by Sara Orwig
“No, I won’t. Marilee’s been gone a long time now, and I’ve never felt anything beyond a physical need for another woman.”
Claire looked down, but he couldn’t imagine his words hurt her because there was no love between them. He shuffled and dealt the cards.
The next hand her eyes danced with excitement, and Fortune had to bite back a laugh because she might as well have announced that she thought she had a winning hand. He glanced at her dwindling pile of money and bet a large amount, wanting to let her win back what she had started with, not caring if she had it all.
“I’ll call!” she exclaimed triumphantly, and he tossed down his cards, looking at her turn over three aces and two queens.
She looked at him. “You knew I was going to win, didn’t you?”
He grinned and shrugged, stretching and leaning back in the chair. “You still haven’t learned to hide your feelings.”
“Maybe I’ll learn soon. This doesn’t seem right. You gave this money back to me when you had won it all.”
“Take it, Claire. I don’t care if you take all of it.”
“You don’t value money.”
“It’s necessary. When our ship went down, we lost everything. I had nothing when I arrived in Baltimore, and I don’t want that ever to happen again,” he said, remembering the first frightening days. “I was fifteen years old, and I had a hell of a time until I got a job building boats. But I’m comfortably fixed now, and I intend to start my own business and I intend to succeed at it. So other things have become more important in my life. Michael is more important. He’s more important to you than money. You wouldn’t have sold him to me.”
“No, I wouldn’t have!” She stood up, taking the blue calico from her satchel and wrapping the coins in it.
“What are you doing?”
“I don’t want people handling our things to hear this jingling and know this bag is filled with money.”
“And I don’t suppose you’ll get rid of that dress even when you have new ones.”
She looked at him with wide eyes. “Why would I? It seems a waste.”
He stabbed out the last of the cheroot and crossed the room to get a drink from a bottle of brandy. As he lowered the bottle, he watched her move around the room. Perspiration beaded her forehead, and short tendrils of brown hair clung to her temples. His gaze ran down the length of her gown. She stood between him and the lamp, and he could see the outline of her figure, her full, upthrusting breasts, her slim waist and flat belly, her long legs, the saucy curve of her bottom. She wore only the gown, and as his gaze roamed slowly back up over her, desire burned in him. He set down the brandy bottle, knowing he had to leave the room or he wouldn’t be able to keep his hands to himself.
She turned, placing the satchel in a stack with their others, standing only inches from him. His gaze lowered to the open neck of her gown.
“Dammit,” he said, reaching for her and pulling her to him. “I know it’s hot, but you’re unbuttoned—”
Her eyes flew wide, her hands touching his upper arms lightly as he bent his head to cover her mouth with his. The moment he touched her soft lips, desire consumed him. His tongue thrust deep into her mouth, touching the wet softness, feeling her curves against his body, knowing only the cotton gown covered her. He slid his hand down her back and over the full curve of her buttocks, wanting her, too aware it would complicate his life if he took her.
With a racing pulse Claire wound her arms around his neck, yielding to him, returning his kisses as his hand roamed over her back, down to her thighs. Her head reeled with the exquisite sensations he caused. He was hard and strong and she wanted his kisses, yet she knew they were as without love as before.
She pushed against him, leaning away. His hand slid beneath her gown to cup her breast, his thumb rubbing slowly over her nipple, bringing it to a hard peak as she gasped and momentarily forgot that she had intended to stop him. He bent his head, taking her breast in his mouth to tease with his teeth and tongue.
She pushed again and stepped back, yanking together the neck of her gown. “I didn’t realize I was unbuttoned. It was so hot …”
She trembled with longing as she faced him, because the expression in his eyes made her want to fling herself back into his arms. He looked as if he could devour her. His trousers bulged from his arousal, and she felt weak-kneed, burning with her own yearning.
“I’ll go for a walk,” he said, and strode from the room, closing the door quietly behind him.
