The Treasure Hunter's Lady (15 page)

She barely squeaked his name out before his mouth closed over hers, hot and seeking.

Abel leaned her back against the bed and positioned himself above her. His arousal pressed against her leg. She curled her hands into his shirt to keep him close, though he didn’t appear to be in any hurry to leave. He reached for her buttons, pushing each one through its hole methodically, as though if it wasn’t done right something would go wrong. Slow torture because he was so close, yet still separated from her. She suppressed a shiver of delight when he ran his fingers up her sides. He allowed her to sit up a little to pull the clothing away.

She needed to feel his arms around her, his skin against hers. This might be the only chance she had to love him before they parted ways in Bismarck.

His thumbs caressed the underside of her breasts before he cupped them in his hands, squeezing gently. A little moan left her throat and she closed her eyes. Abel lowered his mouth to her collarbone, setting her back against the wood again. Hot kisses seared her flesh, raising chill bumps on her arms and causing her nipples to tighten against his palms. His mouth closed over one peak, tongue teasing the taut flesh. Her teeth sank into her lower lip to muffle a cry of pleasure.

One hand traced a path down her stomach to the waist of her britches. She ached for his bare skin against hers. He pushed the material down her thighs and she raised her legs to let him slide the pants around her ankles.

Her trousers caught on her boots, forcing her to break away from him to remove the leather. They hit the floor with dull thumps and his followed. Clothes fell in haphazard piles around the narrow bed. Romy's breath caught as she took in his lean, golden form. She blushed when she met his eyes, shying away from his grin. The terrible snake tattoo, black as a starless night, wound around his arm and peered down at her from above a few crisp hairs on his chest. Rather than touch it, she lifted her hand to his face.

The throbbing of Abel's erection against her leg matched her racing pulse. The laughter faded from his expression. “Is this what you—”

She silenced him with a kiss. He kissed between her breasts again, trailing along her belly, stopping below her navel. Romy pushed her fingers into his hair. A light touch between her legs made her gasp. Skilled fingers brushed the nub as he teased the delicate flesh. Warm dampness slicked the area and fire ignited in her veins. Romy arched her back, pushing his fingers into her and urging him deeper. Waves of pleasure washed through her, making her muscles weak.

Abel withdrew his fingers and she whimpered in protest. He nudged her thighs apart and moved between her legs where he positioned his tip against her swollen core. She curled her fingers around his biceps and tightened her thighs around his hips.

“Look at me, darlin',” he urged, voice rough with desire.

She forced her eyes open and looked into his eyes as he cupped her buttocks and lifted her from the bed. He pushed into her opening, moving so slowly, delaying a full entrance. She spread her legs a little more to take him and then dug her fingernails into his skin as he tore through her barrier.

“Abel.” Sharp pain stole through her lower abdomen. Even as she got his name out, the pain lessened. His body tensed, eyes concerned, brow furrowed. Though he hadn't slid fully inside her, he withdrew until only the tip remained nestled at her opening.

“You want to stop?”

She lifted a hand to his face and ran her thumb across his lips. “Show me the rest.”

For a second she saw a shadow of doubt. A hint of a smile replaced it. “All right.”

He pushed in until he filled her, studying her face as though waiting to see if she'd curse him for hurting her. The pain ebbed and she released a pent up breath. She'd heard whispered conversations of cold fish and women who did nothing but lay beneath a man while he bedded her. She had no intentions of being like that with Abel. Their mouths met again, tongues twisting in unhurried caresses as she arched her hips, urging him to throw away his caution.

With agonizing care, he moved inside her. Romy barely contained her moans while he savored one breast and then the other. The combined action left her quaking.

“Please,” she begged, longing for more of him.

He obliged, pacing faster, his own desire written in his eyes and on every inch of his handsome face. She never wanted to lose sight of him or forget the way he looked or the heights he carried her to just by sharing himself with her.

A tidal wave broke over her. A cry parted her lips and she involuntarily pressed him deeper as she climaxed. He rose on his palms, arching his back, matching her bliss before he slid free and gathered her close.

