Josh lifted his face a fraction of an inch from hers to draw a rasping breath. "Oh, Lissy," he whispered in wonder, instinctively reverting to the nickname she had revealed to him the first time he had ever held her. She was like warm honey in his arms, all liquid sweetness. When her eyes flickered open, he knew she was slightly dazed and hadn't a clue as to what he was doing to her.
She started to say something, but when her pink lips parted, he swooped down on them again. Taking advantage, he slipped his tongue inside, teasing first the sensitive skin inside her lips before plunging past her teeth to taste of her essence. Her startled gasp told him that he was the first to ever do so. He vowed he would also be the last.
Felicity knew what Mr. Logan was doing was wicked, but she didn't care. She should have pushed him away and slapped his face, as any properly brought-up young lady would have. She should have at least struggled free as she had before. Instead her hands were clutching at his shirt as if she would never let him go. In truth, she didn't think she ever wanted to.
She did try to push his tongue out of her mouth with her own, but she failed miserably. Instead of ending the peculiar invasion, she only encouraged it. As her tongue tangled with his in a moist duel, he groaned, pulling her closer still, until her breasts flattened against his chest and she could feel his heart pounding against her own. Someone made a funny sound, almost like a moan, but she could not have said which one of them it was.
His mouth left hers then, allowing her to breathe just in time. One more second of his passionate assault and she would have fainted dead away, but before she could fully form the thought, she was distracted by another assault. Tender lips trailed across her cheek to caress the delicate shell of her ear, exploring curves and hollows and sending delicious shivers coursing down the length of her body. Long fingers tangled in her hair, urging her head back to allow him access to the silken length of her throat, access she granted willingly. This time she knew the moan came from her own throat as she voiced her disappointment that the modest neckline of her dress barred him from other parts of her that ached for his touch.
Strong hands clutched at her hips, molding her to him, lifting her on tiptoe into the cradle of his thighs. He breathed her name again, calling her "Lissy," the name that those who loved her most always called her. Something inside of her began to melt.
The next thing she knew, the bearskin rug was against her back and he was looming over her. His hand was on her breast, where she knew it shouldn't be, but when she tried to push it away, he kissed her, drowning all her protests in a tide of new sensation. This time, when his mouth left hers, her body was pliant and yielding. She was only slightly shocked when his lips encountered no cloth barriers as they moved down the column of her throat. Cool air touched her chest, and she vaguely realized that he had unbuttoned her bodice. But when his breath warmed her, she no longer minded.
One strong arm cradled her while the other caressed. His large hand cupped first one tiny breast and then the other, slipping beneath the sheer fabric of her chemise to gently coax them. Instinctively, she arched into his touch, even while some distant voice of reason sounded a warning. This was wrong, even more wrong than his strange kisses had been. Feebly, with the last ounce of her free will, she pushed his hand away. He did not resist, but before she could register her victory, his mouth replaced his hand, capturing one pouting nipple in moist warmth.
Felicity gasped as the twinge started by his lips raced downward and spasmed between her legs. The melting that had begun earlier finished now, seeping out to dew the insides of her thighs. "No," she whispered, even as she buried her fingers in his silver hair to hold him to her.
The word was no more than a puff of sound, as quickly forgotten as uttered. She strained against his mouth, offering herself more fully to him. He suckled gently, teasing and tormenting first one pink tip and then the other until she was writhing with want.
She could no longer hear that warning voice. The blood pounding in her ears had drowned it out. The only sounds now were his rasping breath scorching against her tingling flesh and her own tiny cries of need. When his hand found her knee underneath the tangle of her skirts, she did not think it odd for him to be touching her like that. Instead she moved under his hand, inviting his caress and encouraging his further invasion.
