Scandalous Lovers

by Diana Ballew

  “Oh, Miss Blair! I...” Trinidad’s moist, brown eyes widened. “Pardon, please.”

  The servant ran away and looked back, her long corkscrew curls flowing wildly as she offered Rayce an apologetic glance before fleeing to the back of the house.

  Eden stood at the parlor entry in stunned silence, her hands falling limply to her sides, as she watched Trinidad’s hasty exit. She turned to face Rayce dead-on, undaunted by his bold appraisal of her skimpy pink and white chemise, the hemline brushing the top of her thighs.

  She knew she should quickly tie the wrap and cover herself, but after overhearing him with his beautiful, exotic servant only moments earlier, she chose otherwise.

  Not just yet.

  Rayce’s dark eyes narrowed, his gaze honing in on her breasts pressed against the thin fabric, before settling at the lowermost part of her chemise teasing the tops of her legs. He slowly moistened his full bottom lip with the tip of his tongue. When he raised his glass for a drink and peered at her above the rim, only then did she pull the ends of the thin wrap together.

  Silence.

  He walked behind the divan to the scrolled walnut sideboard. “I take it you missed me?”

  He turned his back to her. She watched as he pulled the crystal wedge from the brandy decanter and tossed it on the tabletop. He poured a drink and swirled the brandy in his glass. He took an ample swallow, paused, and then downed the glass of amber liquid.

  The air instantly cooled. She hugged her arms across her chest, summoning up the courage to speak with him.

  He raked a hand through his hair. “Drink?”

  She took a step forward. “Um...yes, I prefer brandy,” she lied, having never imbibed the liquor.

  He turned and faced her. The lines on his bronzed face looked more pronounced, deeper, his expression unreadable. Caked mud covered his boots like hardened glue, and pine needles hung out of the buttonholes and pockets of his coat. He gestured with a flick of his finger for her to have a seat and handed her a glass of the opaque liquid before turning away.

  “Thank you,” she responded, trying her best to sound undisturbed by the intimate encounter with his lovely servant moments earlier.

  Rayce had been trying to explain something—something important—and Trinidad was pleading, weeping, and declaring her love for him. If she continued thinking about it, she would never find the nerve to speak with him about Lucy. For now, she would tuck away the troubling mental images flooding her mind.

  “Major, we need to discuss some—”

  “It's still ‘Major,’ is it?” He poured himself another glass before forcing the wedge into the decanter. “Well, Miss Blair.” He poured the liquid down his throat. “You’ll just have to wait. I’m much more interested in a hot bath at the moment.” He walked out of the room without so much as a glance in her direction.

  She stuck her chin out and stood up, hastily securing the silky wrap ties in a tight knot. All this time she had worried about running into him again, and other than admiring her skimpy clothing, he could not have cared less she was there.

  She gulped her remaining glass of brandy and coughed. The liquid felt hot as it ran down her throat. She strolled to the sideboard and poured another one—a larger one—and plopped down on the divan. No, she didn’t feel much like talking to him, either.

  The first brandy had gone right to her belly making her warm. The second went straight to her head, causing her to feel deliciously drunk and tipsy. She sauntered back to her room, crystal glass in hand, whistling what she thought was a dandy rendition of Dixie.

  She returned to the comfort of her bed, but regardless of her best efforts to get comfortable, sleep eluded her. She tossed and turned and fluffed at the pillows. Finally, with a loud sigh of exasperation, she reached across to the bedside table and lit the candles.

  Flopping back against the pillows, she watched as the small flames danced across the walls and ceiling. The warm brandy flowed through her veins with each beat of her heart, pulsing in her neck, her face, her chest. The smooth satin sheets felt like cool liquid gliding against her bare legs. She kicked the covers off. Even better.

  She lay there for what seemed an eternity, and each time she glanced at the mantle clock, only minutes had ticked by. The firelight leaped and licked at the walls, dancing in the eyes of Captain Reginald Hampton, who appeared to be enjoying her fall from refined grace to uncivilized drunkenness. She giggled and stuck out her tongue. “Oh, you wicked man.”

