“Thank God.” The words sounded like a fervent prayer and in the next instant his arms were around her, hauling her up and against him. His mouth slanted over hers, and, with a moan, Genevieve parted her lips and welcomed the delicious invasion of his tongue. In a heartbeat she was lost, her senses reeling with long-forgotten sensations. He felt so incredibly good. Big and strong, hard and solid. And he tasted so wonderful—like mint with a hint of fine brandy. A groan vibrated in her throat at the erotic friction of his tongue exploring her mouth, of the press of his erection against her belly. She wrapped her arms around his neck and plunged impatient fingers through his thick, silky hair to drag his head closer.
Touch him…she wanted, needed to touch him. Had to touch him. She skimmed her hands across his broad shoulders, then down his smooth back, reveling in the feel of his supple skin and the way his taut muscles jumped beneath her fingertips.
He broke off their frantic kiss and dragged his open mouth down her throat. “So good,” he muttered against her neck as his hands roamed her back. “You feel so damn good.” He touched his tongue to the sensitive skin behind her ear and groaned. “Taste so damn good.”
She would have returned the compliment, but his hands came forward to cup her breasts, evaporating her ability to speak. While his thumbs drew drugging circles around her nipples, he kissed his way along her collarbone and down her chest. Slipping his fingers beneath the straps of her chemise, he pulled the garment down to her waist where the bunched material floated in the gurgling water. She arched her back in a silent plea and gasped when he drew one aroused peak into the heat of his mouth. Her eyes slid closed, her head dropped back, and she fisted her fingers in his hair, urging him to take more of her, drowning in the pleasure of being touched, of touching. Of his mouth and hands on her, of her hands on him.
“Beautiful,” he murmured against her breast, his voice a husky rasp in the darkness. He laved one nipple with a lazy swirl of his tongue while his fingers teased the other. His hand slipped beneath the water, lifted the hem of her chemise, and cupped her bare bottom. “So damn beautiful.”
With his tongue lightly playing with hers and one hand caressing her breasts, his other hand slowly stroked her bottom, his fingers teasing the sensitive nerve endings between her cheeks. Unable to remain still, Genevieve lifted one leg and hooked it high on his hip, a blatant invitation he immediately took advantage of. The first touch of his fingers against her swollen folds dragged a guttural groan from her throat that felt as if it was ripped from her soul. Her head fell limply back and exhaling a long aaaahhhh of delight, she basked in the waves of pleasure washing through her. He slipped first one, then two fingers inside her and slowly pumped, eliciting another moan from her. Desperation seized her and she raised her leg higher, shifting so that his erection nestled directly against her throbbing clitoris. The pressure coiled the knot building inside her tighter and she writhed against him. He answered with a long, slow thrust of his hips that robbed her of the last vestiges of her control. Lifting her head, she fisted her hands in his hair. “More,” she demanded against his mouth in a strained voice she barely recognized. “Please, more. Now.”
He slipped a third finger inside her, deliciously stretching her. With his tongue stroking inside her mouth in unison to his thrusting fingers, her climax thundered through her. With a cry, she ground herself against him, saturated in sensation, adrift in pleasure. When the spasms tapered off to mere ripples, she melted like warmed wax, her rapid, shallow breaths pelting the side of his neck.
Still dazed, she felt his fingers slip from her body and her boneless leg slid from his hip. If not for his strong arm wrapped around her waist she would have slithered beneath the water.
He gently brushed his fingertips across her overheated cheek. “I wish it wasn’t so bloody dark. I want to see you.”
His words snapped her from the sated, languorous stupor into which she’d fallen, reminding her that it was only because of the darkness that this interlude had occurred. Only because of the darkness that she’d allowed herself to…
She squeezed her eyes shut. Dear God, she’d simply come apart in his arms, no inhibitions, no hesitation and utterly no control—indisputable proof of how desperately she missed being touched. If her ten years as Richard’s mistress had taught her anything, it was how to seduce. Yet she’d been seduced by a single sentence. Tell me it’s not just me who feels this. With one caress. By a man she barely knew. A man she’d selfishly taken pleasure from while offering him none—something she’d never done before. Something a mistress would never do.