Josh ran his hand up her thigh, touching at last the slender curves he had remembered so many times. He had only intended to kiss her a few times, but somehow a few kisses were simply not enough. The fragrance of her skin was like an opiate, singing in his blood, and like a true addict, he craved more. Much more. She fairly purred as he stroked her, snapping his tenuous hold on reason. His unfulfilled need became a searing agony, a descent into the dark pit of loneliness and despair. Only she could save him. He had to have her. He had to have her completely.
Felicity moaned a protest when he withdrew, but then he was holding her in a new way, lifting her, the way he had that very first day, except this time his mouth was on hers. She clung to him shamelessly. Then he was laying her down again, on something soft and cool. Her eyes flew open and she caught a glimpse of yellow curtains. They were in her bedroom. On her bed!
This was wrong, so very wrong, and she pulled her mouth from his. "No, don't," she said frantically.
But his hand was on her breast, stroking so gently. "I won't hurt you, Lissy," he said.
He kissed her again, and she believed him. The kisses went on and on, drugging her, robbing her of reason and will until she once again lay pliant in his arms, lost in a world of sensation as his lips explored her body. She gasped when he trailed his fingers over the sensitive skin of her inner thigh to cup her center through the barrier of her pantalettes. She tensed at this most intimate intrusion, but she had no will to stop him.
When his fingers found the fastening of her drawers and then slipped inside to stroke the quivering skin beneath, her breath caught on a strangled sob. When his fingers slipped lower to tangle in the nest of curls that cloaked her womanhood, she stiffened in protest. He shouldn't be touching her there. No one should ever touch her there. It was wrong, wrong, wrong. Her body didn't seem to know that, though, and even as her mind screamed objections, her hips lifted to his touch. She cried out in surprise when he found her most sensitive spot. "Please, don't," she begged, but he paid her no mind, probably because her traitorous hands were clutching at him much too eagerly.
As his fingers stroked, Felicity's world faded, narrowing down until even he disappeared and only she existed in a place warm and wonderful. Strange colors danced behind her eyelids as the melting in her loins spread living flame throughout her entire body. The flame grew hotter and then hotter still, stoked by the man she could no longer see but whose hands she mindlessly obeyed.
She took his weight willingly, clutching him to her. The pain was swift, but even more swiftly forgotten. She was going to die, she knew she was. She was going to burst into flames and die, but even if they were the fires of hell, she could no longer resist them. With a strangled cry, she surrendered herself, falling headlong into the conflagration.
As one emerging from a dream, Felicity returned slowly to the real world. Spasms still shook her, but they were fainter now, and not the earthquakes they had been. At last they died away, leaving her weak and boneless. The weight that was crushing her shifted and someone groaned, startling her out of her fog.
When her eyes flew open, she saw that she was lying on the bed in the yellow room. Her bed. Summoning all her courage, she turned her head slightly to the right and found him lying beside her. He, too, looked as if he had experienced a cataclysm. His body trembled slightly, and he lay with one arm thrown across his eyes. His breath came in gasps.
Suddenly she realized her state of undress, the shameful way she was lying, completely exposed. The horror of what she had done, of what she had let him do, closed in around her, and she cringed away from him. A small sound of anguish escaped her as she turned from him and hastily, with fingers that sho
ok in the aftermath of passion, jerked her skirt down and began to refasten her bodice.
"Are you all right?" Josh asked with concern, instantly recognizing the irony of the question. He himself was far from all right. Something had happened to him, something more than just the satisfying physical release he had craved so urgently. For the first time in his life he felt vulnerable, as if his soul had been scraped bare and lay open to attack.
It must be guilt, he told himself, guilt over the way he had seduced her and stolen her innocence when she was under his protection. Yes, the guilt was certainly a part of it, but that did not completely explain the debilitating weakness that seemed ready to suck, leechlike, on his heart.
In self-defense, he swiftly adjusted his own clothes and pushed himself up to a sitting position. She had not replied to his question, but he could see from the way her slight body trembled that she was as unstrung as he. Of course, he realized, she would be even more unstrung since she had been a virgin. Obviously, she had not even guessed he shared her anguish over what had happened. And she would not guess it, he decided, forcing aside his guilt and the other feelings he did not understand. He might have seduced her, but he had no intention of abandoning her. He would make things right.
