“He didn’t deserve a daughter like you, either,” Cordelia mused, remembering the sad-eyed little girl who had been so eager to please. And never able to do it.
Chelsea didn’t know what to say to that and she stood there, the awkward silence starting to settle. Before it got too bad, Cordelia patted her shoulder and said, “I’ll be 101
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out in a few weeks for donations for the bazaar. Maybe we can have lunch when I come.
You are looking well, Chelsea. Well, indeed.”
CJ’s cheeks were flushed as she took a cart from the corral, looking around the small store. She hadn’t realized had pathetic she must have appeared to these people, motherless, her only parent a cold, uncaring man who didn’t know the meaning of charity. Of course, not everybody remembered her. She’d only been seven when her mother had died, and she’d only spent a few months here.
Since John Stivers wasn’t a social creature, the only time she saw others was when the housekeeper’s daughter, Chrissie, had taken CJ into town to visit the library, and rare trips to the store.
With a sigh, she set about the task of trying to find her way through an unfamiliar store that didn’t carry any of what she was used to.
And CJ asked herself, yet again, what in God’s name she was doing back in Warren, Kentucky.
Settling into her bed, CJ gritted her teeth against the urge to take some sleeping pills. Last night, the night before, none had been pleasant. Bloody, disturbing dreams that she couldn’t remember… She didn’t want another one. But
damn
it, she was going to live here. She would. She could make this house her home, and she could and she would. Without the help of drugs.
The whisper of a sigh, a breath that smelled of roses, whispered through the room as she lowered herself to her pillow, but CJ barely noticed as she snuggled down under the covers and closed her eyes.
It wasn’t long before she was dreaming again.
But it wasn’t an unpleasant one…far from it…
Big warm hands, strong and calloused from hard work, stroked over her torso, up the curves of her breasts, pushing them together as he plumped the mounds together before taking one hard pebbled nipple in his mouth and suckling, each slow draw of his mouth echoing deep in her aching pussy.
CJ was aching and wet… One of his hands slid down to cup her and a rumble of male approval echoed through the room, racing along her skin. His thumb circled around her clit and she whimpered, rocking her hips against him, inviting him inside.
Deep male laughter whispered through the room just before a soft voice asked, “Are you hungry, darlin’?” as he pushed one long finger deep inside.
“Please—” she keened sharply, digging her nails into his shoulders and sobbing as he started to pump his finger in and out of her dripping sheath.
“Oh, I’ll please. I promise.”
Forcing her lids to open, she stared up at him, seeing soft gray eyes, smoky and hot with hunger, set in an angelically beautiful face, tumbled curls falling around the bones 102
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that were cut just shy of being almost too beautiful for a man’s face. His mouth, wide, sensual, was curved in a warm, hungry smile as he lowered his mouth down to hers, whispering, “I’ve been waiting, years and years, for you to come back.”
“Luke, I’m sorry it took so long… Make love to me, please,” she whimpered.
His body, long and strong, came down on hers, and his cock, thick and hard, probed at the entrance to her core before he started to take long, slow possession of her body. “Sweet, sweet woman,” he murmured against her mouth. “Mine, mine… You’ll never be taken away again.”
“Never,” she whispered as he started to thrust deep, his cock burying completely inside her, the rounded blunt head stroking so deep inside her, she could feel it in her heart, in her soul.
He shafted her slowly, pulling out, pushing back inside her pussy with slow, delicious thrusts as he nibbled and suckled on her breasts, shifting his weight to circle his thumb around her clit in just the right way. He brought his hand up and licked the cream from his thumb with a hungry groan before starting to ride her harder, pumping into her with stronger thrusts, until the heavy, wet sounds of him fucking her filled the room, mingled with the ragged sounds of her moaning his name, and his long, deep growl as he buried his face against her neck.
“Mine…” he muttered, driving deep.
“Mine…”
Digging his fingers into the soft curves of her ass, he rose up onto his knees and held her open, filling her with short, hard digs of his cock, staring into her eyes, while she stared up at him, into the beautiful, familiar face as she started to come, squeezing down around him and shuddering throughout her entire body.
