Samantha paced up and down the carpeted hotel-room floor. Her new crinoline swung in an irritable arc, bouncing off the bed and the wardrobe and just missing the washstand when she made a hasty turn. The green silk whispered as it swished over the modified hoops of the crinoline to trail on the floor behind her. Lace spilled over the bodice front and adorned the wide sleeves of her gown, lace that matched the undergarments concealed beneath the acres of skirt.
The stockings she wore were fine silk and the shoes were barely slippers. The only thing the dratted man hadn't provided was a corset, but the gown had obviously been adapted to accommodate that unfashionable lack. Samantha didn't even want to think about how Sloan had managed to have all these clothes put together in the short length of time he'd been gone. It spoke volumes of his relationship with some dressmaker.
She wasn't certain which irritated her the most, that he didn't consider her wardrobe adequate to be seen with him, or that he considered her the kind of woman he must reward with clothes. She alternately considered scratching his eyes out or flinging the wretched gown at him, but she was bound by one major restraint—-he'd promised to help find her father and this was his way of doing it.
By the time Sloan finally put in an appearance, Sam was barely able to speak. She flung the astronomically expensive cashmere shawl at him as he walked through the door and was reaching for the box of gloves when he grabbed her wrist.
"What in hell's the matter with you?" He caught her other wrist when she swung her fist at him.
"You! Who do you think you are? What do you think I am? Where did you get all this fancy gear? And why in hell did you think I ought to wear it?" Sam practically screamed the questions at him, ineffectually swinging her arms in an attempt to strike him.
Sloan caught her flailing arms more securely and held them at her waist with one of his own. Pressed back against his hard body, she scarcely noticed as her hoop went sailing out to the side. His other hand rested right below her breast, rubbing at the underside, and he wasn't pretending he didn't notice. One finger reached to tentatively stroke higher.
"I should have known a damned little hellcat wouldn't appreciate my efforts. You were the one worried about your appearance. I suppose you'd be happier if I dragged you in front of some of the most influential men in the state while you're wearing your mother's made-over Sunday gown?"
“There's nothing wrong with my made-over gowns," Sam said with a sniff, but she knew she was lying. The linsey-woolsey without petticoats hung on her like a sack. It might be adequate for watering horses, but not for meeting important men who might know her father. She tried to elbow Sloan and distract him from her breast.
"Fine. You can wear your made-over gown when we go out to dinner tonight. We haven't got time for you to change right now. The board is having a meeting this afternoon. We're invited to join them."
He released her, and Samantha swung around to stare at him. He had actually gotten them in to see the railroad board! How had he done that?
Sloan was wearing his newly pressed frock coat and the shirt with the ruffle down the front. His cravat was neatly tied, and his embroidered silk vest was buttoned. He had shaved, and even had his hair trimmed. Samantha stared at the handsome stranger staring back at her and muttered a curse. She had agreed to go to bed with this man who could have any woman he crooked a finger at? No wonder he'd found her disappointing.
Sloan's eyes narrowed at her silence. "What's wrong? Do I look that bad?"
Startled by this admission of unease, Sam blinked, then shook her head. "No, of course not. You look fine. I just . .. You . .." She closed her eyes and sighed. There was no way of explaining it. He was more than she knew, and she was still peeling off layers. She would never know the real Sloan Talbott.
He cupped her chin and gave her a swift kiss. His fingers were hard and possessive as they caressed her throat. When he lifted his head again, he murmured, "We'll have this discussion later, when all our finery is on the floor."
Lord, but the way he said that made her shiver and want to strip off all her clothes right now. Her desire must have been blatant in her eyes because the look Sloan gave her practically smoldered. He almost looked regretful when he stepped away.
"It's a damn good thing this coat is long," he muttered obscurely as he picked up the shawl and threw it at her.
Sam tried to pretend she didn't know what he meant as she sailed out the door ahead of him, but she couldn't help glancing swiftly at his hips. The frock coat covered everything interesting.