Romy couldn't find the breath to speak and doubted he could hear her over the sound of her pounding heart and the blood rushing through her ears. Aftershocks shook her, sweet and powerful at the same time.

He kissed her again, this time a quick brush of his lips before he sighed and settled back. Her head rested on his chest, right over the tattoo. Drowsiness followed close on the heels of the languid contentment that coursed through her. She matched her breathing to his, sharing the musky scent of the cabin with him. He cared what happened to her; he’d left her with no doubt. Unable to keep her eyes open, she nestled against his side, pressed as close as possible without him being inside her.

Chapter Thirteen

Romy dressed, flinching at each rustle of cloth as it dragged over her body. There was a slight tenderness in her nether regions, but nothing unbearable. A glance at Abel showed him in the same position as when she'd risen, curled on one side, elbow tucked beneath his head, hair tousled and a shadow of beard coloring his jaw.

She'd woken a short while ago from pleasant dreams of Abel. Once visions of leading expeditions crowded her mind, but she'd caught herself imagining riding across the plains in a Western-style saddle. Steamy kisses under vast expanses of Texas sky. Dreams of building a life with him.

She was in this quest far deeper emotionally than she'd bargained for. Now she'd gone and thrown her last bit of sense into the wind. Strangely, she didn't feel guilty about her actions. Romy had wanted him to make love to her and it was exactly as wonderful as she'd imagined it might be, though she didn't dare hope it signaled that they had a future together. There wasn't any need to ask him if he still intended to send her back to Boston. Not when he believed she was in danger as along as she stayed at his side.

Resisting the urge to brush a mussed lock of hair from his forehead, kiss him, or even let her fingers absorb the warmth of his skin for a few seconds, she exited the room. A quiet click told her the door latched behind her. The flooring in the hallway was stained with water. It had rained since they'd come below deck. A little time alone in the rain cooled air might turn her focus away from Abel's intriguing form and back to helping her father.

Halfway up the stairs, she met Jack Elliot. Dressed in a gray suit, he seemed uninteresting and blended in with the cloudy skin. A man hardly worth noticing, and she wasn't in the mood for a conversation with him. Like the rest of the world, he probably wanted to have another discussion about the Diamond.

“Ah, Miss Farrington,” he sang out.

Romy forced a smile, though she hoped it wasn't too encouraging. “Mr. Elliot.”

“If I didn't know better, I'd say you've been avoiding me, dear girl.” His wispy mustache twitched as he approached in a halting manner. He really did remind her of a bobbing stork.

“Not at all. Though I am in a bit of a rush at the moment. Pleasant seeing you again.”

“A rush?” He stopped on the step above her—an advantage that made her feel small. “On a ship this size, where could you be hurrying off to?”

If she told him her plans to take a walk, he might ask to join her. A lie formed in her mind, incomplete, but workable. “The captain asked to see me.”

Elliot took a pair of round spectacles from his shirt pocket, polished them on the front of his shirt and placed them over the bridge of his nose. “Funny, I hadn't heard that and I was just on the upper deck.” He paused. “I had the impression there was no great fondness growing between the two of you.”

“There isn't, but there's been a message from my fiancé and I should retrieve it immediately.”

Thinking about Woefield made her cringe on the inside. He didn't compare to Abel physically, how could she ever hope he'd please her any other way? She couldn't even bear the idea of his puffy, pasty hands on her body. Every time she closed her eyes, she'd see Abel's rippling muscles and devil-may-care grin. The very thought made her knees wobbly.

Elliot's gray eyes narrowed. “I'd like to be your friend. God knows that cowboy isn't suitable company for a lady like yourself.”

She bristled at the insult to Abel. “The
cowboy
is my protector and he's doing a fine job of it.” She made the decision to throw a few names around. “Until I return to my fiancé, who happens to be Samuel Woefield, heir to Andrew Christensen's properties and businesses in both this country and England, Mr. Courte will do well enough.”

Elliot stepped down beside her, leaning in so that the back of her shirt brushed the wall as she backed away from him. “We could discuss your situation further in my cabin.”

“I'm not going anywhere with you. If you don't leave me alone this second, I'll—”

“Scream?” he asked with a sneer. He grasped her arm in a vice-like grip and pulled her against him. She fought and though he wasn't stout, he was strong.

