Charlie suddenly tugged the necklace against her throat, hard and tight, until only her hand kept the metal links from cutting into her skin.
“What are you doing, Charlie?” Maggie squeaked, startled and scared.
His head came around to look at her from only a few inches away, his hot eyes fixed on hers. “Do you like it?”
She sensed a trap but lust, hot and bright, ran through her veins. Her tongue ran out over her lips and she couldn’t help a sideways, languishing look at the gold. “It’s marvelous.”
“You’ll have to come to Colorado with me to keep it.”
“What?” Her brain scrambled for a reason. He’d never acted like this before. “Why?”
“You gave Morgan Evans a clear offer this afternoon. Or was it two offers?”
She flushed guiltily then tried to recover her place in his good graces. “I was only flirting.” She simpered up at him.
The necklace tightened and she gasped.
“Don’t lie to me again, Maggie.” Weariness infused Charlie’s voice. “I know you only married me after he refused you. But he will never gain your favors, not while you’re alive. Do you understand?”
She nodded, fighting to breathe. “Yes, Charlie.”
The jeweled rope loosened and fell away. For the first time in her life, she didn’t grab for a piece of gold.
“Good girl. Now, you’re coming to Colorado with me on this race.”
“Ride through the mountains? I haven’t done that since…”
“You married me.”
She nodded, too appalled to speak. A month in the mountains, riding every day? It would be far too much like her miserable childhood.
“You’ll sleep with me every night, too, for a change. Do you understand?”
Worst of all, she’d spend her nights with a man whose male member lay limp as a codfish whenever he approached his wife—and who hadn’t the decency to let her find satisfaction elsewhere. She grumbled inside but kept her thoughts from her face. “Yes, Charlie.”
Chapter Eight
The railroad depot bustled with activity, even at this late hour. Locomotives belched clouds of steam, laced with cinders, as they bustled back and forth, moving a handful of freight cars or exchanging a pair of passenger cars for a flat car. Cattle bellowed fitfully, underscoring the stench of their discomfort. A bonfire could be glimpsed between the rolling, hard-edged railcars, edged by hulking shapes of men and the red arcs of gesticulating cigars. Far in the distance, a thunderstorm flashed a few last lightning bolts as it moved southeast toward Tennessee and Memphis.
All of Jessamyn’s earlier nerves, which she’d pushed aside while they’d planned the journey, rushed back in full force. What would it be like to be Morgan’s lover for weeks to come? Would she become addicted to the drugging pleasure of his kisses, the rich sensations his hands brought, the wild delights his cock sent through her? But it was fruitless for a respectable woman to feel that way about a rogue like him.
Jessamyn plastered a smile on her face and greeted Abraham and Sarah Chang, William Donovan’s two servants, at his private railway car, parked on a semiprivate siding. A Chinese couple? Their race was unusual here in Missouri but surely more common in San Francisco, where the Donovans lived. Morgan was obviously very familiar with them and greeted them as old friends. A few quick words confirmed that their luggage had already come onboard, including Jessamyn’s guns and sidesaddle.
Sarah showed her through the luxuriously appointed car, with its intricate inlays of rare woods, carved crystals, rich velvets, and deep carpets.
Heat rippled over her skin at the thought she’d be locked into this moving jewel box with Morgan for almost thirty-six hours. Jessamyn shook her head at her body’s own carnal foolishness.
They passed through an observation lounge, a stateroom, open sections, a dining room—all superbly made and lavishly furnished. She began to wonder what Morgan would do with her in each compartment. Spread her legs across the arms of one of the great chairs in the observation lounge—and feast on her ecstatic intimate flesh? Her breasts tightened, somehow heating her core.
Toss her skirts up in the second stateroom, just to see how well its mattress was made? Her skin heated, until she could feel every detail of her drawers and the cream just starting to bead.
Bend her over a table in the dining room? Her legs trembled at the thought, until she had to lock her knees as her core clenched.