She stared after him, wondering about their marriage, wondering if she should yield to him, to enjoy his kisses and caresses without love. And every time she considered it, she knew she wanted love. If she gave him her body, she would fall in love with him.
She moved to the window, wishing she could have gone outside with him to let her body and emotions cool. What kind of marriage would they have? Would it be filled with torment like this until he took a mistress? At the thought of Fortune taking a mistress, Claire felt a swift surge of anger. She didn’t want him turning to another woman, yet she couldn’t hold him if she didn’t have his love.
He didn’t come back until almost dawn, and then he settled in the chair with his long legs propped on the table. As soon as it was daylight and he discovered she was awake, he wanted to go.
Before the sun had risen above the rooftops, they were heading north with Michael asleep in the bed of the wagon.
During the day Michael was excited about everything around him, and Claire heard Fortune promise to bring him back to the Gulf for another ride on a ship.
When they traveled from dawn to late at night, Claire knew Fortune was pushing hard to get back to Atlanta. He seemed tense and was quiet around her except occasional moments with Michael. Sometimes she would catch his gaze going over her in a hungry appraisal that set her pulse pounding.
That night they stayed in Abbeville along the Chattahoochee River, and as soon as Michael was asleep, Fortune left. The room was even hotter than the night before, and she sat by the window, wondering when he would return. She fell asleep in the chair by the window, and when she stirred in the morning’s first light, she was in bed. Fortune stood across the narrow room, wiping his jaw from shaving.
“As soon as you’re ready, I’ll carry Michael to the wagon and we can get moving.”
They rode hard all day again and did not stop until late at night at Columbus. She marveled at Fortune’s stamina because she knew he had slept little since leaving the boat.
They stayed nights in Columbus and LaGrange, finally riding through rolling hills into Atlanta late at night, coming in on Peachtree Street. Past city hall the army’s tents filled the grounds. The soft glow of gaslights on street corners seemed welcoming in the dark night.
She sat on the wagon seat beside Fortune as they turned onto Whitehall Street. “Do you think about being here in the war and the burning of the city?”
“No. That’s over and done, thank God. They’re rebuilding. Atlanta was a railroad city before the war. That’s how the city came into being. The Georgia General Assembly decided to build a state railroad to carry cotton. The railroad was to run from Tennessee to the Chattahoochee River, but instead the terminus was located eight miles south of the river, where several roads converged. The town was called Terminus at first and was later changed to Atlanta.”
“I’ve never been to Atlanta.”
“You’ve been to New Orleans more than once, haven’t you?”
“Yes. Early this spring I sang in a saloon there.”
“You didn’t wear that blue calico dress to sing in New Orleans.”
“No. Sometimes I could borrow dresses. I had to leave Natchez in a hurry, and I left my one silk dress behind.”
“When you worked the saloons, what did Michael do? You couldn’t leave him in a room by himself.”
“No, I took him with me,” she answered, looking up to see Fortune frown. “The women loved him, and he was young enough that he didn’t notice too much about his sur
roundings.”
“That’s over now.” Along Whitehall Street he stopped in front of a new three-story hotel. “This is where I’ve been staying since I got out of the army. Wait with Michael and I’ll get someone to take our things. I’ll carry Michael inside.”
She watched Fortune stride into the hotel, where lights burned in the lobby. Down the street two men rode past on horseback and a buggy moved briskly along, and she wondered what her life and Michael’s would be like in the growing city.
Soon Fortune returned to help her out of the wagon and to lift a sleeping Michael into his arms. “The clerk will take care of everything, including taking the wagon to the livery stable. All we have to do is go to our rooms. I’ve taken several rooms, and I’ll move my things into them tomorrow.”
They climbed three flights of stairs with two porters carrying baggage. One held open the door to a room, and Fortune entered.
“Here are the keys, sir.”