Elliot jerked her down the stairs and threw open the door to his cabin. With a yank, he forced her into the room. A weak flame from a single candle cast shadows on the rough walls.

“What do you want?” she demanded. Abel was next door. He would wake if she talked loud enough, if she made noise to gain his attention. She backed against the wall, scanning the room for any sort of object to use as a weapon. An assortment of tools lay scattered over his bed, but out of her reach. Some of them nagged at her memory and she wondered where she might have seen them before or what significance they held.

Elliot stalked toward her, running his eyes over her as he approached. He placed his hand under her chin, forcing her to look at him. “I doubt it would trouble Christensen much if you disappeared. He only wants you wed to his nephew to ensure your father's loyalty.”

Outraged, she pushed his hand down. Bile burned her throat. “Get away from me!”

“Don't think I don't know what you're up to, hidden behind closed doors with that cowboy. He's using you to get information. Information I want for myself!” He grabbed the front of her shirt, wadding the material in his fist. The shirt collar cut into the back of her neck.

“I don't know what you're referring to,” she snapped. Hatred and fear welled up inside her.

“Christensen wanted me to stop Courte, to keep his flight from making it to Bismarck, but I’d rather have the Diamond than give it over to anyone else. You’re going to tell me everything you know about it.”

“The hell I will.”

He lifted one hand and laid it across her cheek with a crack. Romy bit back a scream. With all her strength, she lifted her knee and slammed it into his crotch. He grunted, eyes widening and his hand fell from her shirt. Elliot doubled over and she kicked him in the knee. He swore in a wheezy voice and gave her the chance to run. Hot tears leaked out of her eyes as she scrambled to the other cabin.

A roar of rage filled the hallway. Elliot flew after her, one hand on his groin, the other stretched out in front of him. Abel, half-dressed, caught her in his arms as she bounded through the doorway. He pushed her behind him when he saw Elliot. She didn't have time to explain before Abel drove his fist into Elliot's face. The slender man toppled to the floor.

“Go find Van Buren,” Abel growled, shaking his hand.

She didn't need him to repeat the order. Fear made her heart leap into her throat, but she ran for the helm, relieved to see the gigantic captain at his post.

“What is it?” he demanded, narrowing his eyes at her.

She raised a shaking finger, pointing across the ship. “E-Elliot. Abel stopped him—”

Van Buren took her chin in his hand, lifting her face as he inspected it. “Elliot struck you.”

His gentle touch paired with his angry words surprised her.

“Yes.”

He shouted something in Dutch to one of the men, before striding away from the helm. Romy watched another man take control of the wheel, uncertain if she ought to follow him or stay put.

Van Buren gestured to her. “Come. We shall deal with this.”

****

The rain clouds had blown away, leaving clear skies. For as sunny as it was, chills ran down Abel's back. Romy stood several inches from him, her arms wrapped around herself and his duster thrown over her shoulders. Her eyes were huge, but her face was hard and pale as marble except for the red mark across one cheek.

The crew crowded around the center of the deck. Van Buren had Elliot by the back of his shirt collar, not unlike the way he'd trapped Romy when he caught her on board. The captain's eyes were tempestuous.

Abel studied Elliot. Wisps of hair on his balding head and thin mustache stood out against his upper lip. Sweat beaded Elliot's pale face and ran in rivulets between his eyebrows. One eye was a vivid purple and swollen shut. The middle knuckle on Abel's hand burned where it had met with Elliot's cheekbone, but it didn't hurt badly enough that he wouldn't like a second shot at the bastard.

“Mr. Elliot tells me that he was sent to stop us from reaching Bismarck.” Van Buren shook his captive. "I have evidence that this dog is the one who punched holes in our balloon.” Tools lay scattered at their feet, dumped out of a canvas bag tossed out of the way. A few loose screws and other odds and ends rattled on the deck. “Vandalism of an airship is a serious crime. If any of you were aware of his treachery, speak now."

Silence stretched out.

“Not only has this man attempted to destroy my livelihood,” Van Buren continued, “but he accosted Miss Farrington.”