by Alyssa Cole
“Fuck, fuck!” She ground her teeth together and bucked up against his face as she came, maybe quicker than she ever had, just from the pleasant surprise of his intense focus.
She tried gathering her senses, which had been scattered like billiard balls after a wild breaking shot, but it was a fruitless endeavor. When she opened her eyes, Tav was watching her, cock in his hand as he rolled on a condom.
He approached, stroking himself as he bent over to kiss her. His arm brushed against her side as he placed a hand onto the desk for balance and pressed against her opening.
“God, we’re such a cliché right now,” Portia muttered. “Banging on the boss’s desk.”
“You know what a fan I am of dated clichés,” he said and pushed into her, eliciting a gasp. Her arms went around his neck and her head dropped back. Her hips swiveled to meet his short, controlled thrusts.
“Oh god, okay this is one cliché you can keep,” she groaned, and he chuckled and kissed her. They had spent the entire night together, but something about their joining felt urgent. He didn’t take his time, as he had the second, fourth, and fifth time they’d come together in her bed. He thrust fast and hard, plunging more deeply each time, and groaning to match the muffled squeals of pleasure Portia released against his lips as she held on for dear life.
His desk began rocking loudly, slamming with each thrust, and then Portia felt his hands scoop under her and lift her up. Her legs wrapped around him, and she used them to lever herself up and down as he lifted. The new position provided a different and deeper kind of friction, and she rocked against him, taking his mouth with her own, not thinking of anything but her tongue against his and his hands holding her tight and his cock sliding against a spot she hadn’t known existed.
“Fuck, Portia, I’m so close,” he said, and the strain in his voice as he tried to hold back—and one frantic, solid stroke—sent her spinning into her next orgasm, shuddering against him as he groaned and tightened his hold on her.
He dropped into his chair and they rolled back until they hit the shelving behind his desk. There was nothing but the sound of their heavy breathing and cold summer rain pattering against the window. She realized she would miss the rain and cold when she left, even though she missed the heat and humidity of New York. She would miss Tav holding her like this even more, which was why she needed to end this, now. Why she shouldn’t have ever convinced herself to start it.
“About this ball,” Tav said, breaking the silence. “I’m gonna need a date, I figure.”
“You can go with Leslie,” Portia said. In that moment, she was deep in her head, had already pushed him away. She was already gone.
Tav’s exasperated sigh shifted her from her comfortable position on his chest. “Fuck’s sake, can you wait until I pull out before fobbing me off on another woman?”
Portia twisted her head so that she was looking up at him. “Oh. You were asking me.”
She hoped he attributed her quick heartbeat to the impromptu workout they’d just had. She hadn’t defended her castle well at all. She’d let down the drawbridge and invited the invader in, and now he was wreaking havoc on her heart, and not just with his heavy, long two-hander.
Tav shrugged, not knowing that she was already deep in PANIC! EJECT! mode. “It’s the kind of thing you like, right? Fancy clothes and dancing and all that shite. Who else would I bring?”
“Oh, you hopeless romantic, Tavish.” She didn’t know why she was disappointed. He wasn’t her boyfriend. This wasn’t some fairy tale where he would get on one knee and beg her to go to the ball. He was being practical, and so should she.
“Maybe you want to bring someone else?” he asked. “That’s fine, too. I know you don’t want anything serious. I just thought it could be a bit of fun in all this madness.”
She drew back and glared at him. He had crossed the line from practical into annoying. “Remember that ‘still inside me’ thing from a few seconds ago?”
She stood slowly, separating them, and grabbed her underwear. “I don’t have a date. I’m going with you. As your squire.” She had to rebuild those boundaries and this was as good a place to start as any. “I’ll go work on the statement and then we’ll figure out what you need to get prepped for the ball.”
“Sure thing,” he said. His voice was flat. There was barely any burr on the r in sure. She felt awkward and stiff as she pulled on her pants, and she fumbled her tablet as she snagged it from the seat.
