“Brendan, Brendan…” She seized his arms and pulled him back to her. “I’ll make it worth it. Just one last night.”
“Well, that’s it, Ginny.” He drew away from her and tossed his hands in the air. “You want honesty? The truth is I don’t know if I can do just one night. I don’t think I can watch you walk away from me in a few days as if none of this ever happened. And that’s why I couldn’t tell you face to face. It left me too…too…”
“Open?”
“Vulnerable, aye. I’m never vulnerable with women, do you understand? But you…”
Heat washed over Ginny in a flood, followed by cold. She, who held so hard to her independence, could see his point.
“But Brendan, what’s the answer? I certainly can’t stay in Buffalo indefinitely.” She gulped air. “You haven’t asked me to stay.”
“That’s why I decided maybe Addelforce had it right. This was a mistake from the first.”
“A mistake? All that pleasure? All that joy?”
“I’m sorry,” he said for the third time. “Best to go before anyone discovers you’re here. Before we both get hurt.”
Oh, God, oh, God, he was sending her away. It was Hank all over again.
She stiffened her spine. “I am not in the habit of throwing myself at men.”
“I know that fine, lass. And I’m that grateful we had what time we did.”
“You will regret this.”
“I already do. Let me call you a cab.”
“No, thank you.”
“I’m not letting you out on those streets alone.”
She leaned close. “Then you’d better reconsider and let me stay.”
****
Not a man to vacillate—usually—Brendan tended to make up his mind and then stick to his decisions. So why did he find it so hard to send Ginny Landry away and have done with it?
Could be the temptation of one more night sharing passion the like of which he’d never known with any other woman. Could be the way she looked at him, standing there with both challenge and pleading in her eyes.
He suspected, though, it was because he feared if he sent her away now he’d never see her again.
He’d regret it if he let her stay. And if he didn’t. And sure as hell he’d get caught out in it by someone on the force. That was just the way life worked.
On the other hand, what had it taken for her to come here this way? What guts and courage! Courage like that deserved some reward. He could think of about a dozen ways to reward her, right there in his bed.
He groaned.
She turned around and slid the bolt on the door.
“If this is it,” she whispered, “we’d better make it good.”
He caught her face between his hands, drew her up against his body, and kissed her. On her toes, she pressed herself to the length of him in a gesture of surrender.
When the kiss ended, she said, “Anything you want, Brendan. Any way you want.”
“Does that mean you’ll take orders?”
“Yes.” Because she was Ginny, she added, “And give them.”
Maybe he’d die tonight and not have to worry about tomorrow. Or the day after. A good result.
He backed a step and looked at her. “Out of those clothes.”
She shucked them slowly and in a manner that drenched him with heat, her gaze holding his.
“Now, on the bed.”
“On it or in it?”
“What did I say?”
She started for the bed but turned as swiftly back again. Displaying flagrant disobedience, she unbuttoned his shirt and drew it from him before applying her tongue to his skin, down his neck, across one shoulder and back to forage amid the hair on his chest.
“God, you taste so good. I’ve been craving that ever since last night.” Her eyes met his again. “And I happen to know you taste even better down below.” She reached for his belt; he gasped.
“Sergeant, may I remove your trousers?”
“You may—minx.”
She sank gracefully to her knees. He buried his hands in her hair, closed his eyes, and traveled straight to Heaven.
****
Ginny liked Brendan’s bed, and not just because Brendan was in it. Big and deep, it had a feather ticking that threatened to swallow them both. It felt cozy and safe, as if the two of them had found a nest away from the world.
Of course the fact that the bed contained Brendan didn’t hurt.
Sometime long after midnight, she stretched and turned once more to him. The light had long since gone out, but she didn’t need to see him in order to see him. She found she had every separate detail engraved on her mind: the spattering of freckles across both shoulders. The scar just above his knee he said came from a dog bite. The graceful strength of his hands that had been all over her.
Now he’d fallen asleep. She could tell that from his deep, quiet breathing. But she couldn’t let him waste this night in sleep.
“Brendan. Brendan!”
“Um.”
She climbed on top of him, naked flesh to naked flesh, and kissed him. She felt it the instant he came awake, came alive. His hands cradled her, and he began to participate enthusiastically, so warm and intimate there in the dark, so beautiful it made her ache.
When she needed to breathe, she broke the kiss and said, “No sleep, no time for it. We have only this one night.”
He went very still.
“Brendan? What is it?”
“I was right. Ginny, I cannot do just one night. I want you forever. Stay with me.”
She gasped, the air coming out of her in a squeak. Her mind flitted over it, and for the first time she considered the possibility.
To never go home, never spend her days riding wild on horseback, to devote her life to a man who let his duty rule him.
“Impossible.”
Now he asked the question, “Why?”
“What about your career? I’m infamous.”
Again he went still. She knew it meant he thought hard. “You’re right. Perhaps once we get things settled, these murders solved—once the unrest dies down, if the automatons do or don’t get their rights…”
“Maybe then.” She tried to see that far ahead and failed. Not one for looking at the future, she’d learned to live in the moment, enjoy what she could hold in her hands. This moment—here, now.
