Midnight Caller (Moonlight Romance) (2 page)

“I didn’t think it would,” Mrs. Dimshire said. The firm undertone in her voice made Emma’s insides shiver.

Why was she so sure? Did she know…? No. She couldn’t.

“I’ll set it up then. You will have company the night after tomorrow.”

“And you are sure no one will find out?” she asked, a schoolgirl waver to her voice.

“Think about it, Mrs. Bennett. If the rest of town finds out, your paid lover will be dead.”

Emma felt all the blood rushing out of her face. She gripped the table, suddenly light-headed.

Mrs. Dimshire offered a calming smile. “Try to relax and just let it happen. I’ve been doing this for some time now. You will be fine.”

Emma swallowed around the large lump in her windpipe. This was her first step as a free woman. Granted, it was not the step she had expected. But she could do this.

Being so adventurous gave her jolt of adrenaline. She squeezed her thighs together. She needed to fill the hole in her life. This burning desire for her mystery man brought her that much closer.

Her midnight caller.

Frederick pocketed the dollar, read the message, and then tore the piece of paper several times, letting the pieces fall into the Kentucky River.

“Got a woman?” his little brother asked.

“A client,” Frederick corrected. He would not get involved with the women he slept with. Not that a white woman would ever want to settle down with a black man, even it was accepted. He grunted. And if that miracle ever happened, she sure wouldn’t want to settle down with the likes of him—a lowly roustabout.

“Seen her before?”

Frederick shook his head. The address wasn’t familiar. He hated taking repeat calls; lying with a different woman helped him keep his distance.

“Will you tell me how it went in the morning?” George didn’t try to hide the excitement in his voice. “When will I be old enough to join the business?”

Frederick sighed and glanced up at the graying sky. It was a dangerous business. Every time he lay with a white woman, he felt the invisible rope tightening around his neck. He didn’t want his brother moonlighting as a prostitute. “When you stop acting like an eager youth. You have muscles, a body the women will swoon over, but they expect to spend the night with a man, not a sixteen-year-old kid.”

George frowned and didn’t say another word.

Frederick walked off the steamboat. “Don’t get into any trouble,” he called back. He didn’t have to turn around to know that George had rolled his eyes.

After spending all day loading and unloading steamboat cargo, sticky sweat coated Frederick’s back, chest, and face. Not the impression he wished to make. He washed in the river with strong lye soap and then changed into his city clothes. The clean brown suit and burgundy canvas vest fit his tall, bulky frame stiffly, hugging his muscles too tight for comfort. He’d have to pay a tailor to get a better fit. Well, women seldom wanted him to stay in his clothes long any way.

He put on his shoes. They chaffed his heels. Working on the ship, he preferred to be barefoot, but his suit wasn’t complete without shoes. He sighed. He had more important things to worry about. He needed to get to his destination safely and without drawing attention.

Eyes slightly downcast, he carefully navigated the city. The war was over. Now he worked on the steamboat earning his own pay instead of being hired out by his master, but not much else had changed. And if the men in town found out about his nighttime activities, he’d be hanged from the nearest tree for sure.

He hummed along the way, a tune about courting a young colored maiden. He was getting to the age he’d like to start a family. Of course not with any of his clients. He’d have to venture into town and check out the growing colored community next time he was docked and had the night off.

The farther he walked from the docks, the nicer the houses became. None of them were mansions, but the property was well managed. A homey cottage with a handful of rooms, just like one of those, was all he needed.

His mind wandered, tired from a hard day’s work. And he had tiring work of a different kind to come. One of these days the lack of sleep was going to catch up to him. Or some irate lover.

He glanced around continuously, scanning to see if anyone was watching him. Once in a while, he looked over his shoulder to make sure he wasn’t being followed. He knew every road in Louisville, and his feet carried him in the right direction, meandering through the dark streets. He took the alleys whenever he could, avoiding the lampposts. He wanted to blend in with the shadows, sneak silently to his destination.

The fattening moon and twinkling stars provided enough light for him to see. While many people were afraid of the dark, it had always meant freedom to him. At night, on the plantation, he would sneak off with his family to attend church gatherings or dances.

