Forever and a Day (15 page)

She could feel his shoulders flexing, tensing and growing tighter beneath her hands as she frantically fisted his linen shirt, trying to remain coherent.

“Georgia…” he gritted out between each breath and thrust. He lowered his head and dug his chin into her hair, readjusting his hands on her waist. “For God’s sake,
do it
. Do it, before I—”

She panted for breaths she could no longer take, racing to finish upon his command as an unrestrained moan burst through her lips, unleashing the rippling pleasure she’d been grasping for. She gave in to the trembling core between her thighs and the sensation of her body tightening in pleasure. She cried out and cried out again, bucking against him and grinding down on his length, unable to believe she was
still
climaxing.

When it ended, she rested her head limply back against the plaster, letting Robinson feverishly jerk in and out of her wetness.

She had never had it last so long. It was unreal. “Pull out when it’s time,” she rasped in between fading, heavy breaths.

Robinson slowed his thrusts to a mere in and out as he captured her gaze with lust-heavy eyes. Holding her more firmly against the wall, he dug rigid fingers beneath her thighs and masterfully stroked in and out, in and out, holding her gaze the whole time as if showing her who was in command. Suddenly, he slid himself out of her, dragging her body off his waist and thighs. He settled her booted feet back onto the uneven wood floor, pushing down her skirts to fall back into place.

Pinning her against the wall, he stared at her mouth as his hand jerked between them. He tensed. “I want you to swallow me,” he rasped. “Will you?” He closed his eyes.

Sensing that he was near release, Georgia dragged herself down his muscled body and took his rigid, velvety length as he had asked. Using her hands and mouth, she stroked him rapidly.

Seething out breaths, he stilled, his muscles tensing around her possessively as he grabbed her hair and trembled from his release, the warmth of his seed spurting into her mouth. He groaned and groaned again as she sucked and swallowed him until there was nothing left.

Releasing him, she slowly rose back onto her feet and somewhat shyly leaned against the wall, hoping that it had been just as incredibly marvelous for him as it had for her.

He grabbed her and collapsed against her; his muscled chest heaved beneath the linen of his shirt. He nuzzled his face into her hair. “Georgia,” he breathed out. “Marry me. Marry me so we can be together always.”

She drew in an astonished breath. Oh, dear God. She had seduced far more than his body. She had already seduced his soul. And it was wrong. It was so bloody wrong and not in the least bit fair to him or her.

Reaching down between them with trembling hands, and after pushing him back into place, she buttoned the flap. “I can’t marry a man without a name. It wouldn’t be legal.”

“Then give me a name,” he insisted against her hair. “I will take any name you give me.”

“It still wouldn’t be legal.” Reaching up, Georgia cupped his face and kissed his nose and then his forehead and then the bruises still covering the right side of his jaw and cheekbone. “You and I must wait. We must wait until your family comes and decide then.”

“And what if no one comes? What then?”

Then her dark wish would be hers to keep and kiss and hold. “I’ll not make an orphan out of a man unless he truly is one.”

He leaned away out of her grasp. “Why would you give yourself to me in so intimate a manner, only to take yourself back the moment I asked you to be mine? Do you think that because I have no name, I also have no heart?”

She swallowed back the anguish he was forcing her to feel and stepped toward him. “Oh, Robinson. Cease this. No one has more heart than you.”

“And yet it isn’t enough. Is it? You require a name, and a man with a past, over this mere heart.” He shifted his jaw and stepped farther back, his gray eyes boring into her. In a low, harsh tone that was almost eerily not his own, he bit out, “How many men have you allowed to touch you in the way I just did? I want to know.”

She stared. “I don’t do this sort of thing on the hour, Robinson.”

He leaned toward her and narrowed his gaze. “Is that supposed to be your answer? Or perhaps there are far too many to count. Is that it?”

She stumbled back. There was a cutting razor edge that was slicing its way out of his naive soul. Was
this
who he really was? A man who had been bruised to the core by other women?

She narrowed her own gaze. “One. There’s your damn number.
One
. And that one was my husband, mind you. Now I ask you, cease belittin’ me, considerin’ I’d venture to say,
Mr. Crusoe,
given your remarkable performance, your number’s probably well above my mere one.”

He glanced away, his flushed features softening as he lowered his gaze. After a long moment of silence, he closed his eyes, placing shaky fingers to his forehead, and choked out, “I didn’t mean to… I…” He reopened his eyes and met her gaze, tears streaking them. “Forgive me, Georgia. Forgive me for suggesting that you…” He winced, rapidly blinking as if a headache was overtaking him. “I’m ruining this. I’m ruining everything. I’m…stupid.”

She stepped toward him, her heart squeezing seeing his panic in having wronged her. “Shh. No, you aren’t. I’m fine. I just don’t want you talkin’ to me like that. It isn’t fair given that I only want what is best for you. Don’t you understand that seizing you for myself whilst you have yet to belong to
yourself
isn’t right?” She leaned toward him, wagging her fingers toward his hand. “No more pride, please. Show me.”

