, but we managed it. Because Olivia asked,” he added.
“Will, that’s marvelous,” Olivia said excitedly, coming quickly over to give his arm a squeeze.
But he barely felt the touch of her hand. He was so close, close to finding out who he really was and where he came from. Once he knew that, he would know where he was headed. Wouldn’t he?
Will thought he would be happy, too, when he neared the end of his search, but mostly he felt numb. He couldn’t get himself to feel anything. What the hell was going on? He was aware of Olivia and Lawford watching him, gauging his reaction, so he made himself smile. “Yeah,” he said, “that’s wonderful.”
Olivia woke, hearing the large clock in the hallway strike midnight. The candle on her bedside table had not gone out, but had burned quite low, leaving her bedroom mostly draped in shadow. The fire, too, was almost out. Olivia did not want to wake the maid, so she got out of bed and rekindled the fire herself. Out from under the covers, with the flames in the grate struggling to come alive, the room was quite chilly, so she slipped on her wrapper and sat near the hearth to warm herself.
After Graham had left, saying he would be back sometime in the next few days, she and Will had eaten a strangely quiet luncheon. She had thought the news that they were closing in on his next of kin would have made Will happy, but instead, he had fallen into an uncharacteristically grim silence. She would have asked him why he was so gloomy, but the stony expression on his face seemed to preclude any conversation. So, after nibbling on a cucumber sandwich, and saying good afternoon to Will, who barely seemed to listen, she dragged herself up to her bedroom. Her maid had just managed to strip off Olivia’s clothes and get her into a hot bath.
Olivia had actually fallen asleep in the bath, but thankfully Sarah managed to find her before she accidentally drowned herself. After brushing out her hair and changing into a white cambric nightgown, she finally managed to climb into bed. It was a little strange, since the afternoon was at its height, and normally at this time Olivia was either at the brewery or paying calls, but the heavy drapes were pulled to shut out the light and soon all reservations were gone. She had been asleep before Sarah left the room.
Now, however, Olivia found herself completely awake in the middle of the night. What could she do? Perhaps she could try and sleep again, but that seemed unlikely. All her account books for the brewery were downstairs in the study, and she didn’t fancy running through the house clad only in her nightgown.
Staring into the now-lively fire, she wondered if Will was also awake. Most likely not. Still, she longed to see him, talk to him. The day had been horrible, an exercise in polite torment, with her not being able to even touch him after a night spent so intimately. Now, with the house asleep around her and the dark of night spread across the city, she felt very alone. Alone after she and Will had been so close, intertwined on the forest floor like vines. Her eyes began to drift shut as she recalled how he had touched her, the way he made her feel and how she had discovered what gave her pleasure, too.
She forced herself to stand up and walk over to her bookshelf. At this rate, she would be running to Will’s room and pounding on the door within the next minute, demanding that he make love to her. But she couldn’t. He was being far nobler than she—denying himself because of her, because the repercussions could destroy her reputation, whilst he could simply move on and leave scandal behind.
So, sleepless, restless, she had to distract herself somehow. She scanned some of the book spines, reading their titles, and then pushed a row aside to reveal stacks of paper-covered novels: her flimsy treasures. Olivia picked one book up, Ambush at Sage Canyon; or, The Desperado’s Return. It would do, despite the fact that she had read it three times already. The accounts of stagecoach hold-ups and last minute rescues would comfort her.
Setting herself back down in the chair by the fire, she opened the book and stared, unseeing, at the pages. After reading the same paragraph three times without remembering a single word, she slapped it down on a little table, frustrated and disgusted with herself.
Thinking on it now, Olivia realized she had faced and overcome a number of obstacles. Transforming herself from a silent owner to involved and vocal partner in the running of Greywell’s was the most significant. She had taken the risk, despite the costs, because Greywell’s was something she wanted.
Then why was she hiding in her room like a coward, when the one man she had wanted in many years was so close? Soon Will was going to find his family. Then it was likely he would return to America and settle down. Get married. Have children. She and Will had such a brief time together—and she was squandering it on uncertainty and fear. David’s sudden death had taught her that a person’s journey on this earth was brief. She did not want to walk down this path alone. Not now.
In the years since David had died, she had been living in two worlds, not fully part of either. She was both a society widow and a business owner, and she was always acutely conscious of this split. She wanted to be whole, the way she felt when she was with Will. Defined, certain, undivided.
With sudden resolve, Olivia got to her feet. She was tired of being an amalgam of different worlds. By attempting to appease the two conflicting forces in her life, all she had gained was uncertainty in both. Will brought her into focus, clarified the ambiguous. When they were together, she escaped her doubts. She could be everything and compromise nothing. Finally.
She stepped into a pair of low-heeled slippers, then, before she could let hesitation swamp her, walked to her bedroom door and opened it quickly.