Now he sneaked off to do a different kind of dance.

Making it to the right neighborhood, his muscles relaxed although his pulse remained rapid. The small house where he would spend the night was whitewashed with window boxes full of red geraniums, orange marigolds, and dainty bluehearts. The curtains were partially drawn revealing a candle burning in the window. That was romantic. It seemed more inviting than all the previous residences he’d been to.

He rounded the back of the house and his heart tumbled for several beats. The moment before meeting his client and introducing himself was pure terror. Most of the women were gentle to him. Sleeping with a black man fulfilled their wildest fantasies.

But once in a while, the night was long and revolting. He endured their need for power—braved the anger they held toward the men in their life.

Frederick licked his lips, took a deep breath, and gently knocked on the door. No one answered. Had she heard him? He waited, staring at the backyard. The barn could use patching on the roof. The woodpile wasn’t well stocked, and the fence marking the property line had a few rotten and leaning posts. Good signs he was going to be with a widow. The bright spot was a well-kept rose garden, many of the flowers climbing and intertwining on a tall trellis against the side of the house. The sweet perfume mixed with the fresh night air. He breathed in deeply. A pleasant feeling bloomed in his stomach.

The door finally opened. Frederick whirled around and found himself face-to-face with the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She was young, couldn’t be much more than twenty, her black hair cascading past her shoulders with a slight wave. She had an ample bosom for her petite frame, the red day dress she wore showing off every curve. The red color made her tanned skin look paler. Her hazel eyes seemed so innocent Frederick wondered what he was doing here at all.

“I was told you wanted company,” Frederick said, wondering why this woman didn’t have every man in town chasing after her.

She offered a tentative smile and opened the door farther.

“Yes. Please come in.”

Frederick stepped into the house and she softly shut the door behind him. She walked around him and her skirts brushed his side, making his stomach clench. She stood in front of him and assessed him as she peeked through her lashes, slowly working her way down his frame.

He bowed. “My name is Frederick, ma’am. I am at your service.” His toes tensed in anticipation. This was going to be the best night of his life.

The woman shifted her weight and pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. Nervous energy filled the room. He knew he was a massive man; hopefully the slight woman was not intimidated. She motioned for him to follow her. They walked through the kitchen into the dining room. “Have a seat.”

Frederick pulled a chair back from the table and sat. He wanted to drink in her beauty, but that was not polite. He kept his eyes on the table.

“Would you like tea, coffee? Or perhaps some brandy from my late husband’s liquor cabinet?”

“Coffee would be fine, ma’am. Thank you.” Some of his clients had him take his clothes off the minute he walked through the door. This woman was a slow mover. He liked that. Unfortunately, she moved so slow he didn’t even know her name.

She brought him a cup of coffee and sat next to him, drinking a cup herself.

A few awkward moments passed with the two of them stealing glances at each other. He felt eager and uncomfortable, like he was a youth chasing the girls around the plantation yard all over again. The coffee, strong just the way he liked it, gave him the burst of energy he needed. It slid into his stomach with a bitter kick. This pretty young woman would give him more exercise than the old widows he usually visited.

“My name is Emma,” she said. “Emma Bennett.” She blushed, her cheeks a delicious red. “I’ve never done anything like this before.”

“You have nothing to fear, ma’am.” Frederick smiled. “I am here to please you.”

Emma reached across the table and tentatively held his hand. Her warm skin and soft touch sent a lightning bolt to his core. Lust consumed him. He craved more. He wanted to feel her bare chest rub up against his. To see her eyes brighten by the throes of passion, to hear her moan.

What was wrong with him? He was yearning after this delicate creature before they even got to the bedroom. Never before had a woman—white or black—gotten to him like this.
She is a client. Control yourself.

He pressed the coffee cup to his lips and focused on the taste of the dark liquid. He rolled the acrid drink in his mouth before swallowing, grasping at any distraction.

“Why do you do what you do? I mean this.”

