Before she could think on this, Reed had nudged her legs apart, straining the fabric of her chemise tightly as his thigh pressed against her woman’s core. She bit her lip and saw his gaze rest a moment on her mouth, his pupils dilating.
“Had you stayed any longer in the lounge, you would have seen Elise’s husband join us. I don’t need to spy on you, Charlotte. This city is small enough for me to know practically everyone. When you have lunch with the city’s most important editor, who is probably as interested in your person as your writing skills—”
She interrupted him with a gasp. So now he didn’t think she could get by on her own merits! She tried to pull her hands away from his grip, but couldn’t. If she hadn’t trusted him completely to do her no harm, she would have screamed.
“—Then,” he went on, “I find out exactly where and when from John Trelaine over lunch at Ladd’s just an hour later. If you go to the ballet, then have supper at one of the most expensive restaurants in Boston and, of course, drinks at the Parker—”
He bent low and to her amazement lightly grazed her nipple through the cotton, before continuing, “—All with damned Farnsworth—” He sucked her other nipple into his mouth, fabric and all, and she held her breath, until he raised his head. “—Then I happen upon the very same place and have half a dozen of his friends sing your praises the moment you leave.”
He looked directly into her eyes. “I don’t need those foppish pups to tell me how fetching you are. Right now, the moonlight has bathed you in a heavenly light and you look like an angel.”
That silenced any retort she was about to say. He released one of her hands so he could stroke his thumb across her pale pink lips. “My thoughts, however, are anything but angelic.”
She swallowed hard at the thick feeling in her throat. Her pulse was racing and she rested her free hand on his shoulder, noticing that her palm was damp.
He snaked his hand around her waist, locking the door behind her before releasing her other hand and pulling her to him.
“Are you afraid of me, Charlotte?” Her lips parted, whether to protest, to encourage, or just to receive his kiss, she didn’t know. But he didn’t kiss her yet, though his gaze lingered a moment on her lips before fixing once more on her wide green eyes.
“It occurred to me tonight, lady writer, that with your lack of experience in some areas,” he pulled her with him to the bed, “you might not understand how extraordinary this feeling between us truly is.”
“Reed,” she began, and for a moment, she did feel a flash of apprehension. Was he really angry that she’d been out with Jason? He lowered her to the bed, leaving her with no doubt what area of experience he meant.
“If this is part of the new life you want to explore further while you’re in Boston, I’ll tell you right now, Charlotte, I won’t allow it.”
It didn’t matter that she had no intention of “exploring” anything with any other man. How dare he give her orders? “You won’t allow it,” she repeated incredulously.
“Not with Farnsworth, not with anyone . . . except me.” He pressed her against the downy mattress and he kissed her. Finally! she thought. How she loved kissing this man.
“Mm,” she sighed against his lips, grasping his hair between her fingers before clasping them together behind his neck. He was thorough when he wanted to be, she thought, curling her toes as he bit her lower lip and pulled it into his own mouth. But after a moment, he pulled back and looked down at her darkened eyes, his own blazing.
“This passion is not to be had with just anyone, Charlotte,” he continued, capturing her chin with his thumb and forefinger, as she blushed under his scrutiny and tried to turn away.
His voice was low and rough. “If you think you’ll react to him—” She started to shake her head, but he went on, “If you think Farnsworth can make you moan as I can, you’re mistaken.”
She was speechless, thinking for a moment of the very same conclusion she’d come to regarding that topic earlier in the evening. Jason left her cold with his unwelcome kiss. Charlotte put her hand involuntarily to her lips.
Reed seemed to see in her eyes and in her gesture something of what had occurred. He fairly growled at her—this refined, urban man who had just scaled her aunt’s house and climbed into her bedroom, who now, fully clothed in his evening suit, pushed himself up on his hands on either side of her.
“I have had the pleasure of knowing a few women, Charlotte.” She closed her eyes and wished she could close her ears, not wanting to hear about his lovers.
“Look at me,” he said, his voice gruff. She opened her eyes and stared into his. Reed’s eyes were nearly all black, his consuming desire obliterating the civilized blue.
“I have never felt the electricity that springs between us, just being near each other. It is exceedingly different from anything I have ever experienced. You don’t feel this way with Farnsworth?”
It was half a statement, half a question, but he didn’t pause for her response.
“I thought to wait until . . . ,” he stopped himself. “It’s no matter. I have the urgent need to remind you exactly how it is between us.”
“I already know—” she began, but he was not going to listen. Reed silenced her with another kiss, one that held all the pent-up longing of nearly two months of separation. It deepened with a strong surge of his tongue until Charlotte had to press against his shoulders with her palms to make him let her take in air.
His breathing was as ragged as her own. Leaning on his elbows, he brought both hands up to cup her pale face; he traced her now red lips with his thumbs, and slowly, she parted them once more, allowing one of his thumbs to slip inside.
She did then what her unleashed sensual nature demanded—she sucked its roughness while his other hand moved down to slip up under her nightdress. Her eyes widened, but she didn’t stop her tongue’s carnal exploration of his thumb.
