She was tight. God, she was so tight. His mind reeled at the thought of entering her. His burgeoning length was rock hard and painful. He wasn’t sure he could wait much longer. He wanted to bury himself in her wonderful depths, to plant his seed in fertile ground.
“How long has it been?” he breathed.
“How long?” she parroted dumbly, unable to comprehend the meaning of his words when his hands were doing such wonderful things to her. She opened her legs a little wider, allowing him access. She moved restlessly, seeking…something.
“Have you…slept…with a man?” He ground out the words. “Lately?”
She shook her head, but in answer or in passion, he couldn’t tell. And he wanted, needed, to know.
“Have you been with a man since your husband died?” Perspiration beaded on his lip with the effort to control his raging desire. He moved his fingers inside her, willing her to answer.
“No!” She gasped at the pleasure-pain his fingers wrought. “Never!”
He had his answer. He withdrew his fingers and crushed her lips with his own. He skimmed her teeth with his tongue and explored her mouth, teasing, tasting.
She kissed him back, eagerly, feverishly following his tongue with hers, learning the rhythm of desire. Her hands fluttered over him, lightly touching, tracing his shoulders, his hair, his rib cage, before resting on his lean hips. She could feel that hard male part of him pressing against her, arrogantly demanding entrance. A raw, aching, need burned where he touched her and spread through her stomach to her breasts. She urged him forward.
The feel of her hands on his sensitive flesh ignited Reese. He moved between her thighs, placed his hands on her waist and pulled her to him. He groaned as she cuddled closer, her body cradling his arousal. His arms and legs quaked with the need for release. She squirmed against him. There was no reason to delay. She was ready.
His lips left hers. He dipped his head and caught one distended nipple in his mouth. He nipped at it, gently, carefully, as he moved his hips closer. Tremors shook his arms as he braced himself above her. He let go of her nipple and rested his forehead against her breast. “Now,” he rasped, “put your legs around me. Now!”
Faith obeyed him instinctively, locking her legs around his waist. He surged forward, into her moist sheath. “God!” He groaned, in ecstasy.
She screamed.
He felt the barrier. “Damn you, damn you, damn you,” Reese repeated the litany of curses as he withdrew slightly, then thrust into her again, harder this time. He filled her completely, shattering the stubborn barrier and all his foolish illusions.
Faith cried out a second time. He captured her mouth with his, smothering her protests. She unlocked her legs from around him and tried to pull away. He pushed closer, immobilizing her with his greater weight. “Be still, dammit,” he whispered harshly against her mouth. “Your squirming is making it worse! Be still!” Reese fought to maintain control.
His body strained with the effort. He tried to stop, but that control was beyond him. He had waited too long, wanted too much, and dammit, she had brought this on herself.
Her arms went around his neck. Her legs tightened around his hips. She gritted her teeth, squeezed her eyes shut, and pressed her face against his shoulder. Her tears dampened his skin. Her nails carved tiny crescents in the back of his neck, but she held on as he lifted her hips with his hands and began to move. Slowly at first, then faster.
The pain subsided to a dull ache, then disappeared completely as a new, different ache took its place. She moved instinctively, matching his thrusts with thrusts of her own. She listened as they matched the sound and motion of the train, the blood roaring in her ears as loud as the train rumbling down the track. She clung to Reese, straining to grasp something just beyond her reach. She pressed closer to him, her mouth seeking his. She licked the salt from his lips, then thrust her tongue through the seam. Her mouth began to imitate the motion of their bodies. The roaring was louder in her ears. She began to shiver uncontrollably, her muscles contracting painfully. Then suddenly she was surrounded by pleasure. She called out his name. In surprise. In wonder. In glorious, heart-stopping, release.
Reese felt the trembling of her body, heard her call his name and sigh in blissful surrender. He paused, then allowed his body to have its way, moving in and out, faster and faster, until…
Her name was a guttural cry, wrung from the very depths of his body. He shuddered in her arms and spilled himself inside her warm, welcoming body.