The need to conceal his churning emotions made his voice gruffer than it might otherwise have been. "Now will you marry me?"
"What do you mean, you lost her?" Richard Winthrop demanded of the man behind the desk.
Asa Gordon shuffled through the papers on his desk with one beefy hand and, finding the one he wanted, glanced up at Winthrop. "According to the report, our operative found a traveling photographer answering Storm's description," he explained tonelessly. "The man had a daughter named Felicity. Our operative was very discreet. He had his picture made and engaged the girl in conversation. Unfortunately, our operative must have alerted the old man in some way, because when he went back to pick up his photograph, they were gone. From what he could gather, they left sometime in the night and no one knows exactly where they went. The operative has, as yet, been unable to pick up their trail."
Richard Winthrop's handsome face grew dull red as he absorbed this information, and he straightened the vest of his tailor-made suit in an impatient gesture. "I would have thought you'd put a competent man on this case, Gordon," he sneered.
Asa Gordon had been a Pinkerton detective for the better part of fifteen years, and he had extensive practice at concealing his true emotions. He used every bit of his training now to hide his contempt for Richard Winthrop. "Smythe is one of our best men," he said calmly, looking down his nose at the smaller man seated across the desk from him.
"My uncle will be very displeased to hear this report," Winthrop informed him. "As you may know, Uncle Henry is a personal friend of Allan Pinkerton. I could have your job for this!"
Gordon raised his eyebrows in mock amazement. "If you want my job, you're welcome to it, Winthrop, but somehow I can't see you as a detective," he said, ignoring Winthrop's outraged gasp. "You may inform your uncle that I will be going to Texas myself to follow up on this case. Storm and the girl have been found and lost too many times now for my peace of mind."
"If you're expecting a bonus for service above and beyond the call of duty, you'll be disappointed, Gordon," Winthrop said, rising regally to his full five feet five inches and enjoying the rare opportunity of actually looking down at Gordon, who still sat behind the desk. "Uncle Henry has already spent a fortune on this search. I won't authorize anything extra."
Asa Gordon grinned expansively. "Pinkerton men aren't allowed to accept bonuses, Mr. Winthrop," he replied with exaggerated civility.
"Well, I never…" Winthrop blustered, but he quickly recovered his dignity. "I will inform my uncle, but as I said, he will not be pleased."
Winthrop turned on one well-shod heel and moved with practiced grace toward the door, snatching his derby hat from the hat rack on his way out.
"Oh, and Winthrop?" Gordon called after him. When Winthrop turned warily back, Gordon added, "Give Henry my best, will you?"
Asa winced at the way the glass in his office door rattled when Winthrop slammed it behind him, but he was still smiling. Irritating Richard Winthrop was only part of what was making him so cheerful. The other part was the thought of traveling to Texas.
Gordon had spent some time there during the war, working undercover as a Union spy under Allan Pinkerton's direction. Although his stay had been brief, he could still remember the vast unsettled regions and knew a longing to once more see the sky uninterrupted from horizon to horizon.
He hauled himself up out of his desk chair and glanced with jaded eye out the window at the carriages manuevering in the street below. How long since he had slept under the stars or ridden a horse simply for the joy of it? Too long, he decided, absently rubbing the slight paunch he had developed during the last year. At first he had been pleased to be appointed superintendent of the Philadelphia office. The promotion meant a raise in salary and an end to the shadowy, unsettled life of a detective. Unfortunately, it also meant an end to the excitement. Instead of capturing criminals and gathering evidence and solving crimes, he had to deal with men like Richard Winthrop.
