His Forbidden Bride (The Brides of Paradise Ranch (Spicy Version) Book 7) (15 page)

“I think so.” He didn’t sound so certain. “I’ll admit, I don’t know much about the Hindu religion.” He brushed his fingers under her chin and lifted it so that she faced him. “What is that question all about? Are you worried I’ll fling myself into your grave when…” He swallowed.

Honoria squeezed her eyes shut. She could easily argue that he’d already done something destructive for her sake. How would he feel once he’d jumped into her grave only to discover the coffin was empty?

“Maybe we should start another book,” he said, a touch of humor back in his voice. “Something by Mark Twain.”

Honoria shook her head, gazing up at him with a burst of passion. “I don’t want to sit and read.” She pressed herself into him, running her hands down his sides to his hips.

Heat flared behind his eyes and he leaned down to kiss her, but stopped when his lips were inches from hers.

“Are you certain you’re feeling up to this?” The tone of his voice—rough and tantalizing—hinted that he hoped she was.

“Yes,” she breathed. “Absolutely.” She lifted onto her toes to close the remaining distance between them. Her mouth met his hungrily and she sighed audibly. This was the last time she would ever feel the undiluted bliss of being with her husband.

Solomon kissed her back, cautiously at first, but with increasing ardor as the passion between them built. He circled his hands around to stroke her sides, then up to cup her breasts. Even through the layers of fabric and boning of her corset, his touch was magical. Her body responded powerfully, even more so knowing that there was no physical reason whatsoever for her to hold back.

“Take me to bed, Solomon,” she entreated him. “And don’t hold back.”

“How could I?” he whispered in return, then lifted her into his arms. It wasn’t the sweet, comforting hold of a man sweeping his frail wife into his arms. He lifted her from her backside, encouraging her to wrap her legs around his waist as he pushed himself forward.

He tried to kiss her as they crossed the kitchen and the hall, but laughed as they both realized walking and kissing at the same time was too awkward. Instead, he rushed around the corner and up the stairs. That laughter continued as they reached the bedroom and he attempted to kiss her again while holding her still. He was strong, and she was light, but with him supporting her, there was only so much their hands could do. And she wanted his hands on her as much as his lips.

“Hold onto that fire,” he chuckled as he eased her down to her feet. “Don’t let it go, do you hear me?”

Honoria nodded, blinking to fight back tears. He couldn’t know what he was saying, couldn’t feel how deeply she would need to hold onto not only the fire, but this moment. Forever.

“Getting undressed is always the tedious part.” He pretended to sigh as he set to work removing his clothes.

She fumbled with the fastenings of her skirt and bodice, silently agreeing with him. She wanted to watch him undress one last time, watch every inch of his smooth, dark skin as it was revealed to her. But more than that, she wanted to be rid of her own clothes, to be naked and free, available for him to caress and kiss and mold. She didn’t even take the time to fold her clothes and set them aside the way he was. It was all she could do to shed them and kick them aside, then tumble into his bed and onto her back to wait for him.

“My, my, you’re eager tonight,” he growled with tender appreciation as he removed his trousers. His lighthearted humor was swiftly melting into molten passion.

“I want you,” she whispered. Shameless as she knew she was, she let her knees drop to the side and lifted her arms to pull the pins out of her hair, giving him the fullest view of her that she could.

All remaining teasing vanished, and powerful desire filled his expression. She was rewarded with the sight of his manhood standing thick and tall and ready as he stepped out of his trousers and kicked them aside. Even after two weeks, he still inspired a quivering need in her that bordered on fear. It wasn’t fear of him, though. Not in the least. It was the fear of how wanton she found herself to be, how desperately she wanted to feel every hot inch of him slide home within her.

“Come to me,” she murmured, shaking her hair free. It fell in tangled waves around her as she held her arms out to him.

Solomon groaned as he surged toward the bed, crawling over top of her. She sighed in victory as his large, heavy body covered hers, skin embracing skin and setting her alight. He fit so well against her. Her arms and legs caressed his contours. His mouth was ravenous as it met hers, parting her lips with just enough force to be daring. His tongue danced against hers in teasing miniature of what she wanted a much greater part of him to do.

