Southern Spirits (8 page)

But the problems seemed to have followed them like cabooses.

He drew close, stroked her face. ‘We'll be fine. We'll be back on our feet before you know it.' He pushed down the sensible part of him, the one that saw the mounting debts which didn't
go away, and dropped to her lips to kiss her, determined to at least make this weekend an unforgettable one.

Tara was sitting on the edge of the bed, unbuckling her black leather ankle boots, grinning widely to herself. It was incredible! The energies onboard, thick, flowing like blood through veins! She'd never felt such a concentrated source before!

And the people she'd met: that sad Mr Newholme, the odious Mr Kolchak, the animated Mr and Mrs Oliver, and that new couple, with their secrets and dances . . .

She needed to strip off, shake off the distracting impressions she received from wearing fabrics, even ones made from natural fibres. She rose to her feet and undid her jeans, wriggling out of them even as her thumbs slipped into the waistband of her white panties and made them follow. Lifting her short brown legs from the clothing at her feet, she pulled her T-shirt over her head and cast it beside her. Then she lay back and ran her hands briskly over herself. A vibration ran through her, as if the train had an extra engine with a frequency aligned with hers.

She was going to enjoy being onboard.

Richard Newholme took his time unpacking. He was never in any hurry, feeling no need to join in any of the carnal activities. He would be content to spend most of his time in his private berth – with his lover . . . He sat down, closed his eyes and relaxed, waiting for her . . .

. . . ‘Ten minutes to Willoughby. Ten minutes to Willoughby.'

The conductor's voice barely carried through the berth door, announcing the train's final stop.

Their final stop too. There wasn't much time.

Enrique was in Val's arms, looking so handsome in his army
uniform, his smooth, sunburnt skin glistening with youth and excitement.

The room they'd found was bare, the single bed bereft of sheets or pillows, the drawn shutters letting only a few strands of sunlight in, and the air smelt of disinfectant. None of which meant anything to her as she pulled Enrique into an almost feral kiss, their lips grinding, parting, their tongues meeting, Enrique's shock at her boldness quickly melted first into acceptance, then boiled into a desire that matched her own. His cap fell off his head, ignored. He pushed her back against the wall, then his hands moved over her hips, around to her back, touching her through her navy-blue Sunday best dress, the erection in his trousers pressing against her side. Blindly she reached down between him to touch him.

She wanted him to know, clearly, that she would be doing more to send him off for two years to an army base in Germany than just kiss him. She knew she could get pregnant, but didn't rightly care. Everyone would know it was Enrique's anyway; they had been together since they were nine, half a lifetime ago, and they'd be married once his Selective Service finished.

Still kissing her, Enrique reached up between them, squeezed and stroked her aching breasts until they felt as if they would pop out of her underwear. Her head spinning, Val reached behind her and fumbled with the buttons to her dress, moaning into his mouth to give her a moment to manage this and not waste any more time. He obliged, never drawing away from her as she slipped her dress off her shoulders and wiggled it to her feet, leaving her in her all-constricting bra, slip, panties, stockings and shoes.

She felt herself blush seven shades. Though Enrique had seen her in the flesh when they'd been skinny-dipping in the lake behind their houses, this was different. And Daddy was
nearby, sitting in the next carriage, waiting for her to return from her alleged trip to the lavatory. Damn him. Damn him for accompanying Enrique and her to Willoughby to see him off, and not giving them one final moment together alone. If they hadn't found this empty berth . . .

‘Val,' he breathed, reaching up to touch her charm, the round brass charm that had been in her mother's family for generations. She hoped he wasn't going to waste time asking her to remove it.

Then his touch dropped, as if drained by the power of the charm, to her bared midriff, for a moment, slowly and delicately. He gasped, his breath quickening as his lips returned to hers, and his hand lingered, then descended between her legs, touching her through her panties.

Oh sweet God, it was so intense . . . she pushed against his fingers, reminded of those few furtive times when she had guiltily touched herself down there. This was far more immoral.

And it would get even more immoral in the next few minutes, if she had her way. The Christian discipline her father had imprinted on her warned of damnation for acts like this.