“You can always come back to Buffalo.”
“I could.” Why did the notion make her feel so bleak? Because she didn’t want to come back to this city where the mother she never knew had died? Or because she didn’t want to leave Brendan Fagan in the first place?
“The question is”—he threaded his fingers through her hair in that way he had and cupped the back of her head—“will you?”
Yes, that was the question. Once away from all this, back in the Dakota Territory, would the desire for him be enough to call her back again? They had only the desire and this blinding intimacy. He’d said nothing about love.
Did she love him? If she did, wouldn’t she be willing to stay—infamy, the demands of his job, and all?
“Brendan,” she whispered, “I don’t know. You asked me to be honest. I don’t want to promise; I don’t like breaking promises.”
He wrapped her in his arms tight and drew her against him, heartbeat to heartbeat. He laid his cheek against her hair and, foolish wretch that she was, tears stung her eyes.
“Then one more time before it gets light,” he told her. “For goodbye.”
Chapter Twenty-One
“I’ve decided to sell my interest in the charity hospital to the Automaton Liberation League.” Ginny made the announcement with calm she didn’t really feel.
Ballister pushed back from his big desk and eyed her in surprise. “Miss Landry, are you sure?”
An interesting question. She believed she was; she’d done little, in the days since creeping away from Brendan Fagan’s door before daylight, but think about it. And about him. She’d not seen the ma
n since giving him a fierce, final kiss at his door and could barely focus for it.
But yes, she’d considered this. To the best of her ability she’d deliberated what her father would do, what he might advise her to do. She raised her eyes to Philip Ballister’s troubled ones. “I’m sure. I’ve made the decision based on conscience. Who am I to deny the hybrids my mother created, along with others like them, a chance to reproduce? My mother created them; shouldn’t they have the right to create others if they choose?”
Ballister tapped his lips with his finger. “That’s just the question, isn’t it? Rights. They are machines, and putting machines in charge of building other machines…”
“They’re more than machines, though, aren’t they? I’ve thought about that also. If they wanted to set up a factory manufacturing mangles or steamcabs, no one would have a problem with it. The very fact that they want to create more individuals like themselves proves they are more.”
“Which personifies the problem.”
Ginny leaned forward. “Look, Mr. Ballister. You charged me with making this decision. Now that I’ve done so, are you trying to talk me out of it?”
“Not at all, Miss Landry. I’m just playing devil’s advocate and informing you that you may feel a backlash for your decision.”
She began to tug her gloves back on. “I am aware of that. But I’m anxious to liquidate my holdings and get out of this city.” Before she hunted down Brendan Fagan and fell on him like a ravening beast. As it was, she thought—or hoped—she saw him everywhere. Each time her eye caught a flash of blue she thought it a glimpse of his uniform and she craved the taste of him all over again.
God help her, she had to get away.
Ballister went on, “This will not be a popular decision with those speaking out against automaton rights and may well spark further violence.”
“Mr. Ballister, the way I see it, anything may spark violence in this city. It’s primed like a powder keg.” And if it went off, Brendan Fagan would be right in the middle. The thought made her start to sweat.
Ballister fiddled with his pen. “There was another murder yesterday. A man was found beaten to death in an alley.”
“By automatons? Anyone might have done that.”
“Most such assaults are the product of robbery. This fellow had a full wallet. And he was well known to employ a number of automatons in a dangerous manufacturing business. Many of them had suffered damage.”
Ginny finished donning her gloves and got to her feet. “Do you not see a pattern here, Mr. Ballister? Most of the humans attacked are ones who mistreated their automatons.”
“That doesn’t make it right, Miss Landry. If a man kicks his dog, should that animal then rip his throat out?”
She leaned toward him and widened her eyes. “In my opinion, Mr. Ballister—yes. Where I’m from, that’s called justice.”
She went home aching. She wanted to see her father so much it hurt and wanted to see Brendan even more. She wondered where he was now. Investigating the new murder? Addelforce wanted him on that, and Brendan’s career meant everything to him.
No, that wasn’t fair. He’d asked her to stay with him even knowing what the association would do to his chances for advancement.
He’d asked her to stay with him. His big hands cradling her, his body hard against hers. Oh, God, oh, God, how was she going to stand it?
She paused on the street corner and closed her eyes, trying to recapture the essence of him. What would it be like to live with him every day? To catch his scent, catch his smile…at liberty to touch him any time she chose…
Yet what to do with herself here in this city? She didn’t belong. And she didn’t think she could ever persuade Brendan to leave.
“Miss? Are you unwell?” A handsome gentleman paused beside her. Or was he a hybrid automaton? She could no longer tell.
“I’m fine, thank you.”
“May I call you a steamcab?”
“No, I don’t have much farther to go.”
She moved on, mostly to get away from the kind gentleman, nothing solved in her mind.
****
“Were you out drinking all night? You look like hell.”
