Capturing the Silken Thief

by Jeannie Lin

  Heavens, she hated these types. A few drinks in them and they were higher than the Emperor himself.

  She became acutely aware of Cheng once again. It was hard not to with her face pressed into the front of his robe. He smelled of sandalwood, earthen and mysterious. For a moment, the rest of the room disappeared. She shifted slightly, trying to find some position where she wasn’t so overwhelmed. Finally she was able to breathe again, but somehow Cheng’s hand ended up on her hip in their subtle movements.

  She braced her arm against the solid mass of his chest. Cheng relented, or seemed to. His touch lifted from her hip but only to slide lazily to the curve of her waist. Tilting her head up, she caught the glint of his smile in the darkness. Demon.

  “Shhh,” Cheng hushed.

  Shoving against him did nothing. She glared at the stone tower in front of her. Her own heartbeat rose to rival his as they stood there, in darkness, pressed tight. They were still as statues, yet with every nerve alive and pulsing.

  There had been lovers in the past. Not many, but enough that she wasn’t ignorant of a man’s body and the contrast of masculine skin and muscle against her. This moment penetrated deeper than any of those encounters. She was fully clothed, standing upright, in a strange room, yet a sudden desire overwhelmed her. She could feel each rise of his chest. Hear each inhale and exhale. She was tempted to slip her fingers into the front of Cheng’s robe and find out if his skin was as hot as it she imagined. Or was it just her, burning like this?

  It was the danger of being caught, she reasoned. That was why her mouth had gone dry and her knees soft. And she was certain her heart had never done this little lurch before. Cheng moved his hands around to the small of her back. He didn’t look amused anymore. In fact, he was bent so close that she could no longer make out his expression. He was nothing but hard contours, heat, and pulse. His fingers tightened against her, urging her hips ever so slightly closer.

  Another scraping sound brought her out of the haze.

  “Let’s go. Good wine is being poured without us,” the voice declared.

  They went still and waited as the two men departed. Their footsteps and voices receded into the night. Cheng was still pressed to her, his chest rising and falling steadily.

  “Bastard!”

  She shoved him away to the sound of his low laughter. Yet her skin was still flushed and tingling with anticipation. He let her go without a fight, which was oddly disappointing.

  “There was something hidden here.” Cheng moved to a spot in the centre of the room and slid his foot along the floor. “Bring the light.”

  He’d stowed the candle inside the wardrobe. Jia had to fumble around to reach it. She brought it to him and it took several moments for Cheng to strike the flint to light it. He handed the candle back to her. Together they knelt to examine the floorboards.

  Cheng tested the boards with his hands, tapping against the surface to listen to the echo. One of them appeared loose and he wedged his fingertips beneath it to lift it away. Jia crowded close until they were shoulder to shoulder. Her breath caught as she peered into the hollow below.

  The candlelight flickered over strings of cash and other papers. Nestled near the top was a journal with a jade-green cover. An elegant inscription graced the front: Thoughts from a thousand evenings.

  She reached for the book and Cheng did the same. Their hands collided, but Cheng was faster. He plucked the book from its hiding place and she was left to trail after him as he stood.

  “Give it back,” she demanded.

  “I’m just looking to see if this is it.”

  She wasn’t accepting any explanations. Xue Lin’s precious poetry was within her grasp. The stubborn ox of a man tried to turn his back to her, but she lunged for the book.

  “Careful! Don’t tear it,” he protested.

  He took hold of her wrists as she tried to grab at the journal. It dropped to the floor in their wrestling bout.

  The pages fell open before them. Jia stopped struggling. Beside her, Cheng’s grasp slackened and his hands fell away. She stared at the brushwork, cocked her head, leaned closer. The candle holder had been abandoned on the floor and the halo of light now encompassed the book.

  The same elegant script danced over entire page on the left side, but that wasn’t what caught her attention. A drawing of a young woman reclined on the right-hand page. Her head was thrown back, eyes closed. Her robe fell open in front to reveal the tantalizing curve of her breast. A lover in scholar’s robes leaned over her.

  Jia knelt before the journal. The boards creaked as Cheng lowered himself beside her. She reached out and righted the pages so she no longer had to stare sideways.

  The signs of desire, the inscription read. As desire heightens, her nipples grow hard. Sweat forms upon her brow. She is ready to take a lover inside her.

  The woman’s nipples were exposed and tipped in pink. Her lover was poised to enter her as the lines instructed.

  Jia swallowed forcibly. Apparently Xue Lin was not only a poet, but an artist as well. An accomplished artist. Jia could sense the flush of the woman’s skin and the tension of her limbs. Entranced, she turned the page.

  Soon her mouth goes dry, all words stolen and sound lost. Her lover can move deeply within her as the pleasure rises.

  Her own throat went dry and she ran her tongue absently over the back of her teeth. It was a book of chamber technique. The woman’s back arched and her eyes closed with desire. Her lips were open and inviting. The scholar’s gaze was fixed intently on her. Jia felt her skin flushing at the sensuality of the image. Her body grew damp down below.

