A Dangerous Liaison With Detective Lewis

by Jillian Stone

  “I came to love a young woman who had made a terrible mistake. Quite as terrible as the one I made. There we were, two people quite miserable in a marriage neither one of us wanted, with a child on the way. My affection no doubt began with empathy—we were so . . . pitiable.”

  She reached for the shot glass and he covered her hand with his. “Fanny . . . I never loved her as I love you—as I will always love you.”

  She stared at him for a very long time. “How tragic for us, Rafe.” She lifted the glass and tossed back the last of her whiskey. She stood and wobbled a bit.

  He caught her wrist. “Let me explain.”

  Her eyes darted about the pub, as a few people began to take notice. “I believe I’ve endured quite enough truth for one evening.”

  Fanny dipped a dismissive curtsy and had to steady herself on a passing gent. “Sorry.”

  The man grinned. “My pleasure, lass.”

  “Excuse us.” Rafe downed a shot, picked up the bottle and followed her to the door. “Fanny, wait.” A shiver ran up his spine. He had risked everything to reveal the truth to her and he must see it through to the end. It was his only hope of ever winning her back.

  Rafe signaled their leaving and the professor raised his glass in salute. He set the whiskey on the bar. “Mr. Spottesworth, at the end of this bottle, might you point the professor in the direction of Catslip, last house in the lane?”

  “I’ll have him home in a wheelbarrow if I have to, sir.”

  “Good man.” Rafe dashed out the door and located Fanny trudging down the road. She tilted to one edge of the lane, overcorrected her balance, and wobbled to the opposite side. Her state of inebriation caused him a brief smile.

  FANNY KEPT MOVING. If she stopped, the ground underfoot moved and the earth whirled around her.

  Rafe caught up and fell in beside her. “You know why God invented whiskey?”

  She glared at him. “So the Irish would never rule the world.” She hiccupped. “You still tell that joke, Rafe?” She stopped in the lane and stared at him. When she listed to one side, he reached out to steady her.

  Fanny yanked her arm away and marched down the lane. “What’s the difference between an Irish wedding and an Irish wake?” She looked over her shoulder at him and nearly fell in the ditch.

  “One less drunk.” He jogged to catch up. “Really shouldn’t pick on the Irish—especially when we Scots match them dram for dram.” He put his arm around her waist and dragged her up beside him. She didn’t protest, much. “Except for this Scot. You’re a cheap date, Fanny. What was that? Half a dram over four?”

  “Where’s the Talisker’s?” She swayed. “I could use another.”

  “Back at the pub, I’m afraid.”

  She swayed and squinted at him. “But you paid for it.”

  “Hamish Minnow has dedicated himself to reaching the bottom of our bottle. Here we are.” Rafe guided her through the wooden gate at the end of the lane.

  Fanny stood on the brick walkway while he closed the gate. A tilt of her head brought a thousand stars into view. All . . . whirling . . . around . . . in . . . the . . . sky. She steadied herself and sighed. “I dream about you every night.”

  Rafe pivoted slowly. Even though his face was something of a blur, he looked . . . hopeful.

  “Well, nearly every night.” Fanny shrugged and loosed an apologetic giggle. “How embarrassing. I have no idea why I blurted that out.”

  He swept both arms around her. “You’re in my thoughts by day and my dreams at night.”

  A tingle ran down her spine, numb as it was. She thought she managed a thin smile before stepping away. “Rather foolish of us, wouldn’t you say?”

  Rafe opened the terrace door and they crept inside the darkened house. An oil lamp sputtered on a side table near the stairs. He adjusted the wick, picked up the lamp, and signaled for her to go up ahead.

  At the top of the stairs, a door swung open. “Oh, Mr. Lewis, I’m afraid young Harry has had a terrible night terror. Might you take a turn with him, sir? He’s been asking for you.”

  “Yes, of course.” Rafe turned to Fanny. “Your room is on the left, and mine is another two doors past on the right. In case you have a nightmare of your own—you did mention you dream of me.” He winked at her and entered the nursery.

  Fanny leaned against the wall, and exhaled.

  “Have you checked under the bed, Harry?”

  “Yes, Father.”

