Forever in My Heart Page 2

  "Rest," she said softly.

  He shook his head but his eyes didn't open. "It's a nice offer," he said, "but not the reason I came here. I should see to you. You've obviously been waiting."

  "I didn't mind," she said with effort. "Mrs. Hall made me comfortable."

  He heard the faint slur in her words, the singsong cadence that hinted at the effects of the liquor. He wondered at her comfort. The room was relatively Spartan compared to others he had seen. "This isn't much," he observed.

  She paused, and then said with quiet conviction. "My experience says it's better than the streets."

  He opened his eyes and looked at her. "I suppose it is."

  She held his gaze for a long moment before breaking away.

  "You're flushed again," he said. He laid his hand lightly on her bare shoulder. His thumb brushed the pulse in her throat. "Your heart's racing."

  She nodded guilelessly.

  "Why don't you drop that cover a little and let me have a look?"

  She hesitated.

  He nudged the blanket a fraction lower with the heel of his hand. "How am I supposed to examine you if I can't see you?"

  She considered this.

  He added, "You have some expectations, I assume."

  "Not many."

  It was said so matter-of-factly, he gave a shout of laughter. "Oh, you have been treated poorly! That doesn't speak well for men like myself." Brooking no argument, he pushed the comforter aside. His fingers slid along the deeply cut neckline of her nightshift and rested lightly on the uppermost button. He raised his dark brows in a silent question.

  She laid a hand over his and shook her head. "I'll do it."

  The husky catch in her voice intrigued him. He let the sound of it wash over him as he watched her fingers fiddle with the top button. "You're not a chatterbox."

  She wasn't looking at him. Her concentration on the button was complete. "No," she said quietly. "I'm not."

  "Another," he said.

  She glanced at him, her eyes shaded by thick lashes.

  He pointed to her hand. "Another button, please."

  Her fingers were clumsy but she managed to slip the button through its hole. The neckline of her nightshift parted as her hands dropped away, revealing the curves of her breasts.

  Her skin looked very smooth, he thought, and soft. The back of his fingers touched her breast. "That flush of yours starts about here," he said.

  She said nothing, simply watched his hand.

  Her heart was thudding against his fingertips. He smiled. "There's nothing wrong with your heart." He cupped the underside of her breast and her heartbeat, rather than her flesh, seemed to fill the palm of his hand. He opened another button. "Come closer," he said. When she didn't move immediately his hands slipped around her rib cage to urge her nearer. The other strap of her nightshift fell. No matter where he touched her he could feel her heart thudding.

  He laid one hand on her back near her shoulder blade. Her breathing was light and shallow. He leaned forward, his mouth near her ear. "Take a deep breath," he said. "That's it. Hold it." His hand rubbed her back. "Let it out slowly." Her heart steadied; her breathing slowed. "Better," he said. "For a moment there I thought you might faint."

  "So did I," she said gravely. "I'm a little dizzy."

  He released her. "Why don't you lie down?"

  She didn't hesitate. "All right." Shifting on the bed, she brought the pillow under her head. She started to close her nightdress but he stopped her. Except for the exposed outer curves of her breasts she was still modestly covered. The glimpse of her skin was tantalizing. He savored the thought of pushing aside the material and taking her nipple in his mouth.

  "I don't have much success when it comes to patience," he said, touching her cheek again. Her dark green eyes were searching his face, her smile gentle and encouraging.

  "I think you're doing fine," she said.

  She was possibly the most artlessly provocative woman he had ever encountered. He surprised himself again by not merely enjoying it, but savoring it. "Why, thank you," he said. "It's good of you to encourage me."

  Her smile deepened as her eyelashes lowered sleepily. "I hope to do so fine one day."

  "So you admit you have something to learn?"

  Her short, emphatic nod was interrupted by an abrupt yawn. She stretched a little, slipping one arm under the pillow as she turned on her side.