  A shadow fell over the page. Cheng let out a slow exhalation of breath. She’d almost forgotten he was there. She turned her head slightly to find him staring at the painting, his gaze intent. Then he turned to her to focus all that intensity on her. She was lost.

  His arm circled her waist and fitted his palm to the small of her back to guide her body against his. They were still kneeling when his mouth closed over hers.

  The hardness of the floor dissipated. The awkwardness of the position was forgotten as he angled her until they were hip to hip, her breasts pressed tight against his chest. His tongue took her in a slow, gentle exploration. His breath became her breath and her knees collapsed. He caught her in both arms. His mouth released her for a precarious second.

  “It’s the book,” she gasped.

  His gaze locked onto hers, piercing deep into her until she could feel it as sure as his touch. “It’s not the book,” he muttered, before he was kissing her again.

  He was wonderfully rough about the kissing. Her nipples rose to painful sensitivity against her silk bodice. She wanted his hands over her breasts like the lover in the picture. Only his touch could ease this yearning. Nothing else would serve. Her arms curved about his neck to pull him even closer. At any moment, Cheng was going to lower her completely to the floor. To her shock, Jia realized she wanted him to.

  She tore away. “We need to go.”

  She tried to reach for the courtesan’s journal, but Cheng flattened his hand over the pages in a commanding gesture to pin the book in place.

  His voice stroked over her, low and sensual. “You’re not entirely indifferent to me.”

  “Not entirely,” she replied wickedly.

  No use in denying it when she was flushed and breathless. She was still kneeling on the floor, looking up at him. He was breathing hard, his chest heaving. The bruise she’d inadvertently caused marred his cheek. It lent him a dangerous appeal.

  “Come back to my room,” he said simply.

  His eyes smouldered with heat. He’d direct all of that focus into making love to her. The sureness of his touch promised that much. Untold pleasure. They could read through the pillow book together, page by page. She had a feeling Cheng would be an exquisite lover, a careful student. She was so very tempted, but this wasn’t freedom. Desire had clouded her mind and weakened her. This was surrender.

&nb
sp; She rose and took his face in her hands with renewed purpose. She traced her fingertips along the firm line of his jaw and pressed her lips to his, exploring gently until his eyes closed. With a groan, his arms wrapped around her. There was something both comforting and arousing in his embrace. She let herself linger in it, taking her time to run her fingers down over his chest, lower to his abdomen. He shuddered as her hand trailed gradually lower…to the journal on the floor which she snatched up and tucked securely behind her back.

  His mouth left hers to curve into a smile. The candlelight glittered in his eyes. “Clever.”

  She lifted her chin to him in triumph. “Of course.”

  “I like crafty women.”

  His touch remained lightly possessive over her hips. He was unassailable.

  “The book is mine,” she declared. “I’m going now.”

  She slipped away from him and was almost disappointed that he didn’t pursue her. She had to unfold herself from the floor and smooth her robe back in place. It wasn’t until she reached the door that Cheng spoke. His reply came in a low rumble that warmed her skin.

  “But you’ll come back,” he said.

  She didn’t turn. She tried not to pause, but she could feel his eyes on her as she slipped out of the room and into the night.

  Chapter Three

  Jia took a sedan to the next ward over early the next morning. The minister’s residence was located in a quiet neighbourhood, separated from the main avenues of commerce. He was a minor official, which still meant his mansion engulfed the musicians’ quarters in size.

  The servants politely asked her to wait in the garden. Peony trees grew within his courtyard, carefully tended by more than one caretaker. A small pond filled with golden carp graced one corner. She stood listening to the trickle of flowing water in her best evening gown with her hands clasped about the pillow book. In the tranquil setting, the bright robe made her feel like a squawking parrot.

  An attendant came to let her know that the master of the house would see her and she was led through the courtyard to a study. An elderly gentleman waited behind a great wooden desk. He stood to greet her and beckoned her into a seat across from him. Jia smoothed her skirt over her knees and stared at the grand bookshelf behind the minister as he called for tea.

  This was a lower-ranking minister. Someone who had likely passed the imperial exams in the third ranking. Yet he lived in a state of opulence that she could only imagine. This is the sort of life Cheng would have once he passed the exams. A passing mark immediately earned respect and opportunity.

  “So you’re a musician, young miss?”

  She jumped when he addressed her. “Yes, honourable sir.”

  “And what do you play?” He was looking at her pleasantly; courteous in the way of the elite.

  “The pipa, sir.”

  She felt small beside the minister, though he wasn’t a man of great stature. His hair was graying and there were wrinkles at the corners of his eyes that spoke of general good humour.

  “Ah, the accomplished Xue Lin played the pipa beautifully,” he said. “Did you know her?”

  “No sir.”

  “She was so very talented.”

  Jia had played before audiences of noblemen and officials, but being here in this man’s house seemed as foreign to her as the desert frontier of the Taklimakan. She was afraid to touch anything for fear of breaking it. Her hands tightened on the book.

  “Is that it?” The minister’s eyes grew bright as he spied the green cover.

  She slid the book across the desk, but he didn’t open it. Instead, the minister placed his hand reverently over the cover, touching it with just the very tips of his fingers. After a pause, he finally looked inside. A painting of an orchid greeted him. The vibrant lushness of the petals evoked a sense of the feminine and erotic.

