LoverforRansom (11 page)

After supper, Ransom excused himself and stepped out onto
the porch.

Walking, eh?

He doubted that. Most assuredly, Cathleen had forsaken their
arrangement and had traipsed back into town to stir up more unrest among the
women.

He was just about to go looking for her when he noticed two
figures emerging from the woods on the path that led to the Primitive Methodist
Church the former slaves attended.

Ransom leaned against one of the columns and watched as
Cathleen and Charles strolled toward the house. Charles passed her a stack of
books before trotting off in the direction of his house.

Cathleen waved and continued up the path. She stood out,
salient against the lavender hues of twilight. A persistent breeze played in
her black skirts, making her look like the subject of a painting.

Ransom admired her. The things he’d once found oddities—her
black glasses and her severe hairstyle—he now appreciated as unique to her.

She thumbed a wayward strand of hair off her cheekbone and
tucked it behind her ear. The innocent gesture caused Ransom’s cock to swell
against his form-fitting breeches. He shifted his weight from one foot to the
other.

Her chin lifted and he knew she’d seen him. She hesitated
for a scant second and then continued moving forward.

A sense of possessiveness rattled through him. He’d
practically had this woman. He understood things about her, about her desires,
about her body, that no other man save him knew.

As she got closer, she looked out across the rolling hills,
down at her bundle of books, anywhere but directly at him. Finally, she pressed
her top teeth into her bottom lip and gazed at him over the tops of her
spectacles.

Was that a blush coloring her cheeks or merely the result of
her exertion?

Words played in his head and on his lips. He uttered none of
them. Instead, he waged an all-out war against the compulsion to haul her into
his arms and kiss her.

God in heaven. I’ve lost my damn mind.
“Miss Ryan.”

She gulped and hugged her books closer.

“I trust you haven’t already reneged on our…arrangement.”
Ransom shifted his weight again, hoping she didn’t notice the obvious bulge in
his trousers.

“No,” she said, her voice but a breath.

“Might I ask, then, where you’ve been?”

“Walking.” She never blinked.

She was lying. “Walking? With all those…what do you have
there? Books?” Up close, he realized she carried a small slate and box of
chalk. Recognition consumed him. Sissy’s McGuffey Reader—the same reader that
had been used to teach everyone in the Byrne family.

“What have you been up to?” he asked, peering hard at the
trouble-making schoolteacher.

“Walking,” she repeated. This time, her voice rose an
octave.

Anger and something Ransom couldn’t grasp twisted inside
him. “Put your
things
away, eat your supper and come out to my house as
soon as it’s dark.”

“But—”

“No refusal. We’ll discuss your…
indiscretions
when
you arrive.”

Cathleen’s lips parted. For a moment, she looked as if she
might argue, but then those same luscious lips stretched into a wry smile.

Something indecent flared in Ransom’s chest. He stepped off
the porch and started toward his house. “Don’t wear any drawers. They’ll just
be in the way.”

* * * * *

Cathleen’s fingers trembled as she untied the ribbon holding
up her pantalets. Excitement intoxicated her. Ransom would be waiting.

And then…

Hesitating, she drew in a deep breath. Was this foolish? Was
she being irresponsible? Rash?

She didn’t care. All that mattered was finding that moment
of bliss where her mind went blank and her body came alive. She would willingly
give her pleasure over to Ransom.

It made her head spin to think just how willingly.

She dropped her pantalets and the soft cotton slithered down
her legs. Standing with her skirts bunched around her hips, she caught sight of
herself in the mirror. A dark black vee of curls stood out in stark contrast
against her pale skin. Gathering her skirts in one hand, she raked her fingers
through the soft hair, wondering how she looked and felt to Ransom.

Already, dampness coated the folds of her hidden flesh.

“What in the blazes am I doing?” she asked herself and
dropped her skirts. The fabric billowed down around her ankle boots. She
wondered how he’d react if she just didn’t go to him.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she bit back a scream. She wanted
to go. She wanted him to put his hands and his mouth on her. She wanted it more
than anything in the world.