Will stood on the other side.
Barefoot, dressed in trousers, braces, and an unbuttoned shirt, he looked as surprised to see her as she him. For several seconds, they simply stared at each other. Then he stepped forward and, possessed by a strange instinct, she moved backwards until they were both inside. Keeping his eyes locked with hers, he shut the door behind him.
Her bedroom, which moments earlier gaped like a chasm in long shadows, now seemed exceptionally small. The fire popped in the grate. She became aware of his exposed chest, the delineations of muscle that shaped his pectorals, his ribbed abdomen. He had the body of a laborer, hardened by work.
She glanced up to see him watching her, the cool of his eyes heated by the fire—and hunger. A ferocious devouring.
She tried to think of something witty to say, clever and dry, to regain her composure, but all sensible thought fled. Energy, feral and dangerous, poured out of him, a wild and profound disquiet that almost frightened her, even as she found herself drawn to him.
“I can’t stay away,” he said, his voice a raspy growl.
“I don’t want you to,” she answered.
He inhaled sharply. “You know what you’re sayin’?”
Olivia had never felt more certain of anything before. She nodded. “I’ve had enough
of words.”
Eyes still fastened to hers, Will reached behind and locked the door. The sound of the tumbler sliding into place was the sound of her own resolve. She was not going back.
Chapter Fourteen
She didn’t want to be civilized, and they weren’t.
Will and Olivia crashed together, not getting much farther than a few steps into her bedroom, a rough little jolt as their bodies and mouths met. She thrust her fingers into his hair, pulling his head down to hers, while one of his large, agile hands cupped her behind as the other strummed along her neck. Their lips were all over, inside each others’ mouths, a hot and liquid ferocity of feeding.
Only one day had passed between last night and this, but a lifetime, too, and they meant to make up for it.
When his hand left her neck she was sorry; then she wasn’t sorry at all as she felt the heat of his palm through the fabric of her gown, on her breast. He groaned into her mouth. She arched into him. Before now, there had been so many layers of clothing. Not anymore.
Then he bent his head and licked the tip of her breast through the cloth. She felt the effect of his tongue everywhere—her other breast, between her legs, the ends of her fingers. Like the most exquisite electrocution. She cradled him to her. The white cotton gown became transparent through his ministrations, she could see the dusky pink of her nipple through the fabric. He saw, too, and with fingers far more dexterous than she would have believed, he undid the row of buttons down the front of the gown and peeled the cloth back, uncovering her breasts.
“So beautiful,” he said hoarsely. “As beautiful as...” He frowned, trying to think of the appropriate simile. “As beautiful as you,” he finally said.
“Will—” But she couldn’t speak anymore as his hands touched her breasts, skin to skin, and a sudden fever shot through her. Her knees buckled.
He caught her. Scooping her up easily, he began to walk with her, her slippers falling to the floor. She thought he would take her to the bed, large and welcoming, but instead he set her down on top of a waist-high table next to a sofa. China bric-a-brac was cleared with a sweep of his arm and went bouncing to the oriental carpet. Dimly, she recalled that the last time they had made love, she and Will had been in his element, the outdoors. Yet now they were in her world, the cultured confines of her room, and it jarred her a little. But then these thoughts barely registered in her mind. Instead, she focused on Will, who stood between her legs, holding her arms, kissing her past coherence. She didn’t care whose world they were in, as long as they were together.
She gave a small squeak of surprise as his fingers gripped the cheeks of her behind and scooted her to the very edge of the table. Her legs dangled down, toes just brushing the soft pile of the rug.
“What—?” she wondered brokenly as he disappeared. He had dropped to his knees, kneeling in front of her. Again, his quick hands moved, pushing the hem of her nightgown up. Between her uncovered chest and now her bare legs and, God, between her legs, she was mostly revealed to him. She had a flash of memory—David had never seen her with the lights on, never seen her nakedness, nor she his. And he had never, ever knelt as if in prayer between her legs as Will was doing now.
The expression on his face as he gazed at her dark triangle of hair was a cross between reverence and pure, bodily desire.
“The sweetest peach,” he murmured.
At least she had secretly read those contraband provocative books in school, otherwise she would have no idea what he was planning. Even so—
“Will!” she could not help crying as he lowered his head again. His hands held the outside of her thighs. And his mouth found her, a different kind of kiss, more private, more full. She gripped the edge of the table as a scream climbed through her. She briefly worried the servants might hear, but then all rational thought fled under Will’s exquisite onslaught. She couldn’t have silenced herself if she wanted to. No, it was impossible. How could he make her feel this? And she didn’t even know what to call what she was feeling because it was everything, it was her, it was Will, and her body couldn’t know such intoxicating pleasure. She never thought she had the capacity, but she was bursting with it, replete.