  He couldn't help notice her movement had completely uncovered one breast. Her nipple was puckered, the coral tip a hard bud. He was amazed to find himself swallowing hard, like a schoolboy confronted with his first naughty French postcard. "So you're willing to learn a thing or two from me?"

  "I'd like that very much."

  Once again her grave sincerity made him chuckle. "You're something of a surprise," he said. "Not what I expected when I walked in here this evening."

  She snuggled deeper into the pillow. "Mmm."

  One of his brows kicked up. "Are you going to fall asleep?" The languid shake of her head was not encouraging. He was regretting sharing his liquor with her. In a fluid motion he slid out of bed and began stripping off his clothes. His pristine white shirt joined the jacket and vest on the wing chair. He pushed his shoes near the apron of the fireplace and tossed his stockings next to them. His trousers and drawers were carelessly thrown over the arm of the chair. In spite of his haste, when he reached the bed he realized he hadn't been fast enough.

  His lady of the evening was as unaroused as he was aroused. He was tired enough to be philosophical about it. He'd remember this the next time he asked for a whore who didn't talk much. Apparently she was not prepared to use her mouth for anything else either.

  He raised the comforter and sheet and slipped in beside her, turning her on her side away from him so her sleek back and bottom was nestled against his chest and groin. His hand sought out the opening of her nightshift and he laid his palm in the valley of her breasts. His chin rested close to the crown of her head and the damp fragrance of her hair teased his senses.

  He slept.

  * * *

  When he awoke she was all over him. The pins in her hair had disappeared and the long fall of dark red spilled over his shoulder and chest. Her mouth tasted his skin just above his nipple. The damp edge of her tongue licked at the sweet and salty flesh. He drew in a shaky breath as one of her hands slid down his abdomen. Lower. Lower still. And cupped his arousal.

  He groaned. Her hand stilled. He laid his fingers over hers and encouraged her exploration, her stroking. It wasn't long before it wasn't enough.

  Her legs tangled with his as he twisted and rolled her onto her back. His knee separated her thighs. He felt the vibration of her whimper against his skin, then the full outline of her lips on his. Her mouth was hard and hungry. The edge of her tongue teased him. She moved restlessly, searching, stretching. He could feel the outline of her breasts, the exquisite, tender abrading of her nipples on his flesh as she pressed the length of her body to him.

  One of her hands slid along the back of his neck. Her fingers sifted through the thick, dark strands at his nape. A shiver tore along his spine as her nail lightly curved along the outer edge of his ear. He raised his head and saw the faint outline of her smile, the sleepy cat-green eyes, and recognized the reflection of his own lust.

  She arched, turning her head at the exact moment his mouth would have fused with hers. His lips scraped her cheek, her jaw line, and then finally the curve of her neck. Her hands stroked his back and learned the ridges of hard, bunched muscle as he moved over her.

  His skin retracted in anticipation of her touch. He wanted her hands everywhere, doing everything; he told her so, whispering against her ear in a voice so husky in its need that he hardly knew it as his own. The palms of her hands slid along his shoulders, down his arms, passing over his ribs and around to the small of his back. She paused at the base of his spine, teasing him with touches that chased sensation all the way to his toes. She clutched his but
tocks, pressing his rock hard erection solidly to her. She ground against him, delivering the same message with her mouth, her tongue circling his, pushing, probing.

  He didn't know if anyone had ever wanted him the way this woman did.

  Then he remembered he was paying her.

  She was a whore.

  Suddenly, surprisingly, he wished it were different.

  He moved himself away from her, adjusting his position, smiling when she reached for him blindly. He brushed her hand aside as he knelt between her legs. He pushed back her raised knees and raised her buttocks and when she reached for him again he plunged into her.

  She cried out.

  The sound of it made him want something else. He wished it were his name he heard and not just a wild, animal cry. He withdrew, thrust again. She was tight. And hot. She surrounded him, held him. She reached for his forearms, grasped him, ran her palms over his muscles. She arched. He was deep inside her. Her nails made crescents on his skin. His fingertips pressed whitely against her flesh.

