by Joanna Shupe
Will brought her to the bed and placed her on the satin coverlet. She immediately reached for him, trying to pull him on top of her, but he backed up a few steps. His heavy-lidded gaze burned bright as it raked her body. “You are so beautiful,” he murmured.
Anticipation tightened her muscles as he shrugged off his vest then lowered his suspenders. He removed his shirt, tossing the studs carelessly to the ground, and went to work on his trousers. When he peeled them off and straightened, the outline of his erection pushed through the fabric of his combination as he began to struggle with the tiny buttons.
Feeling overdressed, she untied her wrapper and let it fall open, revealing her thin, summer nightdress to his hungry stare. Plain white cotton, the garment was low-cut on her breasts and stopped just above her knees. “Jesus,” he whispered, and yanked at his combination, sending buttons flying to the floor as the fabric parted.
A second later, he was naked and climbing over her. His mouth dropped to her breast, sucking a cotton-covered nipple into his mouth, causing her back to bow from the intense pleasure. He teased her, sucking and laving, his hands cupping the plump flesh, until she squirmed. “I thought you wanted me naked,” she breathed, her fingers threading his golden hair.
He released her nipple and kissed his way along her neck. “I want you in every way I can possibly have you.”
With undue haste, he shed her of both the wrapper and her nightdress. He loosened her drawers and slid them down her legs, then tossed the garment to the floor. “I’ll go slower our second time. But right now, I need to be inside you.”
He pushed her thighs apart and ran his hands up her legs, all the way to the apex. His thumbs stroked the lips of her cleft, gentle sweeps over the slick flesh that had her writhing. He seemed content to touch her and watch, but she was about to come out of her skin. “Will,” she pleaded.
One wide finger nudged inside her, and he pumped his hand a few times, preparing her. That soon became two, stretching in the most spectacular way, before he lowered himself on top of her. His delicious weight pressed down on her, surrounded her, and she wrapped her legs around his hips. Clutched at his strong shoulders. “Hurry,” she told him.
The blunt tip swept through her wetness and lined up at her entrance. Will’s hips began to drive forward, his hardness filling her, and the muscles in his arms bunched as he levered up to see where their bodies were joining. “Look at that. I love to watch you taking me. Damn, you feel like heaven.”
He sank until their hips met. She reveled in the fullness, the space he took up both in and around her. The whole world was this bed and this man’s skin sliding over hers. The way her heart raced. The pulsing between her legs that demanded he move. She rocked her hips, desperate for friction.
The motion spurred him into action. He bent and captured her mouth, kissing her feverishly as his hips began churning. The pleasure became relentless, the drag and glide of his shaft over her sensitive tissues . . . the way his body caressed the tiny bud at the top of her cleft with every thrust. He drove her higher until she clawed at his skin, clinging as her muscles drew taut. “OhGodohGodohGod,” she chanted into his throat. “More, Will. Harder.”
“Jesus, Ava,” he gritted out above her, slamming into her with such force that she traveled up the bed.
Reaching between them, his fingers found her bud and pressed. That was all she needed before the streaks of electricity raced up her legs, down her back, and threw her over the cliff. She jerked as her body began to spasm, and Will covered her mouth with his, drinking in her cries. Her orgasm seemed to set off his own, because just as her mind reassembled itself, he withdrew and spilled on her stomach and thighs.
There were no words. For a long moment, she tried to catch her breath as Will sat back on his heels and did the same. He appeared disheveled and undone, a man who’d lost his precious control for a few moments. A satisfied grin pulled across her face.
He smoothed his palm over her knee. “I like to see you smile, especially in bed.”
“You’ve only seen me in bed twice,” she reminded him.
“I know, but you’ve smiled on both occasions. I like to think I had a bit to do with your conviviality.”
“Arrogant man.” The words lacked heat, sounding almost affectionate.
He pinched the inside of her thigh playfully, which caused her to squeak. Laughing, he slid off the bed and went to the washstand. He returned with a wet cloth and proceeded to wipe his spend from her skin. Then he rinsed the cloth and washed himself. Ava could watch him for hours. He moved with such elegance and grace, a man completely comfortable with himself.
