Always in My Dreams

by Jo Goodman

  Moira was on the point of leaving when she paused on the threshold. "I liked Mr. Caide very much, Skye."

  "Mother."

  "Sure, and it's not me he's asking to marry, but I liked him just the same."

  Skye turned on her stool. "Yes, but what do you know about him?"

  "Not as much as you, I'm sure," Moira said. "He told us about his parents being missionaries. I'm afraid I found that so fascinating that the conversation didn't move much beyond it. Your father couldn't wait to get him alone."

  "To finish the inquisition," said Skye.

  Moira smiled. "More likely to begin it."

  * * *

  It was late by the time Walker Caide arrived at the St. Mark Hotel. Moira had suggested he might find the accommodations there comfortable. He didn't mention that he had stayed at the St. Mark before. Except for an awkward beginning, Skye's mother had been a gracious hostess and she wanted to be helpful. He didn't take that pleasure from her.

  Walker registered at the front desk. The lobby was all but deserted. A couple came in from the street wearing evening clothes. They were smiling, exchanging warm glances. Their figures were reflected in the dark polished wood that paneled the entrance. They stopped at the desk to collect their key then disappeared up the wide carpeted staircase. Walker waited a full minute to give them enough time to get to their room. He had no desire to catch them out in the stairwell or in a hallway. They wouldn't have noticed him if he had, but he couldn't have helped but notice them. He was feeling a little raw, a little restless, and the after dinner drinks he'd shared with Jay Mac had intensified the feelings, not dulled them.

  His room was on the third floor. It was small, about a third of the size of the suite he generally shared with Parnell when they came to the city. He tossed his valise on a chair and lit the bedside lamp. A noise outside drew him to the room's sole window. He had a view of Broadway below. Although the lobby of the St. Mark was quiet, the thoroughfare wasn't. Carriages were moving at a brisk pace, outdistancing the milk wagons and farmers' carts. A group of men stepped out of a restaurant. They were wearing identical black coats and derbies, white scarves and gloves. Two of them carried ebony canes. The very look of them defined respectability and importance, yet Walker wasn't surprised when they walked off in the direction of a seedier section of town.

  Turning away, he unpacked his clothes and prepared for bed. He did it because it was late and not because he was tired. When he crawled into bed, he found it was every bit as lonely as he'd thought it would be. He reached for the lamp and turned back the wick.

  Gaslight from the street filtered into his room. Shadows overlaid the patterned wallpaper, lending it a grayish hue. Walker listened to the activity on Broadway, the sounds of people moving with purpose and direction. Wagon wheels clicked steadily. Occasionally there was a shout or the bellow of hearty laughter Mostly the mix of voices was a tranquil, even hum by the time it reached his ears. Without his being aware of it, the nighttime cadence of the busy city lulled him to sleep.

  Walker had learned how to sleep deeply and wake instantly. When a singular sound separated itself from the background noise, Walker sat up immediately and listened, each of his senses heightened by the interruption. It came again, a scratching sound of metal against metal. It was irregular, starting and pausing and starting again.

  He cocked his head to isolate the origin of the sound and realized it was coming from the door. Walker stood and shrugged into his robe. The light in his room was sufficient for him to find his way to the door without bumping into anything. His passage was silent.

  At the door, he stopped and listened again. He could identify the sound now. Someone was trying to jiggle his key out of the lock. He hunkered down so that his eyes were level with the keyhole. He could see the key wobbling in the lock as it was pushed from the hallway side of the door. Walker actually considered helping the intruder. He could tap the key and let it fall on the floor, where it could easily be pulled into the corridor. He decided against it, preferring instead to learn something about the burglar's patience.

  It took the intruder a full minute to push the key onto the floor. He could have been surprised at any time by someone stepping into the hallway from one of the other rooms or the stairwell, but if he was distracted by that possibility, he didn't show it. He was persistent, if amateurish.