While one of the men lit lamps and then opened windows, Claire found a suite that was as elegant as any they had stayed in before. And everything looked new, as if they were the first to stay there. The smell of new wood and fresh paint was in the air. Mahogany furniture and pale yellow damask-covered chairs and settees were in the room. Fortune entered an adjoining room with Michael, and in a few minutes he returned.
“He’s sound asleep. I think he could sleep through a siege. We have several rooms here, Claire. We’ll live here while I get a house built for us.”
She turned to stare at him. “You can afford to stay here that long?”
A smile flitted across his features. “Yes, I can.”
“This is so extravagant! I’m sure we can find a room somewhere in this city.”
“Yes, we can, but I can afford this, and I want to be comfortable while we’re building a house. And it’s time Michael had a little more luxury in his life.”
She bit her lip and turned away, wondering if Fortune considered her a terrible mother to his son. She moved around the room, feeling the awe she had experienced in the other fancy rooms, but even more so to think they would live here while Fortune had a house built. She turned around to look at him, wondering how wealthy he was.
“Do you have as much money as your brother?” she asked bluntly.
Fortune pulled off his shirt, looking amused as he tossed it over a chair. “It doesn’t matter how fancy the damned hotel is, it’s still hot! No, I don’t have as much as Rafferty. I don’t know about Caleb. I have more than Darcy, who has next to nothing at his age. I’ll take you to the bank, Claire, and let you look at my account.”
“Oh, my heavens, I didn’t mean to pry.”
He looked even more amused, crossing the room to place his hands on her shoulders. “I have enough for you to stop worrying about it. And I have enough for you to hire a seamstress tomorrow and get dresses made.”
All she could think about was his hands touching her, his bare chest only inches from her. She didn’t know where to look or where to place her hands.
“And you’re not prying. We’re married. It isn’t a normal marriage, but we’re still man and wife, and you’re free to ask me whatever you want. We’re not going to have secrets between us. Marilee’s aunt left me a large inheritance. In addition to that, I have my savings from my army pay. You aren’t going to have to worry about an income.”
She barely heard him. He was standing too close, and her gaze finally slid down to his mouth. She felt heat start low within her, an unfolding that seemed to run up through her veins and alter her heartbeat. His hand caressed the nape of her neck, and her gaze flew up to meet his. His blue eyes had darkened, his gaze intent as he watched her and then looked at her mouth.
He bent his head, his mouth covering hers, kissing her slowly, his tongue entering her mouth in a sensual touch that made her sigh and close her eyes and move into his arms. She kissed him back, wondering if each time she would be bound more closely to him, wondering if kissing had any effect on him except to stir his physical cravings.
“This is madness,” she whispered, leaning away and looking up at him. “When you’re close to me, I want you to kiss me. But I don’t want to bed without love.”
“I’ll honor what you want, but it’s obvious I like to kiss you,” he said in a husky voice that was like another caress.
“Maybe sometime, Fortune, I can let you go on and not care, but I can’t yet. I don’t mean to try to entice you.”
He gave her a sardonic look, one corner of his mouth curling up. “God forbid, Claire, that you should entice your husband.”
She blushed, embarrassed, feeling as if he were laughing at her. “I can’t help what I feel. I know I want to be loved if a man …” Her voice trailed away and her blush deepened as she moved away from him.
He let her go and she heard him go into the next room. When he returned, he was barefoot and still bare-chested, a burning cheroot in his mouth. He placed it on a crystal ashtray and crossed the room to her.
Turning her chin up, he looked into her eyes. Her pulse skipped and she wondered if she would ever get accustomed to the unusual blue of his eyes or ever be able to stand close to him without her heart lurching into a gallop.
“Claire, there’s something I want you to understand. You are never to allow Trevor Wenger to see Michael.”
She frowned, seeing the firm set to Fortune’s jaw and hearing the cold, harsh note back in his voice.
“Do you think he would hurt Michael?”
“No. I think he wants him because he’s his own blood; I don’t think he would ever hurt him physically. I don’t think he would do what’s best for Michael.”