After turning down the gas on the overhead light, he dropped onto the mattress next to her. The room darkened considerably, yet she could still see him clearly. “Why did you come to Bank Street tonight?”
He slid one hand behind his head and reached for her with the other, pulling her into his side. The heat of his body warmed her sweat-soaked skin as she draped her arm over his chest. Her head settled on his bare shoulder.
“I wanted to see you. I didn’t like how you snuck out of the hotel room the other day while I was sleeping. There was a chance you regretted what had happened, and I thought I might need to convince you of all the reasons you shouldn’t.”
“I didn’t regret it, but leaving seemed a wise course of action at the time.”
“Why?”
Because it had been too good. Too real. Too tempting to never leave. “Were you disappointed when you awoke?”
“Yes, of course. Did you think I would be relieved?” She didn’t answer, and he swept his hand down her back, lingering just above the curve of her buttock. He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. “If you’re waiting for me to lose interest in you, I fear you have a considerable amount of disappointment ahead.”
Her chest swelled, elation wrapping around her heart. Dangerous. This man was altogether too dangerous. And yet, she knew almost nothing about him, about his life outside of what little she’d seen. She stroked the fine blond hair on his chest. “You were very kind to Sam and Mary.”
“You sound surprised.”
“I didn’t expect you to like children, I suppose. Busy railroad barons aren’t exactly known for being family men.”
“Do you know a number of railroad barons, then?”
She traced the outline of his nipple and felt a shiver go through him. “Only one.”
“I like children quite a bit. I practically raised my sister.” He took a deep breath and held it for a long moment. When he finally exhaled, he said, “My mother died when I was twelve. She was . . . I’ve never told anyone this.” A dry laugh escaped his lips, and Ava said nothing, remaining perfectly still atop him.
“The servants know, of course, but she was unhappy. Miserable, really. My father was a cruel man—not to anyone outside the family, mind you. No, everyone loved Archibald Sloane because he reserved his tyranny for behind closed doors, for my mother and me. She received the worst of it. The biting comments and constant disapproval. I watched her wither before my eyes.”
“That must have been hard,” Ava said quietly. She didn’t know which she was more surprised over: that he’d experienced a less than idyllic childhood or that he was sharing the truth of it with her.
“I didn’t know any different until I started to read. Through books I began to learn that not all families were like mine, that we were not normal. That not every mother cried all the time, hiding in her suite because she dreaded receiving her husband’s attention. I shudder to think of the circumstances under which Lizzie and I were conceived.”
“How old was your sister when your mother died?”
“Four. I don’t think Lizzie has any real memories of her.”
“What do you mean ‘real’?”
He tensed underneath her. “Most of her memories are from stories I told her, ones I based on Clara Peggotty from David Copperfield.”
“The housekeeper?”
&nb
sp; “Yes.”
“And your father? Did he treat Lizzie in the same manner?”
“He mostly ignored her, though he did occasionally read the stock tables to her at breakfast. I told him she had a head for numbers—a fine one, at that—and he said, ‘At least one of my children does.’”
“Will, that’s terrible!”
He shrugged. “I’m sure you’re thinking, ‘Poor little rich railroad man.’ Can’t say I blame you. It’s silly to complain when I’ve been given so much.”
Everything except the one thing that mattered. “And he died when you were in your teens?”
“Yes, sixteen. Pneumonia took him fast, otherwise I’ve no doubt he would have made provisions to sell the company rather than let me have it.”
“Well, you’ve proven a hundred times over how capable you are. Most men of your status don’t work nearly as hard as you.”
A warm palm closed over her breast, fingers toying with her nipple, setting her blood aflame. “And I’m about to work even harder,” he murmured as he rolled them over and covered her.
* * *
Will woke up alone the next morning. Ava must’ve slipped out once again after he’d fallen asleep. Damn. This was beginning to be a habit with her, one Will didn’t care for.