Chapter Fourteen
Faith smiled shyly up at Reese. She had never dreamed what went on between a man and a woman could be so magnificent, so unbelievably beautiful. The wonder of it took her breath away.
They lay sprawled across the big bed. She stretched, luxuriating in the aftermath of their lovemaking. Her toes touched the calf of his leg. She was brimming over with emotions, and she wanted to share them with the man who had taken her to the stars. Faith wiggled her toes against his leg to get his attention.
Reese jumped as if she’d burned him, then moved away. He looked down at her, but he didn’t smile back. His eyes were harsh, their depths burning with an angry light.
He studied her. She looked like a wanton. Her eyes were soft. Her lips were red and pouty, bruised from his kisses. The tender skin on her neck and breasts showed signs of abrasion from his beard. Her black hair fanned out over her pillow. It had been braided. When had he unbraided it? She smiled at him, stretching sinuously, like a sated kitten. Well-fed, contented. Well-loved. He could almost hear her purr. And why shouldn’t she purr with satisfaction? Why shouldn’t she be content? She’d used him. Played him for a fool. Lied. Damn her for the deceptive, little bitch she was! He had been duped!
“Unless there’s been another virgin birth I haven’t heard about, you owe me an explanation. And, lady, it had better be good.” His voice sliced through her veil of rosy contentment like an Arctic wind.
“I don’t understand,” she said warily as she reached for the sheets.
“You don’t? Well, let me explain it.” He pinned her to the mattress with his frosty gaze. “Joy is not your daughter! You are not a widow! There is no Champ Collins! And that wedding ring you’re wearing is a fake! You are a fake, Mrs. Collins. Is that clear enough for you to understand?”
“How did you find out?” Faith’s eyes widened, and the color drained from her face. “How long have you known?” She clutched the covers to her chin as she whispered the questions.
“Oh, that’s rich!” He got up from the bed and began to pace, unfazed by his lack of clothing. “I may have been taken in by your saintly widow act, but I know enough about women to know a virgin when I bed one.”
“Oh.” Her reply was barely audible, but Reese heard it and it added fuel to his fire of anger.
“Yes. Oh.” He stopped pacing and whipped around to face her. “Did you think I’d be too inexperienced to know the difference?” That idea made him almost as angry as her deception. “Dammit, woman”―he refused to say her name―“if I had wanted an untutored, green, inexperienced, wide-eyed, virgin, I’d have advertised for one!”
She seemed to disappear before his eyes, to blend right into the bed. She pulled the covers tighter.
That irritated him. “Don’t bother.” He flung the words at her. “I’ve seen all you’ve got to offer.”
She looked as if a slap would have been kinder than the words he threw at her. Tears welled up in her eyes. He had spoiled the most beautiful experience of her entire life. He had ruined it.
Reese saw the glimmer of tears in her eyes and the stricken expression on her face. “Damn!” he said. “Don’t start with the tears. It’s too late for that.”
She wrapped the sheet around her and swung her legs off the bed.
“Where the hell do you think you’re going?”
“I thought I heard Joy,” came the timid reply.
“Get back in bed.” He reached for his trousers. “I’ll go.” He slip
ped on his clothes and boots and stalked out the door.
Faith rolled over in the huge empty bed. She curled up into a ball and let the tears roll down her face. She cried hot, burning, silent tears. She cried until there were no tears left, then lay awake, waiting, listening for Reese’s return.
At dawn, she climbed out of bed and tiptoed into the washroom. There was no sign of Reese. She bathed quickly with cold water, hastily washing away the traces of his lovemaking. She finished bathing and tiptoed back to the bedroom. After buttoning herself into her old, black silk, she began to pack her meager belongings.
* * *
From the rear porch of the railroad car, Reese watched the first pink streaks lighten the sky. He had sat outside in the freezing cold for hours, watching the landscape roll by, hoping the chill wind would cool his burning anger.
God, he dreaded facing her this morning. His head ached, and his throat burned from the biting cold wind, the lack of sleep, too much bourbon, and too many cigars. And damn, he was still angry. Angry at her, but mostly, angry at himself because he had allowed this to happen. He had been taken in by a pair of big innocent gray eyes. She told him she was a widow and he believed her.