  The sound of heavy footsteps marching down the hallway suddenly paused at her door, followed by an abrupt knock. Before she had time to answer, the door swung open.

  “I saw light under your door. Good. You’re awake. So, what did you want to talk about?”

  “Rayce! You can't just enter my room...unannounced!”

  Like a woman gone mad, she wiggled and squirmed, seeking swift refuge under the blankets from his prying eyes; but her big toe had managed to get tangled in the lace coverlet.

  Too late. He swiftly moved to her bedside, flashing the audacious smile she had come to despise.

  He reached down and clutched her ankle. “Allow me.”

  “Don’t!” She pulled away too quickly, ripping the lace.

  “Good Lord, woman, sit still.”

  “Don’t touch me—don’t ever touch me!”

  “Hush.” He remained calm, gently pulling the coverlet from her toe and tucking her leg under the blanket. “I’ll have you know this blanket is a family heirloom.”

  She yanked the covers so high only her head stuck out. “I don’t care.”

  His eyebrows arched. “Is that so?” He pulled the bedside chair closer to her bed and sat down.

  Eden’s jaw dropped. “What do you think you’re doing?” she choked out. “Get out of that chair and out of my room!”

  “You said you wanted to talk. I’ll be leaving soon enough so...” He plopped his bare feet on her bed, crossed his long legs at the ankles, and continued. “...let’s talk.”

  “Oh, for pity’s sake—now?” Her eyes wandered over him. He was a handsome brute even if he had the manners of a skunk.

  “Yes, now’s good.”

  Her gaze paused at the damp, dark hair sneaking out of his dressing gown above his chest. He laughed quietly, and she realized his eyes had followed her own.

  She cleared her throat. “I said to get out, and if you won’t leave, well—”

  “Well, what, my dear?”

  “Well, I’ll jus' have to make you leave,” she slurred.

  He smiled. “I don’t think you’ll do that. You obviously need to talk with me very badly, or you wouldn’t have come to me dressed in—”

  “I did no such thing! I didn’t know you were home, I...I just couldn’t get to sleep, that’s all.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Not only did you know I was home, you heard me talking with someone—a female someone, to be exact—and you couldn’t keep yourself away, isn’t that right?”

  With a snap of her wrist, she waved his question away. “That's silly and certainly not true.”

  “Don’t fret, Sweetness. You know I won’t hold it against you.”

  “Oh, hush up!” She forced herself not to smile at his incredulousness.

  “So, what shall we talk about, Eden? Or...” He winked. “Or do you have something else in mind?”

  “Of course I don’t, you conceited fool.” Her words reverberated in her head, causing her to wince. She closed her eyes, placed her index fingers to each temple, and rubbed gently. The brandy made her dizzy, slowing her ability to keep her composure.

  He lit a cigar with the bedside candle. “We have all night, you know.”

  The man was relentless. If he would leave her alone for a moment, surely her head would clear. “That’s enough. I said get out and if you won’t, well, I’ll...” She looked around her room and saw Beau sleeping at the foot of her bed.

  “You’ll what? Sic your big ol’ dog on me?” He put his arms behind his head, t
he thin cigar hanging lazily out of the corner of his mouth.

  His movement caused the slippery fabric of his dressing gown to slide off to the side, exposing a muscular, dark-haired thigh. She swallowed hard when she realized the parting of the fabric went so high the man simply could not have been wearing any drawers.

  Had it not been for the brandy, she would have immediately started for the door. Instead, her gaze slowly followed the length of his long leg. She dared not look too closely for fear the large bulge threatening the opening of his dressing gown might escape from the flimsy fabric if she dared tempt it. Her breath hitched, and she quickly looked away.

  He smiled, the smoldering cigar hanging between those straight, white teeth of his. “You like what you see?”

  “Oh, that’s it!” she snarled. “You have the manners of a goat. No, worse than goat—a pig. No. Worse than a pig, a—”

  “So hostile you are tonight, my dear. I catch your meaning but—” he paused, plucked the cigar from his mouth and extinguished it. “I must confess, I have been called worse.” He flashed a phony pout.