You’re not a mistress anymore, her inner voice whispered.
No. And she never would be, even if her hands were perfect. No man would ever own her again.
Still, guilt—along with a healthy dose of embarrassment—slapped her for so wantonly grabbing everything he offered, even demanding more, and giving nothing in return. She pulled in a fortifying breath, then lifted her head. In spite of the shadows, there was enough moonlight that she could see his eyes glittering. They appeared to devour her.
“I…I’m sorry, Mr. Cooper. I—”
He touched his fingers against her lips, cutting off her words. “Simon. Surely we’re on a first-name basis now.” There was no missing the hint of amusement in his voice. “Genevieve.”
A tingle ran through her at the intimate timbre in his voice. “Very well, Simon. I’m sorry I was so…carried away.”
“Are you?” He studied her and for a brief instant she wished for a flash of light so she could better see his expression. “You shouldn’t be. I’m certainly not. You were…are…exquisite. Enchanting. Incredible.” He leaned in and lightly scraped his teeth over her earlobe. “And absolutely delicious.”
With her arms still loosely looped around his neck, Genevieve sighed with pleasure and tilted her head to afford him easier access to that neglected bit of skin she’d forgotten was so sensitive. “I’m not sorry for what happened between us—”
“I’m delighted to hear it. The pleasure was all mine.”
“But that’s just my point. And why I’m sorry. The pleasure was all mine.”
His warm lips traveled across her jaw. “I assure you it wasn’t. The pleasure was mutual.”
Genevieve leaned back in the circle of his arms. “It was?” Had she been so lost in her own release that she’d missed his?
He rolled his hips against her and she realized that the bulge pressing against her stomach, while still impressive, had indeed softened. “It was. I’ve been alone for…a while, and well, you are, as I said, exquisite. Hearing, seeing, feeling you climax was an impossible combination to resist.”
There was no denying the feminine satisfaction that rippled through her. “So you decided to join me.”
He huffed out a laugh. “I’m afraid there was nothing I could do to stop it. You are…” His hand came forward to cup her face. “Potent.” Then his teeth flashed white in the darkness. “And besides, my breeches were already wet.”
His smile faded and his expression turned serious. “As much as I wanted to be inside you, it’s perhaps better that I wasn’t. Contrary to my actions this evening, I am a cautious man. I don’t normally allow my passions to rule me, and my mastery over myself is usually much more…”
“Masterful?” she suggested when he seemed at a loss.
“Yes.”
“Then I can only say I am glad you weren’t left unsatisfied and flattered to have undone you so.”
His gaze searched hers and he frowned. “Undone me. Yes, that’s exactly what you did. And without any effort. Rather frightening to think what might happen if you actually put your wealth of feminine wiles into the effort.”
“Frightening isn’t the word I would use. I think fascinating would be a far better description.” Feeling deliciously wicked, she rubbed her breasts against his chest, inwardly smiling at his swift intake of air.
“Indeed,” he murmured, running his hands slowly up and down her ba
re back. “Especially now that the edge is off my ardor. I’ll last longer next time.”
“Next time? That sounds—”
“Presumptuous?” Before she could tell him that she was going to say lovely, he continued, “Yes, I know.” He settled her more firmly against him. Oh, my. It seemed as if next time could happen very soon indeed. “But I’ve wanted you since the first moment I laid eyes on you. Make no mistake, Genevieve. I want to make love to you. But I have nothing to offer you beyond the fortnight I’ll be in Little Longstone, which is something you must consider.”
His gaze searched hers for several seconds. “Tonight we were both caught up in the moment. As much as I enjoy spontaneity, I don’t act without considering the consequences of my actions. With any affair there can be repercussions. Even with discretion there can be scandal. I’ll be gone, but you’ll remain here and could face censure. And there’s always the possibility of pregnancy. As much as I want you, I don’t want you to make a decision in the heat of the moment that you’ll regret. Think about it. There can be no doubt as to what I want, but it has to be right for you as well.”
