Kisses Like a Devil

by Diane Whiteside

  He pulled away, fire darting over his skin wherever Meredith caressed him. She sighed again and reached for him. His lungs seized and his cock promptly lunged toward her.

  Slow things down, Brian, slow them down.

  He kissed her throat, finding the delectable pulse point under her ear. She trembled and sobbed his name, arching into his arms. He crooned to her and caressed it with his tongue, tasting her, enjoying the delicate hollows in her skin—and how she bucked against him, clutching his shoulder. How his own body tightened in rhythm with hers, heat sinking into his blood.

  How could such a simple caress, which he’d performed so many times before, make him so breathless now?

  He made love to her throat’s strong tendons, grateful she wasn’t wearing a high-necked style or one of the fashionable jeweled dog collars. Although placing a collar on a woman to tell other men to stay away was oddly attractive for the first time in his life.

  She arched over his arm, sobbing his name. Thank God he hadn’t put on his coat yet. Her fingers kneaded his shoulders as shamelessly as any cat, eager for more. His own hands were trembling a little and his cock had surged hot and full.

  He moved lower still to find her breasts’ creamy mounds. Too impatient for pretty words or smooth techniques, he quickly slipped them each out of their very revealing prison and paused to admire them.

  “Brian!”

  He ignored her protest, since her skin was heating under his hands.

  Perfection, absolute perfection. Just the right amount for filling his mouth and driving his woman insane with lust. Any more might have been a distraction, however enjoyable.

  He suited the action to the thought and swirled his tongue over one pale pink nipple.

  “Dear heavens, Brian…” she gasped.

  His blood began to run faster still.

  He licked, he suckled, he nibbled delicately, he tugged, he drummed, he enjoyed himself—by all the saints, oh how he enjoyed himself. He slid her evening gown’s straps off her shoulders, baring her to the waist except for her corset.

  And Meredith writhed under him, clutching him and sobbing his name, caressing him and pulling his shirt open to find more of him. Until somehow his skin was raging hot and crackling tight, as if he’d burst should her nails rake his chest.

  He unfastened her skirt without ripping anything, ironically grateful at least some of his experience was proving useful, and dropped it on the floor. He unbuttoned her petticoats and threw the frothy nonsense onto the chair with even less ceremony.

  Now he could fondle more of her beautiful, strong legs, which he hadn’t seen last night. She was panting, her eyes enormous with lust, her hips circling restlessly on the bed.

  He ran his hand up her thigh and found cream—but wasn’t overwhelmed by the scent of sex. She hadn’t climaxed yet.

  He caught her lambent gaze and slipped his fingers inside her silken drawers’ slit, gathering her cream. Her eyes widened in shock and she instinctively rocked into his palm, seeking fulfillment, offering him everything.

  He fought for control, bitterly glad of his fly’s vicious bite into his cock.

  “More, Brian, please.”

  He beckoned to her, drawing his thumb and forefinger through her intimate folds and pressing on her pearl.

  “Brian!” She climaxed, drawing his fingertips into her, and she arched off the bed, her eyes wild with joy.

  The absolute rapture in her eyes captured him—and ripped him into his own orgasm. His cock jerked, jetting his come into his trousers as if he were a twelve-year-old boy again, enjoying every taste of delight.

  His heart spun like a wheel, sending him into a world where there were no cannons, nothing but him and Meredith and pure pleasure.

  More than a week later, Morro had his nose down to the ground, stalking a rabbit who’d dived into a long border of vibrant summer flowers. Brian and Captain Blackwell were talking in hushed tones back at the stables by their horses, striving to look casual.

  Meredith strolled along the path from the stables to the palace, twirling her parasol over her shoulder. She silently counted the number of revolutions, her private timekeeping method. He’d been given free run of the gardens so long as she chaperoned him and he didn’t dig for too long.

  Dear heavens, how Morro enjoyed it here at Schloss Belvedere, despite all the dangerous, underhanded games which kept him alert and close to her whenever they went out.

  A shadow sliced the stonework ahead of her. “Miss Duncan.” The interloper bowed.

  She promptly lowered her parasol onto the pavement, placing it in the guard position toward him. “Count Sazonov.”

  “May I have a word with you?”