As his hand caressed her thigh and then halted at the hot cleft between her legs, she moaned as he’d said she would. Reed cupped her a moment before dipping his finger between the soft folds of her already swollen flesh, stroking the small nubbin that stood erect there, like an island in a sea of moist heat.
Charlotte gasped, closing her eyes at the heady sensation and letting her head fall back with the pleasure of his touch.
With his free hand tangled in the thick strands of her coppery shining hair, his mouth descended again continuing his sensual assault; his tongue slipped in and out in a perfect mimicry of the finger he now inserted into the slick passage between her legs.
“Christ,” he said against her lips. “I just want to be inside you, Charlotte.”
She nodded, unable to speak, but her eyes opened as he began to unbutton her chemise; she felt his hands tremble, and it matched the trembling in her slender body.
When he’d undone ten of the buttons, he slipped the sheer cotton down over her shoulders and left it bunched at her waist. He kissed her pale shoulder, turning her limbs to jelly.
Then the cool air rushed over her as Reed stood up to undress.
She watched, anticipating every inch of him as it came into view—nearly faint with lust for his touch, his lips, his straining manhood. But she also felt something akin to an ache in her heart. It was a love so intense, so big inside her, she would swear it hurt.
He joined her on her soft bed, but it could have been the hard earth for all either of them cared. He came into her without hesitation and she relished the feel of her body clasping his pulsing shaft deep inside her.
When he moved, she moved with him, until the instinctual rhythm of their bodies took over, for she could think no more. She could only hold on as they rode the waves of passion as if on a steed of purest pleasure.
Her head was filled with the smell of him—masculine and clean with a hint of brandy. Her mouth was filled with the taste of him, as she kissed whatever part of his skin came within her reach—his straining shoulders, the pulse at his neck, his strong lips, a
ll the while rubbing her upturned breasts against the dark hair that curled on his broad chest.
He responded with kisses dropped on her eyelids, her forehead, her lips, her chin, before he bent to nibble the sensitive skin at her neck, and finally to give a last searing kiss to her dusky nipple before she cried out, muffling the sound against his shoulder.
In turn, Reed stifled a groan against her tangled hair as his body shuddered with final hard thrusts.
They both lay spent, entangled in bed clothes and sweaty limbs. Charlotte thought of it as utter abandonment to pleasure, and felt even more love for this powerful man than she would have thought possible.
However, as the haze of desire lifted, they both were acutely aware of their perilous situation.
Reed stroked her arm. “I ought to leave immediately.”
“I know.” She touched the side of his face, so dear to her.
“I don’t want to.”
“I know.”
“May I escort you somewhere tomorrow?” he asked.
Yes, to church, to be married, her heart cried. “Lunch?”
He grimaced. “I was thinking of an evening event. I want to see you in that blue gown again, and then I want to take it off you.”
She responded by settling in her bed and pulling the sheets up high to cover herself.
“I would love that,” she admitted honestly, unable to stop the effusive blush, “but I promised Aunt Alicia that we’d spend a quiet evening talking. It wouldn’t do for me to be out two nights in a row.”
“And you wasted your night out with Farnsworth?” Reed rolled on top of her and planted a hand deep in the pillow on either side of her head, “The worst example of codfish aristocracy.”
She could see he was only teasing now, and she grabbed hold of his wrists, steady as two tree trunks. “I can honestly say that the best part of the evening was spent with you, Mr. Malloy. Are you going to have lunch with me or not?”
He lowered his weight back down onto her hips and she experienced how quickly desire could flare up again, when only moments before she thought them both sated.
How heavenly it would be, she thought, if they could spend a whole night together and wake up to take breakfast without shame. As husband and wife. She stared up into the face of the man she loved with all her heart.
Reed lowered his head and kissed her thoroughly with the promise to return by one o’clock the next day. He was almost off the bed when he turned to her.
“Just let me . . .” He didn’t finish his words but kissed her again, working his way down her throat, tugging at the sheet, until his tongue was circling the hollow between her breasts.
She arched. He grunted. His lips closed on her nipple again, lathing the bud, tugging it, then moving to the other. Her fingers gripped his shoulders. Lord, she wanted him again.
“Charlotte,” he breathed against her skin. “I . . .”
“Yes,” she agreed.
“I should leave now,” he whispered.
“Mm,” she agreed, grabbing the back of his head and pressing his mouth down to her breast.
But then he went lower. Trailing kisses down her flat stomach. She held her breath.
“Reed?”
He blew gently at the soft copper curls between her legs.
“I . . .”
He blew again, then dipped his head and kissed her there.
She was mortified. She felt his tongue. She was ecstatic.
“Ohh,” she cried out. He moved up and across her body in a second and caught the rest of the animal sound in his mouth.
A second later, as his ready shaft entered her, she let her thighs fall to either side in abandonment, taking him into her ready and yielding body as far as she could.
“Reed,” she breathed against his lips.
And they said no more as he rocked in and out, the climax building more slowly this time. She fought to stay silent, her eyes closed, her head arched on the pillow, her lips parted, her throat exposed to his mouth—as they came together, in long pulsing waves.
