Endless Heart: Heart, Book 3

by Emma Lang

  He stepped in and closed the door behind him, the key making a gentle snick in the lock. His gray eyes widened when he noticed what she wore. A little whistle escaped from him.

  “You look beautiful.”

  Her cheeks warmed at the compliment. She knew she wasn’t really beautiful. However to know he thought she was, well, that made her heart flutter like a trapped butterfly.

  “Thank you.”

  He reached for her hands and opened her arms, pushing her breasts up against the soft fabric. The material was nearly see-through, letting him peek at her gorgeous form. As his gaze started on a second journey from her head to her feet, she made an impatient noise in her throat.

  “Kiss me.”

  He let her hands go and saluted her. With a grin, he snatched her close, his mouth connecting with hers in a clash of lips and tongue. In moments, she was on fire for him, only him. She could hardly catch her breath so great were the waves of arousal that washed over her.

  His lips left hers and made their way to her neck. The trail of heat sent goose bumps across her skin, making her nipples ache and her pussy throb. She couldn’t wait to feel his mouth in other places on her body. He sucked at her earlobe then blew on the wet skin.

  “Mmm, that feels good.”

  “I’m just getting started, honey.”

  His hands traveled down her back until he reached her ass. He kneaded her round behind, pulling her close until her softness met his already hard cock. She fairly vibrated with need, feeling his arousal mixing with hers, the heat building rapidly.

  “You’re wearing too many clothes.”

  He chuckled. “I’m trying not to rip this flimsy thing off you. God, how you make me crazy, woman.” He thrust against her belly, and she closed her eyes, reveling in the rush of tingles spreading through her from the contact.

  “Do that again.”

  He complied, much to her delight. His hands tugged at the pretty nightdress, pulling it up until she had to raise her arms. The beautiful garment fluttered to the ground, leaving her naked.

  The feel of the rough fabric of his clothes was more sensual than touching his bare skin. Her nipples hardened, scraping deliciously against his shirt, her pussy becoming wetter with each pass.

  “Sorry, darlin’, but I gotta taste those tits.” He dropped to his knees and took one breast into his mouth. The hot, wet recesses welcomed her aching nipples. He sucked at her while his hand settled on the other side, tweaking and pinching.

  Her knees trembled with each tug of his mouth. A throb grew fiercer in her lower belly, and she wanted more. She pulled at his hair and spread her legs.

  “Touch me.”

  Without any more instruction, his free hand landed between her legs. “Oh God, you’re so wet.”

  “Mmm, enough talking, time for doing.”

  He rubbed her clit with his thumb while two fingers traveled up inside her, fucking her slowly. The combined sensation of his mouth and his hand made her knees weak. She moaned low and deep in her throat. He left one breast for the other, biting the nipple.

  She sucked in a breath and hoped he did it again. The feel of his teeth on her over-sensitized nipple was better than expected. He kissed, nibbled and licked at her while his talented hand rubbed her nubbin of pleasure faster and faster.

  The orgasm built within her, spreading out from her belly to her pussy and her tits. She threw her head back and called his name as she came. The waves of ecstasy crashed over her, pulling her down until she found herself on her back on the bed. He let her breast go with a mischievous smile, then licked her pussy once.

  “Like honey, sweet and tangy. I’m gonna have to taste that later.” He shucked his clothes so fast she barely saw him move.

  She floated on air, but the pulsing need in her body grew again as his nude form was revealed. He was perfect, muscular, with dark hair on his chest swirling around the flat nipples. Her tongue itched to lick him as he had licked her, then perhaps bite the tiny buds. His cock stood at attention, straight and tall in the nest of dark hair. She clenched in anticipation of having that rod deep inside her.

  He lay down on top of her, his heat surrounding her, his skin gently brushing against hers. The contrast between his male power and her feminine softness was made stronger when they were touching from head to toe.

  Her body nearly sighed in pleasure from stroking him, feeling the rasp of his whiskers against her cheek, the tickle of his chest hairs against her nipples. It was a myriad of sensations, each one sending a zing through her like ripples in a pond.