  “The wardrobe as well?”

  The conversation made her smile. She imagined a soft shake of hair as Harry nodded.

  “Once or twice?”

  “Twice.”

  “And you still didn’t find him?”

  “He’s here, I know it,” the little boy whispered.

  The sound of furniture being dragged across the floor prompted her to peek into the room. Rafe pulled the child’s bed over to another wall.

  “There, now. When the Nettlebed Troll arrives, he will believe he’s under your bed. That is when we’ll get him.” Rafe spun around. “Where’s my old cricket bat?”

  Harry stood in the middle of the room in his nightshirt and pointed to the corner. The bat leaned against a child’s cupboard, its shelves filled with toys and storybooks.

  Rafe grabbed the bat with one hand and hoisted the child under his other arm. “There, now.” He settled Harry in his bed and pulled up the covers. “You hold on to this.” He placed the cricket bat in his son’s small hands.

  “What if he comes when I’m asleep?”

  Rafe sat on the bed. “I’ll wake you.”

  “Will you help me get him?”

  “Of course. That’s what fathers are for, chasing off trolls.”

  Fanny closed her eyes and smiled. How could this be happening? It seemed as though there were no sins too great to be forgiven. All the anger she had ever harbored toward Rafe was falling to pieces and evaporating into thin air. She would blame the whiskey in the morning, but for tonight, she was quite sure she had never been more in love with Raphael Byron Lewis. He had been honorable once—a young man with a generous and noble heart. In a very reassuring sense, in this fleeting stolen moment, Rafe became the man she had loved since childhood, utterly steadfast and familiar.

  And there was something else. She wanted him. Dear God, she wanted him more than she had ever wanted any man in her life. And that was rather odd. Fanny peeked back into the nursery. He reclined against the headboard, his arm wrapped around his son. It was odd because Rafe Lewis was the only man she had ever wanted. Ever.

  His voice filtered into her fuzzy brain. “. . . I’m quite certain the only way little boys can get to the Land of Nod is by moonbeam.”

  “Tell me how to catch a moonbeam.”

  “You know how.”

  “Yes, but I want you to tell me again.” Harry yawned.

  Fanny slipped away from the nursery and opened the bedroom door on the left. Her gaze, however, ventured down the corridor to the second door on the right.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Rafe entered his bedchamber and disrobed. Fanny had always been a wicked tease and a bittersweet torture, but tonight she had blurted out something extraordinary. Something that actually gave him pause.

  I dream about you every night.

  Rafe tried sleeping on his stomach. When that didn’t work, he tried his back. With each toss and turn, a picture came to mind. A lovely water nymph dipped into the loch. He lay on his side. A voluptuous beauty bared her breasts in the loft. He punched up a pillow and changed sides. An earth goddess emerged from her bath.

  Steaming hot, he tossed off bedcovers, swung his legs off the mattress, and walked to the dresser. He ran his hands over beard stubble as he leaned over the basin. He lifted a pitcher and splashed his head and neck. Cool water dripped down his shoulders and chest, bringing some relief.

  He tried thinking about the case. All the events of the past few days, which included a small army of anti-progressives, whirled in his head on
whiskey wings. It seemed obvious the shadow-faced minions wanted Fanny for something special—a grand statement of some kind. As Rafe puzzled over the meaning behind their relentless pursuit, he became more and more convinced they would find their answers in London.

  He returned to bed and slowed his breathing. Turning onto his side, he faced the wall of the house and stared past the clouded, wavy window glazing. He counted a few evening stars before rolling onto his back with a grunt.

  The dull aching throb of a very visible cockstand pitched an impressive tent under the bed linens. Cursing to himself, Rafe kicked off the covers a second time to yield wholeheartedly to the temptation of his oh-so-turgid flesh.

  He heard the click of his door latch, and rolled over to find Fanny standing just inside his chambers. “Might you help me with these?” He was getting used to the enchanting sight of an awkward elbow up in the air as she tried pointing behind her.

  He quickly covered himself and spoke softly. “Come here.” He patted the edge of the bed.

  “Sorry to be such a nuisance.” She hiccupped.