  “You’re impossible.” She folded her arms across her chest and heaved a sigh.

  “Come now. What’s the matter, Eden?”

  “Haven’t you left yet?” She loosened an imaginary knot in her hair, causing the coverlet to slip southward.

  “That’s a lovely nightdress you’re wearing.”

  She glared at him, stiffened her back, and firmly yanked the blanket up to her neck. “I think you should go.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  She rolled her eyes and sighed extravagantly. “Yes, I do. I really don’t want to get nasty about this, but you leave me no choice.”

  “Be as nasty as you wish.” He crinkled his nose and smiled. “I rather prefer nasty—the nastier the better.”

  She gasped. “I don’t even want to talk to you anymore. Forget I mentioned it.”

  “I didn’t think you had talking on your mind, anyway.”

  “I’m sick to death of your disgusting innuendoes. What’s it going to take to get you out of my room?”

  He smiled and eased himself from the chair. With his hands clasped behind his back, he slowly paced her room. “Hmm, just what would it take, you ask?” He furrowed his brow. “Let's see...”

  The tone of his voice made her pulse quicken. She watched as he rubbed his chiseled chin, his shadowy eyes appraising her covered body in the bed as he walked to the door and closed it. The muscles tightened in his jaw, his arms, his calves. Had tonight been the first time they met, she would have bet the devil himself resided within his dark eyes.

  “What would it take, you ask?” He repeated and slowly walked to her bedside and glanced at the empty brandy glass she had placed on the table.

  He turned to face her with a smoldering gaze that squeezed the air from her chest.

  He lowered his chin, his eyes boring into hers. “Show me some skin.”

  “What?” Her voice cracked. “Show you some...what?”

  “You heard me. Show me some of that charming ivory skin of yours.”

  Eden laughed louder than she had expected. “Oh, my goodness, you rat. You can't be serious.” She waved him away.

  His expression revealed no emotion, but his gaze hinted of amusement. She watched the candlelight flicker against his bronzed skin, softening the small lines etched around his eyes. He raised an eyebrow and thrust his hands into his pockets, his tall, threatening presence looming over her.

  She turned away from his piercing stare. “You can't be serious. Oh, for pity's sake, I've had enough of your games.”

  Clearly, he was enjoying her predicament far too much. It would be up to her to change the rules of the game.

  “Well, if you won't leave, then I will.” She held her chin high and pointed at a hook on the wall near the door. “At least be a gentleman and hand me my wrap.”

  “No deal. You want the wrap, you get it yourself, and we'll call it even.” He flopped into the chair and folded his hands behind his head. “I’m really quite comfortable right now.”

  The man was arrogant, conceited and the most pompous lout on the face of the Earth. Oh, how she wanted to slap the smirk from on his face and leave the red imprint of her hand on his cheek as a reminder. She’d happily do it if she thought she could get away with it.

  As though he read her thoughts, he smiled and laughed quietly, his teeth gleaming like polished ivory piano keys under his trimmed mustache.

  That’s it!

  She no longer cared what it would take to get the lewd rogue out of her bedroom. All at once, she tossed the covers aside and bolted from the bed. Her feet had barely hit the floor when the sudden movement caused her head to spin. She began scrambling like a mad woman for her wrap, her feet and hands flailing in a flurry of naked limbs. For a few split seconds, there was a feeling of nothingness, a sense of flying and then...

  She knew she must have fallen. Her head spun with the spicy scents of masculine soap and cigars, and a silence so still and quiet filled the large room. Just as her eyes cleared, the hushed calm was replaced with a deep roar of laughter.

  Shaking with astonished horror, she realized she had slammed right into the chair, knocking Rayce over. Now she lay sprawled on top of him.

  Oh, my heavens...this can’t be happening!

  “My, my, Sweetness. If you wanted me on my back, why didn't you just say so?” He winked and lightly trailed a finger down the length of her spine.

  “Why, you ill-bred rat. How dare you grab at me and make me lose my balance!”

