CHAPTER THREE: Timeless

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More smut. Sorry? Okay, not really.

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Carlton was getting dressed to go out for his Civil War reenactment rehearsal Saturday morning, and Juliet was watching from the bed, where they had started the day with a fair amount of shared lust.

She admired his lean body and how he looked in the crisp uniform with the shiny buttons; the only word for him was dashing. He'd been letting his hair grow out a little the last couple of weeks in anticipation of the reenactment and she was having a hard time keeping her hands out of it. He didn't really mind, though.

Juliet wished he was willing to forego shaving for a week but he didn't think Chief Vick would go for the unkempt "in transition" look, so the facial hair would be fake on the day of the reenactment itself.

She got up off the bed to smooth down his jacket and toy with his buttons, and Carlton smiled at her, his blue eyes indicating complete awareness of her mood.

"I'm already dressed, and I'll be late if I let you do what you so obviously want to do," he said reasonably.

Juliet sighed. "I know. Would you give me just one—" But he was already kissing her, having tugged her tight against him, and she slid her arms around his neck and drew the kiss out as long as she could. She used her tongue to tempt him to stay a bit longer, loving the sound of his faster breathing as his kiss became more urgent. It was so easy to rev him up (and vice versa). She loved that she could.

Carlton valiantly set her away from him, those same blue eyes now dark with desire. "Dammit, woman, don't make me take this uniform off again."

Demurely, she put her hands behind her back and retreated… a single step. "You don't have to take the entire uniform off."

One of his dark eyebrows went up. He glanced at the clock.

Then he undid her robe, underneath which she conveniently wore nothing, and slowly, gently began to caress her bare skin.

Juliet's sigh was profound. She was already trembling. "I'm sorry," she whispered, "but I just have to have you sometimes, you know?"

Carlton grinned. "I can relate." He grasped her waist and lifted her up onto the dresser. The silky robe, once he pushed it off her shoulders, pooled around her hips, and he didn't need to ask her to part her thighs.

She undid his pants while he touched her—stroked her—made her quiver. His lips were so sensuous on her neck, trailing up to her jaw; his breath warm and soft against her cheek before he kissed her hard again, and when they were both ready, he pushed into her body while his tongue invaded her mouth.

Juliet clung to her Civil War man. His hands were on her hips, both anchoring her and drawing her to him, and she only stopped kissing him when her orgasm overtook her ability to multi-task.

This seemed to spur him on, to drive into her faster and harder. Juliet loved him like this, loved his need for her, loved everything about him. Looking into his eyes—lost in the passion those blue depths revealed—she was flung over the edge in the moments before he joined her, leaving them both gasping for air, kissing between gulping breaths, her damp nude body pressed to his half-dressed frame.

His hands were shaking when he let her go. He rested his head on her shoulder, breathing deeply, and she stroked his soft black-and-silver hair, calming him, whispering her love and hearing him whisper it back.

"I'll make it up to you, you know. If you're late."

He looked at her and smiled. "What if I'm not late?"

Juliet laughed. "Even then."

She already knew how, and after he left for rehearsal, she began to put her plan into action.

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Lassiter got home early in the evening, tired and dusty and already thinking about relaxing with his Juliet. He hadn't been able to quite put the memory of their dresser incident behind him—it remained vivid in his memory even as he directed his fellow soldiers to play their roles.

She had that effect on him. Daily. When they were on the job, they both focused on their responsibilities, but any time they were alone, they were generally fused together. These past few months had been rife, fraught and riddled with sensual encounters, and he couldn't imagine how things could be better.

Until he opened the door and saw her standing by the dining table holding a bottle of wine.

Juliet smiled. "Hey, soldier."

Lassiter swallowed, managed to turn and lock the door, and then stood and stared at her some more.

Her smile turned a bit evil. "Buy a girl a drink?"

He couldn't speak.

She was a saloon girl. She was all blue satin and black stockings—the dress cut high on one side to show him the bare skin of her thigh above a blue garter—and cleavage. Bare shoulders, hair piled high and a feather to top it off.

"Oh, my God," he said unsteadily. "You are the sexiest thing I have ever seen."