“They’re blood kin. Don’t you think that’s extremely harsh?”
“Are you forgetting he sent Harwood after you? You don’t think that’s harsh? I’m sure he didn’t care what Harwood did with you,” Fortune said, his voice becoming more deadly and anger showing in his eyes. He turned around. “Look at my back. He meant that beating to kill me.”
She looked at his broad, muscular back, the fine lines of scars across it, and she drew a deep breath. “I know he’s a terrible man in some ways, but never to allow him to see his grandson—”
“He deserves that,” Fortune declared, facing her again.
“You can’t keep him away when you both live in the same city,” she argued, feeling tension grow between them.
“Yes, I damned well can! I’ll hire servants who will guard Michael as well as you.”
“He won’t do anything to me. Trevor Wenger, of all people, will know that you don’t love me. He’ll know why we married.”
“Don’t take chances with him. He might want to hurt you himself for keeping Michael through the years.” Fortune leaned closer, his hands closing on her upper arms. “Now promise me you won’t allow him to see Michael.”
“I’ll have to think about it,” she whispered, knowing that answer would incur his wrath. She saw the blaze in his eyes.
“Claire, so help me, you’re going to do what I want on this or I’ll lock you both up.”
“You’d never lock Michael up. It isn’t in you to be cruel. All right, I’ll keep him from Trevor Wenger, but you should reconsider. Some part of Marilee was her father, and some part of Michael is his grandfather.”
“I prefer to think there’s nothing in Michael, and there wasn’t anything in Marilee of Trevor Wenger!”
“I told you I would keep Michael from him. The least you can do is to think about letting him see. Michael. It’s only natural that he would want to. He can’t take your child from you now. You’re his father and you’re married, so you’re providing a family for him. There’s no way he can take Michael.”
“Oh, yes, there is. He could take him and leave the country, and I’d have a hell of a time getting him back.”
“Will you just think about it, Fortune? Hatred never helped anyone, and you’re filled with it when it comes to Trevor Wenger.”
“You’ve never been
whipped like this, Claire. That makes you hate someone. And he killed Marilee when he took her from me.” Fortune clamped the cheroot between his teeth. “There’s no way in hell I’ll let that man near Michael.”
Later as she lay in bed, she glanced at Fortune across the darkened room. Since leaving New Orleans, he had slept in a chair, his feet propped on another chair or table. Now he sat in the dark, the red tip of another cheroot glowing.
“You can’t sleep?” she asked, sitting up. “You haven’t slept more than two hours a night since we left the boat.”
“You haven’t slept a great deal yourself,” he answered dryly. “I’m thinking about business. And maybe we should have separate beds, Claire. It’s getting more difficult for me to keep from touching you.”
“Whatever you want,” she said, lying down again. “Why not separate rooms?”
“No. I want Michael to think we’re married and happy. And I think we’ll have a better chance if we’re together.”
“Chance for what, Fortune?” she asked softly and saw him turn to study her.
“For happiness and friendship. That’s one thing we can have, although sometime soon it may not be enough for you.”
“Fortune, I’m so grateful to be with Michael, I will never regret this marriage. Never!”
“I hope not.” He placed the cheroot in an ashtray and crossed the room to take her chin in his hand. “I don’t think I’m going to have any regrets either.” He leaned down, kissing her lightly, his lips warm and tantalizing on hers. He turned away to stand in front of the window.
Moonlight highlighted the bulge of his shoulders and biceps, and longing swept through her. Quickly she looked away, staring determinedly into the dark.
She was aware hours later when the bed jiggled. She waited a few moments and finally turned over. He was stretched on his back, his arm flung over his head, his chest rising and falling evenly.
She longed to reach out and touch him, but she knew how easily he could be wakened.
She didn’t know when she fell asleep, but when she woke in the night, she was pressed against his side. His body was curled around hers, his arm holding her tightly. Her eyes opened wide and she caught her breath: his hard arousal was pressed against her bottom.