Gordon ran a hand through his curly brown hair and sighed. He would explain to Mr. Pinkerton that he was taking this case as a personal favor to an old friend and leaving the office in the very capable hands of his assistant for a while. Then, if he found Texas to be a disappointment, he could come back with no problem. But Asa Gordon had a feeling Texas would not be a disappointment.
He would find Felicity Storm and her father, and with any luck at all, he would find something for himself as well. He would soon be forty years old. He did not plan to get much older without finding that something else.
Chapter Five
"Now will you marry me?" Josh repeated when he received no answer.
Neither of them even realized that until this moment he had not previously asked her.
Felicity blinked furiously against the tears that threatened to choke her. She should be grateful that he still wanted to. Her father had warned her often enough that men didn't marry women who let them have their way without it. She didn't feel very grateful, though. "I'll have to, won't I?" she replied, steeling herself to meet his gaze and turning abruptly to face him. "I'm going to have a baby now, aren't I?"
She was certain of it. Her father had told her that, too, about how women who let men have their way got babies. What he hadn't told her was how good it would feel. No wonder some women were led astray so easily, she thought wildly.
Josh stared at her in dumb amazement. "A baby?" he repeated as if he had never heard the word before. This was a complication he had not even considered. He ran a hand over his face as if to wipe away the last vestige of the sensual spell that lingered over them. A baby, of all the things to think of. "You are probably not going to have a baby," he explained with elaborate patience.
"Probably!" Felicity echoed in dismay. She was shaking now, much as she had shaken with chills after the flood, except that now she was not cold.
"And if you are, it won't matter… if we're married," Josh concluded, knowing he had discovered the final link in the chain. She must marry him. He could not let her go, not now that he knew marriage to Felicity Storm would be everything he could ever want. Seeing the terror in her eyes, he reached for her, wanting only to comfort, but she dodged his hands and scrambled off the bed.
Felicity wrapped her arms around herself, desperately trying to still her tremors. He had seduced her. She knew that's what it was called, except something was wrong. Men who seduced women did so because they didn't want to marry them, not because they did. The thoughts collided in her brain, confusing her so she could not make sense of anything. All the desperate emotions she felt coalesced into white-hot anger. She watched him rise from the bed through a haze of fury.
"You seduced me!" she accused.
Josh paused in the act of tucking in his shirttail. He
frowned as he considered her charge. "Seduction" suggested previous planning. What he had done was entirely too spontaneous to be termed seduction. "Not exactly," he tried to explain, taking a step toward her.
"Yes, exactly!" she cried, almost hysterical now. To escape him, she scurried backward, away from the rumpled yellow bed and on out into the parlor, where she felt safer. "You did… that-"she gestured toward the bedroom, backing away as he followed her-"so… so…" The truth dawned with crystal clarity even as she spoke the words. "So I would have to marry you!" she said, her voice hoarse with horror.
Struck by the irony of the situation, Josh paused in the bedroom doorway. Women were usually the ones who used sex to trap a man into marriage, not the other way around. He might have smiled if Felicity had not looked so appalled.
"That's not usually considered an evil motive," he tried, but the delicate sarcasm went right past her. "Look, calm down," he urged, feeling more and more like a cad with every passing minute. Damn, she was shaking like a leaf. "Sit down before you fall down," he said, coming toward her. Ignoring the way she cringed from his touch, he forced her onto the settee.
Felicity winced as her bottom struck the cushions, acutely aware of a new tenderness in her body. Before she could even begin to consider the significance of this tenderness, he was pressing a glass into her hands.
"Here, drink this," he ordered.
Felicity accepted the glass with trembling fingers and sniffed it suspiciously. "Is this whiskey?" she asked in an outraged whisper.
"Brandy," Josh corrected impatiently. "And don't look at me like that. I'm not trying to get you drunk. It's a little late for that anyway, don't you think?"
Felicity flushed scarlet at the implication of his words and lowered her eyes with shame. Of course he did not need to get her drunk. She had already surrendered to him in every way possible when she was cold sober.
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