“Later,” she whispered huskily into his mouth. Then, the promise delivered, she pulled away. She drew the veil back over her pretty face and once more seemed a remote and proper gentlewoman.
The sudden gusts and eddies of sensation this woman could cause or as quickly withdraw were positively disorienting. Longarm felt himself sway unsteadily, and might actually have staggered a bit if it hadn’t been for Leah’s grip on his elbow. Then she was gone, walking ahead of him up the path toward the platform and the other travelers just as prim as prim could be.
Longarm shook his head as if to clear it of a sudden fog, and hurried to catch up with her.
Chapter 8
It was mid-afternoon—a little past mid-afternoon, actually—before the narrow-gauge puffer dragged into Glory with a wood car, four flatcars, and one passenger coach in tow.
Late enough, Longarm decided, that it would be foolish to start off again immediately on the final leg of his trip to Snowshoe. Better, he thought, to wait until morning so he could be sure of finding the way.
As the few passengers were disembarking onto the Glory depot’s small platform, he noticed that the railroad boss was being met by a delegation of men wearing starched collars and long faces. Their expressions seemed even stiffer than their batwing collars, Longarm thought. He had the impression that these people were waiting for news that would be vitally important to them. And that the idiot railroad man was the one who was bringing that information, perhaps even was responsible for it, judging from the way everyone fawned over him once he stepped onto the platform.
Whatever that was about, though, it wasn’t something a deputy marshal had to worry about. Longarm helped the lady down the portable steps to the firm planking, then directed a porter with a hand truck to collect her luggage and his own few things. They would, after all, be stopping at the same hotel.
“Ah, yes,” the clerk at the Grand said after poring over his ledger. “I have it here, reservation in the name of L. K. Skelde.” He gave the veiled woman a questioning
look. But then it wasn’t really common for a woman to be traveling alone on business. The man transferred his attention to Longarm. “And you, sir, would be wanting an, um, adjoining accommodation?”
“I’ll be wantin’ an accommodation,” Longarm said coldly. “I don’t recollect saying nothing about where in the hotel it oughta be.”
“My mistake, sir, ma’am.” The clerk hurriedly bent to his ledger once again. He called a bellboy to carry Leah’s luggage to Room 27 and handed Longarm the key to Room 14. “I hope you both enjoy your stay.”
Longarm waited downstairs a few minutes to enjoy a cheroot and a glass of a middling-fair rye—he didn’t want to seem in too great a hurry to get up those stairs—then wandered up to his room. Number 14 was on the second floor of the narrow, boxy hotel building; 27 was on the top floor one flight up.
Longarm stopped in his own room only long enough to drop his things on the foot of the bed, take his hat off, and give his hair a quick slicking back. Then he was out again and striding for the staircase.
He tapped lightly on the door. “Miss Skelde? I believe this might be yours?” Just in case someone was listening.
“It’s open. Come in.”
Longarm let himself into the room. And stopped immediately, a quick smile tugging at his lips.
“Bolt the door, won’t you please, dear?”
He found the bolt by feel and slid it home. He didn’t want to take his eyes off Leah. Not yet.
The heavy travel gown was gone, discarded somewhere out of sight already. So were the hat and the veil.
Leah stood before him now wearing only her foundation garments: corset, pantaloons, garter belt, silk stockings, high-top shoes. Her honey-brown hair was piled high and pinned in a mass of tight curls. She wore a cameo brooch on a ribbon tied tight at her throat and matching cameo earbobs.
She was . .. mouth-watering. Exquisite. Statuesque.
Her waist was impossibly narrow, her hips and legs slim and sleek. Her bosom swelled high and sharp and proud over a taut expanse of flat belly, and the texture of her skin was that of fresh-whipped cream.
“Do you like it?”
“I like it,” he admitted.
Leah smiled and turned in a slow and deliberately provocative pirouette so he could see and assess her from all sides.
“Yeah,” he said. “I like it.”
“Do you want to undress me, dear?”
“You go ahead. I think I’ll watch.” He crossed the room to the one armchair that was provided and settled into it. He brought out a cheroot and lighted it, taking his time about it and giving the smoke most of his attention for the moment. Finally he stuck the cigar in his jaw at a jaunty angle, crossed his legs, and gave Leah the nod. “Now I’m set t’ appreciate you proper.”
She half turned away from him and glanced briefly over a creamy shoulder as if to satisfy herself that he was still watching. Then she lifted one foot onto the side of the bed and leaned forward to begin unlacing her shoe. One shoe and then the other were slowly removed. She had fine legs. And a superb back as well, Longarm saw. She was sleek as an otter, with no spare flesh on her but with an abundance of absolutely everything that she needed.
She twisted, turned, posed for his benefit while pretending to act like a lady alone in her boudoir. After the shoes the stockings went. Then the corset laces.
Leah needed no corset to slim her waist, he saw. But she certainly needed help containing those magnificent breasts. They fairly leaped into view as the halves of the corset dropped away. Her tits were pale melons of proud flesh tipped with delicate pink. Despite their size they sagged only a little.
Leah paused in her show and winked at him. By now she wore only the garter belt and pantaloons. The garter belt went next. She hooked her thumbs into the elasticized
cloth and wriggled, stepping out of the skeletal garment and kicking it aside.
“Well, dear?"
Longarm smiled. “Everything,” he said. “I do want it all, Leah.”
She laughed, obviously enjoying the desire she could see in his eyes. Then she pushed the pantaloons down and kicked them off too. She was naked now save for the cameo jewelry.
“Perfect,” he said.
And so she was. Her pubis was as naked as her belly, shaven for some reason. Whatever that reason, Longarm liked the effect. On Leah this essentially unnatural change somehow made her body seem all one piece, one long, flowing, glorious work of art.
But warm art. And malleable.
Longarm stood and stubbed his cheroot out in a china dish. He beckoned, and Leah rushed to him. Pressed herself against him and lifted her mouth to his.
Her breath was warm and her tongue insistent. Her body molded itself gently to his. The jut of the erection that was trapped behind his fly bridged what little gap there was between them and prodded the softness of Leah’s belly.
He ran his hands up and down her back. She trembled and twisted in a slow, sensuous, involuntary dance, undulating beneath his touch like some great tawny cat wanting to be petted and fondled.
She pulled her lips back from his just enough to give her room to whisper, yet close enough that he could feel the movement of her mouth gently tickle him when she spoke. “Close your eyes, darling, and I’ll make this a night you’ll never forget.”
“It ain’t night yet,” he pointed out.
Leah smiled. “It will be, dear, before your breathing comes back to normal.”