Читать книгу Night Moves - Eden Bradley, Eden Bradley - Страница 4

Kate leaned into the hard edge of the metal-framed window as the train pulled out of the station. Klamath Falls, Oregon. The least exciting town in existence. But her pulse was thrumming, anyway.

She always felt that lovely anticipation, that thrill, when she was on a train. But the biggest thrill lay ahead, after the other passengers had fallen asleep. She could hardly wait.

Her gaze caught the flash of lights on the slowly retreating platform, then there was nothing but the velvet night. Nothing to see in this part of the country. No scenery, no city lights. Didn’t matter. What mattered was being there, feeling that motion, that sense of possibility, of going.

It was nearly midnight: far too late for the dining car. The train had been delayed, leaving her sitting in the quiet, small-town station for hours. Good thing she’d stopped to eat as soon as she’d arrived from Ashland. Klamath Falls shut down early, and there was nothing but an old candy machine wedged between the ancient rows of wooden benches inside the station.

But that part was over now. Now there was just the luxurious idea of the long, slow ride ahead.

Something sexy about trains. She wasn’t sure what it was. But she always swore she could feel that rocking motion hum through her entire body like one enormous vibrator. She was beginning to melt a little all over at the thought.

Have to be alone soon.

Thank God it was late. The lights were kept low, and most of the other passengers would be asleep soon.

She leaned back in her seat, allowed the rolling sensation to lull her, felt it pulse between her thighs.

This part was almost as good as the rest, the anticipation of her little adventures. She’d done this on trains all over the country; she never tired of it. Didn’t even matter too much where she was going. Going was the important thing. The motion, the smooth, forward thrust of iron.

She stayed in her seat for another half hour, absorbing the hard whisper of tons of metal moving beneath her. Finally, she couldn’t stay still any longer.

It’s time.

She got up, hefted her overnight bag over her shoulder and moved silently down the center aisle, passing between row after row of passengers nested in for the night. But for her, the night was just beginning.

She pulled open the door, stepped onto the noisy platform between cars, opened the next door and slipped inside as quietly as she could, kept going until she reached the sleeper compartments.

She took a deep breath before opening that last door. Then she moved through, easy as water, sliding the heavy door shut behind her.

She stood in the hallway, getting her sea legs, listening, her heart a loud thrumming in her own ears. And the longer she stood there, the more the heat built between her thighs, the seam of her worn jeans rubbing there as she swayed with the motion of the train.

Soon…

The car was empty. She moved down the row, quietly trying the first doorknob. Locked. Damn.

She moved on, tried the next one. Locked. One by one, she made her way down to the other end of the car, slipped out with a sigh of frustration and went on to the next car.

Just as quiet. Her head was filled with the gentle roar of the engines, the snick of the wheels on the tracks. She stood a moment, savoring the sound, the sensation, before moving on. The first door was locked. But the second turned under the gentle pressure of her hand.

Ah-ha!

She pulled the door back, peered into the small, darkened compartment, her pulse hammering in triumph and the flickering idea of getting caught. There was nothing on the floor or the padded bench seat, no luggage, nothing to indicate anyone was in there. She stopped anyway, listening, but all she heard was the night rushing by outside the window. She slipped inside, closing the door behind her.

Her skin was heating all over now, her body humming with need. Dropping her bag onto the bench seat, she moved to the window, leaning her weight against the cold glass so she could really feel the motion. She stayed there for several moments, perfectly still, absorbing it all: the rumbling of the train, the vibration of it moving though her body. She pressed her breasts against the glass, the cold of the hard, sleek surface bringing her nipples up through the cotton of her T-shirt.

She was wet already. Had been for the last half hour.

With a quiet sigh, she unzipped her jeans, slipped one hand down between her thighs, beneath the lace of her panties.

Oh, yes.

She brushed at her mound, but the ache was too strong, too insistent. Like an eager lover, she pressed on her clitoris, the nub of it hard against her palm. Leaning harder into the window, she let the motion of the train move through the back of her hand. Pleasure swam in her system, hot, insistent. And when she slid two fingers into her soaking wet slit, between the swollen folds, she gasped.

