A huge sigh pushed against her corset and she turned back to gaze at the house, wondering if she’d ever escape the tedium.
Lettie glanced up and her thoughts scattered into the hot summer air. Her heart began to pound. On the outer edge of the boardinghouse roof, a dark shape clung to the gabled window of her bedroom.
Laws! She’d locked Ethan out on the ledge.
Chapter 8
Grasping her skirts, Lettie raced toward the boardinghouse and shot up the back staircase. Once in her room, she slammed the door and scrambled up the last flight of stairs.
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” she whispered fiercely, all the while knowing he couldn’t hear her but needing to say the words anyway.
She shoved the window up with such force that the panes jiggled and threatened to crack. Leaning outside, her eyes widened in delight when she found Ethan clinging to the gabled edge with a white-knuckled grip. She could only wonder why neither Rusty nor her brother had bothered to look up and find him there.
“You’re still here!”
At the sound of her voice, Ethan swore, then swore again, using such a variety of curses that even Lettie was impressed by his vocabulary. “Why’d you shut the damned window?”
“I didn’t know you were out here or I wouldn’t have.”
“Can I please—” he paused to grit his teeth, his grip becoming even more fierce—“come into the house now?”
“Well, of course. Just swing your leg over and I’ll take your hand.”
Ethan swallowed, and his face seemed to take on the sickly color of flour paste.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Then come inside.”
There was a moment of silence, then Ethan slowly turned his head to glare at her. “I… can’t.”
Her brow creased in confusion. “Whyever not?”
His eyes squeezed closed. “I hate heights,” he whispered to himself, but Lettie caught the words.
All at once, she became conscious of his death grip on the edge of the gable and the sweat that poured down his face. The man was well and truly spooked.
Reaching out her hand, she spoke in her calmest, gentlest voice. “Give me your hand, Ethan.”
“Oh, damn.”
“Ethan. Give me your hand.”
He opened one eye to gaze at her in stunned disbelief.
“Like hell I will! If you think I’m going to let go, you’ve lost your mind.”
“Ethan. Please. Give me your hand.” Lettie kept her gaze steady and firm, willing him to release the grasp of one hand so that she could help him.
“You’re just trying to see me killed, Lettie Gray.”
“Do as I say, Ethan McGuire,” she repeated, using the voice she generally reserved for the recalcitrant children who occasionally visited the boardinghouse. “Take my hand.”
Very slowly, he released his grasp. Even more slowly, he reached out, until finally she was able to take his hand. His palm was slick with sweat, but his fierce grip on her fingers would never give way.
With more encouraging words, Lettie talked him from the edge of the gable, around the roof, until finally he could hook his leg over the window casing and haul himself inside.
Still cursing, he leaned weakly against the wall, sliding down until he sat on the floor, his eyes closed, breathing heavily. A shudder wracked his frame.
“Damn, I hate heights,” he muttered once again.
Frowning in concern, Lettie knelt beside him, her skirts spreading onto the floor and over his thighs. Though his features were still hard and uncompromising, she found herself reaching out to touch his cheek. His skin was hot beneath her touch and slick with sweat.
“Don’t you ever do anything like that to me again!” he demanded, stabbing the air with a finger.
Her lips twitched slightly at his fierce expression, but she pushed her humor away and savored the texture of his beard-roughened skin. “No. I won’t.”
He must have sensed her amusement, however, because he growled low in his throat, then glared at her with narrowed eyes. “You think this is funny, don’t you?”
“No!”
“I’ll have you know it isn’t!”
“I know it isn’t.”
“And I’ll have you know I don’t appreciate being laughed at.”
“But I—”
“And if you ever lock that window again, I’ll paddle your backside.”
“Yes, sir.”
His head turned slightly, and he pierced her with an azure stare. Suddenly, she became conscious of how her finger had begun to brush back and forth across the firm jut of his cheekbone.
Lettie took a deep breath. Ethan’s scrutiny seemed to scorch into her very soul, singeing her with a feminine awareness she had never felt before. She knew she should go. She knew that this man could bring her nothing but trouble. But remembering last night’s brief glimpse into Ethan’s battered heart, she found she couldn’t move.
When he didn’t pull away, she shifted to cup his cheek with her palm. Her fingers delved into the silky weight of his hair. The strands were smooth as midnight, his scalp was warm and slightly damp from sweat. And though Lettie knew she should probably be repelled, she felt herself reacting in a purely elemental way to the musky heat of his body.
Ethan shifted beneath her touch, but did not back away. Instead, he watched her with eyes that were slightly narrowed and so carefully masked, she had no way of discerning his thoughts. She could only read his reaction by the slight tensing of his muscles beneath her hand and the warmth of his skin. He didn’t smile, didn’t frown.
But he didn’t pull away, either.
Barely breathing, she slid one finger down to his jaw, then up to his lips.
His fingers snapped around her wrist, holding her away. “What kind of game are you playing with me?” he rasped.
She took a ragged breath. “I don’t know.”