  Jia squirmed in her seat. She had read through the entire book while she lay in her bed last night. The words had caressed her to sleep, the gentle scholar lover’s face replaced with Luo Cheng’s broad and masculine features. For a moment, she’d considered keeping the book for herself a little longer. It was so beautiful and full of secrets. The words filled her with the elusive thrill of desire.

  But that was just foolish sentiment. Money was money.

  She looked away as the minister continued to browse through the pillow book. It wasn’t the explicitness of the pictures that embarrassed her now. It was the longing upon the scholar’s face which grew deeper with each page.

  He had known the famous courtesan, Jia was certain of it. He must have been one of her many patrons or even a lover. Xue Lin had left the entertainment district to become Governor Wei’s hostess. Was the minister not rich enough or powerful enough to keep her to himself?

  Jia couldn’t help but feel that she was intruding on a very personal moment. There was too much ceremony involved for what should have been a simple business transaction, but she didn’t want to seem a beggar by demanding money.

  “My beloved.”

  He spoke the phrase under his breath, sighing softly with the last tone. He closed the book and once again rested his leathered hand over it, as if the spirit inside the words could run up through his veins and return to him what he’d lost.

  Finally he reached for a wooden box and pulled out a sheet of rice paper covered in writing. He lifted his jade chop and used it to stamp his mark onto it in red ink. The thud of the seal rang with a finality that sent shivers down her spine. Freedom.

  “Thank you,” he said with an unsettling sincerity.

  She took the paper with as much grace as she could. Her hands were nearly shaking as she folded it away. She had never held a bank note before. The amount was so high that it would have been awkward to carry as strings of cash.

  The streets blurred around her as she rode back to her ward in the sedan. She should be floating. She could pay off her debts now and belonged to no one but herself. Instead, she wandered aimlessly back to her quarters, thinking of the sadness of the minister’s expression. All he had to remind him of Xue Lin were her words. Ink on paper. It seemed so empty and fragile.

  When evening came, Jia prepared herself to perform as she did every night. There were no banquets or performances scheduled that evening. She’d have to work the drinking houses. Music and poetry was as much a requisite part of the revelry as wine and food.

  She emerged onto the street with hair combed and pinned, lips painted, pipa in hand. Halfway to her favourite drinking house, she realized she didn’t have to do anything. Of course she still had obligations. Freedom meant she’d have to earn her own way. Otherwise, it would be too easy to fall back into debt and servitude.

  But tonight was her first night of freedom. She should do something to celebrate. Something extravagant. Maybe she’d go to the finest restaurant in the ward and order the most expensive dish they served. Or she could purchase that jade hairpin she’d looked at twice at the jeweler’s.

  Instead she found herself standing before Cheng’s doorstep, holding his satchel of books. The weight of them reminded her of the differences between their stations in society.

  Her pulse skipped as Cheng opened the door.

  “Rose.” He greeted her with a slow grin. Her toes curled within her slippers at the sound of his voice. No good could come of this.

  “These are yours,” she said curtly.

  She should shove them into his hands and go, but she’d stayed awake half the night thinking of him. Seeing him only brought back how many times he’d undressed her in her mind; all the places she’d let him explore with his lips.

  Those lips were smiling at her now. “Come inside,” he invited.

  She hid her gaze from him as she ducked past. They didn’t touch, but it was close enough for her body to remember him. The silk of her robe whispered against her skin as she went to his desk. The weight of his stare followed her.

  “You’re quiet today,” Cheng teased. “The sun must be rising in the west.” The jest hu
ng awkwardly on silence.

  Turning her back to him, she settled the pack onto the desk with more care than necessary. “Today was a very busy day.” She ran a finger absently along a scratch in the wood. “So much to do.”

  “Indeed. How was your business transaction?”

  “Very profitable.” She turned and straightened, her hands gripping the desk behind her.” I’m a wealthy woman now.”

  What was this heaviness in her chest that wouldn’t leave her? The weight only increased as she looked at Cheng. She could pretend that he thought of her as something more than a song girl and a servant to rich patrons.

  “Then we both have reasons to celebrate,” he said.

  “You seem in good spirits.”

  He couldn’t hold back. “I presented my writings to the head examiner today. He invited me to sit down for tea and we had a good discussion.”

  “You presented the essay today?”

  “The imperial exams begin tomorrow, after all.”

  She’d entirely forgotten. She looked to the satchel that contained the precious essay she’d held hostage. “What trouble I must have caused you.”

  He shrugged, in too good spirits to be cross. “I rewrote every word and every word was better, bolder. Something must have inspired me.” He gave her a pointed look and her skin flushed.

  “So you didn’t need your books back after all,” she said.

  “Of course I did. How else would I see you again?”

  He held no ill will toward her. For every taunt and attack she flung at him, Cheng deflected and smiled. She couldn’t wound him or push him away. He was impervious.

  Fear took hold of her. They were more than opposite. Cheng was generous, industrious, and sincere. He was meant for greater things.

  “Take care then, Luo Cheng,” she said. “I know you’ll do well tomorrow.”