Interlude in Pearl

An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication

www.ellorascave.com

Interlude in Pearl

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Interlude in Pearl Copyright © 2010 Emily Ryan-Davis

Edited by Mary Moran

Cover art by Syneca

Electronic book publication February 2010

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Interlude in Pearl

Emily Ryan-Davis

Contents

Cover Page

Title Page

Copyright Page

Chapter One

About the Author

Chapter One

Pearl, Colorado

Autumn 1869

The tall, broad man standing on her back porch didn’t remove his hat. He braced his hand, callused and rough, against the frame above her head and said her name. “Miss Emma.”

Emma Morgan knew the words he hadn’t spoken. Beneath her flannel gown, her nipples tightened to hard peaks. His voice did that to her body every time, stroking her skin, slow and firm, as if it had every right to touch her. He’d never once offered for her hand in marriage. He had no rights in her bed. She welcomed him into it anyway.
Most times.
Tonight…

She inhaled, exhaled a sigh. He smelled like coffee and wood smoke. He’d probably spent the better part of the night beside a campfire. Unfortunately for both of them, she’d have to send him back to the campsite instead of inviting him inside. Her throat closed around a lump of disappointment. She’d rather keep him through what remained of the night and take him through two or three climaxes. Instead of stepping aside to grant him entrance, she studied his tall frame.

Mickey Lowe, foreman of Ethan Carver’s ranch, dressed for cowboy duty. He wore a thick sheepskin coat over his flannel plaid shirt and his denim pants were stiff, good-quality cotton despite the dirt that would never come out of them. Mouth dry, she studied the open collar of his shirt, the curl of dark hair that she would have mistaken for a trick of the shadows if she hadn’t known his body so well. His nipples wouldn’t be as hard as hers. They didn’t respond to the idea of her touch the way her body responded to the idea of his. She could coax them however, first with her mouth, later with the curves of her bottom as she sat atop his chest and teased him with the scent of her arousal. She so enjoyed the heavy-lidded sight of his eyes as she rubbed her spread pussy on his skin before rising over his hungry mouth, opening to his wonderfully strong tongue.

“Lucy’s visiting me,” she said to the buttons that marched down the front of his shirt, replying to the words he hadn’t spoken and banishing her errant fantasies. The house she kept was small. She and her niece shared the bed when the young woman came to stay. If she took Mickey inside, Lucy would surely know.

“How is she?” he asked politely.

“Well.” Emma bit her lip, hesitating before she added, “She’s going to spend the winter here.”

On the other side of the doorway, Mickey shifted his weight and reached for her. He touched her chin, tilted her face toward his. She couldn’t see his eyes but she knew the color. Hazel. Emma drew a deep breath, let it out, and answered his wordless request by stepping out onto the porch. Fall had settled upon Pearl and the night nipped at her toes and the tips of her ears. She’d dressed for bed but had not yet released her hair. The heavy weight, pinned in a coil at the back of her head, left her neck bare to the cold. At her back, the warmth from the fire in the kitchen beckoned her to return to the house. She ignored the fire. It didn’t offer the same comfort this man could provide.

“The whole winter’s a long time,” he murmured, dragging the backs of his fingers along the soft underside of her chin, down her throat. “Christ, you’re soft. You’re the first bit of quiet I’ve found in weeks. What are you still doing awake? You should’ve been long asleep.”

“I heard a noise.” Emma raised her chin, loving the warm intimacy of his touch.
The proprietary way of it.
The thrill that coursed all the way to her toes in response to his rough praise. Suddenly, the winter seemed too long. She’d not given thought to her own needs when her niece, her only brother’s daughter, had requested an extended stay. Her hospitality, given freely the day before, tightened restrictively around her chest now.

Mickey unfastened the topmost button of her gown.
The second button.
Emma held herself still, ignoring the cold, listening for sounds that would tell her they were no longer alone. Behind her, the house remained quiet. Her stomach tightened and flattened as he freed the third, fourth and fifth buttons, drawing her heavy breast from the protection of the flannel.

“C.C. and John, Ethan and Margaret…the
fucking’s
enough to make a man crazy,” he said as he rasped his thumb across her pebbling nipple.

“Is it?” Emma pressed her thighs together. She’d already begun to throb and flood. “You should close the door, Mickey.”

