by Debra Glass
It wasn’t a request. But it was all the impetus she needed. “Yes,” she said, her voice but a husky murmur. “Yes, Benton.”
And then his mouth was on hers, hard and hot. His long, lean body pressed hers down to the bed into the multitude of pillows. The towel between them was a frustrating barrier but there was no mistaking the hardness that urged against her, pressing through the fabric at the apex of her thighs. All coherent thought fled as she opened her mouth to his, reveling in the feeling of his body tensing and shuddering above hers.
Wantonly, she opened her legs wider, giving him access to her weeping pussy. He groaned into her mouth. His arms tightened around her, one around her shoulders, his hand buried in the hair at the nape of her neck, the other sliding under her hips, lifting her upward against him. Another hoarse groan emanated from his mouth and his kiss deepened. His lips bruised hers with his need. Jillian could not get enough. His tongue delved into her mouth and then retreated only to push between her lips once more while his hips mimicked the motion.
Her pulse accelerated when his hand crept between them and he ripped the towel from between their bodies. Now, all that stopped him from taking her was the coarse fabric of his trousers. Jillian lifted her hips as he ground into her. She ached to have him naked and arching above her. A little cry emanated from her throat. “Please, Benton…”
She tried to catch her breath but he continued his ruthless assault on her mouth and all the while, the rough wool of his uniform grazed her breasts, enticing her nipples to swell and tighten. She wanted him naked. She longed to feel his skin beneath her palms, to look her fill at his gloriously muscled chest, slender hips and steel thighs.
One of his hands slipped between their bodies and he began furiously unfastening the row of buttons on his fly. His knuckles brushed the hardened bud of her clitoris and she arched toward him, letting her hips voice her desire.
Crazy hunger swept through her body. He was going to make love to her. This wasn’t a dream. It was going to happen. She had never wanted anything more in her life.
She tried to put her arms around his shoulders but he wasn’t solid. Her hands passed through him. It didn’t make sense! How could she feel his body so hard and solid on hers and not be able to touch him? She groaned her frustration. Dammit. Dammit! “I want to touch you. I want to feel you,” she whimpered between kisses.
He drew away from her, confusion and passion mingling in his pained gaze, leaving her cold from the absence of his body. Jillian was beyond reason. He was no longer just an earthbound spirit. He was a man and she wanted him inside her more than she had ever wanted any man. She reached for him but again, her hand moved through him. “I want to touch you.”
His eyes clouded and for a moment she thought—no, hoped—he would take her on the spot but instead he pushed himself up and off the bed, turning away. “I can’t do this.”
Jillian stared at his back as he did up his trousers. She was breathless and aching and exasperated and so maddeningly, thoroughly confused. “What do you mean you can’t?” She propped herself up on her elbows.
“I mean, I can’t.”
The heat still flamed in her cheeks. “Why not? Are you still in love with Hattie?”
“No,” he said quickly. He raked a hand through those dark waves Jillian longed to touch and then he turned to her.
“Then what? Are you…incapable?”
“No.” His voice was softer, less certain.
She swallowed the hard lump in her throat. She had been practically begging him to fuck her and he was refusing. She could scarcely believe it. “Do…do you… Are you not attracted to me?”
He looked away from her eyes. Rejected and embarrassed, she snatched the towel and concealed her body. Anger quickly replaced her heady desire. After all she had risked, after all she had accomplished… She’d made the mistake of thinking he cared for her. What a total and utter fool she was! She stared, trembling.
A hot tear ran down her cheek. She turned her head. She couldn’t bear for him to see her crying. Not over this.
She knew he was staring now and she did not dare look at him. Dammit, Amy! Why had she put that button back in her pocket? Why? She’d been ready to let Amy release him at the hospital.
Some part of her was grateful he’d had the fortitude to stop. Her thoughts raced wildly back over the past few minutes. She wouldn’t have been able to stop.
He breathed a heavy sigh. Jillian knew if she looked at him it would be her undoing, but she did it anyway.
