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    One Breath Away
    One Breath Away
    One Breath Away
    Ebook145 pages1 hour

    One Breath Away

    By Michal Scott

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    About this ebook

    Sentenced to hang for a crime she didn’t commit, former slave Mary Hamilton was exonerated at literally the last gasp. She returns to Safe Haven, broken and resigned to live alone. She’s never been courted, cuddled or spooned, and now no man could want her, not when sexual satisfaction comes only with the thought of asphyxiation. But then the handsome stranger who saved her shows up, stealing her breath from across the room and promising so much more. Wealthy, freeborn-Black, Eban Thurman followed Mary to Safe Haven, believing the mysteriously exotic woman was foretold by the stars. He must marry her to reclaim his family farm. But first he must help her heal, and to do that means revealing his own predilection for edgier sex. Hope ignites along with lust until the past threatens to keep them one breath away from love…
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherThe Wild Rose Press
    Release dateSep 16, 2016
    ISBN9781509208715
    One Breath Away

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      Book preview

      One Breath Away - Michal Scott

      You

      One Breath Away

      by

      Michal Scott

      This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

      One Breath Away

      COPYRIGHT © 2016 by Michal Scott

      All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

      Contact Information: info@thewildrosepress.com

      Cover Art by Angela Anderson

      The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

      PO Box 708

      Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

      Visit us at www.thewilderroses.com

      Publishing History

      First Scarlet Rose Edition, 2016

      Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-0871-5

      Published in the United States of America

      Dedication

      To Catherine Phillips, who gave me life, and Jeanette Sweringen, who urged me to give life to my characters.

      Chapter One

      Arousal—fondly remembered and sorely missed—sizzled between Mary Hamilton’s well-rounded thighs. Moisture coated her nether lips and threatened to stoke the sizzle into a blaze. The sensation surprised her, as did the owner of the gaze that lit the flame.

      Eban Thurman stood against an opposite wall of the town’s community hall. Although the room was wide as two barns and filled with revelers, neither the distance nor the presence of the crowd lessened the power of his gaze. He studied her with a curiosity that didn’t grope with disdain, but caressed with approval.

      With respect.

      This kind of appreciation was never given to women as dark and as large as she. Gratitude heated her face.

      Gratitude and embarrassment. Her lavender toilet water couldn’t hide the fragrance of arousal. She shuddered with shame then glanced around. Had anyone else detected the odor? All the merrymakers seemed too caught up in the rhythmic fast fiddling and foot-stomping of Safe Haven’s seventh annual Juneteenth Revel to notice her discomfort.

      In 1872 Texas who took note of a black woman who ain’t been asked to wed?

      Yet Eban’s perusal said not only did he take note, but he liked what he saw.

      Ooo, Mother Hawthorne, Felicity Parker teased. The sandy-haired, light-skinned beauty smiled as only a twenty-something-no-longer-a-virgin woman like her could. Your nephew’s a-lookin’ Mountain’s way. She eyed Mary from head to toe. Does he like his berries big, black, and buxom?

      Could be. Ya know what they say… Widow Clemma Hawthorne’s smile grew into a grin. She sat on Mary’s right and whispered to Felicity on Mary’s left. The darker the berry, the sweeter the juice.

      The mischief rife in Clemma’s tone shone in her gaze as she waggled her eyebrows at Mary.

      Felicity looked Eban up and down with approval.

      If he likes ’em dark, I’ll be glad to blacken up for him. Lord knows I’s tired of beddin’ po’ boys. Whoo chile… She fanned herself and grinned. I was in line behind him when he made his deposit at the Savin’ and Loan. His gold rushed across that counter like freedmen hurryin’ to claim their forty acres and a mule. She turned and nudged Mary. You juicy enough for that rich he-man, Blackberry?

      Mountain. Blackberry. Mary grimaced then shrugged off the monikers with a pride she faked. The field is all yours. I don’t pretend to have your talent when it comes to men.

      Aw, don’t be like that, Mountain. I’m just teasin’ you. Felicity patted Mary’s knee. "Even from here I can see his manroot’s bulgin’ in my direction."

      Hmph, Widow Hawthorne snorted. Ain’t ya the cocksure one.

      Felicity batted her eyelashes. I’ve had enough cocks to know. She returned her gaze to Eban’s groin then licked her lips with a cat-ate-the-cream smugness. I know how to catch the owner’s attention. Watch.

      She wiggled her bottom on the seat of her chair then threw her shoulders back so her gingham bodice strained at the seams, accentuating the contours of breasts as round as musk-melons. The jaws of men standing nearby swung open like broken fence gates. Their eyes widened as round as the breasts they now ogled.

      See? Felicity beamed at Widow Hawthorne and Mary. Eban’s cock will be crowin’ in me tonight.

      Mary turned away and fingered the keloid hidden by the high, lace collar of her blouse. Eban’s gaze had neither shifted to Felicity nor lessened its focus. If anything, it intensified. Mary’s stomach quivered. Perhaps if she closed her eyes, the effect of Eban’s gaze would die.