She tried to ignore these distracting carnal fancies and fix her attention on the car’s details, like the rare woods used in the marquetry, but couldn’t. Every time she touched a table, her thoughts skittered in a thousand directions, everyone a different position for him to spread her across that surface.
She caught a reflection of herself in one of the windows, and remembered how she’d looked earlier that evening—when she’d moaned in ecstasy as Morgan thrust into her. At the memory, her body promptly softened and ached for him, as if he had only to hold out his hand and she’d flip up her skirts then and there for him.
Shaken, she stepped quickly into the last compartment, the main stateroom, whose luxury stopped her in her tracks. It was midnight now and the train wouldn’t leave until dawn for the twenty-four-hour run to Denver. How much of that time would she spend here?
The main stateroom was the most lavishly appointed compartment of all, with monogrammed golden silks stretched across the enormous carved rosewood bed. The walls were made of carved mahogany panels, alternating with beautiful marquetry inlays, and lit by elegant crystal lamps. Overhead, a series of clerestory windows, set with elegant leaded glass and designed to exchange air and light for heat, circled the entire compartment.
Her heart stopped as she remembered the completely different, narrow iron bed in her Memphis home’s attic. How Morgan’s hard body had pressed her into it, his eyes pinning her more completely than his hand had pinioned her wrist.
Sarah Chang said something but Jessamyn silenced her with a raised hand.
Dear God, how that instant was still branded into every inch of her body, even the way his waistband had ridden down his hips and how she’d longed to push it lower…
She gulped and pushed her fist into her mouth. Her teeth scraped a knuckle and the small pain brought her back to the present.
Her stained and battered old traveling trunk rested on a bench, waiting for her like an old friend. She rested her hand on it for a moment before starting to untie her bonnet. She said something trivial to Sarah and urgently began the evening ritual of undressing.
By the time she’d changed into her thin cotton nightgown, she was no longer certain of her own mind. If she’d had a chance to leave, she’d probably have taken it. But her own body’s hunger for Morgan and her need to rescue her friends kept her where she was.
Sarah left her with a quiet good night, her face impassive.
Jessamyn restlessly smoothed a fold in the silk coverlet, following it all the way across the only bed large enough to hold both Morgan and herself. She shivered involuntarily, her tongue darting out to touch her lips. Surely she was cold, despite the summer’s heat that lingered in this enclosed space. She could not possibly be flushed with eagerness, have heat building in her core, as she waited for Morgan to share her bed—could she? It was so very ridiculous to be eager for a man who had no notion of steadiness and reliability, of how to support a woman.
The door closed softly and she spun to face him. He wore only light silk trousers, riding low on his hips, whose transparency displayed every detail of his readiness. Her jaw dropped and cream rippled onto her thigh. “You, you’re not…”
Morgan eyed Jessamyn, shifting from one foot to the other in that fragile nightgown. And well she should be nervous—how dare she call him less than respectable!
Christ, the cloth might as well not have been there, thanks to the beads of sweat disappearing into the valley between her high, superb breasts, highlighting every curve. And her breasts’ taut peaks lifted the fabr
ic even farther, their rich rose vividly apparent.
His body tightened, sweat beading on his throat and trickling down over his chest—just the way her tongue would feel when she tasted him.
He growled and banged down the small chest on the dresser. He would not, could not, leap upon her the first chance he had to make her beg for him, dammit! He’d spent nine years learning how to drive women insane with lust, how to leash his own desires. This afternoon, there’d been only enough time at his hotel to blunt his raging hungers, not teach her to plead for him. Surely, he would not behave like the ravening beast she considered him.
Still, he’d never seen her naked body in that attic room. It might be best to keep some barriers between them—to be removed later, of course—so that he wasn’t too distracted by the sight of her.
“But anyone could have seen you,” she protested.
