Passion Of Sleepy Hollow

by Lexi Post

  Sweat beaded on his face now, but she needed more.

  Her excitement escalated and her body grew tighter. “Let go. Please.”

  Braeden did. With unleashed power, he pumped his cock, rushing into her, his hardness filling her. Her world started to splinter. “Yes!”

  He rammed into her again and again and her orgasm struck, pulling at his cock, grasping at the sensations of fire that filled her soul.

  “Argh!” Braeden pushed into her and held himself deep inside, his warm seed flowing into her core, prolonging her own pleasure.

  Whole. The word flew through her mind and sprayed throughout her body like a fading firework.

  Braeden pulled her close with one arm as he bent over the table, his other arm holding himself above her to keep from crushing her.

  She looped her arms around his neck and kissed his shoulder. “That was beautiful.”

  He carefully laid her back on the table and looked down at her. “It was?”

  His concern for her placed him closer to her heart. She nodded. “Mm-hmm. I saw stars.”

  “If you saw stars in the kitchen, I wonder what you’ll see when we have sex outside.”

  Oh, the man was far too full of himself. “Actually, I’ve done things outside before.”

  “Things?” His eyebrow rose. “What kind of things?”

  The image of her kneeling, bringing Brom pleasure as he stood against a tree one evening clouded her mind and she gently pushed it away. “Never you mind. It was long ago. I’m sure there’s much you have done.”

  Braeden’s face fell as he mentally withdrew from her. “We should clear out of the kitchen before your mother returns.”

  By the saints, she’d forgotten her mother, the festival, everything. “The dusting, the lanterns. I have so much to do.”

  “Hey.” His hand on her face calmed her panic. “I will help. I’m sorry but I just couldn’t wait. Six months is a long time to want a woman and not have her.”

  “Did you really not… I mean you waited until…”

  His grin returned. “I only wanted you, Kat, so I had no choice but to wait. Now come here.” He lifted her into a sitting position, his cock still inside her. “I don’t want to leave your warm pussy.” He ground his hips for emphasis.

  She grabbed his neck and pulled his face down to hers. “You better stop that this instant or I will expect you to pleasure me again, right now.”

  His hips continued to grind.

  “Oh.” She pushed him away, but he let her. As he slipped from inside her, she wanted him back, but kept her moan silent.

  Braeden helped her to her feet. “One of these days I am going to get to see that whole delicious body of yours at once. I’m looking forward to that.”

  As she squeezed her breasts back into place beneath her stays, she couldn’t help but think he’d seen far more of her than she had.

  * * * * *

  Braeden strolled through the square, more at ease in public than he’d been since high school. With Mrs. Van Tassel on his left arm and Kat on his right, he found himself enjoying the day. Stealing Kat away from her “chores” had taken the usual bargaining, and shit, could the woman bargain! But so far the day was well worth the composting he would be forced to do tomorrow.

  Kat’s mom halted their progress. “Katrina, we must stop in Jurgen’s furniture shop. I’ve been meaning to talk to him about building a table for that corner in the entryway.”

  “Do you think now is a good time? Wouldn’t it be better if you waited until after the festival?”

  “But we are here now and no one else is about.”

  Braeden heard the wanting in Mrs. Van Tassel’s voice and couldn’t deny her. She was such a happy soul. It was clear Kat’s sunny side came from her. Her feistiness, however, was another story. “I’d like to see the shop as well. I’ve never thought about how furniture was made in the 1790s.”

  “Fine.” Kat shrugged and the three of them moved into the shade of the building, its wide barn-like doors open to entice people to enter and look around.

  Mrs. Van Tassel went in search of the owner while he kept tight hold of Kat’s arm. “Is everything made to order or are these pieces for sale?”

  She ran her hand along a pine chest. “For those of us who participate in the festival, Jurgen makes us what we need. These pieces are for those who attend.”

  “Does he deliver the custom-made pieces to you as well?”

  “Sometimes.”

  Braeden studied Kat. “So it’s not far to where you live.”