  His staff nudged her entrance as his knees moved hers farther apart. She closed her eyes, eager to join with him. Her belly quivered in anticipation, waiting, waiting, waiting for him to do more than tease her.

  Yet he didn’t move any farther. Instead he started kissing her neck and gently rocking in and out, an inch, no more. She pulled at his shoulders, but he didn’t increase his cadence or stop kissing her.

  “Put it in.”

  “Bossy woman.” He moved to the other side of her neck, her aching nipples rubbing against his chest. She sucked in a breath, momentarily distracted by his technique.

  Then she realized he’d completely removed his cock from her pussy, and it hovered there without entering her.

  “If you don’t put it inside me right now, I may have to punch you.” She bit his shoulder, and he laughed. He laughed. “Are you making fun of me?”

  “No, honey, I’m not.” He looked at her with a smile, his gray eyes full of sweet emotion. “I love you, and you have no idea how hard it is not to plunge into you.”

  “Oh I know how hard it is. I can feel it on my thigh.” She pulled at his ass. “No more teasing.”

  His expression sobered, and he leaned down, his lips almost but not quite touching hers. His breath was a puff of heat against her skin. “As you wish, my lady.”

  His mouth came down on hers as he thrust into her pussy. She gasped at the sensation, pleasure ricocheting through her. His tongue invaded her mouth as his dick plundered her core. The simultaneous sensation was indescribable. She could hardly catch a mouthful of air or a thought.

  Then he began to move, a quick thrust in, followed by a slow slide out. Again, and again. She squirmed against him, needing more speed, more something. She didn’t know what, but the spiraling urge inside her couldn’t be ignored.

  She scratched at his back, and he seemed to understand. His tempo increased as did her pleasure. Faster. Harder. More. More. More.

  Close, so very close. Her pussy began to contract, tighter and tighter, like a spring that was being wound by a master clockmaker. She pulled her mouth away from his as her orgasm hit with the force of a twister.

  Round and round, tugging her this way and that, the intensity rocked her to her very soul. She may have shouted or possibly whispered his name in her pleasure. It was him she thought of, loved, needed. He thrust in deep, deeper than she thought possible, and spilled his seed inside her.

  Each of them was lost in the whirling climax of the most powerful joining they’d ever known. Tears stung her eyes, and she tried to blink them away before he noticed. When he finally lifted his head and smiled, she felt the stinging once more.

  “I love you, Lettie.”

  Lettie woke up shouting, her body on fire, her night rail twisted around her hips, pulse pounding like a drum hard enough to make her ears hurt. She sucked in a shaky breath and tried to figure out exactly what had happened. With fumbling hands, she managed to turn up the wick on the lantern sitting on the table beside the bed.

  There was no one in the room with her and the house was silent. She’d dreamed of him again. Not only that, but it had been more detailed, longer and more intense than the first. She trembled from the pleasure she’d never had but that still vibrated through her.

  Lettie wouldn’t admit it to anyone, not even Angeline, but she was scared. Her dreams were more like memories replaying themselves over and over. However, they weren’t memories
. She’d never done any of those things with any man, and certainly not with Shane Murphy.

  Yet it was him in her dreams. It was him touching her, bringing her pleasure, making love to her. Confused thoughts bounced around in her head while her pussy still throbbed from the sex that didn’t happen.

  A few minutes later she rose from the bed to wash up. Nothing to clean off her but sweat, but it would help her get back to sleep. Although she wasn’t sure that was a possibility. Heck, she might never sleep again.

  After a quick, tepid wash, she pulled her night rail on, wondering if her knees would ever stop shaking. Lettie turned back toward the bed. Something small and dark lay on her pillow. She frowned, distracted by whatever it was. As she got closer, the shape became clear and she stopped dead in her tracks.

  It was a sparrow feather.

  How was it possible, in an empty room, in an empty house, that a sparrow feather, which had not been there three minutes ago, appeared?