“Well. I guess our systems have been flushed,” she said in what she hoped was a carefree and casual voice. They had wanted to cut the attraction between them, it had worked, and now she wanted to be as far away from him as possible.
“Mission accomplished,” he said darkly.
This was good. Right?
“Later.”
Tav grunted in response. She didn’t look back as she hurried out the door. She had a second shower to take, and maybe this one would succeed at washing him from under her skin.
Chapter 21
Tavish watched Portia across the breakfast table. A few weeks ago he would have called her rude for constantly swiping her finger across the screen of her tablet and typing away at her tiny keyboard as she picked at her beans and toast. Now he knew she was handling online social media responses to his statement. She was responding to requests for interviews. She was answering private messages, emails, and public posts in a witty, engaging, and professional manner. And she was doing it all without breaking a sweat and without complaint.
She can’t do this forever.
The low-level panic that had gripped him since she’d left his office the other day seized Tav. He was struck with dual realizations, like two attackers coming at him from different angles and impossible to fend off. One: for him, being a duke was completely tied to Portia. Spending time with her, learning from her, watching her nimble mind come up with new ideas, was one of the only good things that had come of the revelation. Would he be able to do it without her? Two: outside of the duke thing, he liked her very much. VERRA much. Was it really possible to separate his feelings for her from her helping him? Was it possible for her to be in his life without helping him? Because when he thought of her now, it wasn’t as an employee. He had thought of her as more than that for some time now.
Sweat broke out at his temples as he wrestled with where exactly Portia fit in his life, and the fact that in a few weeks she would be out of it given their current plan.
“Bruv. Tav. Tavish!”
He pulled his gaze away from Portia to find Jamie regarding him with a look of annoyance. “Hullo. Did you hear anything I said?”
Tav considered lying, but Jamie’s rare scowl wasn’t something that could be overlooked.
“No, sorry—”
Cheryl huffed. “He said what is he supposed to do about the media calling us all hours of the day and night?” She stormed over to the window and peeked through an opening in the curtains. “Look! There’s one of them right now, loitering about. I’m tempted to go wave a sword at him, but I’d end up on the cover of the Looking Glass with some bloody awful headline.”
Tav looked out the window and saw a man dressed in black, leaning against a pole. He was smoking lackadaisically, but one hand rested on his camera, ready to spring into action. Tav wanted to smash it, but it didn’t matter. The photo that had run in the Bodotria Eagle had already been purchased by news outlets. Once word had gotten out how exactly it had been discovered he was a duke, the story had spread like wildfire, along with conjecture about every aspect of his life, including who Portia was to him. He wouldn’t have had a good answer for that, even if they’d bothered to ask him instead of creating stories likely to grab attention.
“One of these guys left a message asking about my police record,” Jamie said. “I don’t have a record, unless they mean the cops almost arresting me that time because they were bloody racist and wrong.”
“They’re just making shite up, now. I don’t want these people tr
ying to paint him as the dangerous thug brother of the new duke,” Cheryl said. Her voice was trembling, which it only did when she was furious.
“You think I want that?” Tav snapped, the rush of anger stiffening his neck. Part of the reason he’d thought the duke thing worthwhile was that he might be able to ensure his family’s security in a way swordmaking never could. There was that idea gone.
“Well, you’re the one who brought this on us, you need to deal with it,” Cheryl said. “You’ve already broken the kids’ hearts by abandoning them at the exhibition. Can’t you spare a moment from your aristocratic time to take care of this?”
Christ. As if he didn’t feel shitty enough. “I’d love to be at the exhibition, but I literally have to throw a party for the Queen. The fucking Queen. Trust me, I’d rather be with you lot.”
Ms. Baker had reached out to Portia and handed over the planning for the Queen’s garden party, which was traditionally hosted by the Duke of Edinburgh. Tav didn’t care for royals, but the thought of meeting the Queen filled him with a nervous dread. What if she treated him as David had? What if she shunned him, publicly? What if she told awful racist jokes and expected him to laugh?