Still staring at his cock, he noted and all but purred. That’s it, Jessamyn. You were hot for me nine years ago but you denied it. Tonight, hypocrisy won’t be allowed: you will plead for a taste.
“Why should I care? Tonight is for my pleasures, as I told you nine years ago.” He circled the bed, coming closer to her.
He deepened his voice to a purr. “Do you remember the attic?”
Her hand clenched but didn’t quite touch the bed. He caught his breath, lust spearing down his spine. He took another step, coming close enough to her to scent her musk. “Perhaps you, too, need to be bound in a small bed—and tasted.”
She gaped at him. “Morgan, you wouldn’t!” But her musk deepened, while her breasts rose and fell more rapidly.
Hunger washed through him in a great ravening, cleansing flood. Jessamyn was excited by the prospect of some bondage. He could give her that and have his revenge at the same time, the great pleasure of hearing her beg for more.
Discipline settled over him, the hard-won control learned from the Consortium. Lust eased back to the edges of his being, reluctantly forced to wait.
He wrapped his hand around her throat in a caress, savoring how her pulse sped up—and she leaned closer to him, rather than fighting to run from the hard fingers so close to her jugular. “You’ll do anything I want, remember?”
She nodded, whimpering a little, her green eyes enormous as she stared up at him. Her little red tongue darted out then retreated quickly. “As I agreed. Anything.”
He kissed her possessively, sucking her lower lip into his. She responded immediately, leaning into him, and fervently returning the oral caress. As he’d jealously imagined for seven years, she’d had a passionate relationship with Cyrus. Something primal in him growled at the thought of another man. Something else, equally primal, rejoiced at her skill.
He lifted his head, rubbing his thumb over her swollen lip. She blinked up at him, her eyes quickly starting to refocus. That was his Jessamyn, seldom too far from thinking.
He quickly took out two strands of beads from his toy chest. They were both made from dark green jade, perfectly smooth, and extremely rare. They were also the color of her eyes and he’d never used them with another woman. In fact, he’d laughed at himself for buying them, given their expense.
“Give me your hands, Jessamyn.”
She blinked at him, her brain definitely turning over. “Why?”
Hell, would he have to turn her over his knee and paddle her to teach her obedience? She couldn’t question every order in the mountains or she’d be killed, if not by Charlie’s thugs, then by an avalanche or a thunderstorm. He poured steel into his voice. “Obey me, Jessamyn.”
She gaped at him, never having heard that tone from him before. Then she held out her hands, her breasts tightening even further behind them, and her eyes turning soft and deep.
Oh yes, Jessamyn was definitely excited by bondage. A wave of heat surged through his veins at the hungry look in her eyes. He gritted his teeth and fought to control his breathing.
A few moments passed—time in which sweat made Jessamyn’s nightgown more and more transparent—before he had the discipline to loop one strand of the beads around her wrists in a loose knot. Dear God, the dark green was just as beautiful against her wrists as her eyes looked against her cheeks.
He gave her time to adapt, of course, as a courtesy to her innocence of this style of carnal play.
She twisted her hands and tugged gently, testing the bond. She could free herself but only with a little work. Perfect. Now she’d have to pay attention to what he wanted, rather than think and do what she wanted. Blood pooled in his groin, heating in readiness.
“Why?” she asked finally.
“Does it matter?”
She blinked and visibly worked to follow his logic. “Since this is what you want to do, you don’t have to provide an explanation?”
He smiled, well aware he was showing his teeth. “Exactly. As long as I take you to Colorado.”
“I should object to being tied up.”
He snorted, his earlier anger creeping back. “Don’t be a fool. You called me a rogue and a scoundrel, Jessamyn. If you object, I’ll use force to gain what I want, stopping only if it threatens to harm you.”
Her eyes searched his, assessing his determination. He stared back at her, absolutely determined—and she yielded, bowing her head to him. “Very well.” She gulped. “Anything you wish.”
He swept her up into his arms and laid her down on the bed, leaning over her. “Entirely mine, Jessamyn,” he growled.