Minutes later, she watched him slip away, closing the balcony door behind him with a quiet click. Charlotte got up to retrieve her chemise and unlock her door in case one of the children wanted to come in before she awoke.
Inexplicably, tears pricked her eyes. She would like to have heard from him the words she hadn’t heard anyone tell her since she was a girl.
Her heart felt heavy with uncertainty. What part of love was this overwhelming desire she felt? If Reed felt it, too, did that mean he loved her? She touched her lips. For now, she could not deny him, or herself, the exquisite passion that flared between them.
What had he called it? Electricity. Eventually, Charlotte knew, his desire would vanish without the love necessary to keep it burning forever.
It was only as she climbed once more under the rumpled bedclothes that she recalled he still hadn’t told her about his reason for going out west. And then, she sat bolt upright in bed.
Contraception! They had done it again . . . and then again!
She was usually such a careful person, too, and she assumed Reed was meticulous as befitting a successful lawyer. She tossed herself back onto the rumpled sheets. Life was becoming so much more complicated outside of Spring City. And here she was, playing with fire.
She punched her pillow. She would worry about it later. Tonight, she had to sleep. Tomorrow, she was beginning the research for her article with a visit to police headquarters.
Chapter Twenty-One
Bumping along in a cab toward the public library, Charlotte found herself smiling distractedly, as she had been doing all morning during the quiet moments. She’d dressed in a hurry, not allowing herself to indulge in sweet remembrances of her night with Reed.
Now, however, she was certain she wore the same smile of satisfaction that had prompted her aunt to tell her she looked “particularly well” at breakfast.
She’d fairly sailed out the door to the police department located at City Hall to begin her work. An hour and a half later, she was armed with notes from her visit with the Boston police and on her way along the Common to the library.
“The best library in the country,” she’d been told by absolutely everyone; it was said to have 100,000 volumes, which she could scarcely believe.
Relishing the resources at her disposal, Charlotte silently thanked Alicia for causing her to come east; she couldn’t quite bring herself to thank Helen, however. Still, Charlotte could see whole worlds of possibilities opening up to her curious, quick mind.
“I’m writing for the Post,” she reminded herself, trying to slow her excited footsteps as she entered the imposing building of brick and sandstone with its huge arched windows.
In front of her, she saw two large staircases, on the right and the left, which embraced a vaulted hallway between them that led to the rear of the building. People were coming and going on the stairs, and a sign on the right announced a coat room at the top, so up she went.
“Man alive,” she murmured, at the sight that greeted her as she ascended the stairs. Directly in front of her was a large semi-circular desk with a librarian, who looked up briefly to nod at her. Beyond the desk, Corinthian columns reached upward for three more stories effortlessly supporting the expansive roof overhead.
Turning in a complete circle, she felt her feet slide on the smooth black and white tiled floor as she followed the line of columns that stood like soldiers around the perimeter.
Behind them, in the alcoves lining the reading room, were book shelves, floor to ceiling, with two more floors of shelving looming above the room, on two sides. Given all those shelves, she was surprised to see more books stacked on the floor.
“Sweet Jesus.” Charlotte almost laughed when she remembered how proud she’d been of her father’s library. The thought brought with it a pang of sadness at how it now sat unused, with only Sarah Cuthins stopping in to dust. She would have to decide on many things . . . and soon.
A
man came up the stairs and brushed past her, heading directly to the librarians desk. She watched him fill out a card and hand it to a woman in black with a white apron, who glanced at it with glasses perched on the end of her nose and headed off to the stacks to retrieve his request.
Still craning her head up and round to take it all in, Charlotte headed toward the coat room and handed her mantle to another woman in black and white. She tugged down her shirtwaist; she was ready.
Instead of being a solemn and grave place, the library was a hive of activity as people came and went, and women in aprons flitted about carrying books. There were more people reading books than she had ever seen before—than she could ever have imagined seeing.
In between the columns were rows and rows of small drawers filled with cards listing each book that waited to be discovered. It didn’t take Charlotte long to figure out the system, and with trembling hands, she filled out three cards and then sat down patiently at one of the oval tables.
Most tables had at least three people seated and books scattered across the dark mahogany surfaces. Her table, next to a gleaming marble statue, had just one other occupant, a man with his head buried in a thick tome.
Fighting the overwhelming urge to hum, so thrilled was she, Charlotte sat quietly, curbing her desire to talk to the stranger, to ask him questions, to ascertain what he was reading.
Within a few minutes, her three books arrived at her table and were placed right in front of her. It reminded her of a Christmas from her childhood, she thought, opening the first one with reverence.
Hours later, Charlotte was hidden behind a mountain of books and newspaper articles, along with a stack of the National Police Gazette and the Illustrated Police News; all at once, she let out a small cry.
Reed! She suddenly remembered their lunch date. And then she only thought of it because her stomach gave a particularly loud rumble.
Charlotte glanced at the large grandfather clock at one end of the room. It was already well past one o’clock, the appointed time when she was to meet him at his office. It was unthinkable to simply disappear, especially after their night together. She drummed her fingers and then made a decision.
An Improper Situation (Sanborn-Malloy Historical Romance Series, Book One) Page 23