I love you
, she cried out in her heart, feeling every word as though it were a grain of her soul.
I love you, Solomon, and I will always love you, no matter what you come to think of me
. She wanted to say those words out loud, scream them if she had to, but releasing that kind of truth would only make tomorrow worse.

Instead she shouted without words as his hand raked up her side and found her breast. She was so ready for that touch that the pleasure of it felt magnified a thousand-fold. He curled his fingers up to rake her nipple, then pinched lightly. She felt the snap of sensation all the way through her, down to the aching muscles of her core.

“Honoria,” Solomon growled, heavy with emotion. He nibbled a trail of kisses down her neck, over her collarbone, and lower across her chest. The friction of his body shifting lower so that his mouth came level with her breasts was almost as good as the heat of his breath against her sensitive skin.

He pressed her breast up to meet his lips and teeth, and Honoria gasped with the pleasure of it. It didn’t matter that she’d felt the sensation from him before. This would be the last time he ever suckled her, the last time she dug her nails into his back to show her delight. He responded so well to her needs without her having to say a word, so much so that she felt as though she was on the brink of exploding without him even coming near the part of her that really burned for him.

And then, when he shifted to her other breast and closed his mouth over her, sucking hard, she did burst. It was so sudden that she moaned in ecstasy, arching against him. She was wild to mate with him, feel him pumping hard inside of her right then and there, but as much as she writhed to bring some part of her that was throbbing into contact with him, he continued his attention to her breasts without even noticing her orgasm.

The tremors began to subside as he moved away from her breasts and down across her stomach, but whatever fear she had that her body was done was quickly squashed. He rained kisses across the flat of her stomach and abdomen, shifting again to expose her primed and wet core, and another wave of needy aching rose up behind her first release.

“I love you like this,” Solomon rumbled, his eyes raking her. “I shouldn’t say it because it’s not proper, but seeing you spread out and glistening with passion like this, in my bed, does things to me that you’ll never know.”

As if to prove his point, he lifted himself higher to get a better view and traced his hands from her sides, down over her hips, and across her thighs as if sculpting her. She was beyond finding words to tell him how much she loved his touch and his eyes on her, but sighed and mewled and lifted her arms above her head in sweet surrender as he did. She watched the play of his fingers as they inched their way possessively up her thighs, teasing but not quite touching the folds that were hungry for him. The feeling of being laid out for his pleasure was almost beyond what she could bear.

Her gaze drifted past his hands, up his arms, and down his chest to spy his staff, erect against his abdomen as he knelt between her legs. She knew what that powerful part of him felt like inside of her, and she bit her lip in anticipation. There was something so primal, so delicious about seeing him fully engorged and ready to take her that her legs trembled. She wanted to run her hands over him, take him into her mouth and learn everything she could about how he felt and tasted. So what if it made her brazen.

Her thoughts scattered as he teased his fingers up into her folds at last. She let out a gasping sigh as he slipped one and then two fingers inside of her. The dizzying rhythm of his touch was matched only by the look of intense desire in his eyes as he watched his handiwork. She arched her hips into him, spread her legs wider so he could see. For the second time, her body flared and raced toward completion. Her breathing came harder, and she cried out more wildly the closer she came.

At last, he withdrew his fingers and teased them upward, spreading her folds as he grazed and then rubbed the focal point of her pleasure. It was too, too perfect. She broke apart again, muscles contracting under his impassioned gaze. There was something so intimate about him watching her lose herself in pleasure of his making that the tremors kept coming and coming. He groaned in triumph at the sight, then dipped forward to kiss and lick the very nub that had begun the orgasm.

His kiss was just a prelude, though. With almost predatory desire, he inched his way back up her body, then drove himself home inside of her. Honoria cried out with pleasure and clasped her arms and legs around him. He wasn’t gentle—though he was far from hurting her—and with each thrust his breathing became more ragged, the sounds he made more primal. He filled her so completely, moving in her so hard and fast that she lost track of where she ended and he began. She felt both as if she was completely at his mercy and as if he were a wild beast that only she could control as he mated with her.

She could feel his tension rising and his body getting ready to explode inside of her and reached down to dig her fingernails into his backside. She loved every tight contour of that part of him and knew that her nails would throw him over the edge. Sure enough, he cried out as she gripped him, and his whole body went tense. She encouraged him to continue to thrust as his seed flowed into her, though he quickly lost momentum and energy.