But she also knew, with equal fervent resolve, that she could live a long regretful life if something happened to him and she didn't take this chance, here and now. He was the only thing that gave her life meaning, the only thing to make her get up in the morning.

To want him. So much.

Val drew down her panties, keeping his eyes on hers so as not to exacerbate her modesty, not needing to prompt Enrique now to be bold and touch her, to go further than they ever dared in the past. He cupped her mound, feeling her hairs press into his palm as his middle finger settled into her groove, feeling how wet she was at her entrance. A moment's gathering
of more courage, and she pushed herself down on him, letting him pierce her, enter her with his finger.

She gasped and clung to him, unbelieving of the sensations it produced, and she shamelessly wanted more, grinding against him, arching her head to one side to let him kiss and suckle on her neck, uncaring if he left marks. Her fingers fumbled with the buttons on his trousers, reached inside and grasped him, drew him out and stroked his hard length. Oh Lord, Val wanted to do this for hours, days, take time to explore each other fully, completely.

But they couldn't!

Driven by hunger as well as desperation, Val pulled back from his kisses, gasping, ‘Bed . . . bed . . .'

Enrique grunted, understanding, then gently released her as they made their way to the bare bed. Val lay back, keeping her eyes on Enrique's to avoid further bursts of modesty as she spread her legs beneath him.

Enrique smiled, slipping out of his shoes, his trousers and underwear, and then positioned himself above her and lowered himself until his shaft pressed at her sex. Val lifted her rear, opening her flesh to the thick hardness, the bristly hair at his groin rubbing against her inflamed wetness. He slid in, thankfully slowly, filling her up, more and more, pushing overpowering sensations from her, with none of the pain she'd heard would come from her first time. Val let her eyes roll in the back of her head and her mouth open in a staggered gasp, her fingers digging into his biceps.

They lay joined together, looking into each other's eyes with such wonder, such lust and disbelief.

And then Enrique began thrusting into her, supporting her legs. She felt every inch of him, every contour as he plunged deep into her, ripples of delight running across her skin like water. He moaned, sounding lost to the pleasure, and began
withdrawing slowly until only a part of him was inside Val, before sliding back in again. It was exquisite.

Her hands on his shoulders now, her excitement building, she slapped him lightly. ‘Faster! N– No time now –'

Enrique, breathing more rapidly, quickened his rhythm to an urgent gallop.

Suddenly, outside the door, she heard her papa. ‘Valentina? Where are you, girl?'

Enrique looked to the door, his pace slowing, but Val slapped his shoulder again, her voice low. ‘Never mind him! Keep going!'

He pumped into her with abandon; she felt herself on the edge, wanting to feel those thunderclaps of pleasure inside her, wanting to feel it because of this man. He gave a strangled cry, spurring her on, her cries mingling with his as she came, her back arching beneath him, her legs wrapping around him, clinging to him fiercely, the sweat making her stick to her new lover . . .

. . . Cat sat up sharply, confused, unsure of where she was, sweat beading down her face. Then her mind focused as she glanced about the room, then at herself – lying there with her bra and shirt off, her jeans and thong around her knees, her vibrator beside her.

There was a knock at the door. Adolescent memories of being caught in similar situations resurfaced as she quickly returned her vibrator to her bag, slipped back into her T-shirt and pulled up her clothes, thankful that Nathan had kept his promise to knock before using the key. ‘Wait, goddammit!'

Dios
, she thought her scent was thick in the close confines of the berth.

Her head spun as she made her unsteady way to the door, ignoring the welcome hot glow between her legs. Damn, that
dream was so vivid . . . She was blushing again as she worked the door lock with trembling fingers. ‘You can come in now.'

However, the man who stood there, Jack Wheeler, remained where he was, smiling. ‘Thanks for the offer, but I'd better not.'

Cat stiffened, forcing down her ardent feelings. ‘Can I help you, Mr Wheeler?'

Wheeler folded his hands behind him, letting his eyes seem to do all the work. ‘I wanted to invite you, and Mr Ames, of course, to my table for a late dinner. Most of the other passengers have already eaten, but I always wait until the final ones have boarded.'

She saw his eyes flash down, for a second, and she realised her nipples were peaking beneath her T-shirt. Embarrassed but also amused, she leant against the doorframe. ‘
Gracias.
And what did we do to earn this honour?'

