The Sapphire Brooch Katherine Logan (best beach reads TXT) 📖

you, Braham McCabe, and if Jack hadn’t gone missing, I’d still be at home crying over you.”

Tension melted and his shoulders relaxed. He put his hands around her waist and pulled her to him. “Is he yer rebound guy?”

“What? Where did you get such a notion? Never mind. Dumb question.” She yawned. “David’s too young for me and lives in Scotland most of the year. Of course, it’s not as bad as loving a man who lives in the nineteenth century. At least we’re in the same universe.”

“Too young for ye?”

“Well…I have heard younger men have more sexual stamina.”

Braham pulled her close, pressing her against him. “I’m not ready for a rocking chair yet, lass.” He ran his fingers up into her hair, cradled her head in his hands, and kissed her.

Somehow their loss and pain and longing was transformed by this one kiss, so warm and tender. It was everything she had missed and hungered for. The scent of him, leather and soap, and the taste of sweet whisky on his tongue. She dug her fingers into his short, luxurious hair, missing his long locks, but he could be bald and she’d love him all the same.

His arms were around her now; his fingers exploring the length of her back, lightly reading the knobs of bone like Braille. He gathered the hem of her shirt and pulled it up and over her head. She drifted into the arousing feel of his touch. Bending his head, he nibbled down her neck and licked along the line of her collarbone, sending tantalizing shivers over her arms and chest and belly.

He kicked the door closed and threw the bolt. Then, smiling faintly, he bent and blew softly over her breasts before he suckled. Never had a sensation felt so sweet, so intense. She arched her back, pushing herself deeper into his mouth, craving his touch, and pushing aside thoughts of the heartache once she lost him again. He untied the drawstring to her pants and let them fall to the floor. She untied his cravat as he unbuttoned his shirt, popping the last ones, sending them pinging and rolling across the floor.

He was kissing her now, and his mustache tickled her face. The kisses were hot and leisurely, as though they had the whole night before them. No kiss had ever made her feel so hot and shaky. There was only one thing she wanted, and she couldn’t get to it fast enough. Braham backed her closer to the bed, kissing her while removing his clothes. When the backs of her knees hit the mattress, she toppled over onto the coverlet, laughing. He kicked aside his pants and joined her.

She kissed the scar on his shoulder, pleased at how well it had healed, but when his lips found hers again, she forgot about his wounds. Her body opened to him like her heart. He reached between her thighs, and when he touched her, she shuddered.

Slowly, she began rotating her hips against his hand. Then he slid the hand beneath her and lifted her hips, drawing her to his mouth. She gave a gasp of delighted shock and then keened a sigh of pleasure. She wrapped her hands around the bedpost, breathing heavily, and gave herself over to the consummate skill of his tongue. His beard tickled pleasantly against her inner thighs, and she became lost in the sensations, surrendering to the primal urges throbbing rhythmically through her. She edged toward release, moaning deliriously, and he tickled her with the softest of kisses.

“Let go, my sweet,” he said.

And she did, clipping the last restraint of consciousness before soaring and spinning endlessly toward completion.

Moments passed, and in a dreamy state, she floated back into her body now damp and pink. Her heart pounded, and every beat echoed throughout the room. She sprawled against him, and he smoothed his warm hands over her back, teasing, until his fingers settled on her hips.

Between their bodies, his erection throbbed against her, and he uttered a guttural noise when she stroked him. She raised her head and inched up to kiss his lips, reveling in the musky taste and scent of them both. Groaning, he flipped her onto her back. A flame kindled his eyes with desire so hot, so sensuous, so demanding she couldn’t help but yield to him, wrapping her legs around his hips. As he drove into her, all rational thought evaporated.

82

Washington City, 1865

The next morning, Charlotte awoke in a darkened room, momentarily confused. She’d slept in so many different beds lately she had no idea where she was. A feather mattress and covers wrapped her in a cocoon of warm comfort, and she wasn’t inclined to move. As a whiff of Braham’s musky scent penetrated her sleepy brain, she smiled lazily, remembering their hours together locked in each other’s arms.

Vaguely, she remembered him leaving the bed. He had kissed her good-bye, told her to sleep well, and left through the door to his adjoining room. She had expected him to come back to her bed, but he must have arrived home late.

Like a train jumping tracks, her mind skipped from her temporary happiness to the image of Jack’s head strapped in the ghastly hood. She jumped out of bed in a panicky rush, running toward the door with a scream lodged in her throat. She slapped the closed door with both palms, breathing heavily.

“Dear God, give him strength to endure.”

She gripped her arms across her chest and took several slow, calming breaths as she paced the room naked. A crack of daylight filtered through the split between the closed velvet drapes. She wrapped a shawl around her shoulders before flinging open the curtains, letting sunshine warm the room. Her panic slowly subsided.

What would it be like to wake in suffocating darkness and silence and have no drapes to open? If she let her mind dwell on the agony Jack was enduring, she wouldn’t be able to function. In order