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Endless Heart: Heart, Book 3

Page 8

by Emma Lang


  He flinched a bit. “Nice to know I made a good impression on you, Lettie.”

  “Miss Brown if you don’t mind.” Now that she’d started talking, she couldn’t seem to stop. Her tongue knew no bounds when her temper took over. “You told me you were leaving.”

  His long fingers flipped the dough, and he used his palms to massage in the flour. “I changed my mind when Mrs. Gunderson offered me a job.”

  She gaped. “Marta! What were you thinking in hiring him? A week ago he was puking on my shoes, which, by the way, are still stained.”

  Marta’s expression hardened. “This is not your place to question who I hire. Pieter and I own the Blue Plate. We needed someone in the kitchen, and Mr. Murphy knows how to make bread.”

  Fury rushed through her, unwanted and unheeded. Lettie felt as though her head was going to explode. There was no reason for her to be angry, but she was. Last night she had come to terms with not seeing Shane again. Now she found him working in the very kitchen she had to enter dozens and dozens of times each day.

  It could not happen.

  “You can’t hire him.”

  Marta wiped her hands on a rag and walked over to the stove. “I have already done so. Mr. Murphy has been working for two hours now.”

  “Then unhire him.” Lettie knew she was being unreasonable, but she couldn’t stop herself. She was tumbling down the hill and picking up speed. “I can’t work here if he is here.”

  “You’re being foolish, Lettie.” Marta had never raised her voice before. “And rude. Mr. Murphy has done nothing to hurt you.”

  Oh, yes he had, but not in the way Marta would understand. He had dredged up feelings and sensations Lettie didn’t know she had and didn’t want. She felt excitement, arousal and worst of all, a smidge of joy. Now she couldn’t forget all of that, not with him around her constantly. It would be like rubbing salt in an open wound every single day.

  She couldn’t do it. She just couldn’t.

  “Then I quit.”

  Marta’s mouth dropped open. “Liebchen, you cannot mean that.”

  Lettie’s eyes stung, and she blinked away the pain. Her hands clenched into fists, the nails digging into her palms.

  Shane finally looked at her again. “Lettie, I can—”

  “Don’t you let her run you off, Mr. Murphy. Lettie cannot bully everyone into doing her bidding.” Marta slammed the spoon against the stove. “She needs to wash her hands and get to work now. I am done talking about this.”

  The silence hung heavy in the room, the burble of the pot on the stove the only sound other than Lettie’s blood thumping through her ears. She shouldn’t be so angry because Marta gave the man a job. There was no logical reason for her reaction. Yet she also couldn’t stop her fury. It had a life of its own.

  “I will go wash my hands outside.” Lettie snatched the lye soap, scrub brush and a rag from the sink and slammed out the door. The summer heat closed in around her, making her feel hotter than she already was.

  She felt sick, queasy enough to see the biscuit she’d eaten earlier. Swallowing hard, she walked to the well pump, her legs stiff. Her world had been flipped upside down, once more, by a man. Shane wasn’t just any man though. He was the man who made her feel.

  Lettie pumped the handle harder than necessary, a growl hiding in her throat. She pulled the lye across the brush bristles, wincing when some landed near her eye. It was unthinkable, unacceptable that she was so out of control.

  “Lettie.”

  Shane’s voice forced the growl out of her. “Get away from me, Shane.”

  “I’m sorry me being here made you so angry. I told Marta I would leave. I don’t want you to quit your job.” He sounded contrite and sincere, damn him.

  “Why would you leave? You have nowhere to go.” She scrubbed her hands, ignoring the pain from the rough brush.

  “It doesn’t matter. I had nowhere to go before I came here.” The life she’d seen and heard from within him was gone, extinguished by her righteous fury.

  Lettie shook with the emotions flowing through her. She knew she had to do the right thing. It wasn’t fair to him to suffer the wrath of an irrational woman who spent many days wondering if she was loco.

  “No, don’t leave. I’ll learn to ignore you, and we’ll get along fine.” Sometimes she wished she could seal her mouth closed. The words that came out managed to hurt someone every time she spoke.

