My Darling Gunslinger (12 page)

There now, that wasn’t nearly so dreadful as I imagine your old nanny made it out to be, was it? And now we’ve got your virginity out of the way, next time you might even enjoy it.

The Earl of Westlockhart

Charlotte pressed her forehead to Ty’s shoulder and clung to his heaving back, the remnants of her release shivering up her spine. Slowly she became aware of her surroundings, of the silence beyond their panting breaths, of the afternoon sunlight slanting through the slit in the drapes, of various aches in her body.

Still she didn’t move. She was content to stay where she was, no matter that the wall was unforgiving against her back, her thigh muscles were fairly screaming with the need to stretch her legs, and a lock of Ty’s hair was plastered to her cheek, the end teasing her nose with each breath she took.

It required every ounce of her remaining strength to turn her head. She placed her lips against his neck and pressed a kiss to his salty skin.

Ty shifted his grip on her backside, gently flexed his fingers, before bringing one hand up to her back to rest between her shoulder blades.

“Ty,” she whispered.

“Shhh.”

Wanting to see his face, she started to lift her head.

Ty gently pushed her head down into the crook of his neck. With a sigh, she settled there, her lips once more flush against his flesh. Ty took in a deep breath, forcing his hard chest against her breasts, then he was still.

“Annihilate,” he murmured some minutes later.

Charlotte smiled against his neck. “Destroy.”

He laughed softly, his shoulder beneath her cheek shaking.

She felt his lips on her forehead, his hands come to rest at her waist, giving a gentle squeeze. With regret, she unlocked her ankles and allowed him slip free of her body. When her feet connected with the floor, she looked up to find Ty watching her, his head tilted slightly to one side.

He opened his mouth, closed it again, and turned away to right his clothing.

Charlotte slid slowly down the wall until she landed on the floor in an inelegant heap of twisted drawers and trembling limbs.

Ty spun around, blinked in surprise and crouched down in front of her. “You all right, honey?”

Beyond speech, she nodded.

He pushed a wayward curl behind her ear, his fingertips trailing along her temple. “So soft.”

She nuzzled into his touch, her eyes drifting closed.

She might have fallen asleep for a moment. The next thing she knew Ty was lifting her, cradling her against his chest. He carried her to the center of the room and lowered her to the floor where he’d spread out a soft velvet blanket.

Charlotte rolled onto her side and snuggled her cheek against the plush fabric, more tired than she could ever remember being. She heard him moving around and then he stretched out behind her, one arm curling around her waist, his hand warm on her belly.

Sometime later, she came awake with a start. Straightening her bent legs, she felt the delicious pull of muscles well-used and a slight tenderness between her thighs that reminded her she’d been well-loved. As if she could forget. She opened her eyes. The interior of the railway car was bright, muted sunlight streaming through three windows where the drapes had been pulled back. All was silent.

“Ty?” she whispered as she rolled onto her back.

He lay on his side right beside her, his long legs stretched out and his weight resting on one bent elbow.

“Right here,” he murmured, his eyes wary. And why not, she’d attacked him earlier, threatened to gouge his eyes out.

“Mmm, what are you doing?” Charlotte stretched her arms over her head, feeling wonderfully well-rested and content.

“Waiting for you to wake up.”

“Oh.” Suddenly shy, she dropped her gaze to his jaw, to his neck above the open collar of his shirt.

“I didn’t kiss you to satisfy my curiosity.”

Her gaze lifted to his once more. Gone was the wary look. His dark, angular face was pulled into taut lines, his eyes intent.

“And I didn’t satisfy any other curiosities last night.”

“It’s none of my business.” Even so, her heart felt immeasurably lighter.

“Maybe not,” he agreed. “But I wanted you to know.”

“All right.”

“And another thing,” he continued. “There is nothing, absolutely nothing prosaic about you, Charlotte Green.”

Charlotte smiled.

Ty smiled back.

Unable to help herself, she lifted her hand and traced the smile before trailing her fingers down his whiskered chin and along his strong jaw.

“I want you again,” he said in his wonderfully dark, throaty voice.

“Oh.” Her fingers on his jaw trembled as a shiver raced up her spine.

“Nice and slow,” he said. “As I should have done before.”

“I didn’t want nice and slow,” she replied honestly.

“I hope you want nice and slow now, because that’s what you’re going to get.”

Charlotte sat up, curling her legs beside her, her hands going to the laces at the front of her stays.

“Let me.” He shifted to sit before her and lifted her hands away, carefully raising them to his shoulders.

Slowly, as if afraid she might bolt at any moment, Ty began to unlace the simple, white cotton garment, his knuckles brushing against the sides of her breasts. Anticipation humming in her veins, she drew her fingers down to the buttons of his shirt and popped the first one from its neat little hole.

She’d never undressed a man. It was a novel experience, like opening a gift on Christmas morning. She took her time about it, allowing her fingers to drift over each new patch of exposed skin. His flesh was warm and firm, the hair on his chest both soft and coarse.

“Your hands are so soft.”

At his whispered words Charlotte looked up. Ty’s eyes were closed, his lashes fluttering above his sculpted cheeks. His fingers in her laces had gone still halfway down her torso. He seemed to be lost in her touch in a way that surprised her. Surely he’d had dozens of women’s hands on him in his lifetime.

Encouraged by his reaction, Charlotte continued on until she’d freed each button. She pushed his shirt from his shoulders, careful not to touch the long, jagged wound running from just below his nipple almost to his shoulder.

“Does it hurt?” she asked.

“God, no.”

Charlotte smiled at the miscommunication. Different languages.

She peeled his shirt down his arms, her hands cresting over bulging muscles and lean, sinewy flesh.