  The breeze from the open window danced across her skin, raising goose bumps. She stared at the curtains as they fluttered and wondered if she really had been alone and what the feather meant.

  There would be no more sleep for Lettie that night.

  Shane stared at his granny angel, dumbstruck by her offer. She could not possibly have meant what she said.

  “You want me to work in the kitchen?” He frowned. “Me?”

  “Angeline left us three months ago when she married Sam Carver. The girls, they try to help, but none of them can cook or bake.” Marta pointed at him. “I heard what you said about the bread, Mr. Murphy. It was not good even if Lettie did her best.”

  Shane winced, unaware he had insulted Lettie with the comments about the bread. How was he to know she had baked it? The woman could not bake, that was for sure. Lettie obviously had plenty of other skills, like patching up drunk men.

  “I still don’t understand why you’re offering me a job, Mrs. Gunderson.” He gestured to his bandaged hands. “I don’t think I can knead bread yet.”

  She waved her hand. “It will come in time. For now, you help me in the kitchen, ya? You can cut meat and potatoes into chunks. I see you eat. Your hands are better, almost healed.”

  He couldn’t argue with her there. His hands were better, stiff and sore but no longer painful. He could take the bandages off and work. It would be the first honest job he’d had in a long time. He was suspicious, however, at the offer.

  “They’re better,” he admitted. “But there has to be another girl in this town who needs a job. Why don’t you hire a girl to work in the kitchen with you?”

  “Bah, there is no one in town. I tried a couple girls, but they were worse than Lettie. I let them go back to their mamas to learn how to be women.” Marta raised her brows. “You need a job, you live here, and you maybe find a home, ya?”

  A home. It was a tempting offer, and he wondered how Lettie would react. She’d been right to push him away, to tell him they couldn’t be together or have a future. Working at the Blue Plate might give him a chance to steal a few more minutes with her. It was a selfish reason, but then again so was contemplating accepting Mrs. Gunderson’s proposal. There wasn’t much in it for her. No doubt he ate a lot more than the other people who lived and worked at the restaurant.

  Did he deserve what she offered? He’d had his fair share of heartache and pain, had spent time being punished for his sins. His gut told him to say no, to leave with the borrowed clothes and keep moving. His brain told him there wouldn’t be another job like this one. Perhaps God was giving him a smidge of relief from his self-made hell.

  The hard truth was, he had nowhere else to be and nothing else to do. He had been wandering from place to place with no destination. Being alone had become his standard way of existing. Being in the Blue Plate had forced him to remember what it was like to be around other people and not suffer his own company.

  Marta watched him as he thought through the offer. She almost appeared smug as though she knew he would say yes. What other choice did he have?

  “Okay, I’ll work in your kitchen for you. I don’t know how long you’re going to want me there, but I ain’t got any pressing business to attend to right yet.” He glanced down at his borrowed shirt and drawers, then at the trousers and shoes waiting for him. “I thank you for your loan of the clothes. Mine were apparently burned.”

  “Ah yes, they were not good.” Marta made a face. “There were insects.”

  His cheeks heated at the embarrassing truth. He had been infested with all kinds of critters. After the bath Lettie gave him, the memory of how dirty he’d been had faded away. Until now.

  “I’m right sorry about that, Mrs. Gunderson. I, um, was having some trouble keeping myself sober and clean.” He straightened the blanket around him so he didn’t have to look her in the face. “I surely appreciate everything you kind folks have done for me.”

  “We are nothing if we aren’t kind, Mr. Murphy.” Her words, an echo of Lettie’s, told him exactly who had taught his wayward nurse about kindness. “I am happy to help when there is need. The trousers will be too short though. You are much taller than my Pieter. We will need to ask Sam if he has a pair you can use.”

  “Who’s Sam?” The last thing he wanted was to be indebted to another stranger.

  “Angeline’s husband. You have met her?”

  “No, I haven’t. Lettie mentioned her though. She used to bake in the kitchen?” He didn’t remember much else about her.