Already he had become slightly transparent. Still, his eyes glittered like silver in the dim light. Her gaze moved to his mouth. Those lips. She had just kissed those lips. God, this was crazy. She had never acted in haste, always analyzing the situation, weighing the outcomes. What was different now? What, in one day, had caused such a drastic change in her that she would throw reason and caution to the wind? She had been very close to making love to him.
His energy bristled and she trembled from it.
God, why was he just standing there? Why wouldn’t he just leave?
His brow creased. He looked as if some great burden weighed heavily upon him. “Jillian, don’t.” Moving toward her, he made a motion to brush away the single tear coursing down her cheek but she twisted out of his reach.
“Allow me to explain.” His voice was soft, pleading.
She lifted her chin. “That’s not necessary.” Her gaze locked fiercely with his. “I’m glad you stopped. It would be irrational for me to get involved with a dead man.” A false-sounding chuckle erupted from her throat. She raked her hand through her hair. “I can’t believe I just said that.”
Benton didn’t reply. He eyed her coolly.
Jillian continued uncomfortably. “Nothing can come of this.” Her voice rose slightly. “I’ll be living my life after this and you’ll be going…to wherever you will go when Amy sends you to the Light.”
“Precisely.” His cold tone sent a shiver down her spine.
She inhaled. “Good night, Benton.”
He gave her a low bow. There was no mistaking the mocking irony in his exaggerated gesture. “Good night, madam.”
And with that, he vanished.
Jillian stared in dismay at the spot where he had been, instantly regretting sending him away. But she had to do it. She had to maintain her boundaries, to stay safe. This time, however, her safety didn’t have anything to do with those evil beings or the psychopath who had abducted her sister. This danger was far more terrifying. She shuddered.
Amy had called him her Gatekeeper. It meant he was supposed to protect her.
But how could he protect her from herself?
* * * * *
Jillian awakened to the sound of rain softly pattering the windowpanes. It was still dark outside and her mind was so clouded, she couldn’t recall falling asleep. Squinting, she propped herself on one elbow and eyed the clock.
Sometime during the night the power had come back on. Her bedside lamp glowed softly and the bathroom light was once again on. The digital clock on her nightstand flashed red.
She breathed a sigh of relief and turned off the lamp before sinking back into the pillows. How had she ever fallen asleep after what happened? Her mind raced over the day’s events. The early phone call, the button, her encounter with Benton, finding Amy. But then her thoughts turned to what had nearly happened with Benton. Her stomach tightened.
How had it happened so easily? She tried to think up an analytical explanation but couldn’t. It defied that. It defied everything she’d been taught, everything she’d ever experienced, everything she ever thought she would experience.
She had been so ready, so willing. There had been no mistaking the passion in his kiss. She wet her lips with her tongue, the memory sending flames up the back of her neck. But why had he turned so cold? Had he lied to her about being in love with his long-dead fiancée? Did he find her distasteful? Too fast? A hot blush blazed in her cheeks. After all, he was a nineteenth-century man, a man wh
ose honor and reputation was prized above all. Realization sank to her toes. She had humiliated herself. The one thing she prized most was her dignity and now it was shattered.
The sudden noise of the phone ringing startled her. Jillian’s gaze shot in its direction. Her breath froze in her chest. Dread swept over her. A second ring broke the silence. Shaking, she reached and lifted it out of its cradle. A check of the caller ID informed her it was an unknown caller. She punched the talk button. “Hello?”
“Jillian.” The voice was low, breathy, unrecognizable.
Instinctively, she punched the record button on the answering machine. “Who’s speaking?”
“Do you still have the button?”
Chapter Seven
Her heart raced. She slipped out of the bed and peeked out the window. The streets were dark. Empty.
Adrenaline raced through her veins. She had to tamp down the surging panic. She had to keep her head. And she had to keep this person on the line. “What button? Who is this?”
“Is your pretty blue sweater ruined, Jillian?”
Jillian’s gaze shot to the darkened bathroom where her Chanel sweater still lay in a wet heap on the tile. She swallowed. A chill crept up her back. The suspect had been close enough to see her.
