by Eva Chase
“I hope you weren’t too bothered by the wait,” she said in that sweet yet assured voice of hers. “I was in the middle of something when I got your call.”
I’d managed to disrupt her planning again at least somewhat, then, had I? A minor victory in itself.
“I can’t complain, knowing how unexpected this visit was,” I said easily. “It’s good to see you’re not having any trouble keeping yourself occupied here.”
She made a humming sound, faintly amused. “And I’m sure you’d like to know what I’m occupying myself with. We’ll skip that part of the conversation. What did you want, Sherlock?”
“I can’t simply stop by to catch up with a friend?”
She cocked her head with a sly glint in her gray eyes, and the curl of her lips brought back a tingle of sensation—the memory of those lips trailing down my neck, the slender hand she was now raising to her chin tracing over my stomach.
“Is that what we are—friends?”
“We could be,” I tossed out.
Her smile grew. “I don’t think so. I suspect that being merely your friend would be distinctly unsatisfying—possibly for both of us. Well, if that’s all you had to say…”
She pushed back her chair, and my pulse stuttered. I’d expected more time and more interest than that. I opened my mouth, and my mind shot to Garrett’s suggestion, wrapped up in the echo of feeling and the suggestive lilt to her words.
“That isn’t all,” I said. “I wanted to ask you something.”
Jemma paused and leaned her arms on the table. The fabric of her blouse slid against the curves of her breasts. I’d never paid much attention to the bodies of the women around me before, but it suddenly struck me as a ridiculous shame that despite the intense physical intimacy we’d shared that one night in London, I hadn’t the slightest idea what that part of her felt like or even looked like unclothed.
“Here I am,” she said. “Ask away.”
A question I hadn’t known had been stewing in the back of my head until just now fell from my lips. “What happened between us in London—was that simply a means to an end, or did you actually enjoy it?”
Her eyebrows twitched. I’d managed to surprise her. I’d have had an easier time calling that a victory if the room hadn’t turned inexplicably hot at the same time.
“Why does it have to be an or?” she asked. “It served my purposes—I won’t deny that—but I also enjoyed it. Every moment of it.”
Ah. Well, then. I resisted the urge to adjust my collar, as if that would help at all when a significant portion of the heat was being generated within me.
It was an uncomfortable feeling at least in part because it was still so unfamiliar. Jemma Moriarty was the only woman who’d ever provoked this reaction in me. She’d been right at the time, whatever her larger motives—the physical release had cleared my mind and swept lingering tensions away, at least as well as any high I’d ever gotten. She’d promised me that was possible, with the right partner.
I’d tried a couple times since then to recreate the same effect with women who’d appeared to find me attractive in the bars back home. Those efforts had been as unsatisfying as the few forays of my youth.
Perhaps it was simply that whatever differences formed a gulf between us, Jemma had a mind like mine, and she knew how to cater to my needs in a way no one else I’d ever known could. But that meant I should be able to do as much for her, didn’t it?
I could learn about her just as she’d studied me and built off my responses. Lull her the way I’d been lulled. Or perhaps I’d discover even that spark was deadened now that the novelty had worn off, and the temptation would die with it.
In a way, this was exactly what I’d come here for.
“Would you like to enjoy it again?” I said.
Jemma ran her thumb over her full lips. I couldn’t help tracking the gesture. She beamed at me. “Are you propositioning me, Mr. Holmes?”
“Are you accepting, Miss Moriarty?”
She paused for a moment, just long enough for a pang of disappointment to shoot through me, and then she extended her hand to me. “Why don’t we continue this conversation in my room?”
Chapter Eight
Jemma
Sherlock stopped just behind me at the hotel room door, close enough that a wisp of tobacco scent reached my nose. He’d been smoking his pipe not long before he’d come calling.
Very, very soon I might be tasting that flavor on his skin. The prospect thrilled me enough to swing me right back to caution.
I glanced up at him, seeking out the cool blue eyes that now gleamed with restrained heat. Heat that radiated off every inch of his lanky frame. It took a lot of effort not to lick my lips.
I’d woken up that passion in him. I’d taught him that he could feel it. And he’d come back for more.
“Are you sure about this?” I asked, keeping my tone casual. “I thought you saw me as some incredible threat to the world at large.”
His hand came to rest on the small of my back—tentatively, as if he were testing what he wanted, what he was capable of. His voice came out wry. “Are you sure about this? The last time we spoke you seemed to think you needed an armed guard to ensure your safety.”
“An initial precaution,” I said, “as I judged your intentions. While you seem determined to present as much of an obstacle to my work as you can, dragging me off to interrogate me through torture doesn’t appear to be your style. Or am I mistaken?”
The corner of his mouth twitched upward. “I can’t make any promises about what methods I’d be willing to resort to were they deemed effective, but information obtained through torture is notoriously unreliable.”
“Well, that’s reassuring.” I tipped my head to the side coyly. “Then I don’t see why we shouldn’t put our differences aside temporarily to fulfill desires we happen to share. A few hours of truce, and then you can go back to making yourself a nuisance.”
“And you can go back to your current schemes. At least I can rest easy knowing you aren’t committing any crimes during the time we spend together.”