  Walker almost jumped when the key finally fell. It landed loudly on the hardwood floor. The sound must have surprised the intruder as well, because the entire door rattled in its frame as the man fell against it. After those noises it became quiet again. Walker could imagine what was going on on the other side of the door, the urge the other man would have felt to quell his own panic, the furtive looking around, wondering if he was going to be discovered.

  Walker waited. Had the burglar given up?

  No. Walker saw a small metal rod being pushed under the door. It took him a moment to realize the object was a button hook. Rather ingenious, that. It took the intruder several tries to catch the tip of the black skeleton key, but once he had it, he pulled it under the door easily. Walker moved back from the door then and waited.

  The key turned again, this time from the hallway, and the lock was released. The door was opened slowly and cautiously.

  "Sweet Jesus," he said, raking back his tawny, sleep-pressed hair. The silhouette framed in his doorway was very familiar. "I should have known it was you." He pulled Skye into the room quickly and shut the door. The scream that had been rising in her throat was stifled by his hand across her mouth. "I'm the one who should be raising hell here." He eased his grip when he felt her relax. It wasn't an accident that his hand rested near her neck. He felt like strangling her.

  "You scared me!" she said accusingly.

  Incredulous, he asked, "I scared you? What happened to knocking on a person's door?"

  Skye drew herself up stiffly. "It's the middle of the night. I thought you'd be sleeping."

  Walker let her go. "Your logic not only eludes, it frightens me. But then, to your way of thinking, that probably serves me right."

  "Exactly."

  He nearly groaned. He shook his head instead. The movement only partially cleared it. Walker pulled on the belt of his robe and lighted the bedside lamp. Skye had already taken off her coat. She hung it beside his just inside the door and was removing her fur-fringed hat. Her bright hair was pulled back loosely, secured by a black grosgrain ribbon. The arrangement was soft and flattering. Her eyes looked impossibly large, the centers of them so dark and wide that they were more black than green. She was wearing a hunter green gown with the tight sleeves cut high on her shoulders and the neckline closing at the base of her throat. Tiny jet buttons fastened the tailored bodice. She was nervously fingering one of them now, trying to gauge his reaction.

  Walker pointed to the room's sole chair. "Sit." His tone did not invite argument. He disappeared into the dressing room and returned wearing a pair of black trousers and a wrinkled white shirt that he didn't bother to tuck in. Skye's flush told him that she realized he had been quite naked under his dressing gown. "Does anyone know where you are?"

  "Who would I tell?" she asked.

  The entire neighborhood, he thought. This was just the sort of thing the gossips would relish. "How did you get out?"

  "I walked out. The house only looks like a fortress. There aren't any guards at the doors."

  "There should be," he said. "Your father should hire a dozen, just for you." He sighed. It probably had been tried already. "Why are you here?"

  "I wanted to talk to you."

  "I think I understood that. How did you find me?"

  "I asked my mother where you were staying. She told me she had suggested that you come here. It wasn't so difficult after that. I distracted the clerk at the front desk while I looked over the registry. Your name was right there beside room 309. When the clerk was busy with someone else, I came up."

  Walker wasn't accepting such a facile explanation. He focused o
n the one word that was important to him. "Distracted? How?"

  "In the traditional way," she said simply. "I flirted with him."

  Closing his eyes, Walker rubbed his face with his palm. He let out a slow breath and considered the possibility that it was all a dream. He looked in her direction out of the corner of one eye. She was still there. "What time is it?"

  "It was just after two when I arrived in the lobby. I imagine it's close to two-thirty now."

  She seemed completely unconcerned by it. "Do you do this sort of thing often?" he asked.

  "This would be my first time." She looked around with interest. The room was plainer than the one she remembered Michael having. But that had been years ago. Perhaps they were all so utilitarian now. "Do you have anything to drink here?"

  "Water."

  "That would be fine." She divined the expression in his eyes. "I'm only thirsty," she said. "I don't need to bolster my courage."

  Walker pointed to the dressing room. "I don't think you're lacking in courage, merely in common sense."