The railroad board met in a long, elegantly furnished room in one of the banks. As Sam and Sloan were ushered into the presence of these men who meant to transform the continent, Sam tried to be properly appreciative of the honor. Instead, she couldn't help noticing that they were just men, and not particularly distinguished ones at that.
"Good to see you again, Talbott," one of the men with dark side-whiskers said as they entered. "Understand your mining ventures are doing well these days."
Sam tried to look politely disinterested, but catching Sloan in another lie didn't sit easily. He'd told her family he owned just a small quicksilver mine. She should have known he didn't need a town full of miners for that.
"I reckon timber will be worth more than mining in the long run," Sloan replied laconically. "I'd like you gentlemen to meet Miss Samantha Neely, a family friend."
Sam nodded a greeting and tried to smile pleasantly at this circle of avaricious men staring at her as if she were a stake ready for claiming. The one at the far corner of the table frowned slightly as Sloan rattled off their names. That man recognized her name, she was sure of it.
"Miss Neely's father disappeared some time after leaving my territory. We've tracked him here. His opinions sometimes run counter to prevailing thought, but he's a talented inventor. We thought one of you might have availed yourself of his talents. He expressed interest in seeking you out."
That was a diplomatic way of putting it. Sam watched the angry tic at the corner of the mouth of the man at the end of the table. She'd wager he was carrying around a whole lot more anger than Sloan, and that was saying something.
Sloan gave her father's name and described him. Sam knew she ought to tell these men how wonderful her father was, but she could sense they not only wouldn't listen, but also that they'd already made up their minds. They didn't mean to tell her anything.
The whiskered man spoke up when Sloan stopped speaking. "Your father sounds like the kind of man we could use out here, Miss Neely." He effectively dismissed her by directing his gaze toward Sloan. "He might have been able to figure out how to get those rails through the pass without those damned expensive snowsheds, pardon my language. But I can't say that I've met him, I'm sorry."
She couldn't tell if he lied, but she judged some of the others guilty of lies of omission. They merely nodded their heads in agreement with the speaker, but the undercurrent in the room made her uneasy.
Sloan caught her elbow to take her out, but Sam spoke softly before he could lead her away. "My father is a gentle, generous man. He might have opinions that people don't like, but he's never harmed a soul. My mother and my sisters are devastated by his disappearance. My uncle died while bringing us out here to locate him. He left a son who needs a man's hand to guide him. If there is anything you can do, any word you might have heard, I beg you to let us know. I will never be able to just let the matter drop."
Sloan's hand pinched her arm, but she ignored him while she met the gaze of each man in that room. One looked away. One looked sympathetic, but essentially uninterested. Another glanced at his watch. Furious, she spun on her heel and marched out without need of Sloan's support.
"Dammit, Sam, you shouldn't have said that," he muttered as she marched through the building and out into the street. "Now they're going to have to keep an eye on us."
"Good. Maybe they'll try to disappear us as they did my father, and we'll find out where he is." She stalked down the walk without any idea of where she was going.
"We don't have any evidence that they know anything about your father." Sloan grabbed her arm and held her pace to a stroll.
She would have bruises where his fingers held her. She glared at the manacle of Sloan's hand, then up at his stubbornly set jaw. "They know him all right. I could see the guilt in their eyes. I have half a mind to go back there right now and listen through the walls."
"You'd be looking for trouble then. Those men didn't get where they are by being polite."
She scowled at him. "You should know."
Sloan squeezed her elbow tighter and drew her to his side. "Much as I might have liked to, I didn't murder your father."
She knew that. She wouldn't have done what she had with him if she thought that. What she was going to do again. She flushed and looked away as they approached the hotel.
"That's better," Sloan grunted as they entered the building. "You keep thinking those kind of thoughts, and we'll get along just fine."
"I've contemplated murdering you since I first rode into town, Sloan Talbott," she muttered beneath her breath as they crossed the lobby. "And that's all I'm contemplating now."
He gave her a swift look that reminded her someone had been trying to murder him, but she dismissed the notion immediately. They'd caught that man.