Finally, he sighed and collapsed on top of her, too stunned to pull out of her right away. Not only did she not mind, she loved that moment, just after he finished, when he was too weak and too spent to move. She loved that feeling that he’d given so much of himself to her that for a moment or two he had nothing left to push away from her. His weight, the force of his breathing, the heat of his body…all were things she would treasure as much as the way he made her feel. She held onto them especially hard, embracing him for all she was worth as he drifted in the afterglow. This was the way she wanted to remember him.

F
or the first
time in more than a week, Solomon woke up with a deep confidence and a sense that the worst was over. The WSGA had made their crooked determination about his business and he’d paid their fine, even though it was extortion. His assets had been obliterated. There was nowhere else to turn for cash. But at least the bank had made it through the storm. He ran through the list of his remaining customers as he dressed for the day, certain that no one left would demand to withdraw all of their money.

Now he could focus on his real purpose—at least his purpose for as long as it lasted. It was time to do his utmost to make Honoria happy and comfortable to the end.

A bittersweet grin touched his lips as he straightened his tie and headed out of their bedroom and downstairs to the tempting smell of bacon. Breakfast wasn’t the only tempting thing in the house. No matter how many times he told himself that he should take it easy in bed with his delicate wife, she turned things around on him. Honoria was insatiable, in spite of her illness. And while something tickled at the back of his mind, telling him that wasn’t quite right for a consumptive, he was far too pleased with the way things happened so naturally between the two of them. Besides, Honoria was the instigator of their passion as often as not. He would wait and watch and be ready for the day that she decided enough was enough.

“Good morning, sweetheart.” He greeted her with a kiss as he entered the kitchen. Honoria was already setting plates heaped with bacon and eggs and buttered toast on the table. She’d become an amazing cook in just two weeks, but then, he figured Honoria was clever enough to become an expert at anything she set her mind to.

“Coffee will be done in just a second,” she murmured and turned away from him.

Solomon’s joy flattened. He grabbed his chair but studied Honoria before sitting. Was she looking a little pale today? She was certainly avoiding his eyes. Maybe he had been too exuberant last night after all. She
was
ill, after all. He cursed himself for not being more careful.

“I was thinking that we could go for a long drive and a relaxing picnic closer to the mountains on Saturday,” he said, sitting and taking up his fork. “With all the fuss here in town, it would be nice to go somewhere where it could just be the two of us.”

She didn’t answer. She kept her face turned so that he couldn’t see, but it was obvious that her shoulders were rock hard. If he wasn’t mistaken, she lowered her head and gulped as if…as if holding back tears. Concern that bordered on panic gripped him.

“Honoria, are you
sure
you’re feeling all right?” he asked, hoping his tone was tender and not overly anxious. “Maybe you should go talk to Dr. Meyers.”

“I’m fine.” She sucked in a breath and straightened all at once, twisting to face him. The smile she wore looked brittle enough to snap, and her eyes were glassy. “Let me get your coffee.”

Deep foreboding settled in Solomon’s gut, making even the delicious breakfast Honoria had prepared taste like ash. Something was wrong, more wrong than he knew what to do with. Honoria brought his coffee and some for herself and sat across from him, but she did little more than push her food around her plate with her fork. Her cheeks were alternately pale and flushed as the thoughts he could see but not name flashed across her features. He had to be able to do something about this, anything.

“Do you want me to come over to Wendy’s at lunchtime to take you for a walk?” he asked lamely, bristling with the need to do something.

Honoria shook her head, not meeting his eyes. “No, that’s all right, I’ll be fine.” She choked on the word “fine” and pressed her hand to her mouth.

It was her illness. It had to be. Somehow it had gotten worse and she hadn’t been able to tell him about it. She was scared, obviously. Anyone would be. Again, he cursed himself for being so energetic last night.

When he finished his breakfast, he reached across the table to take her hand. He had to pry her fingers out of a tight fist to hold it. “I would keep the bank closed or let Horace run it himself today if I could,” he said, twining his fingers with hers. “I would let it all go to spend my day in your arms, if not for those blasted WSGA men.”

Honoria squeezed her eyes shut and nodded, though she turned her face away from him.

His heart ached and twisted in his chest. “Honoria, are you certain there’s nothing you need to tell me? Are you sure you’re all right?”