“What do you want?” she demanded. Her hand was shaking. She shot a glance at the recorder, the flashing red light indicating it was recording.
Feeling utterly exposed, she snatched the sheet off the bed and wrapped it around her. “What do you want?” she repeated. Her voice rose with hysteria.
There was a long silence but Jillian could tell the suspect was still on the line. Her gaze fixed on her own reflection in the mirror. Her eyes were wide with terror. Thick, dark hair hung in rebellious waves around her shoulders, creating a stark contrast between her pale skin and the white sheet.
The suspect spoke. “Do you think your Gatekeeper can protect you from me?”
Her heart skipped a beat.
The person laughed. The sound was insane, maniacal. “Do you really think he wants to keep you alive? I don’t.”
“Who is this?”
The phone clicked and then Jillian heard a dial tone. Frantically, she punched the talk button again. The suspect was gone.
“Jillian?”
She gasped. Her gaze flew to the mirror. A dark figure stood behind her, silhouetted in the dim light from bathroom. She whirled and raised her arm, intent on fighting with the only weapon she had—the phone.
Relief flooded her when she saw it was Benton. Clutching the sheet, she sank to her knees and forced herself to take deep gulps of air. The phone tumbled from her fingers to the hardwood floor.
Immediately he was next to her, his strong arms engulfing her. Long fingers threaded into her hair and he held her head against his chest. “You’re trembling,” he whispered.
“That was the person who took Amy. He…” she began, but then realized she couldn’t be certain from the suspect’s voice if it was a man or a woman. “He knew about you. He knew Amy called you my Gatekeeper. He knew about my blue sweater.”
“Shh.” He squeezed her tighter. “Listen to me.”
She became still, realizing in that stillness that he was wearing only a snowy muslin shirt and his gray trousers held up by a set of dark-colored suspenders.
“I won’t let anything happen to you.”
Jillian swallowed. She knew she should call Theo immediately but she didn’t want to leave the sanctuary of Benton’s embrace. She opened her palm to put it against his chest but again, her hand passed through him. Frustration brewed. She wanted to touch him, to feel him, to seek comfort in his arms. She needed it. She needed it badly.
A little sob tore from her throat. “Benton, please, I…”
Then her hand found the hard wall of his chest and lower, the tense, flat stomach covered only by a thin layer of smooth, soft cotton. She swallowed. Hard. She looked up and her gaze found his. The softest smile pulled at one corner of his mouth. A tumult of emotions she could not identify rushed through her being.
His chest rose and fell with a deep, resigned breath. What was he feeling? What was he thinking?
Jillian was unable to tear her gaze away from his. He was beautiful in the ethereal glow of moonlight spilling through the plantation blinds. So real. So solid. And in that moment, everything seemed crystal clear. She wanted him. Her reservations no longer mattered. She wanted to feel him, every inch of him, encompassing her, sheltering her. For once, she wanted to act without thinking, to live without considering the consequences of the past and the future, to be fully, wholly present in this moment. But she did not dare ask.
Anguish was evident in his silvery gaze—and something else. Something unguarded, fierce. Jillian could stare no longer. She could not bear rejection again. Not today. Not now. She started to look away, to bury her head once more against his chest but he caught her chin in his palm and tilted her face up to his. A husky groan emanated from somewhere deep inside him and then he claimed her mouth, kissing her, his tongue forcing through the small opening her lips had left him to plunder inside.
Mindless, Jillian yielded to him, clinging to his strong shoulders as he continued the onslaught of her mouth. She trembled.
Big hands roamed over her body, caressing her through the sheet. Jillian wanted it off but it was wound too tightly around her limbs. A moan of protest escaped her lips when his mouth left hers but her objection was short lived. He nuzzled her neck, his little moustache and beard tickling her, teasing the sensitive skin there. Jillian gripped his head, flinging hers back to give him easier access. His mouth was hot, wet and relentless. Wetness flooded her pussy. She could hear herself encouraging him, giving voice to words she had never before used.