"Why thank you, Colonel. But won't you buy me a drink?" She gestured to two wine glasses on the table and handed him the bottle and a corkscrew.

"I'll buy you any damned thing you want." He uncorked the bottle efficiently despite staring at her smooth, creamy shoulders and the cleavage which was so tempting, and poured for both of them. "A toast?"

"To the soldiers," she agreed, taking the glass he offered and stepping closer. Her perfume was light and intoxicating. "To you, Colonel Lassiter."

"And to you, Miss O'Hara," he murmured, and kissed her before she could drink.

"Now, Colonel," she admonished, stepping away. "We drink before we celebrate in any other way." But she licked her perfect lips, and he was already a goner.

She pulled out one of the dining table chairs and did something especially wicked: she put one high-heeled foot up on the lower rung, leaning forward to rest her elbow on her knee.

This gave Lassiter an unobstructed view of what she was not wearing underneath the satin and lace skirt, above the black stockings and blue garter.

He was silent, lost in wonder.

"Colonel," she said smoothly, "you're staring."

"Damn straight," he breathed, and downed his wine.

Juliet laughed and finished hers off, too. "I'll have another. Won't you?"

"I'll have you." He advanced, but she again retreated, holding her empty glass out between them.

"Easy, Colonel."

"I hope you are," he said challengingly as he poured.

She laughed again. "Well, I'm certainly not this forward with every man who comes in here."

"Good." He held up his glass. "Another toast. To the beautiful love of my life, whom this colonel intends to ravish until one or both of us expires." He drank. "Preferably me first."

"Selfish," she tsked. "I vote we go out together."

"Deal." He'd had enough. He set his glass down, took hers away, tossed his hat to the table and yanked her into his arms.

The Civil War soldier and saloon girl—all fabric, buttons, lace and rustling—stood by the dining room table, kissing long and deep and hard.

Their hands were so clever, finding ways to touch each other through their respective layers of clothing, though to be sure Lassiter had it easier in one regard… in one area. Her naked flesh under the poofy satin skirt was silky heated perfection, and her soft moans were as crazy-making as her perfume and her sighs and the feel of her lips grazing his jaw.

Her nimble fingers undid his uniform buttons and relieved him of his belt, but Lassiter did not undress her. He helped divest himself of his jacket and shirt, and then nearly dragged her to the bedroom.

Dumping her on the bed—she was still graceful; Juliet could never be anything other than graceful—he kissed her and sat on the edge to pull his boots off. She stroked his bare back and gave him the shivers with kisses down his spine, her hands sliding around to his midriff and under the fabric of his pants.

"Oh, Colonel," she purred. "I do love exploring."

He knew he sounded a bit strangled when he told her how much he loved her explorations.

"Don't you want me to take this dress off?" she inquired when he joined her, his pants and shorts now on the floor.

"No," he growled, but tugged the top of her dress down to fully expose her breasts.

"Mmmm… okay… but don't rip anything. It's rented," she admitted breathlessly as he nibbled.

Lassiter had figured as much, but also figured he'd pay whatever it cost if there was a sudden need to tear the dress from her body.

"I'm a cliché," he said, "lusting after a woman in a saloon girl costume, but damn, Juliet. Damn."

The dress was gathered around her waist, and he knelt between her parted legs admiring the black stockings and how devastatingly tempting she was, pale skin contrasting with the blue and black fabric and lace, her hair falling loose and haloing her beautiful flushed face.

"Lust is good." She reached out and stroked his bare chest. "Show me what you want, Colonel. Give me what I need." Her tone was pure eroticism, and Lassiter gave up all semblance of gentlemanly behavior for awhile.

Actually, for many hours.

Juliet seemed quite happy to be ravished repeatedly. Lassiter was certainly happy to be ravished right back.

The dress survived the night relatively unscathed, and the feather saw some action too (they agreed they'd have to replace that), and just before Lassiter passed out from utter sexual exhaustion, he told her she'd more than made up for making him late for the rehearsal that morning.

Juliet kissed his temple. "Doesn't mean I won't try it again."

He was a practical man, careful with a dollar. "We'd better see about buying that costume, then."

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