      It didn’t. Sightlessness only heightened the stimulation.

      Whoo doggy! Widow Hawthorne’s rasp sawed through the air above the square dance calls and the evening’s gaiety. "He is comin’ this way, Mary."

      Mary’s eyes opened wide in disbelief. Her heart throbbed in her ears.

      God created something unique from Africa’s ebony clay when He made this one. Eban’s broad nose and high cheekbones belonged on a statue in a museum for all to enjoy. Legs long enough to cross the length of Texas in five strides brought Eban in her direction. An expensively tailored jacket hung off shoulders that could span the banks of the Rio Grande. A ruby glinted in his left earlobe and conspired with his shaved head to give him an air of mystery and menace.

      Mary closed her eyes and again tried to resist his allure.

      The devil often appears as an angel of light.

      She sucked in a breath, opened her eyes, and gnawed her lip. This angel of light hadn’t stopped his approach. Clenching her thighs hadn’t stifled the desire swelling within her privates.

      Hadn’t smothered the hope reviving in her heart.

      Felicity slanted her head to the right. A coy smile gave the angle weight.

      And what brings you to our side of the room, stranger? She repeated her breast-swelling move and grinned, peacock proud. See something you like?

      Eban tapped a finger in salute at his brow. More than like, miss.

      His smile turned up the heat in his gaze. Mary frowned, painfully aware the smell of her passion lingered in the air, despite the woolen barrier of her skirt.

      He stepped forward so his hand-stitched boots stood toe-to-toe with Mary’s second-hand shoes. Eban Thurman, at your service, Miss Hamilton. May I get you something to drink?

      At her service? The air congealed. Mary gasped, trying to suck in air too solid to inflate her lungs.

      No—no, thank you. I’m not thirsty. Her stutter mimicked the tremor between her thighs. She clasped her hands and planted them hard against her lap.

      It’s a really hot night. He turned his hand palm up in a silent plea. Perhaps you’d find a waltz more cooling. He eased his fingers into her clenched hands. May I beg the honor of this dance?

      Beg?

      Yes, Miss Hamilton. He tilted his head, slanting his smile to the right. Beg.

      You don’t strike me as the begging type, Mr. Thurman.

      To everything there is a season and a time for every purpose under heaven. He tongue-swiped his full lips as if he’d just tasted something he wanted to taste again. I know when it’s time to beg.

      She pursed her lips into a frown, fought back the urge to grovel and won. Barely.

      The fingers around hers, clean and huge and strangely slender, hadn’t moved, hadn’t trembled. Their stillness aroused her. His stillness aroused her. Her lips quivered. She inhaled deeply against the surrender summoned by that tiny tremor.

      Resist the devil and he will flee.

      Silently she called upon the truth in this scripture for rescue.

      The devil waited. She stared at the hand on hers, helpless against the appeal, the allure of temptation.

      She swallowed hard, opened her mouth to say no, but her tongue refused to cooperate. She huffed out a breath and shook her head. I—I can’t. I don’t know how to waltz.

      Well, you’re in luck. His lips bowed in a smile, full, broad, and hypnotizing. I’m an excellent teacher and I bet you’re a fast learner. He gave her fingers a squeeze. Shall we?

      He really wanted to dance with her. She blinked, speechless. A warning voice protested.

      Resist.

      Her heart countered.

      Surrender.

      She firmed her lips, heaved a sigh then accepted his invitation. Felicity’s sputtered shock and Widow Hawthorne’s happy cackle accompanied them to the middle of the dance floor.

      He placed his fingertips respectfully but firmly above the rise of her buttocks and held her in place against him. A tickle invaded the wool of her skirt where the tip of his middle finger rested at the head of her crack. Pleasure tripped up her spine and trickled between her thighs. But, from the recesses of remembered experience, a voice of caution persisted.

      He wants something, Mary. Beware.

      Why—why do you want to dance with me?

      He smiled with the serpent slyness that probably charmed Eve. I don’t think you’d believe me if I told you.

      I might.

      He turned his head slightly. Really? Your practiced calm says otherwise.

      She raised an eyebrow. Practiced calm?

      The face you present to the world until something touches your heart. He gestured to his right. Like when that baby there cried. Your expression changed to one of concern, then changed to one of contentment when his mother satisfied his hunger.

      Mary blew a breath through her mouth. This man was studying her. Really studying her. Should she be flattered or worried?

      The one-two-three, one-two-three magic of the waltz began. He guided her in its dips and glides, through its rises and falls. The awkwardness attributed to her by past dance partners didn’t raise its ugly head. Her spirit lightened then soared until that still, small voice sounded the alarm.

      You were fooled by another man and his fancy manners. Don’t be fooled by this one.

      Hints of bay rum mingled with a manly scent against whose lure she struggled then lost. Once again her toilet water failed to hide the salty scent of her arousal.

      Eban pinned her with a not-so-casual scrutiny. Could

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