  She shook her head. “No. You know…wait. What do you mean?”

  “I mean, he couldn’t deliver them to the inn because the inn isn’t here after Sunday night.”

  Kat tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t let go, the frustration of his search returning with a vengeance.

  “Where did you go, Kat? Why couldn’t I find you?”

  She stopped trying to pull away and faced him. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

  “Try me.”

  Her eyes never left his face, revealing her inner turmoil. What was she hiding?

  “Not here. If I’m going to tell you the truth, it must be in private.”

  He glanced over her head to see her mother coming with the blond man he’d seen holding Kat in her kitchen at the last festival.

  Her mother glowed with excitement. “Katrina, Jurgen has a wonderful idea for the entry table.” Kat’s arm tensed as she turned to face her mother and the man called Jurgen. The man’s brows were lowered, his mouth tight.

  Mrs. Van Tassel didn’t notice any of it. “Oh Jurgen, you must meet our escort for today. This is Braeden Van Brunt.”

  Jurgen nodded stiffly.

  Braeden refused to let the man stew silently. “We’ve met already. I believe you were trying to keep Kat from doing something. Now what was that?”

  The man’s large biceps stiffened but Braeden wasn’t impressed. “I was trying to talk some sense into her, but since you’re here, I obviously failed.”

  Braeden raised his brow before moving his gaze to Kat. “So he didn’t want you to see me?”

  “No, he didn’t.” She addressed Jurgen. “But I make my own choices.”

  Braeden smiled inside at Kat’s attitude. Jurgen squirmed at her rebuke but still looked pissed.

  “Oh my, Jurgen. Why ever not?” Mrs. Van Tassel placed her hand on Jurgen’s shoulder. “Braeden is an absolute gentleman. Surely you aren’t still holding a flame for Katrina.”

  “No, I was concerned about the village and what effect Kat’s passing interest might have on all of us.”

  “Oh.” Mrs. Van Tassel removed her hand.

  Katrina advanced a step and Braeden moved with her. “I’m not stupid, Jurgen Zeeger, and I resent your assumption that I am. I’m well aware of our village and how each of us is linked to it. Now, if you will excuse us, we would like to enjoy the rest of our day.”

  Braeden escorted Kat outside, his pride in her ability to handle herself completely unearned. Mrs. Van Tassel remained behind, probably to make arrangements for the new table she’d ordered.

  Kat’s stride was quick.

  He understood her need to walk off her anger, so he steered them toward the path he’d taken as the Headless Horseman. Eventually, they were surrounded by trees instead of people and he sensed her beginning to relax.

  “Did you want me to leave?”

  Kat’s arm jerked within his. “No. Why would you ask that?”

  “I don’t want to make things difficult for you with your friends.” Inwardly, he kicked himself for giving her a choice, but he needed to know she wanted him to stay.

  “Jurgen? A friend? Ha. He lied. He does want me. He’s even asked me to marry him multiple times. I’ve turned him down but he keeps coming back. It’s very frustrating and awkward.”

  “Do you want me to break his legs for you?”

  She stopped, causing him to do so as well. “No, I don’t.” She studied hi
s arms. “Though I don’t doubt you could. But fighting won’t change anything. The fact is, I don’t love him. I don’t know if I can ever love again.” She sighed. “But he won’t accept it. I keep hoping someone else will catch his attention.”

  Braeden looped his other arm around her waist and pulled her closer. Her comment about loving again bothered him. “So you do want me to stay?” Though careful to keep his touch light, his body tensed, her reply meaning more to him than he wanted it to.

  She didn’t look at him. Instead, she stared at his chest. “I shouldn’t, but I do.”

  Not exactly the resounding “yes” he’d hoped for, but he’d take it. He tilted her chin up so he could see her eyes. “Do you know what I thought about your eyes the first time I met you?”

  “That they were too big?”

  He smiled. “No. I thought that the blue of your eyes was the exact color of the blue in a frozen ice stream.”