Her honest answer seemed to shake his control. His gaze shifted, and he stared at the way his larger hand held hers immobile. When he glanced up again, she nearly backed away from the intense light that had entered his eyes. They flashed with the spark of a man who had just become conscious of a woman’s proximity.
“I suppose I should thank you again for your help. For this morning, and last night.”
So the soft words of thanks she’d thought Ethan had murmured just before she’d fallen asleep had not been a dream. But Lettie didn’t comment on the fact that she’d heard them. She could tell by the glint in his eyes that he regretted the vulnerability she’d seen in him the night before. She tried to ease away. “I don’t think it’s necessary to thank me.”
He tugged her back. “Yes. It is. My mother tried to teach me manners as a child, and I wasn’t always an exemplary pupil, but I did learn how to say thank you. I think you should know that.”
His free hand lifted to curl around her neck, pushing aside the thick braid that hung down her back and delving into the delicate hairs at her nape. His grip was firm.
Male.
“Come here.”
His low tone caused a shiver to course down her spine. Once again, she realized this was not a man to fool with. The intensity of his gaze was too unnerving. The effect of his touch too disturbing.
“No, I—”
His fingers drew her irresistibly forward. “Didn’t your mama teach you it was impolite to argue with your elders?” he murmured, moments before his lips covered hers.
Lettie gasped, her hands flying out to brace against his chest in support, then curling into tight fists when the warmth of his skin seeped through the chambray shirt he wore and seemed to soak into her palms.
“Ethan,” she murmured against his lips.
He ignored her protests, taking advantage of the parting of her lips to deepen the caress.
“Open your mouth, Lettie,” he whispered, drawing back ever so slightly.
“What?” she breathed, her lashes seeming so heavy she c
ould barely open them to see.
“How many times have you been kissed, Lettie?”
She swallowed against the nervousness that seemed to grip her throat. “Four.”
He stared at her a moment before his lips tilted in a brief smile. A smile that held only a touch of wry humor, yet seemed to echo with self-deprecation. “Only four.”
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
“No. It’s not.” The tone of his voice dropped. His eyes seemed to gaze at her with a strange warmth. As if he’d found something special and unique. Then the warmth was masked and the hand at the back of her neck pulled her irretrievably nearer. “But it doesn’t speak well for your education, does it?” His murmured words held a taunting thread of mockery. Watching her with narrowed eyes, he used his free hand to reach out and trace the edge of her lip with his finger. Then he slipped his finger between her lips. “Open your mouth,” he whispered.
Lettie hesitated. Ethan claimed she was danger in a pretty package, but she was not half as dangerous as this man. He had the power to strip her of her idealistic fantasies and introduce her to the harsh realities of life. He had the power to capture something soft and gentle within her, something she didn’t even dare name. But she also knew he had the power to hurt her.
“You don’t trust me, do you?”
“No,” she whispered.
His lips twitched, ever so slightly. “You shouldn’t.” Once again, his finger slipped between her lips. “Open your mouth.”
The intensity of his gaze could not be avoided, nor could the silky temptation of his words.
“You have a beautiful mouth, Lettie. Soft, full, and quick to smile.”
His finger dipped inside to trace the edge of her teeth in a featherlight touch, barely stroking the tip of her tongue.
“Let me show you,” he murmured, the words so low they were barely audible. He bent toward her to replace his finger with the gentle pressure of his lips, and then his tongue.
At first she recoiled slightly, disturbed by something that seemed so… intimate it must surely be forbidden. But when a heavy sweetness invaded her body and settled deep within her, she closed her eyes and concentrated on the sensations that shimmered through her from that tiny point of contact.
Ethan drew back, and her eyelashes flickered open.
“Ah, Lettie girl, you’re sweet.” His lips tilted ever so slightly in self-deprecation. “Sweeter than honey and twice as nice.” His hand moved to the hollow of her back, then slipped lower.
“Ethan, I—”
“Come here.”
“No.”
But his hand pulled her closer, as close as two people could be. Then he covered her lips with his own.
A moan seeped from Lettie’s chest and was absorbed by his kiss. Her hands slipped around the broad expanse of his shoulders, and unconsciously, she pulled him even nearer—even though she knew she should be pushing him away.
“What are you doing to me, Ethan?” she whispered when he drew back.
He stared deep into her eyes, searching for something Lettie was almost afraid he might find. Something… sensual. Hungry.
Aching.
“What are you feeling, Lettie?”
She groaned, trying to ignore the heated rush that swirled through her limbs. Though she knew she shouldn’t be touching a man this way—especially not a man with Ethan’s reputation—she couldn’t control the way her body nudged his, seeking something she didn’t understand.
“E-than—”
“Tell me.”
“I’m so hot, yet cold.”
His hand cupped the back of her knee through the fabric of her skirts. “What else, Lettie girl?”
She blushed.
“Tell me.”
“I want you to touch me. Hold me. But I shouldn’t.”
Ethan gently drew her knee upwards, then across his legs so that she straddled him.
“Do you want me to kiss you?”
She groaned.
He pulled her tightly against his hips.
