Silken Dreams

by Bingham, Lisa

  Needing something, anything, to ground her, she grasped his arm, just above his elbow. But she didn’t push him away. Instead, she uttered a husky moan and tacitly bade him to continue his explorations.

  Ethan hesitated, his gaze lifting to tangle with her own. Then his finger lifted to caress her stomach, her ribs, then finally touched the underside of her breast.

  She jerked, a jolt of pleasure racing through her veins. When he smiled at her reaction, she fought to breathe. When he hesitated, her hands slid down his arm to take his hand, forcing him to abandon the foray of his finger.

  “Touch me,” she whispered.

  His head dipped, and his mouth took her own in a hungry kiss even as his hand closed over her breast.

  She moaned, rolling into the pressure, her own arms slipping around his shoulders and pulling him tightly against her.

  As if they had tried to douse a fire with kerosene, the passion suddenly ignited between them. Lettie’s arms wrapped tighter around his shoulders, drawing him over her torso. The weight of his body against her own filled her with a delicious flood of sensation. Her pulse pounded, her body strained.

  Ethan drew back suddenly. “Not so fast,” he whispered thickly, but she clutched at his shoulders, forcing him to look at her.

  In his eyes she saw an echo of the raging emotions that must surely be seen in her own. Her hands dropped from his shoulders and slipped down the curve of his ribs, then burrowed between them to tug at the tie of her wrapper. When she would have torn it free, he stopped her hands, rolling away slightly so that he could gaze down at her.

  Softly, tenderly, he drew the edges of her wrapper apart, then gasped. “You are so beautiful,” he murmured. His hand hesitated, then skimmed from her neck to her navel.

  She moaned and grasped his wrist. “Love me,” she begged.

  His eyes met her own, as if searching for last-minute doubts. But she knew that he would find no doubt there. Only a hungry passion for his touch.

  Her hands reached to tug at the towel still wrapped around his waist.

  “No.” His fingers clasped her wrist. At her questioning gaze, he reluctantly added, “I don’t want to scare you.”

  Her lips tilted in a smile. “How gallant. But how very, very unnecessary.” She rolled him onto his back, and, before he could prevent her actions, she had tugged the fabric of the bath sheet free.

  She held her breath and gazed at him, and for a moment, Ethan felt an unfamiliar flush of embarrassment rise into his cheeks. Sure that he had scared her to death with the evidence of his passion, he tried to tug the sheet over his hips.

  “No.”

  Lettie caught his hand and looked up at him. But it wasn’t fear that he found in her eyes; it was passion.

  “Love me,” she whispered once again. Releasing his hand, she trailed the pad of her thumb down the ridges caused by his ribs, then caressed the line of his hips to the top of his thighs. There she paused, her thumb making soft, sweeping half circles that caused him to shudder in delight.

  “You are a witch,” he murmured, his hands tangling into the hair on her nape and bringing her close for a hungry kiss. He had thought to slow down the pace of their lovemaking, at least until she was ready for him. But at the sensation of her bare flesh pressed so tightly against his own, he felt the last dregs of his control slipping away.

  When he would have paused, however, Lettie made a soft purr of denial and returned his passion, measure for measure. Her hips pressed against his own, already mimicking a rhythm she had yet to learn.

  Ethan’s hand swept down her back, holding her tightly against him. He knew now that he couldn’t stop, couldn’t wait. And Lettie was ready for him.

  Awash in pleasure, Lettie barely noted when Ethan pressed her back into the pillows. Her hands clutched at his waist, then at the firm slopes of his buttocks, urging him nearer.

  He broke away from their kiss and gazed down at her with eyes that blazed with his desire. “I’ll try not to hurt you,” he whispered.

  She shook her head. “You could never hurt me.”

  Bending, he tenderly kissed her cheek, her chin. His hand caressed her breast, then moved down her body to slip beneath her knee, drawing it up against his hip as he settled over her.

  Lettie’s head arched back and her eyes closed as she absorbed the delicious weight of the man above her. Then her eyes flickered open and her arms clutched at his shoulders.

