by Nathalie Dae
His laugh rumbled in his chest. “And I suspect you’ll tell me you have your money in this room. With the door unlocked.”
Her face heated further and she glanced at her wooden chest sitting beneath one of the windows.
“Ah, my trusting Amelia, who has yet to encounter a rogue. What will I do with you, hmm?”
“It’s safe in my chest. I have a key…”
Emmett laughed louder. “And what is to stop someone taking the chest?”
She gasped and looked up at him. “No one around here would do such a thing! Turner’s Point is such a small place.”
He touched his forehead to hers. “And what of the traveling men? The ones who visit this cottage? Not everyone is as good as those who dwell in Turner’s Point, wench.”
“I suppose.”
“You are at the saloon tonight?” he asked.
“I am, but I shall take the next few evenings off now that you are home.”
“What time will you be there?”
“I start at eight.”
“Then I will join you there and afterward…”
She giggled, flinging her leg over his, and he tousled her hair.
They lay silent then, Amelia’s eyes drooping, her soul content now that her beloved had come home. Emmett’s breathing slowed and he closed his eyes. A tic flickered beside his mouth and a pang of regret singed her that some of the time they spent together was wasted with sleep.
But he must be so tired. God, I love you, Emmett Dray. You rest now. Sleep well.
She switched her thoughts to this evening—another few hours where she’d have to share her time between Emmett and the customers. If only she had spotted his ship on the horizon. She shifted slightly and semen dribbled from her. Eyes widening, she left the bed and walked to a wooden sideboard that stood against the wall opposite the stairs. She hadn’t anticipated his arrival, had been so absorbed in him that they hadn’t used a sheath. Quietly, she poured water from a china jug into a matching bowl and added some lavender essence. Opening a drawer, she retrieved a syringe. She douched—and prayed it would be enough.
Her toilette complete, she returned to the bed and nestled beside Emmett, who snored softly. The sound brought a smile to her lips and she matched her breathing to his, slumber coming to claim her with soft, loving arms. For the first time in a long while, she would sleep without tossing and turning. Safe in Emmett’s arms.
Chapter Two
Amelia stirred. Eyes still closed, she smiled and reached for Emmett. Her hand met with air. She frowned and rolled onto her back. A hard surface jarred her shoulder blades and she opened her eyes. Cobwebbed rafters met her gaze, the ceiling cloaked in semi-darkness. Her frown deepened. The last vestiges of sleep sped away, replaced by aggressive conscious thought. She turned her head to look at the windows. Daylight had faded, the remnants of the afternoon swallowed up by the oncoming night. Dirt streaked the panes and she blushed upon remembering the dream. How vivid it was. How…real.
She sat up. One breast hung free of her bodice. A chill in the air and the memory of Emmett’s fingers perked her nipple and her face heated further. Had she touched herself while she slept? Amelia glanced down. The skirt had bunched at her waist, leaving her folds exposed.
Where the hell are my panties?
She scrambled to her feet, shoving the skirt down. The scent of lavender wafted around her. But…but I didn’t… It’s not possible. I just slept, that’s all. Her heart hammered and her pulse thrummed as she gazed around in the gloom for her underwear. A tiny black heap lay on the bare floorboards and she stooped to pick up her thong.
The waistband had been snapped.
Oh God. I must have ripped this off when…
Embarrassment filtered through her. She wrenched the dress over her head and threw it in the wooden chest. Grabbing her jeans and shirt, she thudded down the stairs and stood in her bedroom doorway. Annoyance seeped into the edges of her thoughts, ready to infiltrate and take over as she eyed her new bed leaning against the back wall, still to be set up. Jaw clamped, she stomped over and unzipped a suitcase beneath the window. In the lid pouch she found a fresh thong and slipped it on, then dressed again in her jeans and shirt, mad that her breast still poked out of one bra cup.