She shifted, pulling her legs beneath her to kneel before him, and his eyes opened, dark as pewter and unbelievably fierce.

She wondered if all those times she’d found him looking at her with dark, gleaming eyes, he’d been wishing she’d put her hands on him.

Then she wondered if he saw in her eyes the same dreamy expression she imagined she’d worn each time she’d asked him to kiss her, each time she’d even thought about kissing him. She’d thought about kissing Ty Morgan a lot.

Then she stopped wondering and put her hands flat on his chest, dragged them up and over his shoulders, slowly, enjoying the bunch and shift of his muscles, the hiss of breath that fell from his parted lips.

It was heady stuff, the knowledge that her touch could have his eyes drifting closed, his body vibrating with energy, his breath hitching in his chest. Emboldened, she leaned forward and placed a kiss high on his chest just below the hollow of his throat, drew her lips up and lightly touched her tongue to the indentation.

Ty swallowed and his hands began tugging at her laces once more.

When she felt the last one pull loose, she sat back on her heels and watched as he slowly pulled the edges of her stays apart. The sight of his big, dark hands against the delicate, ruffled fabric was terribly erotic, a stunning juxtaposition of masculine and feminine.

“So beautiful,” Ty murmured, and Charlotte chose to believe she heard reverence in the words, in his throaty voice.

He pushed the garment off her shoulders and down her arms.

She expected him to touch her then, perhaps to palm her small breasts. Instead, he dragged his hands down her bare arms, the rough tips of his fingers ruffling the downy hairs, setting up gooseflesh from wrists to shoulders. When he reached her hands, he gripped them gently and tugged her up onto her knees. He rose with her, pulling her arms behind his back until they were chest to chest.

Unsure what he wanted, Charlotte hovered there, her hands in his, her arms resting along his sides. Ty released her hands and wrapped his arms around her, bringing them closer still.

Understanding dawned and she wrapped her arms around him, her hands flat on his back, her fingers spread. She placed her cheek on his chest, heard his heartbeat pounding.

She could feel his arousal against her hip, but he did not press the hard flesh against her, he did not tilt his pelvis or rub against her. He simply held her, his chin resting on the top of her head, his hands warm on her bare back.

Charlotte’s eyes stung with tears. Silly, but she suddenly wanted to cry at the poignancy of the gesture. She hadn’t expected such tenderness from him, though perhaps she should have after he’d kissed her so gently the day before. Still, this was different. It was more, so much more. It was intimate and telling. It told her so much about the complicated man who was Ty Morgan, and left her with more questions than answers.

Charlotte closed her eyes and tightened her arms around Ty’s waist, pulling him even closer against her, offering him something she couldn’t even put a name to. She suspected he couldn’t either. But whatever it was—be it tenderness, compassion, affection—he so obviously needed it, and she was happy to be able to give it to him.

They stayed that way as the sun outside the railway car scuttled behind a cloud, casting the quiet space into shadow. Charlotte felt Ty’s hands moving, feather-light, up her back to her neck. He paused long enough to wrap his hands lightly around her throat as if measuring the frail column, then his hands were gliding up into her hair.

He tilted her head back. Charlotte opened her eyes long enough to see him looking at her, his eyes gleaming. Then his lips found hers. He kissed her lightly, gently, his tongue skating across the seam of her lips, until, with a sigh, she opened to him.

The kiss was rich and luxurious, warm and inviting. There was none of the hesitancy of their first kiss, none of the desperation of their earlier kisses. They started slow, their lips melding, parting, tongues seeking, finding, teasing. He nibbled one corner of her mouth and she returned the favor. She nipped at his bottom lip and he ran his tongue over her teeth. They found a rhythm that was unhurried, made up of equal parts exploration and discovery, give and take, need and fulfillment.

Charlotte trailed her hands down his broad back, dipped her fingers into the waistband of his trousers, her fingertips cresting over the swell of his backside.

“Mmm.” His murmur of approval vibrated through her, sending heat pooling between her legs.

Unable to hold still, she rubbed her breasts against the hard wall of his chest and sucked in a startled breath at the wonderful friction of his coarse hair against her nipples. Entranced, she did it again, and again, until she was twisting and shimmying in time to the stroke of his tongue on hers.

The kiss changed, both of them seeking more. More lips, more tongue, more teeth.

Ty’s hands dragged down her back, one to rest along her spine, the other diving into her drawers to cup her bottom. He tilted her hips, brought her up against his hard shaft.

Charlotte sighed into his mouth, relished his answering groan. He brushed his lips across her cheek, along her jaw, and up to her ear. He nibbled on the lobe, sucked the tender flesh into his mouth, grazed it with his teeth.

Charlotte could not hold back a whimper of need, her hips jerking, her mound pressing against his arousal. In reward, he repeated his ministrations before racing his open mouth down her throat, stopping here and there to linger, to plant kisses, to nibble.

Suddenly, Ty shifted, spread his legs and pulled her between them. His hand on her back flexed, the other on her bottom squeezed, and he bent her backward.

Charlotte drew her hands up his back, latched onto his shoulders, and relaxed into his grip. His lips continued their descent, stopping to nip at the juncture of her shoulder. He twirled his tongue over her collarbone, before kissing a trail over her chest to the swell of her breast.

His lips found her nipple, hesitated above it, his breath warm and moist. Her flesh tightened in response, the sensitive peak lifting to his waiting mouth. Gently, as if she might demur, he kissed her, light, airy kisses that nearly drove her to distraction with the need for more.

Then his tongue—oh, good Lord, his tongue—speared out to trace the crest, to draw circles around her quivering flesh.

On a moan that was part frustration, part wonder, Charlotte drove her fingers into his hair, scoured his scalp with her nails, and pulled him closer.