Probably for the best, however, as her presence in his bed would’ve shocked the staff. He did not ever bring women here, even after Lizzie had moved out. This was his home, not some bacchanal boardinghouse in the Tenderloin.
The scent of her still clung to his skin, his sheets. He inhaled, thinking back to the second and third times he’d had her last night. Each round had been better than the last, his lust for her not abating one bit. In fact, he couldn’t wait to have her again.
Ignoring his diamond-hard shaft, he rose and rang for his valet. He could likely get in a few hours’ work before the Jones siblings descended for breakfast. They had no reason to be up this early, at least he didn’t think so. Were the youngest two working today, on a Sunday? Ava had mentioned the sister was a finisher in a garment factory and Sam was a newsie. Wasn’t everyone allowed at least one day of rest a week?
He glanced at the clock and nearly choked. Dear God, it was after ten. He hadn’t slept this late in . . . ever. So much for working this morning. He just prayed Ava hadn’t departed already.
As quick as he could, he bathed and dressed, then hurried to the breakfast room. Voices greeted him, causing him to frown. More voices than he expected. He stepped inside—and his heart stopped. Lizzie and her husband were seated at the breakfast table, as were Ava and her three siblings. Ava appeared as shocked as Will felt.
He stood there, reeling, his limbs refusing to move. “Lizzie,” he croaked. “I thought you were in Newport.”
His sister’s smile was all-too knowing as she rose and moved toward him. “I returned because of a meeting tomorrow, so I’d hoped to catch you at home today.” Coming up on her tiptoes, she pressed a kiss to his cheek. “And catch you, I did,” she murmured for his ears alone.
She patted his lapel and then took his hand, dragging him to the table. “Sit, Will. Please join us. Emmett and I were just getting to know your houseguests.”
Cavanaugh’s face was positively gleeful. “Yes, do sit, Sloane.”
Will clenched his teeth as he took his rightful place at the head of the table. Figured Cavanaugh would be here to witness Will’s humiliation. A sharp burn suddenly flared in his stomach, and he gingerly rubbed the area. Food no longer held any appeal. He tried to catch Ava’s eye to offer a silent apology, but she resolutely avoided looking in his direction.
Lizzie poured him a cup of coffee. “So I understand Tom works for you.”
“Yes, that’s true. He’s turning into one of our most promising new employees.” Not a lie. Tom was a hard worker, intelligent. Will had high hopes for the young man and encouraged him every chance he got.
“And Sam here is a newsie, while Mary works for one of the garment makers.” Lizzie picked up her own cup and took a sip of coffee. “What is it that you do, Ava?”
Ava raised her head and flicked a glance at Will, and he could see the uncertainty swimming in her hazel depths. Will held his breath and willed her not to speak the truth. Hell, he’d never hear the end of it from Cavanaugh, let alone his sister.
She cleared her throat. “I’m a newspaper reporter.”
Will nearly sagged in relief until Sam snorted from down the table. “A what? Ava, you—”
Tom quickly leaned to whisper in his younger brother’s ear. Sam flushed, nodded, and shoved a jam-coated biscuit in his mouth.
“Oh,” Lizzie said, her smile slipping only slightly. “That must be exciting. Which paper do you write for?”
“The Brooklyn Daily Times.”
“I’ve never heard of that paper,” Cavanaugh quipped, then grunted as Lizzie’s foot obviously connected with his shin.
“It’s fairly new,” Ava lied. “When they found out my brother worked for Mr. Sloane, my editor assigned me to the gubernatorial race. I’m covering the campaign.”
“I think that’s wonderful,” Lizzie said. “I hope you portray my brother fairly. He can be a bit rigid at times, but his heart is in the right place.”
“Lizzie,” Will warned. “We shouldn’t tell Miss Jones how to do her job.”
“No, that’s fine,” Ava said. “She’s concerned for you, as any sister would be. I have no intention of hurting your brother’s chances for election, Mrs. Cavanaugh.”