Genevieve stilled at the realization he was offering her not only himself, but a choice as well—a choice he wanted her to make with a clear mind. He was concerned enough to consider her position in Little Longstone as well as the possibility of pregnancy. And he was honest enough to let her know that should they enter into a liaison, it would only be of a temporary nature. She was very well aware that many men would neither have been so considerate nor given the situation any thought. They would have simply taken what was offered and damn the consequences, which for him would be minimal, but for her could be very costly.
There was no doubt he wanted her—the irrefutable proof was nestled against her belly. Yet he hadn’t taken her, and God knows he could have—irrefutable proof he was a decent, honorable man. She’d only been with one other man in her life, and although she’d come to love Richard, she’d become his mistress out of necessity. And desperation. Because she hadn’t had a choice, at least not one she was willing to contemplate. Now she had a choice, one she could make without her judgment being clouded by clawing, aching need.
There was a great deal to consider. She’d been able to hide her hands during this brief interlude, but the chances of her being able to do so over a fortnight were slim. Of course, as soon as he saw them, he’d no doubt reject her, which was a pain she didn’t think she could bear. Not again.
“I appreciate your thoughtfulness, Simon. And your forbearance. I shall think on the matter.” Indeed, she doubted she’d be able to think of anything else. “But now it’s time for me to return home.” She released him, slipped her hands under the water, then stepped back. His hands fell away from her and she immediately missed the feel of them on her skin. Turning her back to him, she lowered herself in the water up to her neck and quickly slipped her arms back into her chemise. After adjusting the garment, she moved onto the stone seat then stepped from the spring.
Her warm flesh instantly pebbled in the cool air and she reached for her robe, one corner of her mouth lifting at the sight of Beauty curled up next to her clothing. After knotting the sash around her waist, she donned her long cape, her gloves and her boots, and tucked her pistol into her pocket. Feeling far less vulnerable now that her hands were covered, she turned to face him. He’d emerged from the spring as well, and was tugging his jacket into place, watching her through hooded eyes. For several seconds they simply looked at each other and Genevieve experienced a pull of attraction, and something else…something she’d never before experienced. Something that made her want to run to him and bury her face against his broad chest. Breathe him in. Feel his strength. She wanted to hold him, and be held by him. And never let go. She frowned and shook her head to dispel it of the ridiculous notion.
“Are you cold?” he asked, walking toward her.
If only she were. She should be. Instead, heat rippled through her, increasing with every step closer he took. “No.”
He stopped, looking at her as if she were a puzzle he couldn’t solve. Then his gaze flicked to her mouth. Fire kindled in his eyes, and her heart lurched in anticipation. But instead of kissing her, he bent down and scooped up Beauty. The puppy opened one sleepy eye, gave a huge yawn, then snuggled into the curve of Simon’s arm to dream doggie dreams.
Lightly petting the dog’s golden head, Simon said softly, “Earlier, while dashing through the woods after this imp I was tempted to change her name to Evil Lead Chewer. Or Runs Impossibly Fast. Or Pain in the Arse. Now I’m tempted to change her name to Genius. Certainly I owe her the largest beef bone in the kingdom for leading me here.”
“And here you thought she’d be nothing but trouble.”
“Oh, she’s trouble. But it appears I harbor a weakness for trouble.” His gaze skimmed over her. “Among other things. Which means we should leave now. Lest we end up here all night.” He extended his free arm. “Shall we?”
Genevieve tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow and they made their way along the path. For several minutes the only sound was that of their footfalls crunching against the fallen leaves. Then for reasons she didn’t quite understand, she found herself admitting, “It’s been a long time since I’ve walked through the woods with a man.”
He turned his head to look at her. “I can only conclude that it’s been your choice to walk alone because you’d have only to snap your fingers to find a dozen suitors knocking on your door.”