She took a long time to reply…a long time in which she held herself so tightly that she wasn’t breathing. At last she gasped for breath and looked at him. “Please go to work.” Her plea was wispy and hoarse. “I know how important your bank is to you. You need to make sure that it’s safe.”

He wanted to argue with her, to tell her that, first and foremost, he needed to make sure
she
was safe. But he could see the determination in her eyes, sitting just beyond whatever else was bothering her. If he tried to argue, she would dig her heels in. Maybe she needed a little bit of time to think things through or to rest.

Reluctantly, he let her hand go and rose. “Promise me you’ll take it easy today, sweetheart.” He stepped around the table to kiss her forehead. It was hot. Did she have a fever? “Wendy can spare you for one day. Why don’t you stay home and nap?”

She didn’t answer, but he thought that her slight nod might have been agreement. He debated staying home to help her and damning the consequences, but she was right about his bank needing him.

“Take care of yourself.” He kissed her one last time, then retrieved his jacket from the back of his chair and put it on.

All the way to the bank, he replayed breakfast, looking for hints about Honoria’s health that he hadn’t seen before. She hadn’t been that shy with him since before their wedding. Had he said something wrong, either that morning or the night before? He second-guessed everything he’d done, every word that he’d spoken to her in the last day and more. Something wasn’t right, as if there was a detail out of place. She was keeping something from him.

“Ah, Solomon, thank heavens you’re here.” Horace snapped up from the work he was doing behind the bank’s counter as soon as he walked through the door. “I’ve been reviewing the remaining accounts, and I think I have some good news.”

Solomon’s worries about Honoria were pushed to the side as he dove into work for the day. Horace had opened a whole new ledger and begun to record the cash on hand versus the remaining accounts. Though things were bad—no two ways about that—there was hope on the horizon. Not only were the vast majority of the accounts remaining held by customers who Solomon was certain would never turn on him, the morning newspaper—or rather yesterday’s newspaper from Denver, brought in on the late train the night before—had good news about the handful of stocks Solomon hadn’t sold.

He was just beginning to think that the storm was past and he would be able to recover when the door flew open. Solomon’s heart sank as the WSGA men sauntered into the lobby.

“Good morning, gentlemen.” He stood, keeping his back straight and clasping his hands behind him. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Nope,” Eastman answered with a smirk.

“We’re just here to monitor,” Lamb added, his expression as suspiciously giddy as Eastman’s.

“I can assure you that the bank’s business practices will continue today as they have every day, as you’ve already observed them,” Solomon answered, willing himself to keep calm. Clearly the men were up to something.

“We’ll be the judge of that,” O’Brien added with a sniff.

They stood there. Just stood there, staring at him. Solomon stared right back, working to figure out what kind of intimidation technique this was. They didn’t appear to be armed. Even if they were, Trey Knighton and Travis Montrose were “on duty” outside of the bank that day. There were no customers in the bank either, though it had been open for more than an hour. The money was all counted and accounted for. Everything seemed fine.

Which didn’t explain why the hair on the back of his neck was standing up.

He had to wait another half hour, until it was past eleven o’clock, to discover why the men were there. At first, it was just one man, Matthew Bolton, the saddle-maker.

“Morning, Matthew.” Solomon greeted him with a smile as he entered, head lowered. “Come to make your weekly deposit?”

“Uh, no,” Matthew mumbled. He shuffled up to the counter, shoulders stooped. “I, uh, I gotta withdraw all my money from your bank.”

Alarm bells sounded in Solomon’s head. Matthew was one of the Haskell tradesmen he never would have imagined turning on him. In fact, he didn’t believe Matthew had turned of his own free will. His body language told another story.

“Horace has the appropriate forms for you to sign,” Solomon said, nodding to Horace.

Matthew muttered his thanks, then filled out the form as Horace counted out enough cash to cover the withdrawal, face drawn. Solomon crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes at the WSGA men. They didn’t seem at all surprised by the turn of events.

If Matthew had been the only one to turn on him, Solomon would have considered it a minor disappointment, but a few minutes later, two more of Haskell’s tradesmen—John Bimeney, the cooper and Paul Lindy, the carpenter who split his time between several towns in the county—dragged themselves in to withdraw everything. These were men Solomon would never have guessed would betray him, men he considered his friends. It was small relief that he was able to pay out what needed to be paid out.