“Do you want me to kiss you?”
“Ethan, don’t.”
His lips pressed against her throat. “Do you want me to touch you?”
“Yes! Please …”
His lips blazed a trail of fire up her throat to the underside of her chin, and then when she could bear it no longer, he kissed her. A long, heated kiss that branded her as his own.
Lettie’s fingers clutched at his back, her breasts flattened against his chest. She was fire and ice. Sensation and emotion.
“Lettie?”
The shrill call echoed through the garret from the floor below.
At the sound of Natalie Gruber’s voice, the two of them sprang apart, breathing heavy. Blue eyes clashed with brown.
Reality flooded through Lettie’s body, leaving her stunned by her reaction to Ethan McGuire. Then she suddenly became conscious of the way she wantonly straddled his hips and clutched at his back with her hands.
Groaning in embarrassment, she scrambled to her feet and ran to the opposite side of the room. But at the steps, the low murmur of Ethan’s voice brought her to a halt.
“Don’t regret what happened between us, Lettie.”
She turned to see him staring at her with a velvet heat. And for a moment, she thought he was as shaken as she by the sensations that had flared between them.
“It’s not wrong to feel desire, Lettie. Though I’m not the man who should be teaching you that fact.”
Her fingers curled around the railing until her knuckles grew white.
He took a step toward her. “But you need to know that what you felt was passion. Stark and simple.”
“Maybe it wasn’t quite that simple,” she whispered, daring him to admit that there had been something more to their embrace than a simple animalistic urge.
Long after she’d gone, Ethan stared at the spot where she’d been, wondering why Lettie’s words had somehow unsettled him.
Lettie closed the door behind her and quickly twisted the key in the lock.
“Secrets, Lettie?”
She whirled and found Natalie regarding her with curious eyes.
“Was there something you needed, Mrs. Gruber?”
Natalie’s gaze bounced from Lettie’s flushed features to the closed door. “I wondered if I might borrow a blanket or quilt.”
Lettie’s brow creased in confusion. “You’ve been cold at night?”
Natalie smiled, a curiously smug expression crossing her features. “No,” she drawled. “I’m rarely cold at night.” She slid a hand down the garnet taffeta stretched across her torso. “No, I needed the quilt for a picnic.”
Lettie regarded the woman in surprise. “You persuaded Mr. Gruber to step away from his duties for the afternoon?”
Natalie’s lips twitched. “No.”
After a moment of silence, Lettie realized Natalie was not about to explain anything more. Slightly embarrassed, Lettie strode toward the linen closet and grasped an old quilt her mother had recovered in flannel.
“There you are, Mrs. Gruber.”
Natalie offered her a gracious smile. “You’re such a dear.” She grasped the quilt, then reached out to pat Lettie on the cheek with a glove-covered hand. “Thank you.”
Lettie cringed beneath the woman’s patronizing tone, but she managed to wait until Natalie’s ruched train had disappeared down the staircase before she growled in irritation and set about her chores.
Natalie Gruber took her husband’s horse and buggy and drove ten miles out of town to where the road took a sharp turn to the left around a thick copse of oak trees. Reining to the right, she eased the horse through the grass and scrub for another mile until the trees grew too dense to allow passage of the carriage. Then, humming softly to herself, she looped the quilt over her arm, grasped the picnic basket from the floorboards, and hurried toward the soft burbling noise of the creek.
After only a few yards, the trees opened to a thick shady knoll that sl
oped gently toward the banks of the creek. When Natalie saw the tall, slender gentleman who waited for her, she smiled, silently setting the quilt and basket on the grass. Then, taking slow, sultry steps forward, she murmured, “Darling.”
The man turned, smiled. The dappled sunlight filtered across the blunt planes of his face.
“What took you so long?”
Natalie pouted. “I had to wait for Lettie to stop mooning in the attic and find us a quilt.” She batted her lashes at him in coy invitation. “But I’m sure you’ll find the afternoon well worth the wait.” Her hand lifted to the pearl button at the neck of her garnet walking suit. “I brought champagne.” The second button slipped free. “And cherries.” The third and fourth gaped. “Not to mention a special surprise that I wore just for you.”
By this time her bodice gaped open, revealing a new black silk corset trimmed in red moire and a delicate black lace camisole that seemed to have been spun by exotic spiders. Even from where she stood, Natalie noted the way his breathing became shallow and his eyes latched onto the skin and silk open to his gaze.
“But first,” she murmured, stepping forward to loosen the man’s tie, then reaching for the studs on his shirt, “you and I will relax, touch, love.” She lifted herself on tiptoe to press a kiss against his lips. “Then we will eat.” She kissed him again. “Then you and I will discuss my husband.”
Chapter 9
Ethan remained hidden in the garret. Though Lettie worked most of the day with her mother, she and Ethan still spent several hours together each evening. And soon, something happened between them. Something Lettie found hard to explain.
The first night, they spent most of their time together in silence. A dark brooding silence that seemed somehow more dangerous than any words could be.
Silken Dreams Page 11