“I’ll try to take care of the paps,” Tavish said, though he had no idea how to do so without threatening them. He only knew how to ask Portia what to do, and she was already stretched thin and holding herself away from him since the afternoon they’d ruined him being able to spend more than five minutes at his desk without a naughty thought.
Cheryl continued her uncharacteristic rant. “And you might also tell the paparazzi if they’re going to ruin my business by gathering in front of the armory and scaring customers, the least they can do is buy lunch!”
It was when her voice went shrill that Tav realized what was fueling her: fear. Having a duke for a brother-in-law had seemed fun at first, but now that reality was setting in, Cheryl was likely reconsidering her earlier excitement.
The click clack of Portia’s fingers on the keyboard stopped. “Everyone needs to calm down.”
“That’s easy for you to say, no one’s about to make you out to be some kind of gangster in the papers,” Jamie said.
“Gangster? I’ve been called an American con artist who falsified paternity tests and Tav’s pregnant mistress. And unlike you, I have an internet presence, a semi-famous sister, and wealthy, prominent parents whose business could be affected by negative press. I’ve had to deal with the blowback for myself, my family, Tavish, and both of you. I’ve been the one dealing with everything. Everything. You want to tell me that’s easy one more time?”
There was steel in her voice—Tav heard it loud and clear, but Jamie and Cheryl were used to nice, accommodating Portia. Or they were too panicked to pay attention.
“Well, it will be over for you eventually. You get to skip away from all this soon,” Cheryl said. “That’s why you get to sit there all calm, even though you started this mess.”
Portia’s usually expressive face went blank, her eyes desolate. That had hurt her, and Tav’s urge to protect everyone found its focus.
Tav stepped between them. “Hey now, it’s not her fault. Maybe you want to take it up with your mother-in-law instead of an easy target. Or have you forgotten about all that sensitive shite you talked the other week?”
“No, she’s right. I do leave soon.” Portia was still looking at her screen and her voice was strangely dull when she spoke again. “Leave and spend every day hoping that I didn’t ruin all of your fucking lives by going to the library and meddling in the past. So I understand that you’re stressed, but I can’t be stressed right now. I don’t have that option. There’s a ball in a few days and Tavish doesn’t even know how to waltz. Every news outlet from Buzzfeed to Horse & Hound is in our in-box. There are two hundred and forty messages on the armory’s voice mail and I don’t see either of you volunteering to log them, let alone get back to anyone with a coherent answer. So. I am going to need you to calm down.”
Cheryl sucked in a deep breath, as if emerging from a well of panic. “Oh my goodness. I’m sorry, Portia. I just—this is a lot to take in.”
“I know,” Portia said. “I know. It’s okay. Everything is going to be okay.”
She finally looked away from her screen and tried to give Cheryl a smile of reassurance, but her expression was tight and Tavish could feel the tension vibrating from her.
Fuck all this.
“Freckles.”
She didn’t look at him.
“Freckles McGee, there’s something I have to show you.”
“I don’t have time,” she said in that strange voice. He stood, walked around the table, and placed his hand on the back of her neck. She stiffened, then relaxed into his hold, and he felt her release a shuddering breath. Desire tickled his palm, along with the curls at her nape, and traveled through his system, but that wasn’t what this was about.
“I must insist that you make time, squire,” he said, trying to remind her that he was supposed to take care of her, too, in whatever this relationship was. “Let’s go.”
She sighed and stood, her movement forcing his hand away.
“Go get one of your sporty little hoodies. We’re going for a walk.”
“THIS HAS BEEN here the entire time?” Portia asked, as she picked her way along the path. They’d walked in silence since Tav had driven them to the wooded section of the Bodotria Trail, which passed from the gentrifying industrial area of the docks, on past the brick town houses, and through old railroad tunnels and over abandoned tracks. The greenery expanded from moss on the rocks along the river, to bushes, to this lush—though compact—wooded gorge.
