Midnight Caller (Moonlight Romance) (4 page)

He gritted his teeth, his whole body taut. Sweat beaded on his forehead. It was not polite to go first. But she was making it very difficult to hold back.

Finally, she gasped. He reached down to touch her, brushing her cheek. Allowing himself the same pleasure, he screamed her name silently. They trembled together then sagged onto the sheets, sated.

“That was amazing,” she said, her voice ragged.

Yes it was. But he couldn’t agree. This was for her enjoyment. He basked in her afterglow. “I’m glad.”

She folded herself against his body, lying on her side. On impulse, he threaded his fingers through her hair. He
never
touched a woman without her permission, but with Emma it seemed safe. Her every movement responded to his touch, encouraging him.

Seeing her naked, he realized she was more tan than he first thought. Even in the darkness of the room, he saw the golden hue of her skin. It was like the sun had gently kissed her body. He found that arousing. He cupped her cheek and slowly moved his lips to hers in a gentle caress.

In a strange way, she seemed familiar, as if they had known each other for years. She opened herself up to him. He could imagine them together. Waking up next her. Living with her. Spending every day with her.

She looked into his eyes, a dreaminess about her. If he didn’t know better, he’d have thought her angelic gaze conveyed a hint of love.

His muscles stiffened. He slowed his breathing, his heartbeat fading to a thick throb. No. She couldn’t love him. That was just not possible.

He was a whore. A black whore.

There was no way they could be together.

Emma watched Frederick dress. Her heart ached at their parting. “Can I see you again?” She winced at the pleading timbre to her voice. She had given away the fact she was desperate. She needed him.

“You know there are others. The network. I don’t work alone.”

Heaviness filled her chest, weighing her down with a pound of sorrow. “I don’t want anyone else. I want you.”

Frederick grunted.

Emma bit her lip. He didn’t seem pleased. “So will you?”

“Yes,” Frederick said, not looking at her.

His refusal to meet her eyes increased her agony. Had she done something wrong? She was satisfied and after the second time they made love, she knew he was too.

But her brawny lover had grown colder as the hours passed. They had cuddled again after their second intimate dance and then he stiffened next to her. By the time their night together came to an end, she was lying next to a board.

Still, she hadn’t experienced so much pleasure in all her life. The heat emanating from his body had kept her comfortable and content the rest of the evening. Although she was bothered by his sudden unease.

“When will you be back?” Tomorrow wouldn’t be soon enough.

“Send me another note, have a runner take it to the steamboat docks along with another payment. I’ll be back in port in two weeks,” he said, businesslike, and then slipped out the bedroom door.

At least he hadn’t slipped out of her life forever. Fourteen days. She’d hold her own private countdown looking forward to their next meeting together. Without him, her days and nights would be lonely.

A thought nipped at her heart. Was he the only man who could fill that void?

Maybe she could figure out a way to keep Frederick coming back. She wanted to get to know him on a deeper level. But he was black. How deep did she dare to go?

She sat at her secretary. Elbow on the desk, she rested her head in her hand. Frederick was only doing his job—being tender and giving her compliments. She wasn’t anything special to him, so why did she feel such a strong connection?

She was making it up. It had been too long without male company.

Would another man, a white man, give her the same satisfaction? Her mind raced through the list of eligible bachelors in town. None appeared to be great prospects. Of course, they were white…

There had to be a way she could continue to see Frederick so that it didn’t cost her everything she had worked for.

Or, worse, cost him his life.

Streaks of sunlight brightened the gray sky. The stars faded until they were barely visible. Frederick had stayed with Emma longer than he intended. She seemed so happy lying against him, her silky, soft skin pressing into his dark planes. He wanted to give her that pleasure.

Watching her fall asleep, a dreamlike smile on her face, gave him a strange satisfaction. He could watch the rise and fall of her chest forever. He had let her sleep too long, enjoyed holding her close. Now he didn’t even have time to wash the aroma of lovemaking off his body.

