Her Sky Cowboy (16 page)

“Savoring the moment, miss.”

Bothersome, that. She didn’t want slow—all the more time to lose her nerve. Unpracticed in the art of seduction, she expedited the matter by getting straight to the point. “I am not naked. Nor am I writhing,” she said, jerking up so that he rolled aside. “Allow me to help you with the first portion.” Now that he’d loosened the laces, she easily wiggled out of the bodice. “What are you waiting for?” she asked whilst shimmying out of the skirts. “Take off your clothes.”

She didn’t stop to think or look, for fear she would grow skittish. She simply continued to disrobe, sitting on the edge of her bed in her skimpy bloomers and chemise in order to unlace her boots.

“What, no dainty slippers?”

“I had to draw the line somewhere.” Dunkirk had supplied a pair of delicate red satin slippers, but they were too
small. Much like the ridiculous gown, though, she had not been able to squeeze her feet into those narrow, knobby-heeled shoes. She hadn’t cared at the time, but just now her clunky boots made her feel like a big-footed clod. Striving to connect with her feminine side, she tossed her long curls over her shoulders and glanced at Tucker. The hungry look in his eyes cast her heart aflutter with dread and anticipation.

Quelling a whisper of panic, she gestured to his still-clothed body. “Must I do everything?” Seduction was not her forte, shrinking violet not her style. Amelia grasped two handfuls of Tucker’s ebony shirt and yanked it over his head. Before she could fully enjoy the astounding view of his muscled torso, he nabbed her and flipped her onto the bed.

“Anxious, are you?” he asked with a wicked gleam in his eye.

“Quite.” She wrestled off his trousers. Her heart hammered.
Good Lord.
He resembled an exquisitely chiseled statue—corded sinew, etched perfection. And his member—so large and rigid.

Her womanhood pulsed whilst her brain scrambled. She’d overheard titillating gossip and read a scientific piece on the mating rituals of animals. She had two older brothers who spoke frankly when unaware of her presence. Amelia knew the basics of lovemaking. She knew what went where, but, bloody hell, how?

Then suddenly Tucker was on top of her, kissing her, urging her to open her mouth. Thoughts blurred as his tongue plundered and suckled, as his hands pushed under her chemise and smoothed over her quivering stomach. She gasped as his fingers brushed her bare breasts, then moaned as he ridded her of her bloomers, spread her legs, and skimmed her slick womanhood.

She was, she conceded in dazed euphoria, out of her element.

He smiled against her cheek. “Anxious and ready.”

She cupped his devilishly handsome face and kissed him, wanting him to shut up and hurry. As he’d wished, she was trembling with desire. She ached with wants and needs, yet knew not what precisely to ask for. She’d never been one for trial runs or cautious advance. Just like the first time she’d pedaled Bess off the end of a dangerously high ramp, she simply wanted to fly. Delirious from Tucker’s kisses, she barely registered the moment the tip of his shaft grazed her folds. But then she felt a painful intrusion.

She tensed and he froze.

“Good Christ, you
are
an innocent.” Before he could retreat, she grasped his buttocks and pulled him down whilst pushing her hips up and…“Oh!”

“Easy, darlin’.” He dropped his forehead to hers, breath labored, voice gruff. “No turning back now.”

She adjusted to the strange and wondrous intrusion. “I…I do not wish to turn back. I want…I want…” Something she could not describe.

He withdrew ever so slightly, then eased back in. He brushed his mouth over her forehead, her cheeks—soothing, enticing. “Relax, Amelia. Give yourself over and let me do the rest.”

She breathed, nodded. Astonishing, but she was actually thankful for his vast experience in this matter. She gave over, relished the feel of his strong hands stroking and caressing as he slowly moved within. Pain soon gave way to a sensual friction, and then delicious sensations that rolled ever so slowly throughout her being. She gripped his shoulders, body quaking, pulse pounding. “I can’t breathe.”

“Let go.” He quickened his pace, the pressure. His fingers stroked, kneaded. “Come for me, Amelia. Come with me.”

She moaned, arched. Excitement surged as she edged toward the unknown.

“Let go and soar.” He coaxed her with a searing kiss, shattered her control.

Oh, the sensations!