  “Now,” she whispered.

  When he would have hesitated one last time, she grasped his hips and gazed deeply into his eyes.

  “Now.”

  Thrusting the fingers of one hand into her hair, he gazed at her, long and hard. She felt him shift, the muscles of his legs tensing ever so slightly. Then, slowly, sensuously, he entered her.

  Lettie gasped, and her gaze darted down to watch their bodies become one. She shuddered beneath a storm of sensations that she had never known could exist. Fullness and heat. Beauty and tenderness. “I love you,” she whispered, before her eyes closed and she surrendered to the storming passions within her.

  Ethan paused for only a moment, then thrust through her last final barrier, covering her lips with his own and absorbing her cry.

  Lettie’s hands dug into the muscles of his shoulders, waiting until the pain had died to a reluctant throb. Only then did she realize that Ethan had grown still. Her lashes flickered open, and she looked up at him with wide eyes, absorbing the tense set to his features and the heat of his gaze.

  “Is that all?” she murmured.

  She saw the way he fought the urge to smile. When he spoke, his voice was strained.

  “No, sweetheart, that’s not all.”

  Her brow creased when he reached down to lift her knee a little more securely against his hip. Then he began to move within her and she gasped, pressing closer. Her eyes closed in delight as Ethan began to teach her a sensual rhythm as old as time itself.

  She moaned as a swelling pleasure built within her. Her eyes closed, and her pulse raced. Wrapping her arms around Ethan’s shoulders, she held on to the one thing that seemed to ground her to the earth. But she didn’t know how the pleasure could possibly grow more intense until it suddenly seemed to burst within her like a fiery implosion of sparks.

  Mere moments followed before she felt Ethan stiffen and join her in the culmination of their passion. Long minutes of shimmering delight seemed to pass between them, trapping their bodies in a silken web of pleasure, until slowly, ever so slowly, the sensations melted into the darkness. Then, in the final moments of pleasure, they both closed their eyes and fought to breathe.

  Folding her arms more tightly about Ethan’s shoulders, Lettie drew him against her as muscles trembled and released their exquisite tension. She took a slow, shuddering breath as reality finally returned to the fringes of her consciousness. Her body filled with a delicious warmth, and her lips curled in the barest ghost of a smile. Without a doubt, she had crossed the final boundary into womanhood.

  Dredging the last bit of strength she could muster, she lifted her head and pressed a soft kiss against the hollow of his neck, then another on his shoulder. Slowly, her hands lifted and her fingers sifted through the damp strands of Ethan’s hair. How she loved this man.

  His head lifted, and he gazed down at her with eyes the color of a hot summer sky. Though he didn’t speak, she sensed his concern. But more than that, she sensed his pleasure.

  She shifted and pressed a kiss against his brow. He answered by dipping his head and placing a soft kiss against her shoulder.

  “I love you, Ethan,” she murmured.

  Once again, she felt a kiss against her shoulder. Then she smiled as the night closed about them, warm and dark, and filled with the silent echoes of their passion. And for once, she knew without a shadow of a doubt that Ethan loved her with his heart and soul, just as she loved him.

  Even though he couldn’t seem to find a way to say the words.

  Much, much later, Lettie awoke to
see Ethan standing in his customary place by the window. She smiled, stretching and delighting in the weary ache of her body.

  “Ethan?” she murmured, and rolled onto her side.

  Her brow creased when he stiffened slightly but did not immediately turn.

  “Is something wrong?”

  He turned then, and the expression on his features banished her fears. He didn’t regret what had happened. His eyes still glowed with a smoldering warmth.

  He took a step toward her. “How do you feel?”

  She felt a heat rise into her cheeks and prayed the darkness concealed her blush. “Fine.”

  “Sore?”

  “Yes.”

  He sighed and padded toward her, slipping beneath the sheets and drawing her against his chest. “I’m sorry.”

  “Really?” she asked after a moment, slightly hurt and wondering how she could have misinterpreted the expression she’d seen in his eyes only moments before.

  At her disappointed tone, he chuckled. “I’m sorry you’re sore, not sorry we made love.”