  He grinned. “I’m beginning to have a greater appreciation for these tiny, unmanageable buttons.” When he got to the base of her spine, he kept his touch light and helped her slip out of the gown. He kissed the top of an ivory shoulder. “Sleep with me, Fan.” He nuzzled a pretty length of neck.

  She raised her arms overhead and he lifted off her camisole. His hands went around her waist and traveled under the curves of her bosom. She turned to him, a sensuous arch to her back, breasts silhouetted by moonlight. “You may let down my hair.” He removed a handful of hairpins and a mass of curls tumbled down her back. For a time he lost himself in a tangle of corkscrews and coils. The intoxicating scent of her. His fingers gently wound their way through the soft curls and pulled her close. She leaned against him and hiccupped. Again.

  Rafe sighed. Fanny was inebriated. He couldn’t possibly take advantage. If and when he took her virginity, he wanted her full, sober—and wanton—consent.

  He lay back against pillows and inhaled a deep breath. His pulse felt as though it tripped over itself when she slipped under the sheet. Pulling her close, he cupped her breast as his fingertips played over a silken nipple, which quickly ruched into a hard point. She moaned and the small of her back rubbed up against his cock—velvet soft, skin on skin. The randy boy danced a pretty dance between the two dimples above her derriere. He ran his hands up and down the silky smooth curves of her. Having little experience with the sexually uninitiated, he reminded himself to take it slow. Not just because Fanny was an innocent, but because he knew very well she had only to touch him and he would erupt like Mount Etna.

  He exhaled slowly. “Close your eyes, Fanny.”

  “If I close my eyes, the room spins.”

  Rafe propped a few pillows behind them and tucked her into his arms. “Better?” Her head nodded against his chest.

  He pulled out a drawer in the bedside table and removed a tin of condoms, purchased this morning on his way home from the wire office. Wishful thinking, he supposed, until now. Not that he’d expected something this wonderful to happen in his room, but Fanny was in his bedchamber.

  Rafe smiled to himself and pulled her close. Here’s hoping his luck would hold until morning.

  JUST SHY OF sunrise, Fanny awoke to pleasant arousal. A pale gray light filtered into the room. Rafe slid his hand along the curve of her belly and pulled her close from behind. His touch was so delicate—so delicious—it sent waves of sleepy, sensuous pleasure through her. Yes. She held her breath and waited for his next move. Please. His hand reached her breast and cupped. More. His thumb lightly stroked the nipple. A sleepy moan escaped. Mm-mm. Oh yes, please—she wanted so much more. He kissed her shoulder and moved up the side of her neck. His teeth nibbled an earlobe, sending shivers down her spine.

  She purposely turned onto her back. As she turned, his hand slipped down her rib cage, his fingertips brushing a circle around her navel before moving between her legs. She sensed him above her and opened her eyes.

  “How lovely to awake and find you in my bed.” His mouth lowered to her breast and she arched. Circling his tongue, he teased, kissed, and nipped.

  “Make love to me.” Her whispered demand caused a hard nipple to pop from his mouth.

  A shock of hair fell over his forehead. He answered with a slow smile. “Sure?”

  She nodded.

  His hand nudged her inner thigh, and she wantonly opened to him. She would give him access to her body—but could she hold on to her heart? Fanny shivered when he parted moist folds and circled delicate flesh. “Oh, yes, Rafe.”

  He gently explored her opening. A finger pushed inside, shallow at first and then deeper. All the while his thumb continued to circle the wondrous, swollen part of her. Waves of mysterious desire pulsed through her body, causing her stomach to flutter and her hips to thrust. Inviting him to play—urging for more.

  She spoke between breathless moans and sighs. “What is the name of the place you touch to make me moan?”

  Rafe swept a trail of kisses across the bridge of her nose. “Mmm, the Latin word is landīca.” He appeared to be amused as well as aroused by her curiosity.

  “You always were handy with Latin.”

  His lips continued down her throat. “I plan on discovering where all your pleasures lie.”

