by Joanna Shupe
No.
“You’re right.” Removing her own shoes while still dressed was near impossible, but she had to try. She stretched forward as far as her corset allowed, sucking in to reach her laces.
“Wait.” He waved her away. “Will you allow me?”
She dropped her arms. This was silly. He was asking to remove her shoes, not her drawers. She tried to relax. “Yes, please.”
He shifted her skirts to completely reveal the boot, while the rest of her leg remained covered. Graceful fingers plucked at the knot at the top, undoing it. Then he began to unlace the strings. The muscles of his forearm shifted as he worked, and she couldn’t take her eyes away from that patch of skin. Veins and tendons moved under skin that was lightly covered in dark hair. For a man steeped in the city’s underworld, he certainly had long, capable fingers that were surprisingly gentle.
He slid the string out of the eyelets, left then right, left then right, loosening her shoe. His free hand held her foot steady. It was so . . . intimate. Warmth slid through her, building behind her sternum and sliding into her stomach. Then lower, between her legs. Every inch of her felt restless and on edge, excitement coiling in her limbs. The more laces that were undone, the more she was undone.
Her eyes drifted to the sight of his strong thigh encased in dark blue wool. The fabric molded to his leg and she could see he wasn’t rangy or thin. No, he was solid. Powerful. Impressive.
Sweet mercy, why was that so arousing?
When the laces came loose, he dragged her boot off gradually, as if he didn’t wish to rush the process. Was he enjoying this, too? Her stocking-covered ankle came into view, then the top of her foot. Finally her toes. They both held perfectly still, silent, as the boot hit the ground.
Neither of them moved. It shouldn’t have felt so extraordinary—it was merely her foot, for heaven’s sake—and yet it did. The sheer silk stockings hid nothing and she could feel the heat pouring off him under her leg. She had the insane desire to slide her silk-covered toes all along the slope of his inner thigh. Then even higher . . .
Oh, Lord.
That shouldn’t sound so delicious.
She closed her eyes in an effort to collect herself. Without warning, the backs of his knuckles brushed her instep. She sucked in a breath, her lids flying open, as tingles trailed in his wake.
He froze, his hand in midair. “Have I hurt you?”
“No.” She tried to sound casual but most likely failed.
“I apologize.” He lifted her foot and placed it on the ground. “I got carried away. I shouldn’t have touched you.”
Some wild urge prompted her to blurt, “I didn’t mind.”
Don’t stop.
Touch me.
Lick me again.
The thoughts came lightning fast as a flood of wanting crashed through her.
He picked up her other foot and brought it to his knee. “You shouldn’t encourage a man like me.”
“What do you mean, a man like you?”
“A man who can be ruthless when he sees something he wants.”
She couldn’t think of anything to say. Was he hinting that he wanted her? Or that he might want her? It was maddening.
What man wouldn’t angle to have you at his mercy?
He made quick work of her second boot, then put her foot down and straightened. She wiggled her toes against the wooden floor and watched him through her lashes. After toeing off his shoes, he strode to select his own bowling ball from the rack. He wore blue silk socks that matched the color of his trousers, his feet long and narrow. How . . . fascinating.
When he turned, he put the two bowling balls on the wooden track at their lane. Then he swept his arm out. “Ladies first.”
Eight pins tumbled to the back of the lane. Rye hustled to gather them while Justine jumped and clapped. Spinning, she pointed at Jack. “Take that, Mulligan!”
Jack couldn’t help but grin back at her. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had this much fun.
Whatever she lacked in bowling experience she made up for in total dedication. She asked for tips and concentrated on implementing them. Then laughed at herself easily when she failed, cheered loudly when she succeeded. He was absolutely mesmerized.
Best of all, he hadn’t thought about the club or the books or Trevor O’Shaughnessy in hours. The noise in his head, the worries that dogged him daily, was quiet tonight. It was easy to be with her. Relaxing. She was funny and charming, completely at ease with him.