  He felt her accept his rhythm, the force of his thrusts, and knew she was caught in the same spiral of passion as he. He watched her head move from side to side, her mouth parted, her throat exposed. There was a flush to her breasts and a sheen of perspiration that made her skin glow in the lamplight.

  There was a catch in her voice as she sipped the air. His own breathing was harsh. He felt tension as a hot, licking flame just beneath the surface of his skin. His muscles were pulled taut, need driving him into her again and again.

  It was a fierce, selfish pleasure that overtook him in the end. He strained against her as he climaxed. Tension unfolded, dissolved. He spilled into her, unable to call back his moan as he collapsed against her.

  Almost immediately he was asleep.

  * * *

  Lisa Antonia Hall fingered the string of pearls at her neck like worry beads. "I had no idea it would take you this long to get here," she told the man in front of her. "What's the good of keeping you on retainer if I can't depend on you?"

  Morrison James dropped his black leather bag on the carpet and shrugged out of his coat. He draped it over the back of a chair in Mrs. Hall's private apartment and rubbed the back of his neck wearily. His thick black hair, liberally threaded with silver at the temples, was ruffled in some places, flat in others. His broad face still bore the imprint of a pillow wrinkle on one cheek and his complexion was ruddy from sleep. His spectacles were slightly askew on the bridge of his nose.

  "A retainer is what you pay your lawyer, Lisa," he said. "And protection money is what you pay the cops. I can't recall the last time you paid for my services."

  She stopped playing with her pearls and tapped his chest with her index finger. Her smile was spun sugar. "That's because you take it out in trade."

  The doctor gently removed her hand and smoothed the front of his nightshirt that was haphazardly tucked into his trousers. He straightened his suspenders before he thrust his hands in his pockets and rocked forward on the balls of his feet. "Be glad I do. I'd make you pay me the earth otherwise."

  Since he usually kept one of her most expensive girls busy for most of the night, Mrs. Hall thought his price was already too high. But good medical care was hard to come by so she was generally philosophical about the trade-off. "Well, you can have your pick tonight."

  "Slow evening?"

  "For most of the girls. Not for me. I've had my hands full."

  He didn't want to hear the story. He yawned and readjusted his glasses. "Why did you send someone around to my house?" he asked. "It's not Beth again?"

  She waved her hand impatiently. Her bracelets jangled. "No, not Beth. Not any of my girls actually, though come to think of it, you could take a look at Jane while you're here. I think she's sickening for something."

  "Lisa," he said, drawing out her name in bored accents. His eyes fell on the decanter of whiskey on her sideboard. "May I?"

  "Help yourself."

  Morrison poured himself a drink, tossed it back, and poured another. He leaned against the sideboard and rolled the shot glass between his palms. "It's long gone midnight, Lisa, and I'd only just climbed into bed when your man came around."

  She frowned. "I sent him out hours ago."

  "I was in surgery at the hospital. He missed me there." He sipped his drink. "I've had a busy night myself, so what can I do for you?"

  Lisa dropped into an overstuffed chair. "You've heard me speak of Harlan Porter?"

  "The pimp?"

  She nodded. "The very same."

  Morrison James was interested in spite of himself. In the dozen years he had been coming to Mrs. Hall's he couldn't remember ever finding it dull. He sighed.

  Obviously it wasn't for an emergency that he had been summoned this evening. Whatever her need, she was also hiring his discretion. "You'd better tell me the whole of it," he said, resigned and curious.

  She smiled warmly. "Of course I will..."

  * * *

  He felt himself swell and grow hard. She was curved against his body. His arm was around her waist, his palm cupping the underside of her breast. He eased himself into her. She pushed at him and accommodated his entry. Her bottom slapped his groin. He buried his mouth against her neck, in her hair. He tasted her skin, let the fragrance of her flesh fill his nostrils. Her breasts filled his hands. Her thighs were warm. She turned her head and sought his lips. Her mouth was hot.

  She was burning from the inside out.

