Tycoon (6 page)

She accepted the glass without complaint, surprising him, and took a tentative sip. She shuddered. “What is this?”

“Brandy. It will calm you down.”

As he ran a clean handkerchief under warm water, a knock sounded on the outer door. Ted rushed to answer it, whereby he thanked the porter for the items, handed the man a large tip, and returned to the sleeping area.

Clara remained quiet, her pale face tracking his movements. He wrapped a few handfuls of ice in a towel and tied it off before placing the bundle on her left ankle. He reached for a pillow and propped her foot on top, keeping the ice on her injury. “There, that should make your ankle feel better. Now, let me clean your palms.”

She said nothing, just held out one hand. Carefully, he removed her glove and then cleaned the scrape with the warm handkerchief. She hissed through her teeth.

“I apologize,” he told her. “This will likely be unpleasant. Keep drinking your brandy.”

He finished as rapidly as he could then switched to the other palm. Her hands were soft and delicate, the skin creamy and smooth, a delicious hint of what the rest of her would no doubt look like. To his embarrassment, he realized that quite a bit of his day had been spent contemplating her without clothing. Trying to enjoy his own bath while knowing a naked Clara was doing the same nearby? Pure torture. What was this woman doing to him?

Women had a specific place in Ted's life. He did not want someone to disrupt his carefully constructed routine. Yes, she'd been helpful with the Webbers. Yes, he felt protective of her. Yes, he found her distractingly attractive. She was also funny, charming, and sweet. And sitting so close to her, their heads merely a foot apart, he could not recall the face of the last woman he'd taken to his bed. His mind was full to overflowing with Clara, not helped in the least by the fact that they were both sitting on a bed. Together.

He swallowed. Tried to ignore the lust tightening his groin.
She's injured, for Christ's sake.

After he dabbed the scrapes with iodine, he gently wrapped one hand in a tight bandage. She switched her near-empty brandy glass to the other hand so he could tend to that one as well. As he bandaged the other hand, he asked, “Who were you running from?”

“The man, the one from Grand Central.”

He nodded. As he suspected. “I was waiting for you in the lobby. Why did you go out alone?”

“The man at the desk told me you left to send your telegrams. I assumed you'd finished bathing, so I went to find you.”

Ted felt himself frown. “That's not true. I sent my telegrams first, then returned to the hotel, as we originally discussed. Perhaps the man was confused.”

“Perhaps.”

He realized he'd finished with her hand and was simply holding it, his thumb stroking the soft exposed skin of her wrist. Their heads had grown even closer, and Ted could hardly breathe. Could hardly
think
. A fierce longing mixed with aching desire surged inside him, and he thought how easy it would be to lean forward and kiss her. To feel her body pressed against his, her gentle curves cradling him.

The spark that flared in the green depths of her eyes made his mouth dry. Parched for a taste, desperate for her. The gentle sway of the train seemed to urge him forward, encouraging him to move closer. He could see the pulse hammering at the base of her throat, the rapid rise and fall of her chest—and then she licked her lips. He nearly groaned.

Those three words stopped him cold. He had no right to do the things he'd been contemplating. She deserved a husband, not a scoundrel intent on removing her drawers.

Gathering his wits, he started to withdraw, but Clara's hand held fast. Her other hand fell on top, holding him still. “Don't pull away,” she whispered.

“This isn't proper. I should be—”

“Kissing me. You should be kissing me.”

A dry chuckle escaped, though he found little humor in the situation. “No, I shouldn't, Clara.”

“It's all right. Please.” Her hands slid up his arms, the bandages dragging over the fabric of his coat. She gripped his jaw and scooted closer. His heart began pounding in his chest, the steady beat echoing along the length of his erection as she leaned in. “I'll show you how.”

Show him how?
“You'll show me what, exactly?”

“How to kiss. I've had practice, so I can help you.”

Help him? He froze, which she must have taken for acceptance because she closed the short distance between them and, ever so gently, placed her lips on his. She sighed, breath fluttering over his skin, lids dipping shut as she slid her lips over his, fitting their mouths together.