Simple as that. Why would she lie to him? Why? For money? She needed money. Badly. Desperately. Why else would a virgin sign a contract like the one he’d offered her? Until tonight, she had been a virgin. A nest-building, ring-wanting, let’s-get-married-in-a-church virgin. He had spent the majority of his adult years avoiding such women, and now, he had allowed himself to be caught. Trapped. Betrayed. Tricked. By a virgin with a pedigree a mile long. Why hadn’t he learned his lesson about ladies with pedigrees? Hadn’t Gwendolyn taught him anything?
Gwendolyn. Reese closed his eyes and pictured her in his mind. Her features had blurred a bit over the years, but he didn’t need to see them to know what they were. Long blond hair, china blue eyes, porcelain complexion, a perfect hourglass figure, and a mouth that could do wonderful things to a man. He should know. She had had many hours to practice on him. And then she had that Boston Brahmin pedigree. He had wanted her. And he had wanted that pedigree and the respect and stability that went with it.
And she had wanted him. Gwendolyn Terrill had been enchanted with the idea of toying with the forbidden. And he, Reese Jordan, had been the forbidden. He could see it so clearly now. But then he had been blinded by pride and lust. Mostly lust, he admitted but he had also wanted to enter the superior bastion of Boston society. The society that had allowed him admittance to Harvard on the strength of his father’s name and money but had denied him the respectability he craved because of his heritage.
Reese had never made a secret of his background. There had never been any reason to hide it. His mother was part Cherokee. All the Alexanders were a mix of Cherokee and Scots blood. Reese’s father was English. Reese was all three. The mixed blood running through his veins had always been a source of pride for Reese. He’d always been accepted by his society.
But he hadn’t been accepted at Harvard. Not until his father bought his admittance. Bloodlines mattered in Boston society where a good pedigree meant the difference between acceptance and rejection, success and failure. Money might buy his way into Harvard, might even open a few doors, but it couldn’t guarantee acceptance in a society dominated by narrow minds. Only an impeccable pedigree, a blue-blooded lineage, or an advantageous marriage could do that.
Reese reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew another thin cheroot. He struck a match and lit it, enjoying the taste of tobacco. He had thought himself in love with Gwendolyn. The moment he saw her, he wanted her. And he was young enough, rich enough, arrogant enough, to think he could have her.
Reese remembered his wedding day as clearly as if it were yesterday. The church was filled to capacity. Boston society had turned out to see one of its own wed an outsider. Reese’s own family had journeyed from the territory. His father, his mother’s father, his mother’s mother, her brothers, and sisters, the family he loved, had traveled to Boston to share his happiness, to welcome his bride into the family. They waited eagerly to meet the woman Reese had chosen. They waited in a hot, stuffy church all afternoon.
Gwendolyn hadn’t walked down the aisle on her father’s arm. She sent a note instead, saying she had never intended for things to go so far. Certainly she’d never intended to marry him.
It was just a game.
Half of the wedding guests laughed at the setdown Gwendolyn Terrill had given Reese Jordan. The rest of the guests shared his pain, his humiliation, his shame, because it had been their shame as well. Boston society had played a cruel joke on Reese Jordan. It would serve as a lesson to other young upstarts.
He had tried to let it go, tried to forget her, but he couldn’t. His love for her hadn’t died that easily. Weeks later, he found himself on her doorstep asking to see her, begging for an audience.
Gwendolyn had kept him waiting on the stoop for nearly an hour before she breezed past him on the arm of her tall, blond, entirely suitable, escort. Reese had turned away. They’d never spoken again.
Why the hell hadn’t he learned from that mistake? He could have prevented this fiasco with more careful planning. Why had he changed his mind about the doctor? He should have had Faith examined. He had planned so carefully, so meticulously, for all possibilities except one. A virgin. A damned virgin. They seemed destined to be his Achilles’ heel. His ultimate downfall.