  “Did you?”

  “I did. And looking into them now, I am positive they are. Now, if I could just make a frozen ice stream appear so I could prove it to you.”

  She chuckled.

  The sound spread warmth through his chest. He had to know more about her. “So how did you end up running your own inn?”

  Her lashes covered the blue he enjoyed and her brow furrowed. “It was my grandmama’s. I used to help her on occasion when I was young, but my father planned for me to inherit the farm. It wasn’t until…until our plans were disrupted that I began to help her in earnest. She was getting older and couldn’t handle it on her own. When she died, I took it over.”

  “What about the farm?”

  She titled her head to look at him again. “Papa still runs it with Mama and some hired help. It is just as well, as I could never truly take it over while he’s alive. He loves that farm and—”

  “Katrina! Hey, Katrina.” The thin, awkward man known as Irwin strode along the path they had come. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

  Chapter Seven

  Irwin reminded Braeden of the cartoon character Goofy. His arms and legs seemed too long for his body and his elongated face did have a dog-like appearance. His eyes were big and his thin black hair pulled back in a ponytail didn’t help his looks.

  Kat turned at Irwin’s yell. Braeden stepped next to her and put his hand around her waist. The move wasn’t lost on Irwin, though the man pretended not to see. Interesting.

  Irwin stopped not three feet in front of them. “What are you doing way out here? Who is taking care of the inn? Don’t you have things to do?”

  Braeden fought the urge to smile as Kat’s hands found her hips. “Irwin Crane. I think I know a bit more about the work I need to do than you do. How dare you come out here to tell me I need to get to work?”

  To give the man credit, he did blush, but he didn’t let it go. “I was just worried because I know the inn is very important to you and I saw your mother heading that way. I thought you might want to know.”

  “My mother was going to the inn because she is helping me this weekend. Now is there anything else you need?”

  Irwin’s gaze lifted to Braeden before it moved back to Kat. “What are you doing out here?”

  Braeden could have sworn he heard Kat growl, but it was so low in her throat he wasn’t sure.

  “I’m giving Braeden a tour, what else would I be doing?”

  “A tour? Oh, you mean of the old Dutch church. The whole story really is fascinating. Maybe someone should lead regular tours through here. Do you think the organizers would like that idea?”

  Irwin walked past them in the direction they were headed, clueless about how unwanted his presence was. “Aren’t you coming? You really want to see the graveyard during the day when you can read the headstones. At night it is haunted and not a safe place to be.”

  Kat turned from Irwin as he strode by and looked at Braeden. “I’m sorry. We can go back to the festival if you like.”

  He wanted to be alone with Kat and the festival would not allow for that. More sure he could rid them of Irwin, he declined. “No, I want to see this church in the daylight. I’ve only seen it at night and it raised a lot of questions for me.”

  She hooked her arm with his and placed her other hand on his biceps. “It did? Then I guess we better follow Irwin and get the full tour.”

  Braeden gazed into her smiling eyes. “I hope to take my own tour of a very interesting landmark later.”

  “Really?”

  He let his gaze slip to her cleavage before returning to her face. “Most definitely.”

  “Braeden.” Though she used his name as a reprimand, her cheeks flushed.

  He grinned as he turned them to follow Irwin. It wasn’t a long stroll since they had walked most of the forest path already. As they came upon the clearing where the old church sat, they could see Irwin already among the gravestones to the right of the small building. “Is this church still used?”

  “Oh yes. It may not look like much on the outside, but it is well cared for.” Kat let go of his arm and picked up her skirt to walk across the grass. “There are graves here that date back to the 1600s.”

  Irwin waved them over. “Come check this out. It’s Doffue Martling, the blue-bearded Dutchman. Have you heard the story of how he almost sank an English ship singlehandedly?”

  Braeden shook his head. “Why didn’t he actually sink it?”

  Irwin shrugged. “His cannon burst on the sixth charge.”

  Braeden grimaced and looked at Kat in question.