Frederick ran the last of the way to the steamboat. If he didn’t board before they were scheduled to set off, he’d either get a whipping or get fired. Neither was appealing. Steam poured out of the smokestack, the
Comet
roaring to life.

George stood on the deck, tapping his foot and frantically looking for him.

His lungs burning, Frederick joined him. He bent over and wheezed, dragging breath deep into his lungs. That was close. He had never been so wrapped up in a woman before.

Frederick felt a strong hand on his back. “Trouble?”

Frederick shook his head. The only trouble he had was almost losing his heart to a white woman. And he had agreed to see Emma again. What was he thinking?

“Good. I was getting worried,” George said. “Most of the passengers are already on board.”

“I know,” Frederick said, straightening. He cupped his palms over his eyes. “I lost track of time.”

“She was that good, huh?”

Frederick lowered his hands and stared at his brother. The teasing glint in George’s eye irked him. Yes, he often thought of his nighttime activities as a game, but it hadn’t been a game with Emma. It had been real. All too real.

She was so young, so innocent, and unable to hide her true feelings. She didn’t despise the fact he was colored, didn’t care he was a prostitute; she acted like she could truly love him.

A tremor rattled his insides. That was frightening. He had never met a woman like Emma before.

Frederick changed into his work clothes and the
Comet
began traveling down the river. His sore legs wobbled and it took him a second to gain his footing. Time to be a roustabout.

He would be away from her for several days. It would give him time to clear his mind and get his head screwed on straight.

Frederick sat against a cotton bale, his eyelids as heavy as lead. His head fell forward and he got a short nap before George shook him awake. “Time to get to work,” he said in an obnoxiously loud voice.

Frederick winced. “Yes, sir,” he grumbled.

George punched him in the arm and smiled. Frederick followed him off the steamboat, grabbed the tobacco crates, and carried them on board the ship. It was an easy job aside from the hard labor.

“Tired?” George asked.

Frederick grunted.

“You still owe me the rundown.”

“I know, I know.” Frederick lifted another crate. He forced his legs to move. All he wanted to do was curl up on the deck and sleep. No woman had drained him like this before. He didn’t care about spilling the details to his brother. Right now he just had to get through this day.

A burly mate with straw-like hair eyed him, his hand tightening around the handle of his whip.

Frederick swallowed hard and increased his pace. If he didn’t keep up with the other workers, he’d pay for it with his blood. The steamboat had a schedule the captain tried hard to maintain.

George began singing an old plantation work song. Despite the fact it reminded him of his painful past, Frederick was grateful. Some of the other roustabouts joined in and they worked faster, keeping in rhythm with the song.

Frederick smelled his arm. Emma’s perfume was faint, but still detectable. It gave him a burst of adrenaline. He wished her scent would stay with him all day. The July heat was sweltering. Sweat drenched his back, wetting his skin and drowning her aroma.

His eyes stung and he blinked. He licked his lips and tasted the tang of salt. Breathing heavily, he helped load the ship one stop at a time. His muscles ached; his face and neck burned in the sun. This was the life of a roustabout—the life of a colored man. He was just like the rest of the roustabouts, like most of the field hands except he had taught himself to read and write and sexually satisfy women.

In the South, he was still at the bottom rung of the ladder.

Emma deserved much better than him. She could be his fantasy, but nothing more. Would he be in her dreams tonight?

The thought gave him a secret thrill.

What was Emma doing? Could she still smell him on her sheets? Or had she stripped the bed and immediately washed them?

She had practically begged him to come back. It had gone against his better judgment, but he couldn’t say no. Not to her. Likely she was just lonely.

A white woman would have to be out of her mind to seriously consider taking a tryst with a black man any further. Even those who liked the rush of danger, those who shot rifles and rode fast horses, knew it was best to stay away from him.

He wouldn’t be responsible for ruining her reputation.

If Emma was lacking common sense, he would put up a stronger barrier. He would continue servicing her, but she would never again touch a piece of his heart. If he was distant and detached when he kept her company, she would get the message. Unfortunately, his body was all he could give her.