Even after he’d made such a fool of himself when removing her boot. What a disaster.
He’d removed plenty of women’s clothing over the years. Hell, he could undress and dress a woman in the dark with gloves on, if necessary. But there was something about Justine’s delicate foot—so tempting in her fancy silk stocking—that had nearly driven him over the edge.
Which was ludicrous. It was a foot, no different than any other woman’s foot. And yet, it had been different. Because the foot belonged to Justine. Somehow that sight had caused arousal to spike in his groin.
He was beginning to fear his reaction to her. He seemed to lose his mind every time he was in her presence. No matter how often he told himself she wasn’t for him, his body had other ideas. God help him if this woman ever decided she’d like a night in his bed. He’d probably come in his trousers.
She dropped into the chair next to him, her skin glowing from exertion. How in hell had he ever thought her plain?
“Nicely done. You are improving.”
“I won’t beat you, of course, but at least I’ve stopped throwing them in the gutter.” Her first five balls had gone directly to the side.
“Progress, chérie. Progress.”
Rising, he lifted his ball, aimed, then stepped and threw it. All ten pins crashed into the back of the lane, causing Rye to flinch.
“Easy, Mulligan!” Rye called. “I don’t fancy a trip to the bonesetter!”
Justine clapped for Jack, as well. “Outstanding,” she said when he returned to their seats. “How did you ever learn to do that?”
He lifted a shoulder. “I asked.”
“Who? The best bowler in the city?”
“Yes,” he said, completely serious. “He owed me a favor and I asked for instruction in exchange.”
“Don’t tell me. I don’t wish to hear any more of your deals.”
“I got his wife a job at city hall. Not all my deals are of a criminal nature.”
“Just most of them.”
He chuckled, even though she was poking fun at him. When was the last time someone had dared? Justine kept him on his toes, certainly.
She approached the lane then glanced over her shoulder. “Will you teach me?”
“To bowl?”
“Yes. Show me all of your tricks, Mulligan.”
Oh, cara. If only. He’d keep her in bed for weeks.
He rose slowly. “We have only one more frame. Are you certain you don’t wish to finish this game?” And then leave? He didn’t voice the latter, but she hadn’t exactly been thrilled to stay tonight. There was no sense in pushing and scaring her. He’d much rather use patience and cunning to win her over.
And he would win her over. It was only a matter of time before he got her in bed. He’d decided as much about two frames ago.
“All the more reason to finish strong in the last frame. Come on.”
Now at the mouth of the lane, he shoved his hands in his trouser pockets. “First, you’re trying to roll the ball directly down the middle. Bowling is about angles, speed and rotation. The best way to get all the pins is to hit them slightly off-center.”
Her brows lowered as she thought about this. “That is why your ball swings out to the right at first and then curves back in.”
“Correct. To do that, you have to turn your hand as you release the ball. Flick your wrist over your thumb.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.” She examined her ball.
“Here, let me show you.�
�� He took her ball and put his two fingers in the holes. It was a tight fit, but he showed her what he meant, how you had to create the proper rotation for the ball to curve. “When you release it, move like this.”
“Let me try.” With the ball in her hand, she rotated her hand to the side. “Like this?”
As if it were the most natural thing in the world, he moved behind her and started to reach for her hands. Then he paused. “May I show you?”
“Please.”
He cupped his hands over hers on the ball, his arms surrounding her. “You’re almost there. Do this.” He showed her the best motion to get both spin and rotation. “Feel that?”
She didn’t respond, just nodded. With her back pressed against his chest, her body was caged between his arms. He stood, rooted to the spot. He didn’t want to let her go. She smelled clean and bright, like flowers and freshness. Like someone unsullied by everything dark and cold in this city. He longed to breathe her in, just inhale until his lungs were full of her scent, so he’d never forget it.
Then he remembered her mad dash out of the club when he’d pressed his tongue to her skin.