  “That’s what you want?”

  “No, but I reckon I will accept it.” She rinsed her hands off, setting the brush and soap on the wood beside the pump. As she dried her hands, she could not bring herself to look at Shane. “You’d best get back in there and finish making the bread. We don’t want to serve any that tastes like old shoes again.”

  The moment was pregnant with unsaid words. She continued to dry her hands, waiting until he left her alone. When she heard footsteps moving away from her, Lettie let out the breath she was holding.

  What was she going to do? Shane was going to be there every day, every moment.

  His heart pumped a steady rhythm, a pace that increased with each passing moment. It was her. She drove him loco, turned him into a panting fool. He could not resist her, ever. All she had to do was crook her finger and he jumped to attention. Tonight was no exception.

  They were alone, the quiet music of the night surrounding them. He watched her undress, each piece of clothing revealing another glorious part of her. In the lamplight, her skin glowed like cream, waiting to be licked and tasted. He shifted on the bed, needing to touch his woman. She was teasing him deliberately, and while he loved it, he could hardly stand another minute. Yet he would because he needed to.

  Down to her chemise, she strutted back and forth, her breasts bouncing softly beneath the fabric. His mouth watered, eager to taste. She reached up and unpinned her hair, sending a zing of arousal straight through him. He loved her hair. The dark locks tumbled down, swaying against the cotton fabric with a swish. He clenched his hands, remembering the feel of her hair against his chest, his stomach, his thighs. Her long hair fell almost to the round cheeks of her ass. The sweet globes were just right for squeezing and holding on as he plunged into her.

  “Take it off.” His voice had become gravelly with need.

  She stopped her antics long enough to raise one brow at him. Shit. She would tease him further now. What kind of idiot prolonged his own agony? One who couldn’t be quiet. He wouldn’t tell her how much he wanted her. Hell, he didn’t have to. All she had to do was look at his too-tight drawers and the hunger on his face.

  With a grin, she slowly slid the chemise up her thighs. His pulse notched up when he saw the shadow of her pussy, then she turned around and revealed that perfectly round ass again. A groan crept up his throat, but he didn’t let it loose. No need to let her know her underhanded tactics were working, even if his dick was hard enough to hammer a nail.

  The chemise went higher and higher until it reached her shoulders. The garment slid off, the sound of the fabric against her skin almost loud in the quiet room. She pulled her hair forward and turned.

  “Damn.” The word slipped out before he could stop it.

  She smiled, the wench. Her hair covered those glorious tits, and her hands covered the pussy he wanted so very much to see. She inched closer, revealing one rose-colored nipple between the strands before she shifted again and hid the precious peak.

  “You are going to kill me.”

  She laughed, a husky sound that sent a shiver up his spine. “You would die a happy man.”

  That was true. She had become a fever in his blood, one that would never be quenched. He was obsessed, plain and simple.

  She moved closer to the bed, close enough he could almost touch her. She swayed back and forth as though dancing to music only she could hear. He watched, fascinated, as she spread her legs, revealing the pink folds of her core. Her musky scent called to him, drawing him near. His mouth watered in anticipation, impatient and needy.
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br />   He fell to his belly and reached for her. “Let me taste you, honey. I gotta taste you.”

  Obviously taking pity on him, she spread her pussy lips, and he saw how wet she was. Her play excited both of them, which only made him harder. His dick throbbed against the sheets, eager for more than cotton. First he had to taste her.

  He leaned forward and licked her pussy from top to bottom. As a shiver raced through him, her body quaked too. They were connected at an elemental level, by everything they did, felt or sensed. He’d never known such a bond existed between a man and a woman. Finding it with her, by accident or design, was more than a gift.

  Like a bee too long denied its nectar, he lapped at her, the sweet tang of her arousal coating his tongue. She made kittenish moans in her throat as he sucked on her clit. He felt her racing pulse through the tender skin. When he reached to put two fingers inside her, she stepped back, his mouth making a smacking sound as the treat was pulled away.

  “Please, honey.” He was too aroused to be embarrassed at begging.