Mother of mercy, she was
kissing
him.
Again
.

Heat swelled through him, the blood rushing through his veins, engorging his cock. Doubt fled. She wanted him to kiss her? Fine, he'd kiss her, but it wouldn't be some tentative or fumbling attempt. No, he meant for her to remember this one for the rest of her ever-loving life.

Wrapping his arms around her, he crushed her to his chest and kissed her hard.

Chapter Six

Oh, my,
Clara thought as she melted into Ted's chest. He certainly hadn't required much prompting. And thank goodness, because this kiss was vastly different than their first. More confident, more assured. She could barely breathe, their mouths fused together tighter than a cork stopper in a perfume bottle. He
devoured
her.

His hand cupped the back of her neck as his tongue slid past her lips, entered her mouth smoothly, as if it belonged there. She'd never kissed a man this way, with his tongue in her mouth, but the taste of him was intoxicating. The sinuous way he wrapped his tongue around hers caused tingles to erupt all over her body. Her breasts swelled behind her corset, the peaks achy and needy, and her toes curled.

With a moan, she pressed into the wall of his chest, attempting to get closer. He groaned in response, a sensuous sound that filled her head and turned her dizzy. He clutched, grasped, fingers digging into her skin, and she realized hers were doing the same, pulling at him, nearly climbing atop him, in an effort to feel
more
. And she wanted more.
Needed
more. There was every chance she might
die
without discovering more.

When his palm covered one of her breasts, she gasped as the delicious warmth soaked through her clothing.

Almost as quickly, he withdrew, gentle hands set on her shoulders to push her away.

With effort, she lifted her lids, blinking in confusion. Ted's flushed face stared down at her, his hair now adorably messy from her fingers. Both of them were breathing hard, and he appeared how she felt:
undone
.

“Wait, what . . .” That was all she could manage. For once, words failed her.

He removed his hands from her shoulders, holding them up as if to prove he no longer touched her. “We should not be—” He shoved a hand through his hair, disheveling the brown strands further. “This is unseemly. I apologize. I should not be taking advantage of you like this.”

Her heart swelled with tenderness, a fondness for this simple, decent, hardworking man.
It's more than fondness, silly.
No, surely not. They'd only known one another for a short time. Love took months—years, even—to develop, like crafting the perfect scent. No one achieved success in two days, not for perfume and not for love.

Regardless, she would not see him again after tomorrow morning. She couldn't return to New York, at least not until the danger was over—and who knew how long that could take? The thought depressed her. She'd longed to meet a man who curled her toes . . . and she'd finally found him. Unfortunately, tonight was all they had, so Clara meant to enjoy every second.

Not to mention, if the policeman on the train had his way, Clara's future would be quite a short one. Today's scare only emphasized how she should take time to appreciate every single experience life had to offer.

Resolved, she lifted her chin. “You are not taking advantage of me if I participate willingly.”

He started shaking his head before she had even finished speaking. “You don't understand. You don't know what happens . . . kissing leads to other things. Things you should only allow a husband to perform.”

“Fornication, you mean.” He jerked, jaw dropping open, so she continued. “I grew up on a farm, Ted. I'm not unaware of what happens. I've never”—she waved her hand at the bed—“but I know the basics.”

He recovered quickly, resuming his calm demeanor. “Then you know the basics can have consequences.”

“Not always.”

“This is crazy.” Ted rubbed his eyes with his fingers. “I cannot believe we are having this conversation.” He started to rise off the bed, so Clara put a hand out to stop him.

“Don't move,” she said and shifted toward him. He watched her warily, his chest heaving. She sensed the battle raging inside him at this moment. Perhaps if she pushed . . . “Please, don't get up. Let me just show you a little bit more about kissing.”

“I know what you're doing.” His head dipped and soft lips trailed along her jaw, gooseflesh sweeping over her body. “I see straight through you,” he murmured into her ear.