Even though he was completely mistaken, warmth flooded Genevieve at the compliment. “Thank you, but you are far overestimating my charms, Simon.”
“I’m not. You are far underestimating them. Have you no mirrors in your home?”
“Yes. And they don’t lie.” They showed her exactly what she was—an aging former mistress with ruined hands. A shell of the woman she once was.
“Then you must require spectacles.”
She was about to assure him she didn’t when he abruptly halted. They’d rounded a corner and her cottage was just ahead.
“Your front door is open,” he said in an undertone, pulling her off the path and behind the trunk of an elm. As Genevieve peered through the darkness, he reached down and pulled a knife from his boot. The silver blade glinted in the moonlight. “Give me your pistol.”
A chill ran through her at his terse whisper and she reached into her pocket. “That won’t be necessary. It’s not just a decoration—I’m very proficient.”
“You’re prepared to shoot someone?”
“If necessary.”
He gave her a quick, appraising glance, then nodded. “Good. Let’s hope you don’t need to. Stay behind me, be prepared to run, and for God’s sake don’t shoot me.”
He set the sleeping dog beneath the tree then crouching low, moved cautiously forward, his gaze scanning. Genevieve kept behind him, heart pounding with a combination of fear and dread. Was it possible Richard had come for the puzzle box? If so, she certainly didn’t want Simon to hurt him, thinking him to be an intruder.
They reached the flagstone steps and approached the door, then stepped into the foyer. And were greeted by the sight of Baxter lying on the parquet floor, a dark trail of what could only be blood marring the side of his face.
10
WITH HIS GAZE scanning their surroundings, Simon knelt beside Baxter. Just as he touched his fingers to the side of the giant man’s neck and felt his steady pulse, Baxter stirred and moaned.
“He’s coming around,” Simon said in a terse undertone. “I need to see if anyone’s still in the house.” Taking Genevieve by the shoulders, he backed her up several paces until her spine touched the paneling. “Stay here against the wall with your pistol at the ready until I return.”
“But Baxter—”
“Will be fine until I return.”
“I can’t leave him like that on the floor.”
“You won’t be of any use to anyone if the intruder catches you unaware because you
’re tending to him. I won’t be long.”
After a brief hesitation, she nodded. With his knife at the ready, Simon quickly made his way through the house. His instincts told him the intruder was gone, and his search ascertained that was the case. The last room he checked before returning to the foyer was Genevieve’s bedchamber. On a hunch he opened her dresser drawer and felt beneath the stacks of undergarments. His jaw clenched. He didn’t know what else might have been taken from the house, but one thing was missing—the puzzle box was no longer hidden beneath her lingerie.
Had she moved it herself—or had the intruder taken it? He didn’t believe for an instant that this was some random break-in. Someone else wanted that letter. But who? He didn’t know, but he sure as hell was going to find out.
With his mouth flattened into a grim line, he hurried back to the foyer.
“The house is empty,” Simon reported.
Genevieve immediately went to Baxter and dropped to her knees beside him. “He’s groaned several times and just opened his eyes.”
“Good. See to him and I’ll be right back.” Simon hurried outside and retrieved Beauty who mercifully still slept as she was carried into the foyer and set on a rug in the corner. Simon then knelt beside Genevieve who was gently dabbing the wound on Baxter’s head with a lacy handkerchief. “How is he?”
“Conscious.” No sooner had she uttered the word than Baxter attempted to sit up. Simon immediately urged him back down.
“Bloody hell, me head feels like a battalion of demons are stabbing me skull with their pitchforks,” Baxter said in a gravelly voice. He groaned and slammed his eyes shut. “What the hell sort of rotgut did I drink?”
“You didn’t drink anything,” Genevieve said. “You were knocked unconscious.”
Baxter opened one eye and frowned. “Unconscious?”
“By someone who made a thorough and not very neat search of the house,” Simon said grimly as he leaned closer to examine the egg-sized lump on the side of Baxter’s bald head. He turned to Genevieve. “We need some light.”
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