  She shook her head and pointed at the bed, her breathing uneven, a sheen of perspiration on her skin. Damned if she didn’t look like a goddess come to life, aroused, beautiful, and all his. Her brown eyes glowed with heat, and her hair held its own power, its waves curling around her body like he wanted to.

  He lay back, shucking his drawers since there was no pretense any longer. He wanted her, he needed her, he was hers to do with as she wished. A fantastic fate to have. One he would be eternally grateful for.

  She leaned forward and licked his dick once, sucking the head of it into the recesses of her mouth. He almost came on the spot. Fisting his fingers into the linens, he hung on, counting to ten over and over again until she let his staff go with an audible pop.

  Grinning, she climbed onto the bed, straddling him. She pulled her hair back, revealing the tits he so desperately needed to suck. He reached for her, and she allowed him to cup the orbs and feel their weight in his hands.

  She hovered over him, the heat from her pussy tickling his skin. He swore his dick tried to jump up those three inches to touch her. She braced herself on his chest, her nipples swaying close but not close enough for him to taste.

  He tried though, more than once. She grinned and dangled one right over his mouth. As he captured the nipple with a groan, she grabbed his dick and aimed it right into her core. Slowly, ever so slowly, she sank down on his length.

  His teeth closed around the nipple, and he hung on to his control by a thread. She moaned her approval, and he nibbled at her again. By the time he was fully sheathed inside her, he was shaking with restraint. He needed to fuck her hard and fast, feel the heat between them burst into white-hot passion.

  Yet this was her game, hers to control. He’d promised her he’d let her hold the reins that night, which he now regretted. It was more difficult than anything he’d ever done, and it was only love that helped maintain that thread of control.

  She closed her eyes and sat up, yanking the precious nipple from his mouth. Like a lovesick fool, he whimpered. This time she was too caught up in what she was doing to tease him any longer. She threw her head back and braced her hands on his chest, pulling herself up until he was nearly free of her wet heat, then slammed down on him.

  His brain ceased to function at all the second time she did it. He hung on to her hips, eager for more, guiding her path. Selfish, but so goddamn good. Her pussy tightened around him with each downward stroke, pulling him with her as she rose up again.

  She wanted to ride him, to be in charge of their lovemaking. How could he resist her? He would give his life for her. Why not give her the reins in their bed too? He should regret it, but it felt so damn good, enough to make him want to do it again and again.

  Her face was a study in beauty, her lips parted, breathy moans emanating from them each time he pushed deep inside her. Her eyes were half closed, their depths whirling with passion and pleasure. Her skin was soft and hot to the touch, his hand sliding over her hips to her thighs then back.

  He was fast losing the battle to keep his orgasm at bay. His balls tightened to the point of pain, and he knew he was only moments away from exploding, but he wouldn’t go without his woman. He reached between them to find her clit, the nubbin swollen and slick in the folds of her pussy.

  As he flicked it, she clenched harder, the walls of her cunt impossibly strong. He started coming before he could stop it. She screamed his name, and together they rode the waves of ecstasy. He gripped her hips, plunging deep, deep, deep inside her. She hung on to his arms, her body quivering around his.

  For a moment, he was lost in a whirlwind so intense, he forgot where he was. Her body collapsed against his, her heart beating like a rabbit. Her hair surrounded them, cocooning them as the waves subsided. He touched her head, running his fingers through the soft waves, his throat tight with emotion.

  “I love you, Lettie.”

  Shane woke up, sweating and aching. His dick was harder than an oak tree, pulsing against his drawers. He had never had a more realistic dream in his life. Her scent clung to the air around him, a musky perfume he knew was uniquely hers.

  Another dream. About her. This time he’d spoken her name in the dream. Jesus Christ, he could hardly believe how realistic the dreams were. He’d memorized her body, her pleasure spots, the taste of her pussy. It was impossible to know any of it, yet he did, as though he’d been with her for years.

  He wasn’t about to go back to sleep. In fact, he would have to get rid of the erection or he might never sleep again. It had been some time since he’d had a stiff dick. Now he’d had one twice since meeting Lettie.