He ought to put her pretty, little ass on a train back to Richmond. He ought to stop payment on his bank draft and send her packing. He ought to…
Reese sighed. It was too late for all of that. He had paid good money for her services, and he’d be damned if he was going to let her get away with cheating him! Besides, he might have already achieved his goal.
He flipped down the collar of his coat, then made his way back into the railroad car. He needed to wash before breakfast. The train had a scheduled forty-five minute stop at the next station for water, fuel, mail, and passengers.
Reese was familiar with the schedule. He’d made the trip a half dozen times since the joining of the Union Pacific and Central Pacific tracks in Promontory, Utah, back in May.
He would have to face her sometime. He’d already made arrangements for breakfast for the three of them.
Reese stepped out of the washroom just as Faith closed the door to Joy’s room. She was holding the little girl in her arms. A carpetbag and a small trunk sat next to the door. Faith’s eyes were bloodshot and swollen. Her nose was red. She looked as if she had spent the night drinking—or crying. She looked like hell.
“Going somewhere?” He nodded in the direction of the trunk.
“We’re getting off at the next stop.”
Faith looked at Reese. His hair was wet. Drops of water ran down the inky strands, and dotted the white shirt that hung open halfway down his chest. A linen towel was draped over one shoulder. He smelled of soap and spice and had obviously just finished shaving. There was a speck of lather below his ear. He’d never looked more handsome to Faith.
“Yes,” he agreed, “you are getting off at the next stop. For breakfast. And then you’re getting right back on.” He calmly began to button his shirt.
He didn’t sound very angry, but his words still had an edge to them.
Faith pulled herself up to her full height, squared her shoulders, and raised her head to meet his steady scrutiny. “No, Mr. Jordan,” she said firmly. “Joy and I are going back to Richmond.”
His fingers stopped. He’d managed only half his buttons. “You aren’t going anywhere with my child, except to breakfast.”
“Joy is not your child,” Faith reminded him.
“Nor is she yours,” he countered. “What is she? Your kid sister?” It was a guess on his part, but a lucky one. He could tell by the expression in her red-rimmed eyes that he’d hit the mark.
“That’s beside the point.”
“I wasn’t talking about Joy,” Reese told her. “I w
as referring to the child you may be carrying inside you, at this very moment.”
Faith tried to step back, away from him, but the door to the pink bedroom stopped her. “I’m not carrying your child.”
“How do you know that?” Reese asked.
“I just know,” Faith insisted stubbornly.
“Did you do something to prevent conception?” His face was taut, his eyes narrowed, dangerously. “Did you do something this morning?” He wanted to shake her. He moved forward but caught himself before he touched her.
“No, I―” she began.
“Then how do you know? Answer me.”
“Because she’s carrying me,” Joy piped up, staring up at her hero with big, silvery-gray eyes almost identical to Faith’s. “Faith’s not big enough to carry two little girls.”
Joy’s innocent words dissolved some of the tension gripping them.
Though he tried hard to maintain his anger, the corners of Reese’s mouth turned up slightly. He and Faith had been so caught up in their battle, they had forgotten Joy.
She was a perceptive five-year-old, equipped with sharp eyes and ears.
He would remember that in the future. He touched Joy on the tip of her turned-up nose. “You’re absolutely right, sprite.” He reached for her and Joy held out her arms. He took her from Faith and set her on his feet. “Why don’t we walk to breakfast? You’re getting a little too big for Faith to carry.”
“Because she’s carrying your child?” Joy asked, solemnly repeating the phrase she’d heard Reese use.
“Something like that.” His brown-eyed gaze met Faith’s. His eyes held a silent warning, as if he dared her to open her mouth and protest.
She took her chances. “I don’t want to go to breakfast with you.” Her voice was soft, yet firm. She was prepared to stand her ground.
“But you will.” Reese’s full lips were pulled into a tight, disapproving line.
“No, Mr. Jordan, I won’t.” Faith refused to budge.
“Suit yourself.” He sounded nonchalant, but his unyielding stance indicated otherwise. “Stay here if you like, but Joy and I are going to breakfast.”
Golden Chances Page 13