He quietly held it out, unfurling it, palm up.

The entire width of his large palm, just below his fingers, had been scraped clean of its skin, welted with crusting blood. “Oh, Robinson,” she whispered, grasping it gently. “Don’t suffer like that for me again.”

He leaned toward her, his features twisting. “I suffer more knowing that I just accused you of—”

The entrance door banged open, making them jump away from each other in astonishment.

Matthew casually strode in with a wool sack draped over his broad coated shoulder and a folded newspaper in his bare hand. He jerked to a halt, scanning them. “Am I…interrupting something?”

Georgia’s cheeks burned as she tried to remain indifferent. Thank
God
he hadn’t walked in moments earlier. “No. I was merely…lookin’ at his hand.”

Matthew paused. “Whatever the hell is wrong with it?”

“He injured it.”

“Did he?” Matthew dropped the sack onto the floor, slapping the folded newspaper into Georgia’s hands, and strode toward Robinson. “Hand it up, Brit. I’m good with wounds.”

Robinson edged toward the staircase, setting it behind his back. “A man has his pride, you know.”

“Not whilst he’s living in the Five Points.” Matthew stepped toward him and forcefully grabbed his arm out from behind his back. Pulling it upward toward himself, he shook his head. “Damn. You scraped off half the skin. Hold it up.”

Digging into his patched waistcoat pocket, Matthew retrieved a small bottle and uncorked it with his teeth in one solid pull. “Chant with me now,” he said enthusiastically with the cork still wedged between his teeth. “Pain is ever so beautiful and divine.
Why?
Because it means you’re still breathing. Now hold still.”

Georgia bit her lip hard, her fingers crinkling the newspaper Matthew had given her to hold. She watched with a half squint as Matthew poured the entire contents of his whiskey onto the open wound.

“Christ.”
Robinson swung away, hissing out a breath through bared teeth as he repeatedly shook his hand against the effects of the liquid dripping off. “It burns worse than the damn wound itself.”

“It always does.” Recorking his empty bottle with the pop of his palm, Matthew tucked it back into his waistcoat. “So. I just got back from Wall Street. The clerk over at the bank informed me he’ll have a name and address those notes were issued to in as little as eight days.”

“Eight days?” Robinson met her gaze.

Georgia’s heart dropped. Though he wanted her now, yes, the moment his family came and paraded him back to his lavish lifestyle, reintroducing him to who he really was, it would all come to an end.

Matthew grabbed the newspaper from her and snapped it open, smacking the back of his hand against the extended page. “Congratulations are in order,
Crusoe
. You are officially the latest in frenzied gossip to have hit this city. Even the damn clerk at the bank knew all about you, which is why he was exceptionally helpful. The
New-York Evening Post
is rather popular within business circles.”

Georgia leaned over and grabbed the newspaper from Matthew. She held it up, scanning the framed words.

British Gentleman in Dire Need of Assistance

The article gave a small but accurate description of his appearance, right down to the clothes he had been wearing when he first appeared at the hospital, and asked anyone who recognized him to call upon Dr. William Carter at the New York Hospital for further information.

She lowered the paper, handing it off to Robinson. “Bless that bastard’s beating heart. That was impressively quick. He must have high and mighty connections.”

Robinson held up the paper.

Matthew strode back over to the wool sack he dropped earlier, swinging up the sack. “Here.” He tossed it toward her. “I dug some clothes out of my trunk. Hopefully they’ll fit.”

Georgia caught the weight. “Thank you, Matthew.”

Robinson glanced up from the paper he was still reading. “Yes. Thank you. I appreciate this.”

“No worries. Oh, and Georgia—” Matthew sauntered backward toward the main entrance door and tapped at his neck with a bare finger. “You, uh, might want to clean up some of the blood he smeared all over your throat. You look a bit
too
ravaged.” He smirked. “Did you have fun?”

Her eyes widened as she clutched the sack up higher against her chest, wishing she could crawl into that sack and dump herself in the river. “Leave.”

Matthew adjusted the faded leather patch against his cheekbone. “I’m not being an arse. I just want you smiling again, the way you used to.” He paused. “Take him over to the dancing hole sometime. It’ll be good for you.” He pointed at her knowingly. “Just remember that I’m not playing uncle to some half-Brit babe around these parts. You’ll have to move out west with that, because I have a reputation to uphold with the boys. I’m still Irish, mind you.”

Georgia pressed her lips together, completely mortified, as Matthew turned and disappeared out into the street, leaving the door wide open. She glanced over at Robinson, dreading what the poor man must be thinking.

Robinson refolded the newspaper and wordlessly reached out to remove the sack from her hands. Without meeting her gaze, he turned toward the stairs.

She swallowed, watching him take one stair at a time as if he was waiting for her to say something.