  Skye found a glass and poured herself a drink of water. When she reentered Walker's bedchamber he was standing by the window, his hands thrust in his pockets. His body was angled forward and he raised himself on the balls of his bare feet. Skye sipped her water, watching him.

  He didn't appear to be angry, yet there was a restlessness about him that he was trying to contain. The tawny color of his hair, the length, the thickness, the lithe strength of his profile suddenly prompted an image in Skye's mind of a prowling lion, proud, stately, alone but in command. She was reluctant to go to him.

  He sensed her presence and turned suddenly. "I should take you back," he said. "Finish your water and I'll get dressed."

  "No. I'm not going with you, and if you try to force me, I'll make it very difficult for you." Skye returned to her chair and sipped her water. "You know I can."

  It was the one thing he did know. "All right," he said. "You can stay."

  "Thank you," she said softly. She regarded him intently before she spoke again. "You told Jay Mac and my mother that your parents were missionaries."

  Of all the things he considered she might have to say to him, Walker hadn't once thought it would be this. She had an uncanny ability to set him completely off balance. He actually felt as if he'd staggered backward, but he knew he hadn't moved at all. Wondering where she was leading, not at all certain he wanted to follow, Walker confirmed her statement. "I told them," he said.

  "Why?"

  "Why? Because my parents are missionaries. Or rather, they were. They've been dead over fifteen years now."

  Skye stopped rolling the glass between her palms and gripped it more tightly. "I'm sorry."

  Walker knew she meant it. "You shouldn't be. They chose their death when they elected to serve in a leper colony in the South Pacific."

  It was not his words that captured Skye's attention, but the lack of inflection in his tone. He wasn't indifferent to their deaths, he was merely pretending to be. He might even have convinced himself. Fifteen years was a long time to practice feeling nothing and capture the essence of it. "Where were you?" she asked.

  "They left me on the mainland."

  "The mainland?"

  "China. Their mission was in Shanghai."

  "You never told me any of this before," she said. "Didn't you think it was important?"

  Walker took his hands out of his pockets. He folded his arms across his chest and leaned back against the window. He could feel the cool panes of glass through his shirt. "I'm not sure that it's important now."

  "But you told my parents."

  "Is this what it's about?" he asked. "Is this why you traipsed across town in the middle of the night? You're taking me to task for telling your parents something I didn't tell you?"

  "That's part of it."

  "Then perhaps you'd better tell me the whole of it, because I don't understand what goes on in that mind of yours."

  He hadn't raised his voice, but the cold, sharp edge of it was enough to make Skye flinch. For all that his posture appeared relaxed, she sensed his agitation. His narrow gaze speared her. The gold flecks were splintered and bright. Skye put her glass down and got to her feet. She approached Walker, stopping only when she was within a foot of him. Her hands went to the tiny jet buttons on her gown and she began to unfasten them. She didn't watch her fingers; she watched him.

  Walker's eyes dropped to Skye's hands when she touched the first button. The material parted and he had a glimpse of the hollow of her throat. A second button was undone and more of her skin came into view. She undid another. Then another. He looked at her again, a question in his eyes this time. She merely stared back and moved her fingers to the next button.

  "Skye." His voice had a deep, raspy quality to it. It also held a warning.

  "Hmm?" She sounded innocent even as she played the temptress.

  Walker was looking at the bare curves of her breasts as her bodice gaped wider. "What do you think you're doing?"

  "Flirting?" she asked hopefully.

  Walker fairly groaned. "I hope this isn't what you did with the desk clerk."

  Her smile was a sensual siren's call and she let him wonder. She flicked another button and eased the gown off her shoulders. Skye was naked to the waist. She didn't have to touch another button.

  Walker pushed away from the window. His palms grazed her arms, her shoulders. His thumbs passed along her collarbone, then traveled lower, brushing the sides of her breasts. He stroked them, cupping the underside, passing lightly across the nipples. She leaned into him and raised her face. Her lips parted as she stood on tiptoe and reached for him. Her fingers threaded at the back of his neck and she pulled gently, bringing him closer. Her mouth closed over his, hungry and searching.