His head fell back, the veins in his neck standing out, his lean, muscled chest gleaming under a fine coat of sweat as he pushed his thick, wetly gleam cock back inside one last time, rotating his hip in a slow, clockwise motion and stroking over the bundled nerve endings there as she screamed out his name as he came inside her, flooding her with his come.
“Lucas!”
“Lucas…”
“Lucas…”
She woke up murmuring his name, her body sated with the sweet, replete ache of sex, aching between her thighs as though she had just been taken in the sweetest way.
But CJ was alone in the bed.
And she didn’t know a Lucas.
“What in the hell…” she muttered shakily. Swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, she stood up, staring into the mirror at her reflection. She didn’t look any different, 103
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but she sure as hell felt different. Emptier, like she had just realized she had lost something.
Lucas.
Who was he?
With a sigh, she shoved him out of her head as she showered and dressed. CJ had way too much to get done to be worrying about somebody from a dream. On the way out the door, she grabbed her notebook and pen from the dresser, determined to actually get some work done today.
Rounding the corner, her gold-streaked hair caught in a ponytail, CJ came to a halt as she spied the narrow door at the end of the hallway.
She had seen it before, just the previous night, but had been too busy to investigate.
Now, tucking the pen in her breast pocket, she stuck the notebook in her back pocket and crossed the hall. The doorknob was tiny, and the door seemed stuck at first.
Finally she wrestled it open, mentally making a note to have it fixed.
A long narrow set of stairs was revealed. Reaching out, she turned on the light, pleased when it revealed a whitewashed stairwell. Climbing the stairs, she kept her hand on the polished wood of the banister, grinning as she finally cleared the last step and found herself standing a huge, open space.
It didn’t look like the kind of attic she would have expected. It was painted, bright and cheery, with light pouring through the dormer windows. Boxes and trunks were neatly arranged along the walls.
Some had her father’s familiar handwriting on them.
Turning away from them, she went to investigate the older-looking trunks along the eastern corner. Hours later, surrounded by journals, books written back in the eighteen hundreds, cigar boxes, pipes, CJ was leaning up against an emptied trunk, dust streaking her face, her hair falling free from its ponytail.
Setting aside the journal, she got to her knees, moved closer to another trunk and tried to open it. This one didn’t want to open. She fiddled with the lock, sat back on her heels when it didn’t budge and muttered under her breath. Frustrated, she reached out, slammed the top of the trunk with her fist, preparing to clean up her mess.
She’d get a screwdriver and come back up later.
The trunks were full of all sorts of treasures. Journals, books, a trunk full of clothes so old she was afraid to touch them. Kneeling, she carefully stacked up the books and journals, setting one aside to take downstairs.
She rose a good half hour later, stretched her stiff body and turned to make sure she hadn’t missed anything.
And the lid of the last trunk, the one that wouldn’t open, was up.
Chills raced down her arms but she quickly banished the jitters, moving across the room, hugging the journal to her chest. Photographs. It was full of old photographs.
Beneath those lay more leather bound books, journals most likely.
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Leaning over, she started to grasp the top when a piercing pair of eyes caught her attention. She stilled, a gasp dying in her throat as she stared at the sepia-toned photograph on top. It was of a man, a stern-faced man with cold, almost cruel eyes. He didn’t look like somebody CJ would want to know, that was certain.
She knew that the style of that time was not to smile at the camera, which resulted in some rather dull-looking portraits, but this man wasn’t dull.
And she would bet her entire life savings that he was every bit as intimidating in life as he was on paper.
Which was sad.
Because he was one of the most gorgeous creatures she had ever seen in her life.
He had a lean, sculpted face, high cheekbones, a mouth she ached just looking at.
Though his hair was slicked back, with pomade probably, the style couldn’t quite hide the waves. She guessed the color was the sunny blond she had once tried to imitate. She couldn’t discern anything about his eyes, but they were set in a strong-looking face with high cheekbones and an unsmiling mouth. The suit that stretched across his broad shoulders couldn’t quite hide the fact that he was built.