“I don’t like this at all,” Horace muttered once the two men had gone. “It ain’t right.”

“No, it isn’t,” Solomon replied. He sent another look to the WSGA men. Their silent waiting took on a more sinister feel. They were waiting for the money to run out, waiting like they knew it would happen soon. Once it did, they would arrest him. He wasn’t fool enough to think that he’d be able to get out of that.

The door slammed open in the middle of his grim thoughts, and Sam Standish marched in. “It’s an outrage!” he hollered.

Of all things, Sam’s indignation came as a relief to Solomon. He was certain beyond any shadow of doubt that Sam would never, ever betray him. But if he knew what was going on—

“Bonneville’s sending his thugs around to all the local businesses,” Sam told him, marching up and gripping the edge of the counter. “He’s threatening to take his business elsewhere and to tell his friends and neighbors to do the same if they continue to use your bank.”

“He can’t do that,” Horace gasped.

The WSGA men grinned from ear to ear, as if none of this was even remotely a surprise.

“That’s a lot of business for the tradesmen of this town to lose.” Solomon sighed, rubbing a hand across his face. It was all beginning to make sense. If Rex Bonneville couldn’t destroy him one way, he would find another. “Men like Matthew and John and Paul can’t survive if they’re blacklisted by Bonneville.”

“It ain’t right,” Horace wailed.

“Oh, look,” Eastman blurted, craning his neck to look out the window at the front of the bank. “There’s a whole bunch of them coming.”

Solomon swallowed, balling his hands into fists. This was it. This was the end of his bank, and quite possibly the end of his life.

“Want me to fetch Howard?” Sam offered. “Or Gunn?”

If the end was coming, then Solomon was determined to face it head-on and not run crying for help. “No.” He straightened his back as the bank door opened and more than half a dozen men shuffled in. “I’ve asked them for too much already. It’s time I faced this on my own.”

“But—”

Sam was cut off when Eastman stepped forward. “You gents here to withdraw your money?” He looked as though he was having the best day of his life.

“Yes,” one of the tradesmen answered.

“Mmm hmm,” another one mumbled, looking as though he might be sick.

Solomon knew each and every one of these men. They were entrepreneurs, friends, men who had come West to build their fortunes, the same as he had. They worked hard, played for the Haskell baseball teams, went to church with him. Not a single one of them could survive if Bonneville and his cronies stopped doing business with them.

“Gentlemen,” Solomon addressed them grimly. “I understand. And I’ll do my best by you.”

He was met by guilty silence and a few grunts of grudging appreciation. None of the men looked at him, and none of them looked at the smiling, smug, supercilious WSGA men.

“Horace, give these men withdrawal forms,” Solomon ordered.

“But, Solomon…”

Solomon sighed and thumped his faithful employee on the back, then answered in a sad voice, “Just do it.”

Horace lowered his head, knowing full well what it meant as he reached for the forms with shaking hands. “It ain’t right,” he muttered as he distributed the forms to the men who lined the counter.

No, it wasn’t right, but it was the way of the world. At least for now.

In the middle of the gloom of defeat, the bank door banged open once again. Solomon snapped his head up to see what new misery had come for him. The other men gasped, and the WSGA men gaped as Pearl, Domenica, Della, and all of the other girls from Bonnie’s place pushed their way into the lobby. The small space wasn’t designed for so many people, and the girls seemed to take up twice as much room as the others. They were all dressed colorfully, their bodices so low-cut it was a wonder none of them started to spill out, their skirts hiked and tied to show off a good amount of leg. The crushing scent of flowers and powder and sweetness filled the room with them. They dealt with the cramped conditions by pressing up against the men—tradesmen and WSGA men alike—simpering and batting their eyelashes.

“Ladies,” Solomon addressed them. “I’m sorry, but you’ll have to wait your turn to withdraw your money.”

The girls all giggled and cooed, the ones who were pressed against the men fondling their collars…or something lower, judging by the way Grover Holmes yelped then laughed.

“Oh, silly.” Pearl stepped up to the counter, reaching into her bodice and taking out a surprisingly large wad of cash from between her ample breasts. “We’re not here to take money out, we’re here to
put it in
. Right boys?”