  She was lifted, carried. She felt the edge of the bed at the back of her knees. He pushed the gown over her hips. It spread like a dark green pool at her feet. Her shoes and stockings, and finally her petticoat, followed. When she was tumbled backward on the bed, she pulled him with her. The weight of his body held her still for a moment, stealing her breath. He covered her, surrounded her. Her breasts swelled against his chest and her legs rubbed his. She kissed his jaw, his cheek. She pressed tiny, tasting kisses along the length of his neck.

  He rolled on his back and she straddled him. Leaning forward, she removed the ribbon from her hair. She shook her head just once, slowly, from side to side, and her unbound hair slipped softly over her shoulders. Her hips moved lower as she slid comfortably over him. Through the barrier of his trousers she felt him straining against the cleft of her thighs. She rocked on him, teasing him again with kisses on the underside of his jaw and just below his ear. She felt his breathing quicken, then catch.

  She kissed him again, softly, slowly. She raised her head before she was caught deeply by it. He was searching her face, his eyes dark. She dipped again, grazing his mouth, nudging his nose. Above him, she smiled.

  "One of us has too many clothes on," she said.

  It was gratifying, Walker reflected, that they thought so much alike.

  Chapter 12

  Walker stripped off his shirt and flung it over the side of the bed. He raised his hips as Skye tugged on his trousers. She made it sweet torture, kissing him as she inched the material past his hips and thighs. When she was finished, he was so ready for her that he ached with it.

  He twisted them both so that she was under him again, this time on her stomach. She lay still, uncertain now by this turn of events. It was her breathing that became increasingly ragged as he laid his palm on her thigh, then drew it upward over her bottom, past the small of her back, and over her shoulder blades. It was her skin that warmed, even burned, under his touch, and a soft, aching moan parted her lips.

  Moving her hair to one side, he kissed her neck and whispered in her ear as she turned her head. His mouth made a trail down her spine and then he moved behind her, lifting her hips.

  Skye's fingers cu
rled in the sheets as he entered her. His thrust was hard, the pleasure so intense that she bit her lip to silence a cry. She pushed back against him as he came into her again. She was lifted slightly and his hands came around, sliding under her belly and up to her breasts. They filled his hands. He cupped them. The nipples were hard, harder still when his thumbs passed over them. He urged a hum of pleasure from deep in her throat. Her body fairly vibrated with it.

  He clutched her, pressing against her, filling her. His mouth was hot on her skin. He whispered her name. She cradled him, rocking with each thrust, finding his rhythm so they moved together. Her body shuddered first, and when he felt it, he couldn't prolong his own pleasure or hold out to make hers return. His hips moved quick and shallow and his entire body contracted tightly in the moment before he spent himself.

  For a long time they both simply lay still, curled like spoons, his arm around her waist. His breath ruffled wisps of her hair. Lamplight burnished the strands with threads of gold and copper. When she moved slightly, only adjusting her position for comfort, her bottom nudged his groin. His response was a groan that he muffled in her hair. "Don't move," he said quietly.

  "But—"

  "Not just yet."

  Except for the hand she laid across his forearm, Skye stayed as she was. In time Walker slept.

  Skye rose from the bed and padded quietly into the dressing room. She washed at the basin. The water was cool on her warm skin and she let it trickle over her shoulders and between her breasts. She dried with a towel that still held Walker's masculine scent. When she was on the point of leaving she saw his dressing gown and slipped it on. The shoulder seams hung low and the sleeves brushed her fingertips. She raised the lapel to her face and rubbed her cheek against the material.

  Skye crawled back into bed wearing the dressing gown.

  Walker opened one eye. His hand slid over her shoulder and he recognized the texture of his robe. "Why do you have this on?"

  "I wanted to wear you."

  Once again Walker marveled at her ability to move him off center. He raised himself on one elbow as Skye turned on her back. "When are you going to marry me, Skye?"