Brendan felt like hell. He rubbed his eyes with stiff fingers and cast a look at his fellow officer, Dennis Petersen. “It’s these murders, isn’t it?” he lied bald-facedly. “Another one last evening.”
Bad enough, that. Yet the murders didn’t affect him so intensely as did Ginny. Or rather, Ginny’s absence.
When he slept he dreamed of her—blow-by-blow and lick-by-lick reenactments of all they’d shared. He feared he might be losing his mind. He told himself he’d made his decision—broken it off with her. He wouldn’t go crawling back for one more night.
One more taste.
Lust—his sickness comprised nothing more. But he’d never known such lust as this. Not too surprising, the practical part of his brain informed him. He’d never known a woman like Ginny, who gave herself so completely, who knew not the meaning of restraint or modesty, who demanded and coaxed and…
Oh, Jaysus.
She danced before him. He could almost feel the soft weight of her breasts in his hands, could see the light in her brown eyes. That light usually denoted the imminent occurrence of something wonderfully wicked.
“Brendan?” He realized Dennis had been speaking to him all the while. He’d missed everything but his name.
What if he presented himself at her door, if he went there tonight? Would she invite him in?
Did he want to toss his career down the privy?
Maybe. Might just be worth it.
“…says there’s to be a big rally at The Park this afternoon. Every steamie in the city’s supposed to be there.”
“What?”
“Well, every one that can get away, I imagine. Captain wants us there.”
“What time’s this supposed to begin?”
“Three o’clock. It’s being talked up as a peaceful meeting—the automatons want to find out who’s doing all these murders. They swear it’s not them.”
Well, they would say that, wouldn’t they? Although most steamies were intrinsically honest.
“The meeting today,” Dennis said uneasily, “is being organized by Pat Kelly. Captain says the Commissioner’s talking about striking him from the force.”
Pat Kelly off the force? But he’d become the very heart of it.
Brendan remembered the first time he’d seen Pat—when he, Brendan, lay strapped to a cold metal table at the behest of those madmen, Charles and Mason. An impossibly terrifying mechanical, he’d seemed then, with staring green eyes. Brendan had been sure at that moment Kelly represented death walking.
He’d become a friend to Brendan and so many others.
If Pat Kelly got struck off, the Irish Squad might well disband in support of him. The force just wouldn’t be the same.
Brendan rubbed his eyes again. “All right, I’ll be ready.”
“Captain says we’d better break out the steam cannons, just in case. And he’s ordered the airship ready for takeoff.”
Jaysus!
Brendan wondered where Ginny was right now. He wondered if he should send her a message telling her to stay inside this afternoon. Or he could swing by her house—yes, that was a better idea. Go there in an official capacity, warn her things might get nasty this afternoon. Perhaps she’d ask him to stop back again later when he was free. They could try and talk things out. He might stay the night, and they could…
On the other hand, she might already have departed Buffalo to return home, like she wanted.
Certainly neither he nor anything he could offer her made a good enough reason for her to stay.
That thought stung.
But not enough to make him stop wanting her.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“Miss, you have callers,” Millie announced softly.
Ginny, sitting alone in the gloomy parlor, looked up with sudden interest. Bre
ndan? Might he have stopped by after all?
Not likely, since she’d made it clear things between them were over. Only it wasn’t over, was it? Likely it wouldn’t be till she kicked the dust of this town from her heels.
Impossible to deny, at the moment, that she sat brooding. A bright, beautiful day outside, yet since returning from Ballister’s office she’d been sitting here with the draperies closed, an artificial dusk. She didn’t want to see anyone.
Well, she wanted to see one person.
“Who is it?” she asked Millie.
“A gentleman called Patrick Kelly, and his wife.”
That got Ginny to her feet. “Please show them in. And—and bring tea, Millie, if you will.”
“At once, miss.”
Ginny crossed to the window and flung the drapes open. Sunlight flooded in, making her narrow her eyes. Pat Kelly’s wife, the woman who’d married an automaton. What might she be like?
They came into the parlor arm in arm, Kelly barely recognizable out of his uniform. The woman beside him—tall and with a quietly regal bearing—had strong, even features and soft, light brown hair styled in a loose chignon. She wore a pale green gown and a matching hat with a clever little brim.
They looked like any respectable couple out for a stroll on a fine afternoon.
“Officer Kelly, it’s good to see you again.”
“Miss Landry.” He presented the woman at his side as he might a priceless jewel. “I would like you to meet my wife, Rose.”
“Mrs. Kelly.” Ginny shook hands with Rose Kelly and met her gaze. What sort of woman married an automaton—even one of Patrick Kelly’s caliber? “To what do I owe this pleasure?”
“We wanted to stop in and thank you personally. We’ve just signed the papers purchasing your interest in the charity hospital on Ellicott Street.”
“That was swiftly done.” She’d left Ballister only a few hours ago.
“We were anxious to make it official. Actually, the purchase is in my wife’s name, as ownership legalities for automatons are still questionable, though I do own my house, as do many other members of the Irish Squad.”
“Please, will you sit down? May I offer you some refreshment?”
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