I rolled my eyes at him. “It’s a deal, then.”
I didn’t have any illusions that he was going to turn off the analytical side of his brain. No doubt this sudden interest had been sparked by John reporting the come on I’d made to him. Sherlock had realized the avenue might be open to him too. He might want me and the pleasure I’d summoned in him, but he also would be taking in my accommodations, listening for stray comments. Which was why I’d left my purse two floors up in my main room and only brought a few essentials in this clutch.
The lock beeped at my swipe of the keycard. The lights blinked on automatically as we stepped inside. The second hotel room I’d paid for looked lived in enough—I’d left an extra suitcase, closed, against one wall, squeezed some of the toiletries out, and placed some spare change on the top of the dresser. The scarf I’d worn over my hair the first day the trio had found me hung over one of the bed posts. But the detective would observe nothing in here that would tell him about my recent activities.
I’d booked this room the afternoon after they’d arrived, knowing there was a chance I’d have to entertain them here one way or another, wanting a place that could serve as proper neutral ground.
It was a good thing I’d made other preparations tonight as well. When I’d set off from the hotel, leaving Sherlock’s tracking device behind upstairs, I’d asked the hotel clerk to call my cell phone if anyone asked for me while I was out. When she’d rung me up, I’d been a five-minute tram ride away, preparing to make another stab at getting that book from Novak.
Based on his tracker, Sherlock would assume I’d been here the whole time, and thankfully I’d still been close enough to return without too much of a delay. He’d managed to be a nuisance already.
Still, having him like this might be the best thing that could have happened. Novak could wait. The questions Sherlock was sure to ask me once he thought my gu
ard was down might tell me all kinds of interesting things about what he’d discovered from the clues I’d doled out.
The door clicked shut. Sherlock swept his hand across his forehead, scattering the messy dark brown waves of his hair, looking abruptly uncertain as he took in the room.
“Cold feet?” I said.
His gaze jerked back to me. “No,” he said firmly. His hands rose to his shirt collar. He undid the buttons with deft jerks of his fingers, gradually baring the chest I’d only felt the last time. He’d already made it most of the way down before I caught his hands with mine.
“You know, normally people fool around a little and take their clothes off as it goes rather than stripping right down from the get-go.”
Sherlock peered at me. His clear tenor dropped low. “Is that what you want? Something normal?”
If my panties hadn’t been melting in anticipation of this encounter already, they would have then. “No,” I said. “Not particularly.”
He clasped my wrists and tugged me closer, bending to kiss me at the same time. Like before, it came without warning and there wasn’t much art to it, but I’d been ready anyway. His lips were a little rough where they collided with mine, the earthy flavor of his tobacco lingering on them, and just like that I was twice as hungry.
I gripped the loose front of his shirt and pressed into him. My mouth slid against his, finding the place where we could fit together perfectly.
Sherlock cupped the back of my head and kissed me harder. Mmm, yes, that was good. He eased me backward, moving us toward the bed. When we reached it, he pulled back with a tight sound as if breaking away from me even for a moment had been a strain.
“Last time you found all the most effective ways to arouse me,” he said. “I want to learn what works for you. What your body responds to.” He touched my cheek and trailed his fingers down the side of my neck. “Will you let me do that?”
How could I resist that offer from this man? “Be my guest,” I said.
We eased onto the bed, him looming over me, his gaze traveling over my body still fully clothed. The smile that curved his lips reminded me of his expression when faced with an unsolved case he was sure he could crack open.
“This will be my first real experiment in this domain. I’ll endeavor to do well by my subject.”
“I have full faith in your investigative abilities,” I said, and he kissed me again.
This time he leaned in, shifting the angle of his mouth just slightly, and just slightly again, until my lips parted. His fingers teased down my side to tug my blouse loose from my slacks. I raised my arms to make it easier for him to slide it off me.
He studied me for a second, considering the swell of my breasts filling out the small cups of my bra. My pulse sped up waiting for his next move.
As if deciding we needed to be at an approximately equal state of undress, he plucked the last couple buttons of his shirt free and tossed it aside after mine. My fingers itched to trace the compact muscles etched across his lean torso.
Before I could reach for him, he ducked his head and brought his lips to my neck. With softly peppered kisses, he tested every bit of my skin, pausing when my breath shifted as he grazed a particularly tender spot.
He stayed there and kissed harder. Pleasure tingled over my skin. A flick of his tongue drew an encouraging sound from my throat.
He kissed lower, across my collarbone and down to the edge of my bra. I ran my hands over his shoulders, but before I got any farther, he caught one of my palms and started working his way down the underside of my arm. He hadn’t proved all that sensitive to my ministrations there, but the nerves in my arms responded readily. Giddy quivers of sensation ran over my skin.
Sherlock followed the same path I had on him, all the way to my inner elbow. He tested the tips of his teeth there, and my breath outright hitched. A self-satisfied smile crossed his face.
This slow careful seduction was a certain kind of torture when I didn’t need to be seduced. A needy ache swelled between my thighs. “Come here,” I growled, gripping his neck with my free hand, but Sherlock simply caught that wrist instead.