What did it matter? It was a private thing shared between
two people. She’d never let societal mores hold her back before.

And she wouldn’t now.

She rinsed her mouth out with a tincture of spearmint and
vinegar, smoothed back her hair and then eased outside onto the upstairs
balcony. The stairs creaked as she crept down them, and then with only one look
back, she lifted her hem and hurried up the path toward Ransom’s house.

A lone light glimmered from inside and it was extinguished
as she approached. She stopped at the bottom step of the porch to catch her
breath, but did not tarry too long before she slipped in the door.

“Close it and lock it.” Ransom’s voice came from the
shadows.

Shaking, Cathleen pushed the door closed and then turned the
key in the lock. Her heart was beating so hard she could hear the blood
thrumming in her ears.

“Now come here.”

She swallowed hard as she crossed the floor to where he sat.
The room was cast in varying shades of dark, but Cathleen could tell that he
wore dark trousers and a white shirt. He’d discarded his frock coat and vest,
making Cathleen wonder if he intended to finish undressing soon.

She didn’t dare look into his eyes—not that she could have
seen them. His face was almost completely in shadow.

“Hand me that belt.” He lifted a finger and gestured toward
a chair across the room on which a wide, black leather belt lay.

Pulse firing, Cathleen retrieved it. The leather was soft.
Worn. Her body heated at the thought of feeling its sting. She placed it in
Ransom’s hands.

“Did you take off your drawers like I told you?” His voice
was quiet. Terse.

“Yes.”

“Good girl. Pull up your skirt and bend over my knees.”

Her soft petticoat brushed maddeningly against her backside
as she bunched up her skirts. Her clitoris throbbed almost painfully. How could
she consent to this? But even as she debated, she leaned over Ransom’s thick
thighs. The toes of her boots slipped on the wood floor. Finding leverage with
her knees proved impossible. They hovered inches from the ground.

She was at his mercy.

And there was no other place she’d rather be.

A warm palm settled on the curve of her bottom. Fingers
splayed, reaching toward places that made her want to shift and wriggle. Her
blood seemed to thicken in her veins and every beat of her heart sounded like a
rhythmic thud in her head.

Ransom leaned forward. “Where’d you go this afternoon?”

Cathleen tried to speak but could produce no sound. Why was
her mouth so dry? She dampened her lips with her tongue. “I…I went walking.”

“Walking, eh?” That hand began to roam. Down her thigh.
Between her legs.

Her lashes fluttered as they descended, as she absorbed the
heaven of heat and flesh moving over her skin.

“Is that all you did?”

“Yes.” She was lying of course, and knew she’d be swiftly
reprimanded for it. Without a doubt, Ransom had quizzed Charles about where
they’d been.

The hard swat to her bottom surprised her. She let out a little
yelp.

“Try again.”

The buckle rattled as he readied the belt to use on her. Her
inner tissue clenched against its own emptiness.

“I walked with Charles to a clearing and then came back.”
Her voice trembled when she spoke.

Unlike Ransom’s hand, the belt stung with a vengeance when
it smacked her. She gnawed her bottom lip, weathering the sharp bite until
warmth took its place.

“I don’t think you’re telling me the whole truth.”

“If I do,” she asked, riding a sudden wave of boldness,
“will you taste me?”

She felt movement beneath her rib cage and realized it was
the hard shaft of his cock pressing against her.

“You’re not in any position to make bargains.”

She let out a seductive-sounding laugh that surprised even
her. “If I tell you, will you spank me with your hand instead of that belt?”
Once more, his cock lurched. Triumph budded inside her.

The belt clattered to the floor and shortly afterward, she
received three successive, firm smacks to the backside. She felt as if she were
sinking deep inside herself, shrinking and then blossoming in the wake of
giving over control of her body. She was just about to disappear into the
sensation when he bounced one knee, rattling her back to the moment.

“What were you doing there?”

She looked over her shoulder at him. His features were
cross. Set. That muscle flexed in his jaw. His fingers barely grazed her
swollen clit and she dipped her spine, intent on pushing closer. His touch
flirted with her.