“Then you should know what I want. I am not a debutante, and I am not entirely innocent. But I've never felt this way about anyone before.” She slid her nose over his cheek, breathing him in, relishing the hint of whiskers on his skin. She felt his big body tremble. It gave her the courage to whisper, “You made my toes curl.”

“My God, Clara.”

His fingers shot through her hair to clasp her head at the same time his mouth slammed down on hers. This kiss was decidedly less gentle than the earlier one, and she
loved
it. Ted, so stoic and unflappable, turned intense and demanding, his lips pulling at hers fiercely, slanting again and again until she whimpered into his mouth.

She arched toward him, every part of her straining, as the insistent drumming of her heartbeat echoed in her ears. His tongue flicked her lips then slid deep inside, taking command of her mouth with urgent strokes and wicked thrusts that made her boneless. It was all she could do to hold on to his shoulders to prevent herself from sagging down to the bed.

Never dreamt it could be like this, that another human being could turn her inside out this way. Could steal the breath from her lungs and the reason from her brain. Then his hand returned to her breast, his warm palm kneading the soft mound over her corset, and her back bowed, her body desperate for his touch.

He broke off, breathing hard, and found her eyes. His irises were now a deep blue, bright with lust. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No, and if you do, I might throw you off this train.”

His lips curved into a small smile. “Then let me pleasure you. I promise you'll enjoy it.”

Would he mount her? Confused but eager, she nodded. “You've been so kind and patient, and you've never lied to me. I trust you, Ted.”

A flicker of something passed over his face but vanished quickly as he removed his coat and tossed it aside. “May I undress you?”

Nerves collected in her throat, making it hard to swallow. Was she truly about to do this? “Yes, if I may undress you as well.”

“We'll get to that. Let's start with you.”

* * *

Hands shaking, Ted slid his fingers to the neck of her blue shirtwaist and began unfastening the buttons. Had he lost his mind? Probably. Most definitely. Regardless, he planned to pleasure her while keeping his trousers on. Under no circumstances would he take her innocence.

Glimpses of pale, creamy skin emerged as he opened the fabric at her throat. The tiny pearl buttons proved difficult but he was determined. If she wanted toe curling, then by God he would give her toe curling. As long as he remained in control, then she would remain chaste.

An ivory corset cover peeked out, a pale pink corset underneath. The corset pushed up the delectable small mounds of her breasts, and he grew even harder, his erection pushing against his clothing. Mercy, she was lovely. He'd be lucky not to spend in his trousers before this was over.

He pushed the shirtwaist off her shoulders and down her arms. A few small buttons and the corset cover lifted over her head. Unable to resist, his palms dragged over her ribs, over the heavy corset, feeling the shape of her, learning her. The backs of his knuckles swept the tops of her breasts, rising and falling with her swift breaths.

“May I remove your skirts?” Never had one answer seemed so damned important.
Please say yes.

She bit her lip but relaxed onto the mattress, rolled over onto her stomach, and presented him with her back. The towel filled with ice fell to the floor, unnoticed, as he stared at her slim shoulders and trim waist.

Dear God.
Swallowing hard, his fingers went to work. Untying. Unbuttoning. Uncovering. The room fell quiet except for the sound of their breath and the whisper of cotton. The layers went quickly: the outer skirt, a cushion-style bustle, petticoat. All that remained was her corset, chemise, drawers, and stockings. He loosened the strings of her corset and said, “Roll over.”

She obeyed, her eyes dark and focused on his face as he began working her corset open. The fastenings popped as he descended carefully. Slowly. He wanted her to anticipate his touch as much as he burned to caress her. Did she have any idea of the things he'd like to do to her?

Doubtful. Farm girl or no, what she'd seen had to do with procreation—not pleasure. And Ted meant to show her everything to do with the latter.

When the last fastening came free, he pushed apart the stiff garment and just stared at her. Small, high breasts with rosy nipples that had already puckered beneath her chemise, begging for his mouth. He could hardly wait to suck them, to see how sensitive they were, to learn the taste of her skin.

He leisurely traced her collarbone with one finger, then down her breastbone between the valley of her still-clothed breasts. The urge to pounce, to take her hard and fast, screamed in his groin. He struggled to maintain control. “You are lovely. Like the most priceless piece of art I've ever seen.”