“I intend to be thorough,” he said with a mischievous glint in his eyes that made me want him even more. I let out an impatient sound, but I submitted to his attentions down my other arm, settling for stroking my fingers over his taut chest.
I circled my thumb around one of his small nipples and then swept it straight over. The heat of Sherlock’s breath trembled against my arm.
“You’re distracting me,” he murmured.
“But it’s a good distraction, isn’t it?” I said. “There are plenty of things I haven’t gotten to try yet. Like this.”
I pushed myself upright and gave his neck a teasing caress while I brought my mouth to the same nipple. A hum reverberated through Sherlock’s chest as I applied my tongue to the pert nub. He needed more than that, though. He liked a little force.
I swiped my tongue faster, and then I nipped him between my teeth. With a choked noise, Sherlock’s fingers tightened where they’d tangled in my hair.
“I wasn’t finished yet,” he said with a rasp, and tugged my shoulders to turn me around. He pressed a kiss to my shoulder as he unclasped my bra. Sweeping my hair to one side, he charted a path to my neck and then up to my hairline. The pleasure of his touch mingled with a twinge of awareness from Bog’s mark.
Before he could reach the signifier of my deal with the shrouded one, I shook my head, letting my hair fall back into place. Sherlock took the rebuff in stride. He slid his hands around to my breasts and cupped them. His long hands covered them completely.
I relaxed into his narrow but solid chest as he explored them, first with broad strokes that sent muted waves of pleasure through my torso, then focusing in on the peaks. He tucked his head over my shoulder to watch my nipples stiffen to meet the careful flicks of his fingers.
He pinched one between his thumb and forefinger, and I let out another growl at the jolt of pleasure. With a soft chuckle, he repeated the gesture on the other side.
I could pay that pleasure back. I tipped to the side and leaned back my head to kiss the spot on his neck where I’d gotten the most reaction before. Then I shifted one hand backward into his lap. His cock jumped at my touch, already hard enough to make my mouth water.
Sherlock stifled a groan. He caught the side of my face and swiveled us enough to recapture my mouth with his. As I stroked him through his pants, his breath broke with a stutter. He kissed me harder, welcoming my tongue, squeezing my breast in an echo of my hand on his cock.
The hunger in me expanded through my whole body. I’d never met anything sexier in the entire world than this analytically detached man turned wild by my touch.
He had some self-control left. “Still. Not. Finished,” he muttered against my lips, and managed to tear away from me. He nudged me down on my back, gazing down at me with eyes as bright as blue flames. “Keep your hands to yourself.”
“I’ll give you five more minutes,” I said. “After that, no promises.”
He made a faint sound of protest, but his hands leapt to the fly of my slacks at the same time. As he tugged my pants down, he leaned over to suck my nipple into his mouth as I had his.
At the forceful slick of his tongue, a gasp tumbled out of me. My hands moved instinctively, but I drew them back, giving in to the blissful torture. I dug my fingers into the covers instead.
I had to hold on tight. Shivers of pleasure raced to my core as Sherlock experimented with the movement of his tongue and the pressure of his lips and teeth. He might not have been practiced in the ecstatic arts, but he was a quick study in this as with all things. Every eager twitch of my body had him amplifying the gesture that had provoked it.
My hips arched toward him, and he appeared to take the hint that my patience wasn’t going to last much longer. He yanked my slacks the rest of the way down and paused for just a moment as his gaze found the gold cuff that circled the middle
of my thigh. The gold cuff made in part of the etching I’d stolen out from under his nose.
“Truce,” I reminded him. Dear God, he’d better not change his mind now. “We set all those matters aside.”
His gaze held as much inquisitiveness as it did lust, but he inclined his head in a slight nod. I didn’t doubt there’d be questions about that discovery later, but right now I didn’t much care.
He hooked his fingers around the hem of my panties, and I squirmed to help him slide them off. Then he was bending down again to kiss the plane of my stomach, the dip of my belly button, the slope of my hipbones.
His thumb traced over the mound between my thighs. He watched its passage with more intentness than any lover I’d ever taken before. I had to clench my muscles to keep from bucking up to bring his touch to the place I most wanted it.
When he grazed my clit, a blissful tremor raced through me. He looked up to meet my eyes.
“Here?”
“That would be the spot.” I couldn’t help amusement from creeping into my voice even as longing twanged through my body. “There are men with multitudes of experience who have trouble identifying it that readily.”
Sherlock gave me a smile that was a shade shy of a smirk. “I found the opportunity to do some reading after our last encounter.”
A laugh spilled out of me. “Of course you did.” My voice broke with a moan as he pressed down on that spot with careful precision. My hips jerked up despite my best intentions.
I eased my legs farther apart so Sherlock could kneel between them. My hands balled around the covers. It’d been well over five minutes now, but I was enjoying his “experiment” too much to risk interrupting him.
He worked over my clit slower and faster, softer and harder, taking in every gasp and sigh. Then he lowered his mouth to me. The first swipe of his tongue had me quaking with need.
The kind of whimper I rarely let myself make slipped out of me as he licked and sucked. Pleasure knotted all through my core up into my belly. So close. So fucking close.