Angels, Sinners and Madmen

by Cate Masters

  He turned and handed her the book. “Are you all right?”

  “Of course.” To cover her embarrassment, she opened the book. “Leaves of Grass? I’ve never heard of Walt Whitman.” Hopefully he hadn’t noticed her keen attention.

  “It’s a new edition. My brother said it’s caused quite a stir up north.”

  Holding it to her chest, she forced a smile despite her onset of nervousness. “I look forward to reading it.”

  Giving an easy grin, he rested his hands on his hips. “Yes. You can give me your impression after you’ve finished.”

  The cabin walls hadn’t confined her so before. He stood so near, she feared he’d hear her heart beating, more wildly by the second. Ruminations of what might have happened that night made her belly flutter, and the fluttering descended to her thighs. A glance told her he’d noticed her awkwardness, so she turned to scour the contents of the room.

  Her gaze came to rest on his bookshelf. “You have a great many books. I didn’t notice…last time.” Heated pinpricks swept across her skin. Why had she mentioned it? Oh, she’d imagined it so many times. Incessantly. Reliving the warmth of his body against hers, the feel of his touch, the kiss she could almost—but not quite—remember. She wanted to know it all again.

  “The cabin wasn’t well lit.” They both knew the truth, that her vision was impaired by other means.

  To take her attention from the strange effect he had on her, she tilted her head to read the titles. She glanced at him in surprise. “Most of these are law books.”

  “Yes.” He shrugged.

  Too hastily, she said, “You needn’t be embarrassed. It’s admirable you want to improve your station in life.”

  He laughed. “Improve my station? Why, you surprise me, Livvie.”

  Frowning, she lifted her chin. “What do you mean?”

  Leaning close, he affected a stern expression. “Your snobbery.”

  His gaze fell to her lips, and she nearly forgot to respond.

  “I meant no insult, only that….” The warmth in her face spread to her neck. “Law books are not the easiest reading, so you obviously have a fine mind suited to—”

  “I was only teasing,” he said. “In truth, I have the best possible station in life. I want no other.”

  She studied his face, yet made no argument. “Well.” To disguise her longing, she held the book to her chest. “I’ll make sure to get this back to you before I leave.”

  He rested his hand on the top shelf, close enough to touch her hair. “Yes. When is your ship due in?” Anxiousness edged his tone, and he narrowed his eyes.

  “I haven’t yet heard.” And she hoped not to. Once she boarded the vessel, she’d never see him again.

  Tension weighted the air between them.

  Searching her face, his voice turned husky. “There’s something else I’ve been wanting to give you.”

  “What?” She gazed up at him. Opening herself to him. She wanted nothing more than him, though it seemed the last thing he’d be likely to offer. In expectation, she parted her lips.

  Tensing, he set his jaw and bent to the floor. “This.”

  “Oh.” Disappointment weighted her voice. A basket. Its cold shells would not warm her.

  Blinking hard, she straightened, yet couldn’t muster a hint of a smile. “It’s lovely, thank you.”

  “It’s from Havana,” he stammered. “I thought it might make a nice memento. Of your stay here.”

  A memento! A trinket to set on a table, evoking his face with every glance?

  “How thoughtful. I will treasure it.” She couldn’t stifle her sarcasm. “I should go.” She reached for the door.

  Hastily, he stepped toward her. “So soon?”

  Hope swept her up in its mayhem, and she turned so quickly, her skirt twirled. Meeting her gaze, his eyes burned bright until his brows twitched together, perhaps realizing the mistake he’d made.

  “I mean….” He shrugged.

  Her chin dropped to her chest. She’d suspected him incapable of more. “Goodbye, Sam.”

  He grabbed her arm. “Livvie, wait.”

  He stiffened as she nestled to his chest, trembling, unable to shield him from the emotions roiling inside of her.

  “What’s wrong?” He took the basket from her and set it on the bed beside the book.

  She clutched his shirt. “I’m afraid to leave. I don’t know what awaits me.” Or what she would miss by leaving too soon.