  “Oh.” Her lips curled into a smile, and her arms wrapped around his waist. After the silence had settled around them with a silken heat, she asked, “What time is it?”

  Once again, she felt Ethan hesitate. “Almost midnight,” he finally said. His arms tightened around her shoulders, holding her close, and she thought she felt him place a brushing kiss across the top of her head. Then he sighed and reached out to hand her more currant wine.

  “Drink this.”

  She regarded the cup in surprise, wondering when Ethan had retrieved the cup from the floor and filled it again.

  “It will ease some of the aches,” he murmured when she hesitated.

  Lettie obediently swallowed the contents, frowning slightly when the drink didn’t seem nearly as palatable as it had only hours before.

  She handed Ethan the cup, and he returned it to the bedside table. Then she lay her head on his shoulder, her hand brushing idly against his stomach.

  Once again, she felt a kiss against the top of her head. Looking up, she found Ethan watching her with a curious regard.

  “What’s wrong?” she whispered, noting the serious set of his jaw.

  He shook his head. “Nothing.” He crooked a finger and reached to skim his knuckle over her cheek. The caress so closely imitated the way Ethan had touched her in prelude to their lovemaking that Lettie’s fingers curled into his waist and her breathing came a little quicker.

  Fighting against the delicious lassitude that seemed to seep through her veins, she rolled onto her back, pulling him with her.

  “What makes you look so serious?” she murmured, running her hand up his torso to his shoulder, delighting in each curve and hollow she found along the way.

  Silence pulsed between them for a moment, then Ethan said, “You know I care for you, Lettie.”

  She nodded, her eyes growing heavy and slumberous. “Of course I know.”

  “I would never hurt you.”

  “I know.”

  He bent to kiss her, once, twice. The pressure of his lips was poignantly gentle, almost worshiping. Yet there was a hint of sadness to the caress, one that tugged at Lettie’s consciousness.

  Her arms wrapped around his shoulders and she drew him closer, hungrily seeking the passion she had felt only moments before in his arms. But she felt so tired.

  Ethan broke away, noting the dark luster of her eyes and the velvet texture of her skin. She nudged against him like a hungry kitten and he bent, crushing his mouth to her own and pressing her so tightly against him that they were nearly melded into one flesh. Once again, awareness flared between them. Hot and insistent. And Ethan surrendered to the sensations, wanting to commit them to his memory for all time.

  When Lettie’s fingers slipped down weakly to curl into the muscles of his shoulders, he moaned, holding her tightly against him.

  But she broke away and whispered, “I love you… Ethan.” Her nails dug into his skin, and she uttered a sound that was half sigh, half groan. Then her fingers slipped from his back, inch by inch, and she became lax in his arms.

  Setting her against the pillows, Ethan tenderly pushed the hair back from her face, his motions gentle, yet filled with an untold regret.

  A tightness gathered in his throat as he gazed down at her innocent features. His heart seemed to have wedged in an aching lump in the center of his chest.

  “Sleep now, Lettie girl,” he whispered. He brushed her lips once again with his own, knowing that it would probably be the last time for them both. Then he got up from the bed and retrieved the currant wine that he’d laced with a healthy dose of Celeste Grey’s sleeping powder only moments before. Dumping it into the chamber pot, he stepped into his trousers and moved to the stairwell. At the top, he paused and turned.

  Despite his own pain in deceiving her this way, Ethan knew it was for the best. “I really do love you, Lettie,” he whispered. “Some day you’ll understand.” Then he padded down the steps and slipped into the hall.

  Chapter 19

  Once back in his own room, Ethan quickly finished dressing and gathered what few belongings he could claim as his own. Glancing at his watch, he swore when he realized he was late. Much too late.

  Taking one last look, Ethan strapped his gun belt around his hips and stepped toward the bed. Lifting one of the periodicals, he gazed at it in the dim light of the lamp on the bureau.