  Closing his eyes, he pictured her face as it was in the dream. Mouth open, eyes languid with deep passion, her breasts shining with perspiration and her hot channel wrapped around him. It took only half a dozen strokes before he came so hard he saw stars.

  More than embarrassed, he got to his feet and washed up quickly, including wiping the sweat off his body. The breeze through the open window ruffled the curtains, drying his overheated skin. He yanked his drawers on and was climbing into bed when he spotted something on his pillow.

  A feather.

  He picked it up, twirling it between his fingers. It appeared to be a sparrow feather. How had it gotten in the room, and why was it on his pillow? He set it on the windowsill, somehow more disturbed than he should be by an innocuous item like a feather.

  He finally climbed into bed, restless and more than anxious. The dream hung on him like a heavy coat, the details so incredibly real, he could almost taste her cunt on his tongue. Whatever had happened in the dream, it hadn’t happened in this room. It was a house he’d never been in yet he knew it as though he lived there.

  What did it mean? He dreamed, of course, like everyone. But this had been more like a memory, which was ridiculous because he’d never done more than kiss Lettie. He certainly hadn’t made love to her or tasted her nectar. Lord only knew if her body was as he imagined it, although he wouldn’t be surprised if she was built like he expected.

  An owl hooted outside the window. Shane lay there for hours, sleep eluding him, remembering each moment of his dream. The next time he saw Lettie, his dream would rush back at him. But it hadn’t been real no matter how much he wished it was.

  Shane kept repeating it to himself, but it didn’t matter. He felt the ghost of her fingers on him, smelled her unique scent and tasted her tang on his tongue.

  He was in trouble.

  A week passed. Shane had done his best to avoid Lettie as much as she avoided him. It pained him to do so, but there was no help for it. He knew if he saw her his dick would harden and she would hate him worse than she already did. God, she was going to quit rather than see him. He’d had erotic dreams four times already. Pretty soon he would have a rash from masturbating too much. It was embarrassing and frustrating.

  He was stronger though, and the swelling around his eye was gone. The stitches needed to come ou
t, but he couldn’t ask Lettie to do it. In a few days he’d break down and ask someone because they were starting to itch. His physical injuries were healing, helped by the good food and sleep he was getting. If only his heart and his gut would get better. He craved the two things he couldn’t and shouldn’t have—Lettie and whiskey.

  Both of them were trouble, and he needed to steer clear. Yet at night he dreamed of one and thirsted for the other. It was driving him loco, and he had to find a way to forget both of them. He nearly snorted at the thought, as though it was that easy.

  Shane had settled into working in the kitchen. He made all the baked goods and helped Marta as much as he could. This morning she was flustered and running around like a little bird with her tail feathers ruffled. Shane kept his eyes down and pretended not to notice.

  “I need those supplies, or we won’t be able to cook in two days.” Marta fussed over the stove, her normally perfectly styled grayish-blonde hair in a puffy halo around her head. “The store has no flour, sugar, salt or beans. How can I do anything without the staples?”

  Pieter stood in the kitchen, his arms crossed, a scowl on his face. “What do you wish me to do, Marta? I have asked for the supplies, but they no deliver. The man who drive freight wagon, he crashed and died last week.”

  News to Shane and startling at that. The man who had likely beat him nearly to death had died in a crash in the same wagon that had brought Shane to Forestville. Was it just punishment for a man who deserved it? Or a coincidence? Either way, he was glad to hear it, selfishly so. The freight wagon driver may have beaten Shane, and only the luck of Lettie’s intervention had saved him. If the stranger hadn’t beaten Shane, the driver had left him barely alive at the Blue Plate without helping Shane. Maybe it was all part of a big plan, and he was a pawn unable to make his own move.

  Marta looked over at Shane who was making biscuits. “Perhaps Mr. Murphy can go to Benson for the supplies, ya? Borrow a wagon.”

  Shane was startled and stared at the Gundersons as they discussed sending him to another town for supplies. Alone. Where there were saloons and whiskey to be had.

 

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