  “She is Lettie’s best friend. One day you will ask her about how they met and then you will know much about her.” Marta got to her feet. “Tomorrow you will rise with me and start in the kitchen. Today I will find longer trousers for you to wear.” She bent down and patted his cheek with her small, soft hand. “You are a good man, Mr. Murphy. You will do what’s right.”

  With that cryptic statement, the older woman left him alone. He wondered if he had been talked into something that had already been decided upon before she walked in the room. If she thought he was a good man, she was sorely mistaken. He was anything but good. Judging by how much he’d taken advantage of their generosity, she should know that.

  Yet this granny angel of his had decided he needed saving. Maybe it was in her nature to do so, as an angel of sorts. She expected a great deal from him, and he knew she would be disappointed when he didn’t live up to those expectations. No doubt he would fall back into whiskey. After a week of being sober, the urge to find some was strong, a thirst deep within that scratched at him, needing to be quenched.

  He wondered where the saloon was and how long it would take him to darken its door. When he did, Mrs. Gunderson and Lettie would give up on him. A drunk was a drunk. He couldn’t change who he was, no matter how tempting the woman or the promise of what they might have found together.

  They would discover quickly what he already knew. Shane Murphy was not a good man.

  Chapter Four

  Lettie didn’t go back to Shane’s room again on the day he was to leave. She was a coward, unable to face him knowing what she could never have. It left a bitter taste in her mouth she could not shake. The dreams bothered her, more than she wanted to admit to herself.

  Then there was the sparrow feather, or rather feathers. When she’d woken that morning, she’d remembered the other one she’d found on the printing press. At the time, it hadn’t meant a thing. Now there had been two feathers, inside a house with no birds or open windows. The mystery of how they got there knocked her sideways. There were strange goings-on in Forestville, and she wanted no part of it.

  She’d spent Friday evening printing the paper. The smell, the sound, the satisfaction of the end result was enough to distract her, even from her weeping heart.

  In the morning, she delivered a stack of the weekly paper to the general store to sell then made her way to the Blue Plate. Every Saturday she had ink-stained hands and had to scrub them with lye before she started serving meals. Marta insisted on having clean hands
to work in the restaurant, which wasn’t a bad thing. It was a tough chore this Saturday though. The printing press had been particularly ornery this week, and she had more stains than usual.

  She went around the back of the building to use the sink in the kitchen. Marta would expect her to be working in less than ten minutes. Lettie hurried up the steps and burst into the room.

  “I’m not late yet. I need to wash the ink—” She paused, completely flummoxed by the sight that met her eyes. At first she thought she was still dreaming, or the ink had turned her brain cockeyed.

  Shane.

  Vivid snatches of her dreams slammed into her, and she couldn’t catch her breath. Yet he was real this time. He stood at the big butcher-block counter, flour covering his hands and arms, wearing an apron with lace edging. Marta was next to him, sprinkling more flour on the dough in front of them. She looked up and smiled at Lettie.

  “Good morning, liebchen. You are not late yet. You’d best scrub those hands though. You know the rules.” Marta turned her attention back to Shane. “Now I massage the flour into the dough. This part might hurt your fingers.”

  Lettie couldn’t find her voice, shock keeping her tongue still. What in the hell was Shane doing making bread dough in the kitchen? He was supposed to be gone. Gone! Why was he still there? This wouldn’t do at all. He couldn’t be around or she’d never stop dreaming about him and his touch. Even now, her body reacted to being in the same room with him. Oh no, it couldn’t happen. He must not stay.

  Shane hadn’t even turned his head toward her, other than a passing glance when she first came into the kitchen. She didn’t know what hurt worse—his presence or his apparent lack of interest in her. Lettie dug deep and yanked on her mental bootstraps until she could speak again.

  “What is happening here?”

  Marta stopped and looked at her. “We are making bread.”

  “I can see you’re making bread. I’m not stupid, Marta. What is he doing in the kitchen?” She snapped at him, “Why aren’t you gone?”