Her absurd question sounded sincere. Frederick nearly choked on his coffee. “For the money. I’m saving for a house.” He didn’t want to spend his entire life on the river. He wanted his own land. One night with a woman earned him double the pay for a day’s work on the steamboat.

“Oh,” Emma said as if she expected a different answer. She unwound her small fingers from his large hand. Uncertainty played across her face.

He held his breath, his insides pressed together. Was she going to send him away?

Finally, her lips settled in a smile. “Shall we go to the bedroom?”

“As you wish, ma’am.” He managed to sound casual despite his hardening cock. When he took off his clothes she’d find out in an instant how attractive he found her, how much he desired her, the power she held over him…

Already his thoughts had moved past coffee and to his delightful business. He couldn’t wait to see her naked, know the curve of her breasts, let his hands roam her hips. He’d laid with a lot of women, but never one as young and as sumptuous as this one.

“Strip to the waist and sit on the bed.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Frederick pulled off his shoes, and then he folded and piled his coat, vest, and shirt neatly on the floor before sitting on the edge of the mattress. The attraction between them was strong and undeniable. He was a bee and she was a beautiful rose. He was sure her nectar would be delicious, if only he would be granted a taste. Whether he would be granted a taste was in her hands. She was paying for an experience, and it was his duty to give her whatever she wanted. It wasn’t in his nature to submit, but the sight of her beauty as she stood before him with that glow in her eyes, made it more bearable.

He knew his job after more secret trysts than he could count and fell into his role easily. He genuinely wanted to please Emma, though. He sensed her hesitation. He hoped she’d muster the confidence to play her part.

“Spread your legs.” Emma walked into him, standing between his splayed thighs. She traced every muscle in his chest. The pads of her fingers gently caressed him, almost teasing. He tightened his stomach muscles, but was unable to prevent a tiny shudder.

Her smile widened, revealing a row of perfectly straight teeth. A thrum of pleasure rushed through him.

He wanted to wrap his arms around her but resisted. He had not been given permission.

Her soft skirts pressed against his legs. She took down his dark-colored suspenders and deepened her touch, massaging him now. His sore shoulders delighted in the caring ministrations. Lifting tobacco crates and manhandling cotton bales was going to make him an old man long before his time. She brushed past his nipples and Frederick sighed. If she felt his arousal, she ignored it.

Her eyes locked with his and she leaned forward for a kiss, both hands cupping the back of his head. Their lips touched and he felt transported to heaven. Her feminine scent of flowers and earth, perfume and passion, went straight to his cock.

When she leaned into him, deepening the kiss, he held back a moan. His cock twitched, eager to delve inside her channel.

Her eyes closed, lashes fluttering. She was precious, irresistible.

Damn. He couldn’t develop feelings for a white woman. But he’d never serviced a client so young, and his body had a mind of its own.

He was going to have the privilege of sleeping with an angel.

She hadn’t planned on tasting Frederick’s lips. It just happened. They were full and thick and begged to be kissed. This man exuded masculinity from every pore. Quite different from Hank’s city-bred refinement.

The raw power in his eyes was intoxicating. They were the deepest brown she had ever seen. Yet his tall frame remained tense and, despite the lust in his gaze, he had not touched her. Did he not want to feel her? Surely she had more to offer him than Mrs. Dimshire.

Her hands roamed his steel-hard thighs and then dipped lower. He twitched and then held his breath. She was toying with him, enticing him, and he still hadn’t responded. What more did she have to do? Suddenly a thought occurred to her.

She picked one of his hands off the bed and guided it around her waist. “You may touch me,” she said, surprising herself with her playful tone.

Frederick relaxed and reached up with his other hand gently encircling her midsection. “Thank you,” he breathed.

Emma tilted her head to the side. “Were you waiting for my permission?”

“Yes, ma’am. I never want to overstep. Sometimes it is part of the game.”

Emma’s hands worked their way down Frederick’s neck to his back. Every inch of him was hard as chiseled stone. She paused when her fingers ran over raised scars. “You’ve been whipped.” Shock registered in her voice, her eyes widened.