Then it was too late for any show of teasing, any restraint. She plunged her fingers in deeper, rubbed the heel of her hand hard against her clit, the train moving beneath her like some monolithic lover. Pleasure rammed into her, even as her fingers did, deep, deeper.

Yes…

She rubbed harder, her body arcing into her hand, into the side of the car. She was hot all over, melting, her legs weak. And still she worked herself mercilessly, her hand and the rocking of the train drawing her climax into her. Pleasure rose, crested, and she pressed hard onto her clit, thrust her fingers in deep, and came into her hand. Moaning, gasping, as sensation overwhelmed her.

So good, always, her secret perversion. She smiled to herself.

A quiet voice came out of the dark. “Nice. Beautiful.”

“Jesus!” She yanked her hand out of her pants, nearly fell onto the vinyl-covered bench.

“I’m sorry. But you came in here while I was sleeping, and I woke up…and then I couldn’t interrupt you.”

Her face was burning. With embarrassment, with anger, with fear. And her heart was racing at a thousand miles an hour.

“You scared the shit out of me!” She zipped her jeans with clumsy fingers. “Look, I’m…I’m going. Okay? I’ll just…disappear.”

“I wish you wouldn’t.” The voice was calm, soothing. “I’m going to turn on the light. Don’t be scared, okay?”

Kate grabbed her big bag, was backing up to the door.

“I’m going to go. You…you don’t need to tell anyone I was here, all right?”

God, what if this guy was some sort of pervert? But what was she, then?

The light flicked on; just a small amber glow lighting up the sleeping bunk. She blinked.

He was sitting on the edge of the bunk, all classic California surfer guy, his tousled, dirty blond hair sweeping the top of his shoulders, his neatly trimmed goatee a few shades darker. He was wearing a pair of wrinkled cargo pants and nothing else. And he was beautiful.

She couldn’t move.

“Wow,” he said.

“What?”

He smiled at her, blinking his eyes. They were pale, but there wasn’t enough light for her to make out the shade. Gray? Green?

“What?” she repeated, her hand tightening on the strap of her heavy bag.

Why didn’t she just get the hell out of there?

“You’re pretty.”

She laughed. “You sound surprised. But I’m not pretty.”

“You are. And I guess I didn’t expect you to be when it was dark and I was…watching you. Except that I could see the silhouette of your hair.”

She reached a self-conscious hand to her long, unruly blond curls. “What about my hair?”

“It’s beautiful.” His voice was deep and husky with sleep. Sexy. Or maybe it was just her body still simmering with the last threads of her orgasm. Or his beautiful face, his hard body…

“You must be blind.”

“No, I saw everything.”

“Shit. Look, I’m going to go.”

She reached for the doorknob, pulled on it.

“I liked it.”

Why did that stop her cold?

He pushed off from the bunk, the tiny train cabin too small for him to do anything but stand right behind her. She swore she could feel the heat emanating from his body, carrying his scent. Patchouli. Classic surfer scent. It made her shiver.

“Don’t go,” he said again. “My name’s Ian.”

She turned her head, looking over her shoulder at him, and he was right there. Too close. This wasn’t the way it was supposed to go. It was all about her and the train. And he’d ruined it.

Hadn’t he?

But her body was still loose and warm from her climax, and Ian was making her heat up all over again.

“Tell me your name,” he said quietly. Gently.

“You’re not going to report me?”

“I’d be an idiot if I did.”

He was grinning at her now, but even though his eyes glittering in the half dark were all heat, there was nothing leering in his gaze.

She smiled back at him. “So, have you always been a voyeur?”

“Not until tonight. Have you always been an exhibitionist?”

“Yes. Always.”

“I think I’ve just discovered that I like that in a girl.”

They stood for a moment, silent, smiling, while desire hummed in the air between them like piano wire strung tight, sending out one long, lovely note.