All in all, he was one damn fine-looking man, especially considering he was dead.
The thought filled her with an odd sort of melancholy and she quickly lowered the trunk’s lid, covering the unsmiling, handsome face.
The journal belonged to a Katherine Greene, the daughter of a local pastor back in 1843. She had been sixteen when she had started this one, and CJ was completely enchanted.
Had they all been so guileless back then?
Turning the page, CJ read about the man Katherine was supposed to marry.
He is so handsome. Mama teases me how I blush every time he looks at me. My heart beats
so fast, and I felt faint today when he took my hand to help me from the carriage.
We went for a ride today. It was a new carriage, riding so smooth and quiet. Not like Papa’s
wagon. And we went by ourselves. Mama and Papa trust him.
Of course, we’ve been engaged since I was just a baby. Our grandpapas fought in the war
together, and our papas came to Kentucky together.
I hope Collin Lucas truly does care for me. Collin Lucas, everybody calls him Collin Lucas.
But he’s Lucas, my Lucas. He’s always quiet, always very polite. He is just so sophisticated. And
I feel like such a silly child around him. He’s been to London and New York and Paris. Just last
year, he brought me a parasol from Paris. I’m almost afraid to use it, it’s so pretty.
He kisses me, in ways I know he isn’t supposed to. I do not tell Mama. He has touched me
before, on my breast, my hips, and then he stops and pulls away, laughing and telling me that I
drive him to distraction.
That beautiful perfect man, and I can drive him to distraction.
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Fancy that!
A year later there was another entry, on her eighteenth birthday.
Lucas made love to me today.
Oh…it was the sweetest thing. We went to the stream, our place. He laid me down under
the oak tree. We went for a picnic, our own party. The ball is tomorrow. Today was ours.
He undressed me, so carefully, so gently—
CJ didn’t even realize she had started to daydream…
The sound of running water filled her ears, sun shining down on her body as a man with sunny hair and loving eyes stripped away the layers of clothes from her body. “It is not fair for you, is it?” he murmured against her ear. “Your birthday, and I am the one opening the present?”
Her petticoats and corset fell away under skilled hands and he lifted her head in his hands, kissing her gently, lovingly, whispering one last time, “Are you certain?” as he wedged his thighs between hers. His mouth, hot and wet, closed over the hard, pebbled crown of her nipple.
Oh, she was certain. They had taken their playing further, but not this far.
“Please, Lucas, please,” she pleaded, reaching for him, digging her fingers into the hard, mounded muscles at his shoulders, along his arms as he slid his thick, heavy sex along the wet folds between her thighs.
“Hold still, Katie,” he murmured as he surged forward, driving deep, breaking through her maidenhead, plunging his cock to the core of her womanhood as she screamed, sharp and hard. “Shhh. It will be fine. I know it hurts. But it will pass. You are wet and tight and soooo soft, so sweet.” Stroking his thumb against her clit, he asked, “Does that feel good?”
That gentle touch sent a lightning bolt streaking through her belly, and radiating out through the rest of her body, making the muscles in her cleft tighten down around the thick heavy shaft invading her in a sweet, delicious way as she arched into his touch. “Yes. Oh, please, Lucas, I want… I need…”
With a wicked smile, he asked, “What do you want?”
Thrashing her head, she said, “You, damn it. I want you to do something.” She slid her hands around to clutch at his side, opening her eyes and looking up at him.
“Please.” Wriggling her hips, she tried to move around him, but it did little good.
Lucas lowered his head and whispered, “Would you like me to fuck you?”
Her eyes widened. “Ummm, what does that mean?”
He grinned, a flash of white teeth in his tanned face as he pulled out and surged back in. “Darlin’, it is a very, very naughty word for this.” And he repeated it, surging back in, again and again, until she was lifting her hips hungrily to his and panting, her face gleaming and her eyes wide with wonder.
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