He couldn’t rush her. Or coerce her. Whatever happened between them had to be consensual, with her full participation. Better yet, he preferred if she initiated it.
Easing his grip, he started to step back. “Now you—”
“Wait.” She clutched his arm with her free hand. “Show me one more time.”
Satisfaction shot through him. He pulled his arms tighter, closer, and put his mouth to her ear. “Like this,” he whispered.
Before he could blink, she relinquished the ball to his palms and spun around. Her hands landed on his shoulders, her mouth inches from his. Fire licked through his groin, swift and hot, and he’d never wanted anyone more. This virginal uptown princess—an angel, a perpetual do-gooder—had turned him inside out. He couldn’t tell if he hoped a little of her goodness would rub off on him . . . or if he prayed his wickedness rubbed off on her.
Perhaps both.
He studied her flushed face and the pulse pounding in her neck. “You’re missing the lesson.”
“I’d rather have a different lesson right now.”
“What kind of lesson, cara?”
“The one where you stop talking.”
She didn’t wait. Rising on her toes, she crushed her mouth to his. It was clumsy, but the effect was like being punched in the chest by a fistful of brass knuckles. She robbed him of breath.
Jesus God, she’d kissed him. Was still kissing him.
And it was better than he’d imagined. She was lush and sweet and responsive, her lips soft and determined as they moved over his, learning him. Had he assumed her inexperienced? He’d been a fool, then. Because the way she was kissing right now had him hard and aching in seconds.
He dropped the ball on the ground with a thud. Wood was likely damaged, but who fucking cared? Holding her jaw in his palms, he dipped his head and dove at her like a dying man. He kissed her deep then changed the angle, only to continue kissing her some more. Everything in him focused on this one place, on her. He didn’t ever want to stop.
Somehow their mouths opened and his tongue found hers. Or maybe hers found his. He didn’t know but he was damn grateful. His tongue wound around hers, stroking and rubbing, while her fingernails dug into his shoulders. His chest heaved, lungs screaming for air, but he couldn’t stop. He’d been waiting for this for so long—years, it seemed—and he meant to keep going as long as possible. Because he was a greedy bastard, he wanted everything she had to give.
Perhaps more.
Then she broke away, putting space between them, and his stomach sank. This was when she’d retreat. Run away again, leaving him to contemplate what might have been.
Silent, he merely tried to catch his breath. She glanced behind him. “Is there . . . ? Could we sit somewhere? My legs are feeling a bit weak.”
She wasn’t trying to leave? Blinking, he put the pieces together. She was asking to sit so that she might stay longer. “Of course,” he rushed out.
“I forgot about Rye.” She craned her neck toward the end of the lanes. “Is he still there?”
Rye had been wise enough to depart when Jack had started kissing Justine. “No. He left quite some time ago.” Taking her hand, he led her to an armchair against the back wall. He dropped into the seat and, before she could complain, pulled her onto his lap. “Is this better?”
“Much. Does this mean you’re interested in continuing?”
Chapter Fourteen
Justine held her breath while awaiting his answer. The moment felt huge and important, the beginning of something momentous. All she knew was she desperately needed more of Mulligan’s kisses. Though if he refused, she could hardly complain. She had attacked the man, after all.
With his free hand, he swept his thumb over her lips, up over the slope of her cheekbone, then down to the curve of her jaw. It was as if he were mapping her face with his fingertips. “You are so lovely,” he said, his voice deep and gruff. Not his usual cultured tone at all.
He was being kind, and she was grateful for it. “Thank you. I know I’m not—”
“Stop. If you are about to disparage yourself, I do not want to hear it. Not now, not ever, mon ange.”
Her heart tripped over itself in her chest as it expanded and solidified. She wouldn’t be surprised if he could see her heart beating through the layers of clothing. “Mulligan,” she breathed, unable to say more than that one word. She hoped he understood what he was doing to her.
“Jack.”
“What?”