He squeezed her breast, pinched her nipple hard between his thumb and forefinger. Emma gasped, reaching for him. He caught her hand and settled it atop his shoulder before he leaned into her, his cold buttons grazing her smarting nipple, and caught the door to draw it closed. Her fingers curled, slid around to clutch the back of his neck. Not speaking, he lowered his head and bit her, a long, sharp pain that shot directly to her pussy. Emma’s head sagged. Mickey caught her around her waist before her knees gave out. He shifted their bodies, pinning her to the side of the house with his knee between her legs, and bit a second time.

Wrapping her arms around his neck, she bore down on his thigh. The hard length of muscle between her legs was a poor substitute for the hard length of muscle against her stomach, but she’d have that soon enough. Mickey never left her wanting.

He also never came to her so urgent. His teeth worried her breasts, hard enough on her nipples to elicit a gasp of real pain as he pulled at her and kneaded her hips. His shoulders shook in her hold. When she jerked at a particularly fierce bite, he hauled himself back and stood tall, his features hidden by the brim of his hat.

“I’ve kept away too long to do this the nice way,” he said above her head, breathing harshly. “Forgive me.”

“You
have
kept away too long.” She unwound her arms and stroked her palms down his chest, pausing at the slightly raised discs of his nipples, pressing there with the heels of her hands. He tensed, his chest flexing restlessly at her touch. He was straining hard to keep himself under control. A small smile tugged at the corners of her lips. “And you came at a poor time for doing this properly.”

Relishing the heavy pulse between her thighs and the erratic twitch of his cock against her hip, Emma lifted her gaze to meet his. Mickey Lowe didn’t let himself lose control. The idea of him on the edge amused and thrilled her at once. Driven to provocation, she crossed her arms at the small of her back and watched the way his features tightened when her bare breasts thrust toward him.

“Maybe you should call tomorrow,” she suggested. “After you have a better handle on yourself.”

“Maybe I should turn you around and have a go at your ass to take the edge off this need,” he countered evenly.

Emma’s eyes widened. “Mickey—”

Lowering his head to graze her lips with a kiss, he cut her off. “Don’t play with me. We don’t have the luxury of a whole night and as much as I enjoy you tight and shivering in my hands, I don’t want to lose any part of your precious body to frostbite.”

She swallowed, suddenly aware his tension stemmed from more than a simple shortage of sex. The realization muted her arousal. “Tell me what’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing to talk about right now.” He cupped the sides of her head and brushed her lips a second time, lingering to lick at her mouth.

Mickey didn’t usually make much of kissing. Emma stared at him as he nibbled her bottom lip, as he drew the tip of his tongue along the inside of her upper lip. Sudden apprehension held her frozen.

Ignoring her uncertainty, he deepened the kiss. She’d had his tongue inside her mouth before, of course, but never with such an aim of tenderness behind it. He explored her mouth slowly, his thumbs drawing small circles behind her ears, his erection a stiff, still heat at her stomach. Before she could stop herself, Emma closed her eyes. The darkness increased her awareness of him, made her hungry for the rich flavors of tobacco and coffee on his tongue.

While she lost herself in the strangeness of a long, slow kiss from him, he drew her away from the wall. One large hand fell from her face to grasp her hip. He steered them, moving steadily, and she squeezed her eyes shut in an effort to hold the sweetness of his lips as long as she could.

He broke before she was ready, his breath hot and damp on her cheek as he turned his head aside. “I have things to say to you. A question I need to ask. But I want to be inside you so bad my damn legs are shaking. This is your choice. Talk first or fuck first?”

Frightened by his things to say and question to ask, she reached for his belt. Mickey exhaled slowly. He stroked the back of her head, his fingers finding and removing pins while she worked at opening his pants. Her hands shook.

Soon, his large, warm cock jutted into her hands. Emma rested her forehead on his chest. He continued to work at her pins and she tested the weight of his erection. Her fingers touched around the shaft but just barely. She knew from experience that the wide, flushed head stretched her lips. She could hold the thick bulb comfortably once he’d breached the rim of her mouth, however, and thinking about tasting his skin, clean from washing before he came to her, roused a craving.

When her hair drooped from its twist, she started to kneel. Mickey caught her shoulders. He pricked her skin lightly with her hairpins.

Uncertain, she lifted her eyes to meet his. “Why can’t I?”

“I want my tongue inside you.” He kissed her cheek. “Trust me, Emma.”

“I’m afraid right now,” she whispered.

Mickey swept his hat from his head and dropped her pins inside the well before he set it aside. Without the shadow of the brim, she could clearly see his eyes. The dark hid their color even with the reflection of the moonlight but they were soft at the corners.