  He ran his hands across her back and smoothed her hair. “Never be afraid of the unknown, Livvie. Be excited by it. Let it challenge you. You can make your life whatever you want it to be.”

  “Hold me, Sam. Please hold me.” Her voice sounded small as a little girl’s, though his touch ignited a fire not to be denied. Too long, she’d yearned for him. This moment might never come again. She must seize it, make it hers forever.

  He tightened his embrace. “Everything will be all right. You’ll see.” He kissed her hair.

  She raised her chin and searched his face. Her hands cupped his face and drew his head down. “I want to know you, Sam.” Her lips teased his, and a thrill burned through her like wildfire.

  “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

  Yet, he didn’t loosen his embrace. She took courage from it.

  “I’ve had nothing stronger than lemonade today.” She stepped toward the bed, and fingered his hair. “I know exactly what I’m saying.” She ran her hand lightly down his chest to trace his chiseled stomach, its ripples reverberating to her core.

  “Livvie.” Spoken like a warning, he exhaled a deep breath through clenched teeth.

  Why did he struggle to contain the passion she knew to be building within him, the same way it built within her, threatening to burst through her very skin?

  “Don’t you want me, Sam?” Her lips caressed his neck.

  Moaning, he trembled, still holding back. He took hold of her shoulders and peered into her face. “Why?”

  She caressed his cheek. “So I won’t be afraid of what I don’t know.” To reveal that she wanted him—and him alone—might cause him to send her away.

  He squeezed shut his eyes. “I don’t want to take from you what is only yours to give once.”

  Boldly, she ran her fingertip along his lip. “It’s mine to give to whom I choose.” His reluctance fueled her confidence.

  He sat on the bed and lightly trailed down the curve of her breast. “If we begin, it might not be possible to stop.” Although she knew he meant his cautionary words to halt her, his heated gaze invited more.

  She eased closer, entwining her fingers in his hair. “For either of us.” The words fluttered from her, and she shuddered at his touch. She pressed her lips to his again and again. Entranced, her body followed its own instincts, the need for him so great, it overwhelmed every other sense.

  Her pulse pounded in her ears. Her desire equaled his and further fueled it. Her last trace of doubt vanished when he eased away to gaze at her with such intense yearning, she couldn’t believe he’d ever look at anyone else that way.

  * * * *

  He could contain himself no longer. He had to remind himself to go slowly, to take his time receiving her precious gift.

  Rising, he turned her away from him. His fingers worked her buttons, his lips following the path they opened down her back. The taste of her exhilarated his senses, heightened each moment. Reaching the last button, he slid his arm inside the warm space between her dress and her bloomers. Using his other hand, he tugged the dress down.

  She slipped her arms from the sleeves, pushed the garment over her hips and turned to face him. Her eyes gleamed bright as amber coals, her face flushed. Fingers deft as a courtesan’s, she unbuttoned his shirt, slipping it off his shoulders.

  Letting out a ragged breath, he closed his eyes. His fingers traced along her hips, delving inside the rim of her bloomers.

  Her breaths quickened as she fumbled open his pants.

  He lightly
grasped her waist, touched his lips to her ear and whispered, “Slowly, Livvie.” To remind himself too. Had she been anyone else, he’d have allowed his basest instincts to prevail. By the same argument, had she been anyone else, he’d not be so tantalizingly aroused. He wanted to revel in every moment.

  Her breath warmed his skin as her nose and mouth slid along his chest.

  He lay back and drew her atop him.

  She tensed, her golden-brown eyes wide.

  He lay still, not trusting himself to move. “Tell me now if you want to stop.”

  She shook her head slowly.

  “It’s all right. You have nothing to fear.” He untied the front of her bloomers. No corset lie beneath, only her creamy skin. He nuzzled between her breasts to further open it. Probing, he found the hardened rosette, and ran his tongue along its outside, luxuriating in the firming pebbles.

  She gasped and clutched his head while he suckled. Her legs splayed and tightened around his.

  Desire burned in his veins, making him tremble against the urge to push her onto her back and take her right then. Instead, his lips worked down her ribs and along her stomach as she arched above him.