She screamed his name—chest aching, muscles burning. White light exploded behind her closed lids, breaking apart into a zillion twinkling lights. “Stars,” she whispered as she felt Tucker tumbling after her. Dazed and delirious, she said nothing as he rolled aside with a colorful curse, pulling her into his arms and holding her close. Her body tingled and her brain buzzed in the sensual fallout. Without a flying contraption of any sort, including a Pegasus, Tucker Gentry had shown her the stars.

Tuck lay silent as he warred with his conscience. As his body recovered from an explosive climax that had left him light-headed and bleary eyed. He hadn’t been that quick on the draw since he was fifteen, when he’d lost his virginity to Wanda Mae, a local dove with a fondness for breaking in young bucks. An expert in her field, the buxom beauty had brought him back around in a matter of minutes and then taught him a few lessons on stamina that he’d cultivated over the years. Tuck took a lot of pride in pleasuring a woman thoroughly before indulging in his own release.

That had not been the case with Amelia.

Her kisses alone made him randy as a bull. Then when she’d stripped…he hadn’t expected that. Nor had he expected to be aroused by the sight of her cotton unmentionables paired with thick striped socks and mannish boots. The way she’d barked orders and tugged off his shirt, he’d abandoned his assumption that she was chaste. Unrefined in the art of lovemaking, but not innocent. She’d been so damned slick with want, he hadn’t paid attention to how tight she was until he’d felt resistance. In the moment his mind screamed,
Retreat
, she’d robbed him of the chance. He wanted to thrash her for putting him in the damnable position of having to behave like the bastard that half the world believed him to be. An honorable man would offer marriage. Under normal circumstances, even though he felt somewhat duped, he would’ve done the right thing. But Tuck’s circumstances were far from normal. By
manipulating the carnal alliance, Amelia had tainted her reputation and hammered his conscience. At the same time, he felt primal jubilance in being her first. That said and considered, her first time was all wrong.

Now she was curled alongside him in his arms, limbs heavy from exhaustion. He could feel the rapid pounding of her heart and her uneven breathing. He could not, however, guess her thoughts.

“You misled me, Amelia.”

She stiffened, her soft curls tickling his nose as she dipped her head into the crook of his shoulder, angling her face from view. “It seemed unwise to admit to an outlaw that I was in pursuit of a great treasure,” she grumbled into his collarbone. “How could I trust you wouldn’t steal it from me?”

“I’m not talking about the treasure right now, although that is another bone of contention.” He grasped her chin and gently drew her attention. When her dazzling blue eyes locked with his, he had to temper his pulse all over again. “Between your aggressiveness and nonchalance you intimated you were an experienced woman.”

“I did not say one way or another, and you did not ask. What you chose to believe is not my fault.”

Fair enough
. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why me?”

She lowered her lashes, though she didn’t pull away. He assumed she felt awkward now, naked but for her skimpy chemise. “Previously lovemaking held no interest for me. Tonight it did. You make me…” She breathed, sighed. “You inspire vexing yet thrilling yearnings. I wanted to experience, to explore. I refuse to feel bad.”

“I’m not asking you to feel bad, darlin’. Just trying to understand.”

“What if there is no tomorrow?” she asked in a quiet voice.

He frowned down at the top of her head. “What do you mean?”

She shrugged. “I could have perished in the kitecycle crash or at the hands of Dunkirk. I could have jumped for Peg and missed, plummeting hundreds of miles to the earth. If tomorrow never comes I wish to die with no regrets. No missed opportunities.”

He thought about that newspaper article. About the unexpected and horrific death of her father, a man she obviously revered. He suspected Lord Ashford’s death haunted her dreams and motivated her reckless actions. He understood, but couldn’t say he approved of her derring-do attitude. “Living like there’s no tomorrow. Risky business, Flygirl.”

“My business,” she insisted.

“Do what you please and everyone else be damned?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Your brothers don’t know about your Italian excursion, do they?”

She didn’t answer.

“What about your ma? Did you sneak off in the middle of the night? Leave her a note? Bet she’s riddled with worry.”

“The only thing she’s riddled with is misery regarding our dire straits. She knows not my destination, but knows my goal. I have her blessing.”

“You don’t sound happy about it.”

“I’m delirious,” she snapped, then shifted to glare down at him. “Shouldn’t you join your men? Won’t they be waiting?”

“They know what to do.”