  “Sorry to inform you of this, but it is you, not I, responsible for our...how should I phrase this? Our mid-air grapplings.”

  She squirmed. “You swine! I didn't plan this—Let go of me!” She formed her hands into tight balls and beat wildly on his shoulders. “Get out, I tell you. I detest you!”

  His jaw pulsed, and the shade of his eyes darkened to black. “Stop it, Eden. Do you hear me? Stop it now!”

  In a flash, he seized her flailing wrists, grabbing them hard, and she let out a small cry. He spun her around so she lay beneath him, her hair falling in long tangles against the oriental carpet. The thin lace straps of her chemise fell below her shoulders, dangling precariously from her upper arms. Instantly, she felt something hard press against her thigh.

  His gazed burned into her like a smoldering fire. “What is it you really wanted from me tonight?”

  The brandy dulled her reflexes. She inhaled deeply, trying to steady the beat of her pounding heart. “I told you already, I needed to talk to you, but that's all.”

  His masculine scent stimulated her senses, and the feel of his hot, brandied words warmed her throat. Dizzy excitement flowed through her veins, racing across her chest, throbbing against the pulse in her seized wrists. The room was silent except for their jagged breaths.

  She thought a delicate kiss whispered against her throat. She turned toward the wall, arching her neck to keep his lips from her bare neck. Reflections of dancing candle flames consumed the room, thrusting their shadows against the wood paneling, his body above hers, dark and menacing.

  She squirmed beneath him. “Get off of me!”

  Undaunted, he moaned and kissed her throat. For a moment, his lips abandoned her neck, and then ...

  Heaven help me!

  The tip of his tongue slid leisurely down her shoulder, his coarse mustache grazing her, feeling like liquid fire against her skin. She tugged on her wrists, but he held them firmly in place.

  Through half-closed lids, he gazed into her eyes before clutching the thin strap of her chemise with his teeth. He slowly pulled down on the satiny fabric until the strap draped between the delicate fold of her elbow, exposing her breast so that only the tip of her taut peak lay beneath the sheer material.

  She squeezed her eyes shut as exhilarated panic swept through her body.

  He blazed a path of warm, gentle kisses from her bare shoulder to her neck and back down again
until he reached the lowered neckline of her chemise. His breath taunted the tip of her nipple through the sheer garment, his mustache tickling her skin.

  Desire rushed through her, and her fists unfolded as though they had a life of their own. He released his grip and gently rubbed her palms, smoothing out the tension, then laced his strong fingers with hers.

  “Good Lord, woman, I do so desire you,” he whispered against her breast.

  His words beckoned, summoning her to a place hidden from the rest of the world. She arched into him, her body conforming to his, the tip of her nipple a mere whisper from entering his mouth.

  The image of him alone in the parlor with Trinidad pierced her mind. She knew she should wish this scoundrel away and never set eyes upon him again. Instead, she reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck, clutching a thick strand of his dark hair. She looked deeply into his eyes, parted her lips, and pulled his mouth down upon her own.

  A welcoming groan of pleasure escaped his lips. He pulled her closer, his bare legs tangling with hers.

  Their tongues danced, and her head swam in a seductive sea of passion. Her body trembled against his, her breasts aching with fullness, and she felt a longing in her most private of areas.

  She ran her hands through his hair, encircled his broad back with her arms, relishing the feel of the tangled mass of damp hair on his wide chest caressing her skin.

  His breath quickened against her neck, and his manhood pushed firmly against her hip. A swell of desire rose from the depths of her plush center. She rolled her hips, slowly, pressing herself against the bulge straining the fabric of his dressing gown.

  He moved his hips with her rhythm, and a small groan escaped his lips, quivering against her throat. His hands roamed urgently across her nightdress, tugging it lower until both her breasts were fully exposed, absorbing the candle’s reflections.

  “My God, Eden, he whispered.” He trapped a firm peak between his lips, slowly encircling it with his tongue.

  A jolt of heat rushed across her breasts. She gasped and raked her hands through his hair. “Rayce,” she whispered.”