Then she hooked her legs behind him as the tremors overtook her, the fine, diamond seizures moving through her body.
These had barely subsided before she felt him lifting her gown up completely, over her shoulders, stripping her in a fluid motion as he stood. The nightgown joined the china dustcatchers on the floor. He shrugged out of his braces and tossed aside his own shirt right after that.
Evidence of his desire was written across the gleaming sculpture of his muscles. He was immaculately crafted, an ideal of form and function, yet living and hungry. For her. Impossible, but real.
She hooked her fingers into the waistband of his trousers and brought him closer. As they came together for another fevered kiss, she undid the buttons of his fly. And then there he was, in her hand, hard and pulsing with life, with need. She stroked him.
“Goddamn,” he growled. She loved to see the way her touch affected him, the look of almost pain that tightened his handsome face, knotted his jaw. Here was a man who felt his lust and reveled in it. The pagan pleasure of his own body, and hers. The uncertainties and disunities that plagued her were gone now in the conviction of desire.
She wanted to touch him more, but he was busy getting his legs out of his trousers. They were flung across the room by a sharp kick, and now she and Will were both naked. Her hand wrapped around his shaft again as their mouths intermingled; his fingers located and shaped the slickness between her legs. She was shivering, shuddering, overcome as she continued to sit at the edge of the table. His fingers pulled her open, just a little, just enough to accommodate, while his other hand came around to support her and hold her upright. But she could feel the tremors in his arms and down through his hands.
His hips surged forward, she moved to meet him, and they were locked together. Will inside her. She around him. They cried out in unison, almost surprised, unbalanced by the exquisite pleasure they found together. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders. She was no longer the brewery owner, or the haute monde widow. She was Will’s, and he was hers.
They set up a rhythm. She forgot the world, forgot everything she knew of herself. She had one memory, one present, one future, and that was Will, moving inside her with a friction and cadence so acute and magnificent she nearly wept from it. And while they moved, Will growled in her ear, whisky warm, animal and possessive.
“Darlin’,” he panted, “I’m so goddamn close and I want you there with me.”
Even as he spoke her body clenched and tightened. She gripped him hard, contracting around him. She moaned, overwhelmed again, shot through with an agony of pleasure because this time she wasn’t alone; he was in her and she was full, so full. He groaned her name as he gripped her, becoming rigid, and she could feel the soft, interior pulses of him emptying into her. Such a blessed feeling. Satiated, together.
They gasped for air together, their bodies slick and heaving.
“Maybe someday,” she breathed, “we can make it to the bed.”
He gave her a wolfish grin. “Honey, I believe that day is at hand.”
In due course, they did make it to the bed. But before then, there were a lot of very interesting places to explore—a little, stiff-backed sofa, a plush footstool—and even more interesting places on Olivia that got his attention.
Will was drunk on Olivia and couldn’t get enough. He’d had enough of wanting Olivia, killing himself because he couldn’t have her, and now that they’d finally given in to their need for each other, he was determined to soak her up like the desert floor in rainy season.
And she was eager, too, which to his mind was the best part. She laughed, grew serious, then frisky, as fascinated by his body as he was hers. She whispered things to him that would make the oldest sinner blush, things she’d read about and wanted to try, and he was more than happy to oblige.
They had themselves a fine old time.
If sometimes he found himself wishing for a little more, a small piece of her heart to go with her willing body, he made himself remember that time on earth was short, his time with her even shorter, and he needed to be glad for what he got.
In a heap, they fell together onto her bed, and both took long drinks of water from the pitcher on her bedside table to cool themselves. Then, quietly, they lay cupped against each other. He couldn’t recall the last time he stayed with a woman after they’d gotten their pleasure, but he just couldn’t make himself put his clothes on and leave. His body was a little worn out, yet he stayed because he wanted to be near her for as long as he could.
“I can’t believe you don’t have any sweethearts back home,” she murmured.
He shrugged, neither a yes or no.
Olivia rolled over to face him, propping her head on her outstretched arm. “Hasn’t there been one girl you courted seriously?”
“Darlin’,” he drawled, “I’m lyin’ here with you as naked as a cat. I don’t want to talk about other girls.” His eyes moved over her, and he was struck again by how goddamn lucky he was to have found her, this mouth-watering willow of a woman. Slim, but lush, white and pink and made for loving.
“I don’t mind,” she said.
It meant something to her. She wanted to know about him, not just his life riding the range and driving cattle up, but the other side, too.
“There was one girl,” he finally said, “in Colorado Springs.”
“Oh?” She looked both interested and a bit put out. He could have laughed and punched himself. “Tell me about her.”
“Not much to tell. We’d courted for a while, and I was thinkin’ ‘bout maybe askin’ for her, then I hit the trail. When I got back, she’d married someone else.”