  Ignoring the chill of early morning, Fanny pushed the covers off. She wanted to see him look at her again—yes, that look. His eyes narrowed with a kind of hunger that made her tremble. “You are a vision. All peachy flesh and rosy tips.” He trailed a finger over her nipples and then moved lower. “And no pantalets.” He encouraged her legs to part. His fingers played along the inside curve of her thighs, and a tremble shot through her body. Rafe pressed her back onto the sheets and held her arms while his tongue traveled over breasts and belly. He hesitated before delving deep between her legs. “I must taste you.”

  He delved inside her most intimate place using slow, laving strokes. Shocked at first, she stiffened. “Think of nothing but pleasure. My fingers, my lips . . .” He dipped and took a gentle lick. “My tongue.”

  Rafe licked. Much to her surprise, she moaned in response, squirming with pleasure. She wanted him to explore every petal and fold, every forbidden place. Each surge of arousal built upon the next until all she could think about was his touch, his kiss—and those fingers that patiently widened and stretched her entrance. She arched back and raised her hips to him.

  Rafe could feel that she was ready—more than ready. He reached over her sweet little torso and lifted a tin of rubbers from the top of the side table.

  He straddled her belly and his cock jumped in response to her gaze.

  “Such a great angry beast.”

  His eyes flicked upward, but he also growled. “If you insist, Fanny.” He opened a packet and rolled on the condom. Hovering above, he took a moment to brush a few strands of hair off her face. He gazed at every inch of her body and she arched up to meet him. “No rushing, Fan. I wish your first time to be as pleasurable as possible.”

  Her gaze returned his bravely as he poised over her, cock in hand. “Is this the part of pleasure meant to tease—drive me near to madness?” Fanny sighed, her pretty face haloed by a mass of rich brown curls. And her lovely body, plump in all the most wonderful places, lay open and waiting for him. Good God, it was a dream come true, a fantasy long-imagined come alive.

  As much as he might try to hold back, Rafe was quite sure this was going to be a quick pleasuring. He would bring her to climax, linger at the apex, then tumble her over the edge. He pushed just inside the moist, warm sex of her, slippery with excitement. She gasped and then slowly opened, stretching to accommodate the girth of him.

  “I can stop if you wish.” His voice was husky.

  “Don’t you dare stop.”

  Her head fell back. She drew up her knees, and her warm, tight sheath enveloped him. “Good God, you are heaven.” He wi
thdrew and pushed in, until her body trembled and her hips rocked with his motion. He dipped down, caught a nipple between his lips, and suckled. She arched her back and offered the other.

  He continued his slow, deliberate thrusts, and she wrapped her legs around his body. She wanted more. More lips. More tongue. More—Rafe.

  He dropped between her legs and, without missing a stroke, brought her with him as he sat back on his haunches. Fanny rode his thighs as he held her quite impaled upon his cock. He cupped her buttocks and guided the thrust of her hips. Her pleasure rose to a new level as her chest turned rosy pink. “We are so right for each other, Fan.” He pulled out enough to rub landīca with the tip of his cock—his own fervor building as he stroked her slippery magical spot. They were both a breath away from release.

  A cry escaped her lips and she added a groan.

  “We’re going to wake the whole house.” He laughed softly. Pressing his fingers into the flesh of her buttocks, he brought himself deep inside her hot, tight sheath. Fanny arched and quivered and bucked in euphoric throes of pleasure.

  Hovering at the brink, Rafe pulled her down for one last thrust, then roared his climax.

  He could not speak—not for many seconds. He had tried to be gentle, but the sex had ended in a wild, lusty position. Deep and passionate, but not for beginners.

  He admonished himself for being such a brute. He held her, clung to her, for he feared he had hurt her. She was not ready yet for such rough sex. Finally, he managed an apology. “I’m so sorry, love. Things got quite—heated. Are you well enough?”

  She leaned back onto the pillows, wearing an expression of divine pleasure. “I am very well, sir.” Her breath was still harsh from exertion. The room was as warm as toast, and the small window by the bed was actually fogged from condensation.

  “No pain?”

  “Very little, and I came to pleasure with you inside me.”

  Rafe smiled. In the pale light of dawn, her skin glowed with the sheen of lumière de l’amour. Her chest rose and fell, nipples relaxed and rounded, opalescent pink in color. He lifted a finger to one tip and watched it respond to his light manipulation.