“I know I need sex but…”
She sighed. She’d either have to get a move on and assemble her bed or sleep on only the mattress for tonight. The list of things she should have been doing while she slept tromped through her mind and, irked that she was way behind on her unpacking, she padded downstairs. The state of her living room shrieked at her and a wave of frustration had her sitting on the sofa, staring at the mess. Tears stung her eyes. What was wrong with her? She couldn’t claim fatigue…
Emmett’s face filled her mind. God, it had all seemed so real. When had she fallen asleep? She put her face in her hands and tried to remember her last conscious thought before she must have drifted off.
I put the dress on. I went to the window and lifted the skirt…
Heat infused her face again and she groaned, the sound reminiscent of her response to him as he…
“Stop it! Stop thinking about it!”
She stood abruptly and walked to the kitchen, flicking on the light. Thankfully the kettle sat on the work surface from when she’d made the movers their coffee. Was it really only this morning? A glance out the window told her night had well and truly settled in. Her stomach grumbled. Was it past dinnertime? She spun in a circle, trying to recall where she’d left her purse, and spied it hanging on the door handle. Snatching it up, she dug inside for her cell, switched it on and eyed the screen. The time glowed—nine p.m.—along with the information she’d missed two calls and three text messages.
“Who the hell would be trying to get hold of me apart from Matilda and piano clients, I don’t know. I have no one.”
The sudden realization that she really was alone now slammed into her and a ball of emotion lodged in her chest. My parents are dead and I have no brothers or sisters. She laughed wryly, tears spilling. Angry at herself, she jabbed at the kettle switch and took a mug from the dish drain. She spooned instant coffee and sugar in, her movement jerky, her mind whirling with confusing thoughts of Emmett.
Stop thinking of him like he’s real. He isn’t, so deal with it.
The kettle clicked off. Steam rose from the spout and hit the window, a large patch of condensation forming. She stared at it and watched a trail of water from the lower edge slink down the glass. More trails followed and reminded her of tears. Before she allowed herself the luxury of crying, she shifted her attention back to her task, idly stirring her coffee and frowning at a spillage of sugar on the worktop. The word ATTIC had been scrawled in it. She gasped harshly and stepped back, squealing, hand to her mouth. Her heart rate sped up, the thuds hard and dull against her ribs, the sound of her pulse loud on her eardrums. Backing to the opposite side of the room, she collided with a small pine table and a chair toppled to the floor, its leg digging into hers. Goose bumps sprang up on her arms, the hairs there rising, brushing her shirtsleeves. She hugged herself, mind trying to process how the hell the word had appeared.
Did I do it? Did I write that without realizing?
She darted her head from left to right, frantic that someone might be in the house with her. Cautiously, she opened a door to the right of the one that led to her rear garden. She entered a large room with a partition wall down the middle. One side must have been used as a pantry by the previous owner, as floor-to-ceiling shelves filled the space. The other side had pipes and a drainage system for a washing machine and enough room for a dryer and shelves. No one was inside.
She shook her head. “Don’t be stupid. You’d have seen them go in here.”
But how…? Who…?
Spooked, she darted forward, snatched up a tea towel and moved toward the worktop. No sugar or word met her gaze, the surface clean.
What the fuck? She frowned and blew out a shaky breath. Oh, so I’m go
ing crazy now. Wonderful, just wonderful!
Tea towel flung to the worktop, Amelia added creamer to her coffee, thoughts of what she’d seen poking at her mind.
I saw it. I know I saw it.
A shiver rushed up her spine and she took her mug, quickly walking into the living room as though being out of the kitchen would make the occurrence null and void. She curled up at one end of the sofa, tucking her legs beneath her. Darkness lurked in the corners and rendered the boxes and bags ominous shapes. She hunched in on herself, tense and uneasy without the light but reluctant to get up and switch it on. Amelia glanced at the doorway. Light from the kitchen lost its brightness as it spilled down the hallway, barely illuminating the bottom of the living room doorjamb. She sipped her coffee, hands encircling the mug. Once she’d finished her drink she’d get up, turn on the light and get on with unpacking. If it took her into the early hours, so be it. She refused to be swayed from her task by an unscheduled nap and her hallucination in the kitchen.