“Then why have you barely touched me?”

“I don't want to scare you.”

“You're scaring me by not touching me. I'm worried you've changed your mind.”

He felt his brows shoot up. “Oh, sweet Clara. Nothing could be further from the truth.” Closing the distance between them, he kissed her and let her taste all the desire and longing inside him. She met him equally, her tongue seeking, twining, her lips melded perfectly with his. One thing he knew for certain: this woman kissed considerably well.

The gentle swell of her breast filled his palm, the hard nipple demanding his attention. He rolled it with his fingers, teased the taut bud, and she gasped into his mouth. The sound shot straight through him, tightening his balls.

He should stop, leave the car, and let them both come to their senses. That she allowed this—wanted this, even—seemed much too precious a gift for the likes of him, a man she'd never see again. But he was not strong enough to resist, not when he'd imagined this a hundred times since they boarded the train together.

He dipped his head and used the flat of his tongue on her nipple, licking through the fabric of her chemise, soaking it. Then he sucked the luscious peak into the heat of his mouth, relishing the feel of her. Clara squeaked, a high, breathy sound of approval that urged him to increase the pressure and apply a scrape of his teeth.

“Oh, my heavens,” he heard her whisper just before he moved to shower the same attention on the other breast. She squirmed beneath him, her hips shifting, searching. The temptation to strip down and ease the craving roaring in his blood was almost more than he could bear.

But he could not. He'd never forgive himself.

With that thought, he slid his hand between her legs to cover her mound—only a thin layer of cotton separating them. The heat of her nearly singed his palm, the fabric between her legs damp from arousal. A shudder went through him.

Trousers on, he reminded himself. Cock safely stowed.

She did not freeze or try to get away; instead, she rocked into his palm to create friction. It was nothing short of astonishing. No fear. She was the bravest woman he'd ever met.

His fingers dallied to find the slit in her drawers. Yes,
there
. Slick wetness met his fingertips and he grit his teeth, struggling to maintain control. Clara's back arched, her lids falling shut. He rewarded her with a determined glide over the hard bud at the apex.

She gasped, so he repeated the movement and watched her. Her red hair had spilled over the white linens, a halo of brilliance around a gorgeous face. He loved looking at her face. So expressive and lovely, it conveyed every thought she had—and what he read now was
more
.

Unable to resist, he bent his head and resumed his attentions to her chemise-covered nipple. He did not need to strip her down to pleasure her. Indeed, he thought it prudent to keep her as clothed as possible. At least then he'd have a fighting chance of not taking her innocence.

He continued to stroke her with his fingers, lave her with his tongue. Her hands latched on to his head and she dug her nails into his scalp. The cries falling from her lips grew in volume, her muscles stringing tight, and he increased his pace.

“Oh, God. Please, Ted,
please
.” A litany of words continued, all of them expressing wonder and desperation, and then she broke as a climax rushed over her. He didn't let up, drawing out her pleasure, the swollen nub tightening and quivering on his fingers.

When she shivered, he withdrew and—unable to resist—brought his fingers to his mouth, sucked them inside. The sweet tang of her hit his tongue and he had to fight the need to crawl between her thighs and bury himself in her tight sheath. Holy hell, she tasted delicious.

Small hands reached for his vest buttons. Panicked, he pulled away. “No, wait. We should stop before something happens that you'll regret.”

Clear green eyes met his. “You don't know what I want, so how do you know what I will regret?”

Because he knew more about sexual relations than she did. She would regret letting some stranger on a train be her first lover. Perhaps not today, but someday in the not too distant future. He was sure of it. Hell, she didn't even know who he was—a novelty for him. How long had it been since a woman wanted Ted, instead of Theodore Harper?

Still, he would do the honorable thing, even if it killed him.

* * *

Clara could see the denial in the tightening of Ted's jaw and the crease in his brow. For her, stopping meant giving up. Giving up on passion, romance. Everything he'd made her feel.