Wheeler leant back on the opposite side, mimicking, perhaps unconsciously, her own stance. ‘In your case, the honour would be mine.'

Cat smiled back. ‘Me? I'm just an ordinary accountant.'

‘One who happens to have boarded a very extraordinary train, for what I hope will be a very special weekend for you. In fact,' he continued, shifting in place and looking as if he could read her mind, ‘I believe you've been enjoying yourself already.' He nodded his head towards the bed, and his voice grew more confidential. ‘I'll bet every dollar in my safe you've just experienced a refreshing rest. Belle possesses a special somniferous cadence that no one can resist, a lullaby of wheels on rails that takes you places you've never been before.'

Cat let her arms wrap around herself, lifting up her breasts slightly and distracting him momentarily. ‘One should expect a train to take you places, Mr Wheeler. As it is, though, you're right. It
was
very restful.'

‘Call me Jack.'

‘You come here for anything in particular, “Jack”?'

Cat and Wheeler turned as one to the approach of a wary-looking Nathan.

Wheeler made a conscious move out of the doorway and back into the corridor. ‘Yes, Mr Ames. I came to extend an invitation to dinner at my table tonight.'

Nathan nodded at this, moving closer and slipping an arm around Cat's waist. ‘Much obliged. Now, if you'll excuse us, I'd like to spend some time with my woman before then, OK?'

Cat smiled, leaning into Nathan. ‘I'm sure you understand . . .'

Wheeler smiled back as he stepped away. ‘Of course. See you both in an hour.'

Cat kept up her smile as she playfully drew Nathan into the berth, moving up as if to kiss him, but waiting until the door closed before pushing him away. ‘You were rude out there,
pajiero.
'

Nathan grunted, before moving to the wardrobe, lifting up his suitcase and opening it on the table. ‘It was for Wheeler's benefit.' His eyes fixed on the bed.

‘And you'd act that way if we were going together, then?' Cat followed his gaze, saw her open toilet kit and reached for it, zipping up the bag and sticking it under her arm as she retrieved and pocketed her bra. ‘Well, try not to get too protective, he has an interest in me.'

Nathan started unfolding and hanging up his shirts and trousers. ‘That's obvious. But you're still new to fieldwork. You need back-up.'

‘Not to keep a man's attention,
pajiero
. We're here to get information on Wheeler and his operations, after all. And if you want to make yourself useful, how about getting to know his partner Faye?'

‘If you want. But I'll be thinking of you.' He grinned. ‘I don't suppose you've called Gordy?'

‘Are you kidding?' She reached into her pocket, withdrew and unlocked her mobile, hit the correct speed dial then, after a second's thought, put it on loudspeaker and tossed it to the bed between Nathan and her. ‘You talk to him. I'm going for a wash.'

Before Nathan could say anything further, the ringing was replaced by a young and ebullient young man's voice. ‘Ah, Agent Montoya. I know you couldn't bear to go long without calling me.'

Cat remained silent as Nathan sat down on the sofa, staring in her direction with some amusement. ‘It's me on Cat's phone, Gordy, so keep it in your pants. She's . . . in the shower.'

‘Aww, don't tease me like that, Hound.'

‘No, no, it's true. Saw her strip down right in front of me and pad her cute little ass into the bathroom. But never mind that.'

‘What do you mean, “never mind that”? That sweet little
chica's
just a few feet away from you, naked and lathering herself up! How can you just talk normally?'

‘Because unlike you, Gordy, I have a measure of, ah, sophistication . . .'

Nathan's words failed as Cat unbuttoned her jeans and shimmied them down, revealing her black thong. She stepped out of them, and then made a show of looking back at him as if she'd forgotten he was there. She mouthed the word ‘sorry', with almost some sincerity.

Oblivious, Gordy's voice rose an octave. ‘At least tell me what her underwear's like!'

Nathan recovered, but didn't take his eyes from her as he replied, ‘She favours black lace. And as little as possible of it, too. Now, I have some names for you to run checks on. You
ready to listen, or shall I call back after you're done having a good hard think about Cat in the shower?' He made some shooing gestures at her, looking unashamedly distracted.