  Only moments before joining Lettie, some of the pieces of the puzzle had begun to slip into place. Looking through the assorted magazines, Ethan had been able to discern a pattern in Judge Krupp’s career. Whenever hope seemed dim and a suspect seemed about to slip through the judicial system, the Star appeared to execute the man. And seven times out of ten, the men involved were being tried in Judge Krupp’s court.

  Ethan’s eyes dropped to the article that had merely intensified his suspicions. Though small and easily overlooked, the piece had named Judge Krupp as one of the new owners of the Hamilton Mississippi Railroad. Jeb Clark had been killed while guarding a shipment for the same line. And somehow, though he didn’t have any proof, Ethan suspected that Clark had also been a member of the Star.

  Although Ethan was nearly certain that Krupp was the man behind the Star’s sudden interest in the activities of the Gentleman Bandit, Ethan still had no clues as to who was attempting to copy his own methods. But if all went well tonight, he would know for sure. One way or the other.

  Dropping the paper onto the bed, Ethan extinguished the lamp and slipped into the hall. Silence pressed down around his shoulders, reminding him of all the nights he’d spent with Lettie. Talking. Touching.

  Pushing back the regret that taunted him with all the might-have-beens he’d been battling for some time now, Ethan hurried down the staircase, let himself out through the back door, and disappeared into the night.

  But even as he moved silently through the darkness, away from the boardinghouse and all it entailed … he knew that the feelings he had for Lettie Grey would never be so easy to abandon.

  Jacob jerked awake and blinked, staring down at the reports on his desk. Somehow he’d fallen asleep amid the wealth of tasks awaiting him. Yet, now that he was awake, the thoughts that had drummed through his head returned to haunt him.

  Why had the Star decided to trap Ethan McGuire with the mythical gold shipment? It would be much more logical for Jacob and his men to guard the bank. If Ethan were caught red-handed, there would be no need for a vigilante execution. The courts would see to it that Ethan was shot or hanged, without any possible repercussions.

  So why all the attempts at subterfuge?

  A soft knock broke the quiet, and Jacob rubbed a hand across his face, realizing it was the same noise that had awakened him.

  “Coming!” he called, reaching for a match and quickly igniting the wick of the lamp kept on the corner of his desk. Setting the chimney back in place, he moved to open the door a crack and peer outside. When he found Abby Clar
k waiting on the boardwalk, he gazed at her for a moment in surprise, then quickly opened the door.

  “Abby! Is something wrong?”

  “No, no. Nothing like that.” She took a step into the room, then stopped, halfway through. “They brought Jeb’s body in from Harrisburg tonight… and I…” She took a deep breath, then continued in a rush. “I was on my way home from the funeral parlor when I came to a decision.”

  She held out a tattered box, which had been bound by a worn piece of string.

  “These were Jeb’s.” She pressed her lips together, then continued. “I know you’ll do the right thing by them.” She looked up, and her eyes were filled with worry. “Keep them someplace safe, and don’t let anyone know what they contain. I think Jeb would have wanted you to have them.” Her head bobbed in a curt nod. “Yes, I know he would have wanted it this way.” Her hand reached out, and she squeezed his arm. “You take care.”

  “Let me take you home.”

  “No,” she answered brightly, then added again, “No, I’d rather take the time to walk back. Alone. Besides”—she gestured to the box—“you’ve got a little reading to do tonight, and I don’t want to keep you.”

  Moving back outside, she turned and walked away from the house at a slow gait, until finally, the black of her clothing blended into the night.

  Taking a breath, Jacob closed the door, set the box on the table, and pulled on the string. When he lifted the lid, his brow creased in confusion at the scraps of note-scribbled paper, newspaper clippings, and letters. Lifting one of the dog-eared pages from the pile, Jacob scanned the angular writing that belonged unmistakably to his dead friend.

  At first, the words darted through his mind in a scattered volley of images, but soon the images began to coalesce, then burn with the intensity of a brand. Dropping the page, Jacob picked up another, and another, reading quickly, haphazardly. Then his hand dropped into the box, curling around a handful of Jeb Clark’s carefully documented notes concerning the governing board of the Star.

  “Dear God,” he whispered softly to himself, his voice filled with the sound of his own dread… and his own epiphany.