She nodded, her lips slightly parted. Dammit, why couldn’t he resist her? He swooped down for a kiss and somehow his hand found one of her breasts and played with it. Stroked it, fondled it, plumped it, kneaded it—and rolled and plucked her nipples when they hardened urgently.
She gasped and squirmed under him. Suddenly her fingers delicately teased his cock, circling the tip.
Morgan snarled and slid down between her legs. Hell and damnation, he would not be the one begging for another touch.
“Morgan?” Bewilderment in her voice; he told himself that was good. Keep her off balance so he could recover his. He knelt up between her legs and grabbed the other jade strand from the night table, before looking back at her.
The hem of her nightgown was tumbled over her thighs, showing beautiful, long, slender legs, creamy white against the crimson silk. She tried to close them, which only made her magnificent long thigh muscles flex, vibrant under the sheen of sweat. What those legs would feel like when they wrapped around him…
His breath caught in his throat and his cock all but lunged out of his thin silk trousers.
Dark curls showed clearly at the junction of her thighs. He bent his head to look, lured by the scent of her musk and the trail of her cream hinted at under her nightgown. What man could resist such a delicacy?
“Oh yes, Morgan!” She lifted her hips eagerly, spreading her legs—all the signs of a woman who enjoyed passion.
If she was so eager now, he’d have to bring her higher before he released her.
He slid his fingers under the nightgown, teasing them both with the contrast between his callused fingers and her silken skin. Exploring the gentle curves of her belly, the sweep of her thighs into the strong juncture with her mound. She’d been an adorable schoolgirl in that gray dress but the sight of her like this, moaning in passion and willingness, made tension coil at the base of his spine, aching to claim her.
But not yet—she hadn’t begged for him.
He fingered her intimately, growling approval when she moaned his name and her hips rocked. A slow slick of cream glided onto his fingertips, the best delicacy in the world.
Soon, very soon, he promised himself, and slipped the jade beads between her folds.
She shrieked, bucking up against him. Yes! Finally he’d broken past her expectations.
Her eyes flashed open. “Good heavens, Morgan!”
He smiled at her, damn sure he looked very pleased with himself, and teased her clit with the beads.
Her eyes rolled back in her head.
“Morgan!”
He wondered how the hell he’d manage to undo his trousers’ drawstring with only one hand—and decided he could rip the damn things off if he had to. He tucked some beads into her channel and began to work her over in earnest, careful not to let her reach orgasm. No matter how agonizing the wait was for him, he would hear her beg.
He ripped down his trousers and fumbled for a condom, forcing himself to take the time now while she was still distracted with the beads’ unusual sensation.
She sobbed for breath when every bead was rippling over her folds, covered in her cream. She moaned when he finally tasted her, fondling her with his tongue. Hell, he loved to run his tongue through a woman’s folds, but not quite enough to forget who he was with.
He teased her clit with the beads and she shrieked his name, making his mouth tighten in what wasn’t quite a smile. Yes, dammit, yes. She was coming closer and closer to orgasm’s madness—but so was he.
He pumped his fingers into her, matching the rhythm pounding through both their veins. Two fingers—and she sobbed his name as she adapted, cream gushing over his hand. That’s it, Jessamyn, just a little more desperation.
“Please, oh please,” she moaned.
Say it, Jessamyn, say it before both of us go insane. Every artery and vein seemed to be pumping blood for one purpose only—mounting her.
“Morgan, please finish me,” she sobbed.
Yes! He snatched the beads away from her, making her sob in desperation, then wrapped them around the base of his cock. He groaned at the slick delight, binding him closer to the desperation she’d felt and the ecstasy they’d both soon enjoy.
An instant later, he knelt between her legs, his cock poised at her entrance. He gripped her shoulders from underneath, pulling them together. He surged into her, her hot slick sheath clasping him. She flung her arms over her head, arching back in welcome.
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