Leaning in, he dragged his nose along her neck, and she heard him inhale. Was he smelling her? “Say my first name when you sigh like that.”
She bit her lip, trying not to smile, and met his eyes through her lashes. “Jack.”
“Perfect.” He gave her a swift kiss. “Christ, you are utterly perfect.”
He took her mouth again, using his lips and teeth and tongue to scramble her brains. She no longer feared herself incapable of passion. Jack had her panting, straining, dying for more. Her breasts were heavy, aching behind her corset, her body straining toward his. Desire pooled between her legs, and she could feel her pulse like an insistent drumbeat in that one spot, calling for attention. Demanding satisfaction.
His hand dropped to her hip, and she nearly vibrated with the need for him to touch her somewhere. Anywhere.
Everywhere.
Since the moment he removed her boot, she’d been thinking about when he might kiss her. For a brief, horrifying minute it had seemed like the night might end with bowling. Thank God it hadn’t. Any embarrassment over throwing herself at him was worth it for this.
Because Jack Mulligan knew how to kiss exceedingly well. The right amount of pressure, not wet or sloppy. Enticing but not overwhelming. A girl might walk through fire for a few moments of recklessness with this man. No matter what happened between them after tonight, she would never regret this.
His mouth drifted to her jaw then along the sensitive skin of her neck. Teeth scraped between hot openmouthed kisses. His hand moved from her hip to cover her ribs. He dropped his forehead onto her shoulder, his breath every bit as labored as hers. “What do you want tonight?”
There was quite a long list, actually. “Must I say it out loud?”
“Yes, you must. I cannot read your mind and I’d rather not guess. I may intimidate others into doing what I wish, but I’d never intimidate you.”
“What do you want tonight?” She sank her teeth into his earlobe and felt a tremor go through him. Nice to know she could affect him, as well.
He kissed her shoulder. “I wouldn’t like to scare you. It’s better if you tell me instead.”
“You cannot scare me. Haven’t you learned that by now?”
“Chérie, I touched my tongue to your skin and you ran from the club like it was on fire.”
“I was merely caught off guard, not scared. Not to ment
ion, you’ve done a lot more with your tongue tonight and I haven’t run screaming.”
“Yet.”
“Jack, come on.” She nudged his shoulder. “I am braver than I appear.”
“Really?”
His voice was laced with sarcasm and she couldn’t tell if he was teasing her. “Indeed.”
“I know you are brave—I knew it within seconds of meeting you—but there is brave and then there is daring. The latter requires fearlessness with a sense of adventure.”
“You think I lack a sense of adventure?”
“I think you are a woman who gives much of herself to others without considering what she wants most.”
He was annoyingly correct. However, considering her wants and desires almost seemed selfish. No one, other than Jack, had ever encouraged her to try. “What I want right now is for you to tell me what you’d like to do, regardless of whether it scares me or not.”
“Do not say I didn’t warn you.” He pressed his tongue in the same spot as the other night, perhaps to test her. She didn’t run this time, merely leaned in to get closer. He growled, his chest rumbling, fingers digging into her sides, and he put his mouth near her ear. “I’d start by leading you to my bedroom. I’ve never had a woman there and I’m keen to see you spread out on my bed. I’d undress you, of course, until you were in just your stockings. Then I want to feel your silk-covered feet digging into my back as I’m tonguing your pussy.”
She inhaled sharply, her lids sweeping closed on a wave of lust so strong that she nearly moaned. She’d never heard anyone speak such words. She should probably feel appalled or embarrassed. Marginally horrified. Yet, she loved it.
The devil kept going. “I want to suck on your clit until you come on my tongue. I want to lap up your juices and smell your sweetness until I’m drowning in it.”
God in heaven, she could almost imagine it. She’d seen the cards under Florence’s bed, so she knew adults fornicated in many different positions. Never had she considered the possibility of him putting his mouth between her legs. Was this something all couples performed?