  "That's it," he whispered with husky urgency. "Move with me." When she did he felt as if he owned the fire. "God, you're sweet... so sweet." She was taking all of him and the sensation was almost unbearably intense, pleasure running the border with pain.

  His hand slipped between her thighs and his fingers probed. He stroked, teased. He heard the sleepy cadence of her breathing give way to something more rapid, more frenzied. Hardly knowing the words he was saying he encouraged her, holding himself back until he felt the rise of pleasure in her.

  "Please," she said. Only that, just please. But she said it again. And again.

  When she shuddered and melted against him there was no longer a reason to keep any part of himself from her. He gave her back the heat and fire and shared the strength of his passion. This time when they were spent she turned in his arms and promptly fell asleep.

  The oil lamp was a mere thread of light now. It edged her profile. He studied her face, the delicate features that were not strictly beautiful but commanded attention nonetheless, the strands of red hair gilded with copper and gold, the smooth complexion that absorbed the wash of lamplight. He wondered that he bothered looking at all, wondered that he seemed intent on making a memory when he had first thought of using her only to forget.

  He should go, he thought. He hadn't planned on spending the night in the brothel. But she was fastened to him like a burr on a blanket and detaching her didn't appeal to him at the moment. He'd leave something generous for her and slip away before morning. At thirty years of age he didn't relish sneaking into his father's home in the middle of the night. This way he could join everyone at the breakfast table.

  He fell asleep, a cynic's smile curving his mouth as he thought what they would think of him carrying in the morning paper in his evening clothes.

  * * *

  "So what happened to Harlan?" Dr. James asked as Lisa drew her story to a close.

  "Beth chased him off, waving a broom."

  "Good for Beth," he said approvingly. "And the girl?"

  "She's upstairs. I put her in a room across the hall from Beth. She could barely talk, of course, though whether from fright, illness, or some harm Harlan did to her I can't say. That's why I sent Huggins around for you. She was warm to the touch and I didn't think some laudanum would come amiss."

  "How much?"

  She shrugged. "The usual amount, I suppose. You know I don't measure the stuff."

  "I know you tend to use a heavy hand spooning it out."

  "At least I had the se
nse to remove the liquor from the room." She chuckled. "Remember how wild-eyed Beth was from mixing the two?"

  "I remember she complained about a sore head for three days." He set down his drink. "I think I better see your orphan in the storm now," he said. "Is she someone you might want for the house?"

  "I'd want her, but I don't think she's interested. She could have done herself well enough by staying with Harlan and she made it clear she wanted no part of him." Lisa shook her head, fingering her pearls again. "I'm more than a little afraid she's wandered into these streets by mistake."

  "So," he said slowly, "you've finally come to the point of my visit. You're concerned that taking her in could have repercussions."

  "Exactly so. But credit my conscience a little. I was more concerned about not taking her in."

  He nodded. "You know you don't have to worry that I'll say anything about tonight... to anyone." He patted Lisa's shoulder. "She may not be anybody anyway."

  Lisa looked up at him and smiled uneasily. "You don't know how much I hope that's true."

  Morrison James picked up his leather bag. "You said you put her in Beth's room?"

  "No. Across the hall." She paused, watching him frown as he tried to place the bedchamber. "Up the stairs. Turn..." She stopped, looked at the bracelets on her left wrist. "Turn left." The madam's grin was self-depreciating. "Honestly, one would think at my age I'd know right from left. Left at the landing," she repeated. "Then the second door on your right." Her grin faded slowly. Her eyes were thoughtful a moment, then worried, then frantic. She stood suddenly and clutched her necklace in lieu of clutching her heart.

  "What is it?" the doctor asked. "Lisa? What's wrong? You look nearly apoplectic."

  "I think I may have told him the wrong room!"

  "Who?"

  "I meant for him to have Megan." Her eyes darted around the room as she considered the implications of her mistake. "Oh God, what if—"

  "Who?" Morrison James asked again. "Lisa, you really must explain yourself if I'm to be of any help."