His fingers found one of her nipples through the thin cotton sheet, sending white hot desire dashing straight to her pussy. “Now, Benton. Now.” Her pleas were seductive, desperate.
And as if in answer, his arms tightened around her. Suddenly, he was lifting her. His mouth found hers once more as he laid her on the bed. Releasing her mouth, he stood over her, his need glaringly obvious through his gray trousers. Jillian watched, breathless.
He hastily shrugged off his suspenders and yanked his shirt off over his head. His body was lean and rippled with the muscles of a man who knew intense physical labor. An angry scar marred his left shoulder and Jillian felt a pang of compassion wash over her. She swallowed and allowed her gaze to move over the rest of him. His body tapered slightly to his waist. Sparse black down formed a line just below his bellybutton and disappeared into his trousers.
He stared and with trembling fingers, unbuttoned his pants slowly, deliberately. Jillian was aware he looked at her but her gaze was riveted to where his hands deftly worked the buttons. Every nerve in her body was taut. Her breath froze in her lungs as he unhooked the last of them.
He stopped just before he opened his fly. “Look at me, Jillian.”
Reluctantly she lifted her gaze to his eyes.
“Tell me you want this.”
She swallowed. Her gaze flickered back to his gaping fly. She wanted to see the prize inside.
“I want to be sure,” he said.
Her gaze searched his.
“Tell me.” It was a command.
Her answer was to rip the sheet off her body and move to the edge of the bed. Impatiently, she seized his trousers in her hands and freed his burgeoning cock. She gasped at the sight of it. Beautiful, long and hard, emerging from a base of black, black curls. “I want it. Come here,” she said. “Come here…” Her voice trailed off as she took his thick phallus in her hand and then in her mouth. He tasted sweet and salty at the same time, masculine, warm. The way he filled her mouth elicited a moan from Jillian. She grasped one hard buttock to draw him closer.
Long fingers burrowed into her hair. Husky pleas and groans emanated from deep inside him. His whole body shuddered and he whispered her name over and over. Jillian delighted in what she
was doing to him. She had not realized how much she needed this—to feel his rock-solid hardness in her hands, to be able to please him. Throbbing, aching need swelled between her legs. Her pussy was wet. And ready. So ready.
She tore away from him to look into his clouded eyes. And then in shockingly unladylike language, she made it clear to him what she wanted him to do to her and where. “Make me come like you did in my dream.” She reached out and dragged him onto the bed with her as he kicked off his boots and trousers.
A hard, sinewy thigh parted her legs and for a heartbeat his gaze locked with hers before she felt the swollen tip of his cock slide inside her. Immediately, spasms racked her body. She was coming. Hard.
Mindless, she was aware only of his hard, steady thrusting and wave upon wave of pleasure spiraling through her body. Her nails scraped down his back, her fingertips finding a curiously rough scar at the base of his rib cage. He arched above her, pulling out only to come down full length inside her cunt once more. She cried out his name and met his fluid motions with matching intensity. For this one moment, he was real and solid and in her arms and she was thoroughly, utterly sated.
Undulating inside her, he pushed himself up far enough to look into her eyes. His mouth pulled into a onesided grin. “That didn’t take long.” He looked pleased with himself. Extremely pleased.
A blush infused Jillian’s cheeks. “I can’t say the same for you.”
He laughed. The sound of it was rich and sexy. “I’m not through with you yet.”
The fact that she’d just been called by her sister’s wouldbe killer was quickly slipping from her thoughts. “No?”
He shook his head. “No,” he whispered and slanted his head to kiss her. His teeth nipped her lips. A thumb and forefinger found her nipple. Jillian arched. Her moans rose an octave.
But Benton didn’t stop there.
His lips found her neck once more and he sucked and kissed and left her writhing in pleasurable agony. Ecstasy built and crested once more inside her. Shocked, she grasped his lower back tightly and lifted her hips to grind her clit against him as it happened again. “I’m coming again!” Her voice was but a pleading breath in his ear. “Come with me, Benton. Come with me…”