  Steeling himself , he held her hips. “Shhh. Easy, Livvie. Slowly.”

  He waited until her breathing slowed. His hand touched hers, and together they tugged her bloomers down her hips.

  Breathless, she asked, “What are you doing?”

  He smiled when his lips found the inside of her thighs. “Giving you a taste of what’s to come.” He soon found the nub he sought.

  Moaning, she arched her back. Her hips rocked in rhythm with the flicking of his tongue. She clutched the bedcovers, her head sinking into them, muffling her moans.

  Sweet and tangy she tasted, fueling his hunger. He worked his fingers and tongue in delicious concert, bringing her to her virginal crescendo.

  Slipping from beneath, he climbed atop her, his kisses moving along her spine. He slid an arm along her belly to her opposite hip, rolling her over. “Are you all right?”

  “Are you serious? I’m waiting for what’s next.” Her legs curled around his hips.

  His breath shook. “Careful, Livvie. You’ll awaken a beast in me.”

  “I hoped I already had.” She tugged down his half-opened pants, enclosing her fingers around him. “Ah, yes. There it is.” She finished unbuttoning his pants, pushing them away.

  The strain of holding back made him tremble. Again, he reminded himself this was her first time. The experience must be pleasant enough to make her want more.

  And more.

  She entwined her legs around his, tightening her grip. When he didn’t lower himself fast enough, she raised her hips to meet his. She gasped, “Now, Sam. Now.”

  He needed no further urging. He guided himself inside her, struggling to quell the furious urge mounting in him.

  One small yelp, and she dug her fingers into his back, her teeth into his shoulder. Her breaths eased, and she followed his slow rhythm.

  He could hold back no longer. He thrust against her hard, telling himself he’d apologize later, surprised when she returned his thrusts equally. Shuddering in spasms, he burst upon her in an explosion, clutching her close, feeling he could never be close enough.

  She laughed, gasping for air, her arms dangling above her head. “Are you all right?”

  He leaned away to regard her. “Of course. Are you?”

  Her feet sliding along his legs, her mouth curled into a smile. “Oh, yes. I’ve never been better.”

  Laughing, he pressed his lips to hers. She was full of surprises. “That was amazing.”

  She sighed. “Better than I’d dreamed.”

  Rolling to his side, he pulled her next to him, aware of every inch of her skin. He hadn’t taken the time to fully appreciate her naked body before. He took the time now. His hands felt too rough against her softness, but she didn’t complain. He followed every curve and narrow of her body.

  Her appreciative sighs and moans met his touch, and her hands wandered freely across his body. Her soft touches teased him to hardness again. She rolled on her back, her leg linked around his, her fingers encasing his erection.

  He followed willingly.

  She opened herself to him, guiding him.

  His mouth on hers all the while, he moved slowly until they both were spent.

  Still breathless atop her, he asked, “Won’t you be missed?”

  “I don’t care.”

  “You’re beautiful as an angel.” An angel from beyond the realm of his reach, who would soon sail away to a life of comfort, a life she deserved. “You don’t belong here.”

  Her warmth faded to cold hardness. “You’re right. I should go.” Her expression blanked. Pushing him away, she stood, snatching her bloomers from the floor.

  He groaned. He shouldn’t have reminded her. “Already?”

  “Yes.” The sibilance of her response gave him pause. Concern flew from his mind as he became engrossed in watching her.

  In the waning light, she looked wildly angelic, her tawny hair mussed, tumbling down her back, falling across her shoulder when she bent to step into her clothes.

  She glanced at him while she dressed, her expression unreadable, though she moved hurriedly.

  He couldn’t stop smiling. Much as he wanted her to stay, her stubbornness would win out, so he sat up to help button her up. “Don’t forget the book. And your basket.”

  Her glance pained, she lifted them from the floor and fingered the shells. “Thank you.”

  “For what?” He dared not believe she thanked him for taking her virginity.

  “For giving me a memory I can cherish, one I can close my eyes and remember after I leave. When someone else’s hands touch me, they will be your hands, Sam.” Passion and pleading mingled in her voice.

