Page 27 of Blowing Off Steam

“Yes, yes,” he muttered stupidly.

He was hugely disappointed when she unhooked her foot from his boot and set her toes on the floor. Her sweet, sherry-scented breath came in little puffs against his throat. She whipped the necktie from his throat and onto the carpet. “Will it give you enough gold to send back East? To your sister?”

Field grabbed her by the wrists, to stay her exploring hands. Her eyes were moist and entreating, and her lower lip trembled. “Yes, I think it will be enough for now. But Calliope—”

“Call me Callie,” she said warmly.

He had to smile at that. “Callie,” he said experimentally. Then he remembered his serious mission. “Callie. I must confess to you, because I’ve become completely sweet on you. The money isn’t really for my sister Cynthia. It’s for my son. Benjamin.”

Calliope stilled. Even her ass under his palms ceased its frenzied gyrations. “Son?” she uttered.

“Yes,” Field admitted, sorry that all the lust had immediately been sucked from the room. But it was necessary to give her all the facts in this connection. “I was married in Troy, New York, but my wife died in childbirth. The child Benjamin developed consumption, and I was unable to care for him alone, particularly if I needed to get work done—I worked as an engineering professor—so my sister took him in. But now he’s worsened and needs to be put into an asylum. Cynthia can no longer care for him, and I’m afraid it might be contagious. I don’t want her to sicken as well.”

“Oh!” Calliope held Field at arm’s length and regarded him with her crystalline blue eyes. “I see. That’s completely understandable, Field. I’ve seen many consumptives. It’s quite a harrowing disease. Does he cough blood incessantly? Fever? Have tubercles in his abdomen?”

Field closed his eyes patiently. He didn’t like to think about it. It was in God’s hands. He didn’t like things he had no control over. “Yes, yes, but that’s not what I wanted to discuss, Calliope—Callie. I wanted to let you know about Benjamin so you’d understand why it sometimes seems that I’m taking large risks, such as the current risk with those corpses.”

“Corpses?” Callie mouthed.

Field barreled ahead, all in a rush now. “I came to California like everyone else hoping to strike it rich in gold, and I was nearly at the end of my rope when I met Rushy. Rushy has been a godsend for me, and now you’ve been sent to me—”

“So I can cook for your passengers.”

“No!” It was Rushy’s turn to shake her by the shoulders. “That’s not it at all, Callie!” When her head wobbled loosely on her neck, he realized he was becoming overzealous with emotion, so instead he stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. “I’m extremely sweet on you. You’ve been sent to remind me that my heart isn’t dead, that it’s possible to once again feel strong yet tender emotions for a woman. When Maurice gave me the message tonight you wanted to see me, it was all I could think about until I could get away from those damned muckety-mucks in the dining room.” Damn. He should have brought her a gift. Words were free—gifts cost money.

But her reaction was Field’s gift. She became all soft around the edges, fairly batted her lashes at him, and purred, “Why, Captain Trueworthy. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were falling for me.”

While Field had a feeling she was only play-acting a role she had played many hundreds of times with customers, having been conditioned to do so, he once again took her jaw in his palms and kissed her. This time it was gentle rather than frenzied, and he tasted the strawberries she had eaten—a china bowl of them sat on her washstand. When he moved his hand beneath the shoulder of her dressing gown, he felt the powder she’d sprinkled there, satiny like the material of the robe.

Just as she was sighing and swooning against him like the heroine in a romance novel, a banging directly behind his head brought Field back to reality. They broke their kiss with shocked gasps, Calliope with her hand held to her heart.

“Goodness!” she declared, stepping away from Field. He now saw she wore delicate heeled slippers with red silk flowers between her exposed toes. The elongation gave her the look of an erotic crane, and he briefly wondered what she’d look like balanced on the chair back while he took her from behind.

“Field, you old dog!” Rushy yelled from the other side of the door, his voice rising above the racket of the saloon crowd.

“Oh. I forgot.” Field put his hand on the knob. “Rushy was outside, waiting with me.”

“He’s been waiting this entire time?” Calliope exclaimed. “Why, let the poor man in!”

Rushy closed the door and fell against it. “Thanks. I was being bored to death by some gabbers who would not dry up.” Exhaling, he rubbed his hands and looked around expectantly. “So what’s up? Is our…” He looked sideways at Field. “Our o-fuyung plan all right with Miss Calliope?”

Field started to answer, but Calliope cut him off impatiently. “Yes, yes,” she said, going to Rushy and playing with his cravat. A pang of jealousy hit Field’s stomach, sickening him. He was the one courting Calliope, but she’d developed such an easy, playful, sexy rapport with Rushy. And Field could hardly prevent her from touching Rushy when he couldn’t keep his hands off the pilot himself. That was the rub—he understood Calliope’s attraction to the man. Last night, with Rushy’s cock convulsing under his hand, Field had been imbued with a fresh sense of power. Merely by squeezing and massaging the meaty length of that tool, Rushy had become so hot he’d discharged inside his own trousers, and that stimulating power had further enflamed Field. Back in his stateroom, he would’ve frigged himself, but his eyes were shut before he even fell into his bunk.

So now, as Calliope tossed Rushy’s necktie to the floor alongside his own, Field tried to stifle the jealousy. He, too, wanted to slide the velvet frock coat from Rushy’s powerful shoulders and fling it on the bunk. He, too, wanted to slip the buttons of his shirt and paw the muscular pectoral. Field went to stand close to the couple, to ensure Calliope was undressing the pilot correctly. He assisted by unbuckling the gun belt and placing the holster on the washstand. A tall oval mirror on its own stand nearby intrigued Field. From the front, the tantalizing line of hair furrowed down the middle of Rushy’s lean abdomen, disappearing beneath his broadfall. But in the mirror, the exquisite slope of his lower back was evident, his muscular hindquarters tautly flexed.

Calliope was saying, “Yes, something about corpses? Whatever—I’m sure you fellows made a smart deal.”

“Well, you have to understand this whole corpse business,” said Field, sliding the shirt down Rushy’s arms. “It’s not half as morbid as it sounds.”

“Right,” said Rushy. “The o-fuyung will just be stuffed inside their body cavities.” Once the shirt joined the pile on the floor, Rushy’s hands were up in the shape of melons, heading for Calliope’s chest.

“No touching!” Field snapped automatically, slapping Rushy’s hands away.

“Yes, no touching,” Calliope agreed, amused. She shot Field a look that he interpreted as loving, and his heart swelled.

But Rushy was not easily placated. He confronted Field with hands on hips. “Why no touching? Yesterday we both squeezed those monumental titties. Greased her up, punished her. Why on a sudden are we smack and smooth out of sharing?”

“Mayhap you’re the one who needs punishing now,” said Field, swooping down to grab one of the cravats from the pile. He had no idea what he was aiming at, but the idea stimulated him so intensely his cock strained at his buttons. Last night when Calliope had pinioned Rushy’s hands behind his back, Field had been so steamed he’d near about shot in his own trousers. There was something about a masculine stallion of a man helplessly bucking at the bit that really put the hook in Field.