"You're a lousy liar, Miss Neely. You might want to murder me, but that isn't what you're contemplating now. You're wondering how long it will take me to get up under your skirts again."
Sam turned to smack him, but he caught her wrist before she knocked them both down the stairs they climbed. They had almost reached the room, and her head spun giddily with the knowledge. It wasn't completely dark yet. They couldn't do that now. There were too many other things to do.
"We need to ask questions at the livery," she reminded him. "And all the hotels."
Sloan took the key from his pocket and unlocked the bedroom door. "There are dozens of liveries and hundreds of hotels. That's what I'm paying Hawkins to do." He pushed her through the open door.
"It's not night! There are plenty of things we could do." She wheeled and tried to get past him.
Sloan shut the door and locked it, dropping the key in his pocket. "There are plenty of things we can do, all right, and we can do them right here." He stripped off his coat and threw it across a chair, his gaze never leaving Sam.
She was melting, and he wasn't even touching her. Why had she ever thought those eyes of his were icy? They were like white-hot coals right now. Her gaze dropped anxiously to his hands. He was unfastening his vest.
"Sloan, you promised." She was startled that the words came out as just a whisper. She couldn't seem to manage any more as his vest joined his coat and she could see the hard planes of his chest outlined against his shirt.
"I promised to help you find your father, and I am. I called in a lot of favors to get that meeting with the board today. I've got queries out all over town with men who are in a position to have met your father. I hired Hawk. There isn't anything else we can do but wait."
His expression said there was something they very well could do while they waited. Samantha swallowed hard. It had been one thing to be overwhelmed by the moment back at the ocean, but it was quite another to discard her clothes cold-bloodedly as he did now. As curious as she might be about what he could do to her in that bed, she couldn't bring herself to assist in her own seduction.
"It's almost dinnertime," she pointed out nervously. "You promised to take me to dinner."
"I changed my mind." Sloan took the chair and began pulling off his shoes. "Do you need help with that gown?"
"No. Yes. I . . ." She couldn't say it. He was across the room before she had to.
She gasped as he swung her around and quickly unfastened the row of buttons at her back. The beautiful satin bow went tumbling next. When she didn't move swiftly enough, Sloan shoved the sleeves of her gown off her shoulders and down her arms and located the tapes that held her skirt and crinolines together. The whole concoction drifted to the floor, leaving her standing in nothing but drawers, chemise, and stockings. Having a man like Sloan want her this badly was riveting.
Sloan stood behind her, but Sam knew he was looking at her. She could feel the heat of his gaze on the bare expanse of flesh revealed above the top of her chemise. He'd bought this damned revealing silk underwear for just that reason, she realized. She covered herself with her hands, but that was a mistake. His hands immediately followed, wrapping themselves around her fingers, pulling them apart. She could feel the brush of his knuckles against her breasts, and she shuddered.
"This time will be much better, Samantha. When I enter you, you won't want me to stop."
She hadn't wanted him to stop last time. She was shameless. She didn't want him to stop what he was doing right now. He had shoved her hands away and was massaging her breasts, lifting them, caressing them, making them swell and tingle and ache for a more intimate touch. When he finally untied the chemise ribbons and reached beneath the fabric to touch her, she nearly collapsed in his arms.
"That's it, Samantha. Don't fight me. Just let it happen. It's a perfectly natural reaction between a man and a woman."
His voice was soothing, but she scarcely heard the words. His fingers had found the bare crests of her breasts and played them shamelessly. She was a quivering mass of raw nerve endings, and she knew he hadn't even begun.
He nibbled her ear. While one hand bared her breast and caressed it, his other hand slid downward, stroking her abdomen, reaching lower. When he finally touched her between her legs, she threw her head back and a low groan escaped her throat.
"That's it, my love, just let it happen." Sloan bent his head and kissed her exposed throat, then lifted her with one arm around her waist.
When his mouth closed around her nipple, Samantha gave a scream of pleasure.
A moment later, she lay flat on her back across the bed, watching Sloan rip off his shirt.