  He scrambled upward. “What? No.” The very idea flared his anger. He didn’t want anyone else’s hands on her.

  She backed away. “Goodbye, Sam.”

  “Wait, I’ll see you home.” He reached for his pants.

  “No. It’s better if I go alone.”

  He couldn’t argue her logic. If others witnessed them leaving together, someone might mention it to Mrs. Crowell. He would not have her shamed so.

  She reached for the door. After one last haunting, accusing glance, she was gone.

  Sam lay in the twilight, staring at the ceiling, recalling every moment of the afternoon. He would never be able to erase the memory, that much he knew. The thought of another man’s hands upon her, even if they yielded memories of him, gave him no comfort.

  To the contrary, the thought tortured him.

  Twenty-One

  Blinded by anger and frustration, Livvie strode hard, rehearsing arguments against Sam’s proclamation. Didn’t belong here? Who did? Everyone on the island had come from somewhere else. The only possible explanation was that he didn’t want her to stay. Had never expected her to.

  After returning to the boarding house, she ignored Mrs. Locke’s prying gaze, fraught with suspicion. Try as she might to comb her hair and straighten her clothing, she could not have looked more different than when she left. No mere walk would produce such a flushed complexion, she knew, nor cause her dress to cling from perspiration. She hoped she could hide the turmoil roiling inside her.

  Mrs. Crowell looked up from her embroidery, displaying only the briefest arch of a brow, less a judgment than an acknowledgement. She returned to her task without a word. Florie had the keenest sense for these things and handed her a cool glass of lemonade. The gleam in the cook’s wide eyes hinted she knew how strenuously she’d depleted herself.

  “Thank you, Florie.”

  Martha glared accusingly at Livvie. “You missed lunch. It’s nearly dinner.”

  The biddy’s haughtiness almost made Livvie laugh. “I apologize, Florie, for any inconvenience I may have caused. I wandered the island too long and became engrossed in my thoughts.”

  Mrs. Locke arched a b
row. “Thoughts?” She made no attempt to hide her skepticism.

  “Yes, one of the dangers of being an author, unfortunately. I daydream far too much.” A practice she would welcome, after Sam’s exquisite touch—despite his protest, his touch would overwhelm any other man’s in the future. She wanted to know no other man’s touch. Now when she wrote of a woman’s love, she would write of the feelings he’d uncovered in her. A true life experience, beyond any invention of her mind. Beyond her expectations. Even if she could never experience it again, she would relive it through her writing.

  “Is it a new novel?” Mrs. Crowell asked.

  “A book of poetry.” Livvie held it up for inspection.

  “Oh, lovely. Why not read to us?” She worked her needle through the linen in the hoop.

  The proprietress never failed to surprise Livvie; she’d never have guessed Mrs. Crowell an admirer of poetry.

  “Certainly.” Livvie opened the leather-bound cover, moved closer to the window and read the first entry, ‘One’s Self I Sing’.”

  Mrs. Crowell tilted her head as Livvie ended the short poem and sat lost in her own musings.

  Mrs. Locke knit her brows. “It had no rhyme.”

  Mrs. Crowell returned to her embroidery. “Very interesting language. Very modern. Read another, Livvie.”

  Interesting, indeed. The ‘Form complete’ more than interested Livvie—it invigorated her senses. As did the line, ‘Of Life immense in passion, pulse and power.’ Reading these words after feeling Sam’s touch instilled an instant recognition of their meaning. She scanned the next poem to learn its contents before reading ‘As I Ponder’d in Silence’. Harmless enough, so she gave it voice and paced while she read.

  Although Mrs. Locke pressed her lips disagreeably, she made no argument.

  Mrs. Crowell paused the needle. “Who is the poet?”

  “Walt Whitman,” Livvie replied.

  “I’ve never heard of him.” Mrs. Crowell waved a finger in the air. “Let’s hear more.”

  Reciting the words to ‘In Cabin’d Ships at Sea’, a yearning filled Livvie’s breast. The poem referred not to the tall wooden ships, but to his own book of prose: ‘Then falter not, O book, fulfill your destiny’.