Something about the statement caught his attention, as if she were speaking about their personal relationship and not the fictional one.
“Call me Lizzie, please. And if you need more information or insight on my brother, you are welcome to come visit me.”
Ava blinked a few times. “Thank you.” She exchanged a pointed glance with Tom and then pushed her chair away from the table. “We really must be getting home.”
“Aw, really? But I thought—” Sam started before Tom’s hand squeezed the little boy’s shoulder.
“Yes, we must go.” Tom pulled Mary’s chair out for her and helped the girl to her feet. “Thank you, sir, for your hospitality last evening. My family appreciates it.”
A chorus of gratitude reached Will’s ears as he stood. “It was my pleasure. I’ll see you out.”
They said their good-byes to Lizzie and Emmett, and then Will walked the Jones family to the front door. Palmer had a hansom waiting at the curb. Will tried not to let his disappointment show. He’d wanted a few more minutes with her—preferably alone, but he’d been willing to take what he could. Everyone was conspiring against him today.
Will reached in his pocket and pulled out a few bills, then gave them to Tom. “For the fare.”
“Thank you, Mr. Sloane.” They shook hands. “See you in the morning, sir.”
Ava gave him a pitiful attempt at a smile. “Yes, thank you, Mr. Sloane. I’ll be in touch if I need anything further for the article.”
He caught her hand and brought it to his lips. “Yes, Miss Jones. Do be in touch.”
Chapter Sixteen
Ava pulled her hand away and hurried the siblings down the steps, toward the hansom. Will watched them a moment, until the carriage pulled away from the curb, and then he shut the heavy wooden door.
As he made his way back to the breakfast room, Cavanaugh came sauntering out, chuckling at the scowl on Will’s face. “I’m off to a meeting. I’ll retrieve her later, after she’s through with you.”
“Wonderful,” Will murmured, and brushed by the other man.
“Ho!” Cavanaugh called, and Will turned. “Have you thought about my offer?”
Will glared at his brother-in-law, who merely smirked. “So stubborn. Just like your sister. Think about it, Sloane. It’s a smart business decision.”
“For you, perhaps.”
“And for you, you pompous ball-bag. Also, for what it’s worth, it was nice to see this morning that you’re human just like the rest of us.”
“You mean stupid.”
Cavanaugh lifted his giant arms, palms out. “Your words, not mine. And you could do worse, Sloane. She’s beautiful and obviously loves her siblings.”
“There’s nothing between—”
“Save it. You might convince Elizabeth of that shit, but not me. I’ve seen that particular look a time or two.”
“What look?”
“The one that says you’re scared witless over a woman.” Shoving his hands in his pockets, Cavanaugh strolled through the entryway, whistling.
Will’s mood deteriorated significantly, thanks to that exchange, so by the time he reentered the breakfast room he felt on a razor’s edge. He poured a fresh cup of coffee and tried to avoid his sister’s keen gaze. When the silence stretched, he snapped, “Well?”
“I hardly know where to start. I’m still trying to wrap my head around it.”
He certainly wasn’t going to fill her in. Sipping his coffee, he waited while her too-logical brain put the pieces together.
“Is she your mistress?”
Will choked, hot liquid spewing from his mouth and onto his vest. He quickly grabbed his napkin and tried to clean himself up. “My God, Lizzie.”
“I’m sorry. I just couldn’t think of any other way to ask it.”
“I do not have a mistress.” He wiped his vest and sleeves, then placed the soiled napkin on the table.
“Fine. Are you sleeping with her?”
He sighed. “No, I’m not sleeping with her.”
“You’re lying. Your forehead is doing that thing”—she pointed to her brow—“that happens each time you lie. So, she’s . . . what?”
“Nothing. She is the sister of one of my employees. And this is an inappropriate conversation.”
“Will, I’m married. I think I am allowed inappropriate conversations, even with you. Do you like her?”
He slumped a little in his seat. Did he truly need to have this chat, especially when he could practically still taste Ava on his tongue? “Leave my private life alone. I’d rather not discuss this with you.”