Tav had let Portia walk in peace, watching as the weight seemed to lift from her shoulders and brightness crept into her eyes. She asked questions about the area every now and again, and he enjoyed being the one who had answers for once.
“This is so beautiful,” she breathed. A couple of small brown birds chirped as they chased each other through the branches of chestnuts and beeches. “And peaceful. It reminds me of going to Central Park and finding a space that seemed magical in the rush of the city.”
Tav nodded. “I used to come here when I was a lad and play at being a knight. There was a lot more rubbish about back then. Mum was always warning me not to touch any strange needles. But this place cleans up well.”
“As do you. We have to think about what you’ll wear this Saturday, by the way,” she said, and he noticed her brow wrinkle just a bit.
“It’s a Highland ball. I’ll be wearing a kilt,” he said easily. “I may not know much about suits, but I’ve a very fine formal kilt and hose and all that. Don’t stress.”
He realized that the last bit would fall on deaf ears—Portia was always stressing. Maybe she should have been the one taking this post. She was certainly working harder for it than he was.
A duke needs a duchess . . .
Leslie’s words came to him as Portia stepped into a beam of sunshine filtering down through the leafy overhang and turned to look at him. The sun hit the strands of bronze in her hair, coaxed the golden undertones of her brown skin to the surface, and Tav was struck with wistfulness like an anvil dropping from the sky. He’d tried, and failed, at marriage, and it wasn’t something he was eager to try again. And his feelings for Portia were inextricably tied to the duke shite.
But he didn’t think that was what made his heart beat faster as she stood looking at him like some freckled nymph caught frolicking along the banks of the Bodotria. He didn’t think—but he wasn’t sure, and it was that lack of surety that meant he should push all thoughts of duchesses out of his mind. He’d married Greer for the wrong reasons, he’d realized much too late, and though he’d loved her, love wasn’t enough.
“Do you love her, m’hijo?”
“What about dancing?” Portia asked, that wide mouth of hers pulling into a grin.
Not yet, but oh fuck, could I. Shite.
“What about it?” he aske
d, stepping closer.
“Do you have two left feet, or three?” she asked.
“I’ll let you judge that.” He reached out a hand for her and she took it, tugging him close. He laughed. “I’m supposed to lead, Freckles.”
“Says who?” she taunted, tugging his arms out into a waltz position and slowly beginning the steps. Tavish fought against everything he’d learned, stumbling as he followed.
“I know a thing or two,” he said, pleased because she was pleased with him. “But this is a Highland ball, lass. There won’t only be waltzing.”
He stopped their movement, feeling the pull of her for a second, and when she relaxed and looked up in confusion he skipped into a reel, tugging her lightly along with him. He slowed to show her when to point her toe, when to lean back, when to turn, and when to bow. She picked up quickly and within a few moments they were whirling and hopping across the grass and mossy rocks, her laughter riding on the rustle of the wind through the trees like some kind of goddamned fairy song.
Do you love her?
They came to a panting sweaty stop and Tavish stared down at her as she threw her head back, letting the sun filtering through the trees warm her face.
I really could. Maybe I already do? This is not good.
Some part of him had known this was possible since the moment he’d seen her, mace and all. So he’d been a wanker in the hopes it would keep that distance between them. He should have still been pushing her away, but instead he sat down on an old tree stump and looked at her, willing her to come to him.
Her eyes narrowed and she strutted toward him, all of the stress from earlier in the day gone.
“Mind if I join you?” she asked, brow raised. He circled her wrist with his thumb and forefinger, giving a slight tug in his direction because she’d shown she liked that and Tav noted what made her happy very carefully these days. She swung her leg over his thigh and straddled him as if it was the natural thing to do. The weight of her against him, and the smell of her, and the press of her hands against his shoulders? That felt natural, too.