“I spoke to the women there about offering them reading
lessons.”
Touch me. Touch me now, Ransom.

But disappointment blazed when he rolled her off his lap.
“You what?” He shot to his feet.

Cathleen lay on her side on the floor, gaping up at him.
Evidently, Charles hadn’t told him
everything
.

With a sigh, Ransom stepped over her in one giant stride. He
paced, raking his fingers through his hair. “Tell me you did not go down there
offering to teach those people.”

Mutely, Cathleen sat and pulled her skirts down to hide her
bare legs.

Ransom squatted, the motion making his trousers pull and
bunch in the most improper places. The outline of his very hard, very aroused
cock captured Cathleen’s gaze and refused to relinquish it until Ransom took
her by the shoulders and gave her a little shake. “You did, didn’t you?”

“They…they have no other course of action. How else are they
to learn? To better themselves?” Cathleen asked innocently.

“Don’t go back down there.”

“But I promis—”

He cut her off. “I don’t care what you promised them. Do not
go back.”

She shook free of his grasp and pushed backward to create
distance between them. “I’m surprised at you, Ransom Byrne.”

His forehead wrinkled.

“I knew you were a Southerner and a secessionist. But I
never figured you for a bigot.”

He huffed. “A bigot?” Ransom laughed. “Bigotry has nothing
to do with it.” He stood, towering over her.

Cathleen clambered to her feet—far more ungainly than he
had, she noticed. She planted her hands on her hips. “Then why does it matter
what I do with my free time?”

“Matter? Cathleen!”

“Are you calling me stupid, because I assure you sir, I’m
far from—”

“You might be naïve, but you’re not stupid. Nor would I ever
insult you.”

She was shaking so badly, she could hardly form words. “Then
why—”

He stepped closer. Too close.

Heat radiated from his body. She breathed in that familiar
fragrance of leather and horses…and pure Ransom.

He cupped her cheek and gently lifted her chin. “You know
I’m no bigot.”

She blinked.

“Those men who came here won’t cotton to you teaching the
freedmen,” he explained.

“No one has to know.”

“They’ll make it their business to know, and trust me,
Cathleen, they won’t be satisfied to run you out of town on a rail.”

“I’m not sure what you mean. It’s not right to let those
bullies prevent—”

He came impossibly closer. One hand circled her waist and hauled
her against him. Stunned, she braced her hands on the wide expanse of his
chest.

“You saw those men. They meant business. They’re no
respecters of gender, age or race. If you cross them—or anything they stand
for—they’ll make an example of you.”

“Aunt Chloe said they were from Columbia. How will they ever
know what goes on in the woods here?” Perspiration rolled down her spine. She
wanted free of him. She couldn’t think clearly with him standing this close.

“I’m trying to keep you safe, sweetheart.”

Her gaze shot to his. Teaching the people who inhabited the
shanty town wasn’t the same thing as riling up the local woman about voting
rights. She wanted to argue her point, but in his arms, she couldn’t think
straight.

“Let me keep you safe,” he murmured before his mouth
descended on hers, claiming her, brooking no refusal.

Cathleen whimpered. Her traitorous body melted into his
embrace and she opened her lips, allowing him to plunder like a marauding
pirate.

He half lifted her off the floor and walked her to the chair
he’d previously occupied. Her breath was forced from her lungs when she dropped
into the seat and before she could take another gulp of air, he’d kneeled
before her and was bunching her skirts up over her knees.

One hard tug on her legs had her bottom at the edge of the
cushion. And then his head dropped. Her breath caught as a hot, wet mouth
latched onto her folds before finding her clitoris. It seemed as if he showered
attention on every part of her cunny at once.

Her fingers threaded into his hair. Her head fell back
against the chair. She opened her thighs and he inched closer. His palms
pressed her legs apart until the muscles burned with the strain. Long fingers
splayed across the soft flesh, bruising her, stripping her bare of all control.

“God…Ransom,” she muttered, unable to form a coherent
sentence.

His tongue swept through every crevice, every sensitive
furrow. How was it possible to feel so…
much
?