“But if Dunkirk—”

“If they need me they’ll call.” She thought to end this discussion, but he’d only just begun. “I’ve got business here. With you. But first we need to change the linens and wash up.”

She blinked, caught off guard by the change of subject, then flushed as she realized his meaning. “Oh, I…” She peeked under the coverlet. “Blast.”

Tuck smoothed Amelia’s tousled hair from her face and noted the intensity of her embarrassment. “Stay here.” He swung out of bed, at ease with his naked state, although he felt her stunned gaze burning into his backside as he crossed the cabin.

“Your tattoo,” she said in blatant awe. “It’s magnificent.”

And here he’d thought she’d been impressed by his naked body. “Compliments of an artist I met in an Irish skytown seven months back.” Once in a blue moon Tuck got news from home, and it always knocked him on his ass, causing depression and fury. He often numbed the pain with booze and smoke, only that night someone slipped him an opium-laced cheroot and he’d ended up getting tattooed by a Freak, a brilliant artist shunned by the mainstream because of his mongrel race. Now Tuck was branded with a work of art that spanned his entire back and shoulders. Not that he minded much, since the body art honored Peg.

“Did it hurt?” Amelia asked.

“Didn’t feel a thing.” Nor did he remember much of the event. He was lucky he hadn’t ended up tattooed with a Mod slogan—
Make love, not war
—or some damned neon-colored flower-power symbol. Grimacing, he pushed aside the partition that hid the cast-iron-and-porcelain tub and a gleaming seven-foot tank. He tripped a spigot and steaming water flowed. “Eli and I devised a compact electric water heater,” he said, distracting her with a newfangled invention. “Damned convenient.”

“I’ve heard of such a thing,” Amelia said, knees clutched to her chest, eyes wide. “You do much with electricity on this airship.”

“Electricity, steam, gas. We’ve been experimenting with solar power as well. Diversity’s key, given the astronomical cost of gasoline.”

“So you do have an understanding of science and mechanics.”

He raised a brow at her accusatory tone.

“Earlier today, you said you were unsure as to how the blasterbeefs function, precisely. I do believe you misled me, Mr. Gentry.”

“As for misleading you, Miss Darcy,” he said while testing the temperature of the water, “those blasterbeefs are one of a kind. I intend to keep it that way.”

“You think I’d steal your technology?”

“I don’t know what you’re capable of.”

“I suppose I’ve given you little reason to trust me.”

“No reason at all.” He gestured to the tub. “Climb in before it cools.”

She looked longingly at the steaming water. “Doc advised me not to get these stitches wet.”

“What stitches?”

She reached beneath the coverlet, unwound her bandage, then a heartbeat later gasped. “They’re gone. The stitches disappeared!”

“You said you felt fully healed. I assumed the stitches dissolved. They usually do. Doc uses special thread.”

“Amazing.”

He strode to an armoire he’d brought all the way from Wyoming territory, and rifled a shelf in search of fresh linens. “Water’s getting cold.”

“Will you be leaving the room?”

“No.” Back turned, he heard her make a dash for it, heard the gentle sloshing of water as she eased into the deep, high-backed tub he’d purchased in Paris. Heard her blissful sigh, and smiled. “Find the soap?”

“Yes, thank you.”

She soaked and washed in thoughtful silence as he made quick work of the bed.

The silence was short-lived. “I’m dying to know about your flying horse.”

“I’m sure you are.”

“Where on earth did you find a Pegasus?”

“I didn’t. Peg’s a Friesian stallion. Had him since he was a colt. Bought him off of a European breeder who relocated to California.”

“But he has wings.”

“Detachable wings.”

“But how—”

“It’s complicated.”

“One of a kind?” she groused. “Another trade secret?”

“A combination of technology and heart.” Linens changed, he moved to the tub. The sight of Amelia soaking neck-deep in sudsy water, her golden hair slicked back from her flawless face, stirred his lust quicker than Wanda Mae’s practiced touch. Sporting a rock-hard erection, he squeezed her shoulder. “Scoot up.”

She scrunched over and concentrated on her fingernails—perpetually stained with grease, which he found oddly charming. “Why?”

“So as not to waste hot water. Only so much in the tank.”

“I’ll get out.”

“Don’t bother.” He moved in behind her, forcing her to make room. “Relax, darlin’. We shared a bed; we can share a bath.”