Okay. I live in isolation, so it isn’t any wonder I’m imagining things now it’s dark. No close neighbors up on this clifftop. No main road for me to hear the comfort of traffic. That’s what I wanted, right? Time alone. Space to breathe and regroup. This cottage is old. Bound to be odd noises and such going on. I knew that when I bought the damn thing!
She laughed quietly, shoving the feelings of insecurity away. “Come on, woman. You’re thirty-one not thirteen.” She smiled, shaking her head.
A swishing noise wiped her smile away. Her arms jerked and she gasped as coffee slopped from her mug onto her thigh. Jeans clinging to her leg, coffee burning her, she stood. Stuttered breaths left her, the exhalations sounding harsh in the hush, and she placed the mug on top of a box. Hand to chest, she willed her pulse to slow.
The sound came again, louder this time.
What is that?
She waited, breath held. The noise swooshed once more, rasping in the still air like wind sifting through a gap in a window frame. Amelia glanced to her left at the window. The trees and hedges bordering her front yard remained rigid silhouettes, the moonlight behind them eerie. She turned to face the door, expecting to see…to see what?
The swish returned again, and if the ocean wasn’t so calm tonight she’d swear it was the waves she’d heard. Another whoosh. She racked her mind trying to figure out what it could be.
Oh God. It’s got to be an intruder. The sugar… That word… That sound…
She stared through the banister rails, squinting in an effort to see if anyone was on the stairs. The darkness was too thick so she tiptoed to the bottom step and peered up, heart beating painfully fast. Hand raised, she patted the wall for the light switch and pressed it. Brightness illuminated the living room and stairway. No one there. She stepped toward the door, unsure what she’d do if someone had gained entry to her home while she’d slept. A scream threatened to escape and she clamped her jaw shut, hands out, ready to attack as she made for the kitchen. The hallway loomed ahead, almost too long, too much of a trek in her frightened state.
The whoosh seemed to shriek this time, coming from behind her. Amelia whirled around, hands balled into fists. Her mouth trembled as she suppressed a yell. Her damn heart would give out on her if she didn’t calm down. Her gaze darted from the window to the front door to the stairs.
The wench dress lay in a heap at the bottom.
Her scream hurt her throat. She snatched up the frock and held it to her chest, a useless barrier between her and whoever had thrown it down the stairs. Amelia backed away, remembering she’d left her cell in the kitchen. She could call Matilda to come help her, but would her friend get there in time?
“Shit!”
Warmth spread across her belly and breasts and her senses dulled. She cocked her head, suddenly disoriented. Fear oozed out of her, a sense of tranquility taking its place. Her limbs lost their stiffness and she slid down, the door cold through her thin shirt, the floor hard against her ass. She gazed around, struggling to understand why she sat there holding the dress. Amelia opened her mouth to speak, but words failed to form and she couldn’t even remember why she’d wanted to call out.
“Come here,” Emmett’s voice whispered. “Come to your room.”
That timbre made her shudder and infused her with heat. Juices seeped from her cunt and she slid back up the door, the dress tight to her chest.
“Amelia? Where are you, my beautiful wench?”
His voice drew her up the stairs. The air held a suggestion of sea salt and the aroma wrapped around her in a calming hug. On the landing she paused, frowning. On the other side of the stairs, where usually there was an outside wall, now another landing spanned the depth of her home, four doors closed—doors that didn’t belong in her cottage. She moved to investigate, confused as to why they were there.
“Come, wench. Come to me…”
Amelia whirled, extra rooms forgotten, and looked into her bedroom. She started to enter but her footsteps took her past the opening and to the attic doorway. Had she closed the door when she’d left the attic earlier? She couldn’t remember. Shaking her head, she placed her foot on the bottom step. It groaned beneath her weight, the reverberation shimmying up her leg. She stared at the uneven walls, trying to comprehend what she was doing up here again. Above, a shock of moonlight lit the far wall, the rafters free of cobwebs and dust. Her frown hurt her forehead as she fought to understand what was wrong. Hadn’t the attic been filthy before?