That night he laid on the deck, his brother next to him. The weight of his body sunk into the wood—his only bed. Now he was surrounded by the smell of dried mud, water, and salt.

Not the flowery scent of his time with Emma.

“Hey,” George whispered, so the mate on watch wouldn’t hear, “tell me about last night.”

Frederick sighed. He just wanted to sleep, but he knew his brother would keep pestering him until he relived the evening.

“She was small and shapely and her touch was tender.”

George nodded, waiting for him to continue.

“She was younger than I expected.”

“How young?”

“Twenty or so. And she looked so innocent…”

“Twenty,” George said loud enough to draw the mate’s attention. The man stared at them for a long second. Frederick held his breath. Sometimes they didn’t need a reason for a beating. Finally, the man returned to his watch.

Frederick gritted his teeth and resisted the urge to slap his brother. He didn’t have the energy.

“I thought you only serviced old widows.” George’s voice returned to the volume for his ears only.

“She was a widow,” Frederick said, “but not old.” She seemed so fragile as if she was made of glass. She needed someone to protect her, take care of her.

George’s eyes glazed over, clearly trying to picture Emma. Frederick formed a fist. He wanted to punch his brother in the stomach and make him stop. He didn’t want any man but him picturing Emma. Her soft white skin naked, writhing with joy as he—

Frederick scrunched his eyes closed. She might as well have infected him with a deadly disease. At this rate she was going to get him killed.

Yet, maybe it would be worth it to spend a little more time with this tender woman—a cherub who viewed him as nothing less than a man.

Each day was agonizingly long. He watched the passengers boarding the ship. None of the ladies were as beautiful as Emma, even if they wore fancier bonnets and fuller skirts. At night he enjoyed the reward for a hard day’s work—sleep and dreams about his angel.

At last they had traveled as far as they were going down the Kentucky River. The
Comet
turned around and headed back toward Louisville.

Gooseflesh rose on his arms. Despite constantly reminding himself of the inherent danger in this situation, he was impatient to return to the city. The steamboat was carrying him back to Emma.

Emma strolled through town, basking in the memory of her time with Frederick. Her life didn’t seem so daunting. Frederick had given her the care and attention she needed, the strength to carry on with her life. She carried that secret with her wherever she went, holding it close to her heart.

It had been three days, but their magical night seemed only yesterday. She touched her cheeks. Would everyone know she was still reveling in the afterglow of sex? Could they tell she had a man on her mind?

She should try to hide her feelings, but that was impossible.

No longer the grieving widow, she boldly wore a bright pink dress and a sapphire pendant, perfect for summer. She twirled the light blue parasol, rotating the handle in her hands. Some townspeople smiled, but many more gave her puzzled looks or even a stare. She didn’t care. Like Mrs. Dimshire said, it was time for her to get on with her life.

She had never felt so energized. She stopped and looked at her reflection in the large window of the milliner’s shop. She turned her head to the left and to the right. Her bone underskirt added shape to her tiny figure. Yes, she was still young and beautiful. She pinched her cheeks. For the first time since Hank’s death she actually cared about her appearance.

Did she want to impress Frederick? Her heart palpitated at the thought of seeing him again. It was wrong. It was
very
wrong. Women were expected to be sexually restrained and sleeping with a colored man was the biggest taboo she could break. But she was tired of doing the right thing. Hank had been so straitlaced, she’d been afraid to flash so much as a frown.

Frederick made love to her with such passion, she craved a second helping. She doubted she could get enough to satisfy her appetite for the masculine roustabout.

The lady running the milliner’s shop stepped outside and smiled. “Would you like to try any of them on, Mrs. Bennett?”

“No, thank you. Maybe later.” Her straw bonnet adorned with pink silk and fabric daisies would do for now.

The woman nodded and stepped back inside.

Coffee, flour, sugar, eggs, and some peaches. She ticked off the things she needed on her fingers. This morning she discovered her pantry was quite bare. After Hank died she preferred to stay in her home, avoiding the looks of pity and condolences from the townspeople. Shopping had become a chore instead of a delight.