  “Irwin is an historian. He specializes in the Revolutionary War and New York’s part in it.”

  They reached the tombstone Irwin pointed to. Braeden stared long and hard. The spelling of many of the words was odd. Then again, the late 1700s was a long time ago.

  Kat continued to stroll along the headstones. She stopped at one and laid her hand on it. “This is old Van Bueren’s grave. He was quite the drunk, but he never hurt anyone. I always feel sad when I see this one. He didn’t deserve the end he got.”

  Braeden stood solemnly next to her. It was as if she had known the man but he died in 1791. “What happened?”

  “We aren’t sure. All they found was his skeleton with pieces of his clothes still on it.”

  She shivered and he pulled her up against his side. He liked having her full curves pressed against him.

  “Hey, you two. Do you want to see one of the most interesting graves?” Irwin stood next to a tombstone a couple rows back and near the end of a row.

  Kat pulled from Braeden’s embrace but took his hand. “Come. You better look and placate him, otherwise he’ll talk about it for the next two days.”

  He walked with her across the healthy grass. It didn’t appear many people came to visit the graves, but that made sense as they were so old. Wandering through cemeteries wasn’t his usual pastime, but Katrina’s hand felt so natural in his, he didn’t mind at all.

  They maneuvered around the headstones until they stood next to Irwin. He pointed. “This is the galloping Hessian. You must know about him.”

  Irwin looked at him as if they shared some kind of secret, but he had no idea what it might be. “Can’t say that I do.”

  Irritation flitted across the man’s face. “You should. This is the grave of the original headless horseman.”

  Braeden glanced at Kat for confirmation. At her nod, he examined the marker closely. It was easy to read its death date, 1776. Also easy to read were the words Hessian Soldier, but no name could be seen. Had it weathered somehow or was it never there to begin with? Maybe the man really had died with no head and so they hadn’t known his identity. “How did people during this time know this was a Hessian?”

  Irwin rolled his eyes. “Because he was wearing his German uniform.” He glanced at Kat as if looking for patience with a child. “The man was headless, so they could only identify him as a Hessian.”

  That made sense. “How did he lose his head? Bayonet?”

 
“Cannonball.”

  “Ouch.”

  Irwin’s eyes grew bright. “I know. But they say every night when there’s a moon, he rides back to the scene of the battle looking for his head, but he must race back here before dawn breaks. That’s why he rides so fast.”

  Braeden watched the scrawny man become animated with his story. There was more behind his interest in this particular grave than simply history. “How long have you been attending these festivals, Irwin?”

  The man started as if his mind had been far away. “Ever since I was five, at least, that is the earliest I remember.”

  “And you have never missed one?”

  Irwin shook his head. “Of course not. Come down by the bridge. There’s more to this story.” The man strode off in the direction of the small stream that ran along the other side of the church.

  Braeden looked at Kat. “Is he okay?”

  “I don’t know. I think he’s just a bit too caught up in the legends of the area.”

  Something in his gut told him there was more to it, but he let it go. It wouldn’t hurt to do some internet investigation on Irwin Crane when he returned home.

  They meandered their way between the stones when a clear name caught his eye. He froze.

  Van Brunt. 1722–1781.

  Kat turned back. “What is it?”

  “It’s my name.” A coolness settled into his body as if a ghost passed through him, but it was daylight, and there were no such things as ghosts.

  “I know.” Kat took his hand. “There are a few stones with your name here as there are with mine. That is why our families are part of the festival.”

  He tore his gaze from the grave and found her sympathetic eyes warming. Of course. It was an ancestor. That made sense as he was of Dutch descent on his father’s side and this area was known for being settled by those from Holland. Still, he couldn’t shake the discomfort. Instead, he focused on Kat’s warm hand within his.

  As they drew closer to the church, he tugged her toward it and put a finger to his lips.

  She glanced over her shoulder to where Irwin had trotted off and nodded.

  Quickly, they both ran around the corner of the building like high-school students looking for a place to make out. Braeden sobered.