“Amelia…”
Frantic, but not sure why, she hung the dress over one arm and undid her shirt buttons, stripping the fabric from her body. She unclasped her bra, dropping it to the floor before pulling down her jeans. Her thong followed and she left the clothes where they’d landed, her nipples perking in the cool air. She took the steps two at a time, the dress swishing around her legs, and stood at the top facing a wooden sideboard that held a matching jug and pitcher. The memory of them tugged at her mind and she struggled to grasp where she had seen them before. Failing, she narrowed her eyes and looked at the windows. The wooden chest sat beneath one, the lid closed, and the moon shone, easily seen through the clear panes. Again she shook her head in an attempt to digest her surroundings, coming up with nothing of significance.
Amelia turned to her right. A beautiful iron bed fitted against the wall, the headboard barely slotting beneath the sloping rafters. A candle burned on a cherry-wood bedside cabinet, the taper long and thin. The light illuminated a patchwork quilt and she smiled. A sense of knowing filtered through her mind. Beneath the quilt lay a man, one she knew intimately.
Oh no, here we go again…
When her gaze met his, her head cleared of all previous thoughts.
“Why didn’t you wake me?” Emmett asked, one side of his mouth lifting in a grin as he eyed her naked form. He threw the quilt back and she gasped at the sight of his hard cock.
“You looked so peaceful. I didn’t like to disturb you.”
She dropped the dress to the floor and stared at him, taking in every inch of his exposed body. His bronzed belly, with its defined stomach muscles and smattering of hair that tapered down to his pelvis, made her long to run her hands over it. His nipples, darker brown than his skin, stood out and she wondered if that was from the cool air or arousal. Whatever the cause, she wanted to take them in her mouth and suckle, swirling her tongue over the hard nubs while he had his hands in her hair and his cock pushing inside her. And that cock… So rigid and long, and the memory of how his width felt inside her brought a rush of cream to her cunt. She loved this man with all her heart and soul, and as he looked back at her, she knew he felt the same way.
What did he see when he regarded her this way? Her long, wavy black hair was splayed over her breasts, nipples peeking through the tresses. Did he wish his hands were there, her hair coiled around his fingers as he tilted her head back, taking her from behind? Did he long to tongue her nipples, sucking them hard the way she liked? And what of her legs, the f
ull thighs and shapely calves. Did he lie there now, wishing she would wrap them around his waist, crossing them at the ankles so he could drive his cock deeper inside her?
“Do you want me, Emmett?” She lifted her hair with one hand so it rested against her back and then jutted out her exposed breasts. “Like I want you?”
His cock bobbed and he grasped himself, looking down for a moment before returning his gaze to her. Chest rising and falling, he whispered, “Is this not proof of how much I want you? How much I’ve missed you?”
Amelia lowered her hands to her thatch and slipped a finger inside her folds, bringing it back up to her mouth. She licked her finger then sucked it, closing her eyes to savor the taste. A smile touched her lips. Her actions would be driving him insane. Their games always did. Teasing one another, testing how far they were prepared to go, and how long they could make the other wait. Oh, she loved them. She opened her eyes to see his reaction.
“Fuck, wench!” He pulled down on his cock, gaze roving her from cunt to breasts to face. “What proof do you have for me?”
She withdrew her finger and smiled. “Was that not proof of how much I want you? I’m wet, Emmett. So wet—”
“Amelia,” he said, voice hard and commanding, “you need to come here.” He worked his hand up and down his cock slowly, jaw muscles flexing.
“And why is that?” She smiled once more and began lowering her hand again.
Emmett hiked in a ragged breath, his smile warm yet tinged with impatience. He needed her so much, she knew that, but was it fair to make him wait like this when he had only just arrived home?
“Because I need you. Want you. Want to taste your cream as you kiss me.” He released his cock, smoothed his hands on the bed then gripped the sheet in his fists. “And I need you now, wench.”
“Perhaps,” she said, turning her back to him, “you need to wait a little longer.” His groan flipped her stomach, her excitement growing to such a degree she almost gave in and went to him. Almost, but not quite. She caressed her sides, moving her hands to her ass to cup the swells, wanting his rough hands there instead of her own.