  “It seems you’re already taking it.” There was nobody around to stop him, drat it. She looked down her nose at him, grateful for the courage granted by an excellent wardrobe.

  “I bring a message for you from your friend—and mine—Franz Schnabel.”

  “Yes?”

  Oh dear God, what now? She kept her expression immobile, well trained by long years in the Judge’s house.

  “He wishes to know when you will deliver the plans for the cannon so he can start the revolution.” Sazonov’s voice was silky soft and more deadly than arsenic.

  Don’t admit it’s already gone, Meredith.

  “Do you think I’d tell you?” She pounded the parasol on the ground. Morro looked up and started running.

  “What choice do you have?”

  “You will betray the workers’ party in an instant, the same way you tried to kidnap me at the university so I’d steal the plans for Russia. Not for the party.” She spat, wishing she could wring his lying throat. “You’ve flirted with me, betraying promises to Liesel.”

  “Misunderstandings only. She trusts me.”

  And Brian Donovan treats his paramour far better than you ever did, you treacherous fiend.

  “Do you think Schnabel believes that? I’ve already given him money and supplies.”

  “Small change, coming from you.” Morro arrived beside her, teeth bared and fur bristling.

  Sazonov glared at the dog then continued to argue, a little wary but undeterred. “But more than anybody else has given him. More than the letter of support from Germany or the solidarity proclamation from France.”

  “He’s not a fool.” She tried to forget all the times he’d been more thinker than doer.

  “I’ve given him reality—but you disappeared, only to reappear at the grand duke’s palace, living in luxury. Who do you think he’ll trust?”

  She’d have to talk to him and the rest of the council as soon as possible. They needed to know how quickly Sazonov would betray anyone and anything to get those plans. “No matter what, I still won’t give you the plans.”

  “You can make all of us happy.” Sazonov started to sidle closer.

  Morro growled, deep and raw, and braced his forequarters to charge. What if Sazonov was carrying a pistol?

  Oh, if only Brian was here to stand by her.

  Sazonov froze, clearly recognizing an imminent attack’s warning.

  “Speak your piece from where you are, no closer,” Meredith ordered, making no move to curb her watchdog.

  “If you gave them the true plans and created a set for me, everyone would be happy.”

  Her blood ran colder than any time before during this appalling conversation. “Create?” She managed to raise an eyebrow.

  “Zorndorf says you can copy blueprints, as well as recreate them from memory.”

  Damn him! What else had the old goat said when he’d bragged about his staff? She waited, her mouth and throat an icy bog.

  “Give the originals to Schnabel and another set to me. He can start his revolution, while Russia makes all the cannons we need.”

  Feet were running toward them from the stables. Dear God, let it be Brian.

  “Certainly not. Schnabel’s set is useful only if it’s unique.” Please, let him not see that she was bluffing. />
  “Unique? Of course, you’re unique, darling,” Brian drawled and slipped his arm possessively around her waist. “Count.” An ice storm would have been warmer than his voice.

  Blackwood took up his stance on Meredith’s other side and Morro glared from beside her parasol.

  “Donovan.” Sazonov tilted his head, his fists clenching and unclenching. He hissed in a breath before recovering himself. “Shall I convey your compliments to our mutual friends, Miss Duncan?”

  Brian’s puzzlement was clear but he said nothing. She’d have to deal with it later, just as she’d have to deal with Franz and the rest of the council.

  And think of something to do with the blueprints.

  “Please do, Count. Good day.”

  Sazonov stalked off, barely bothering to favor Brian and Blackwell with a curt nod.

  Blackwell glanced at them. “I believe I should stretch my legs in that direction, don’t you? Wouldn’t do to let him circle back. Until dinner, dear lady.”

  He departed, his long legs eating up ground remarkably fast.

  Brian studied Meredith, wondering whether he should take her back to their suite immediately to soothe her after what had obviously been a nasty scene. She’d refused to discuss it, so it was probably related to her fellow revolutionaries, the only subject which silenced her quick tongue.

  After the past days, he flattered himself he knew her pretty well—and he liked almost everything he saw.

  Their Mexican standoff hadn’t changed. Nor had he ever succeeded in twisting her to do his will through sex. His body was so interested in enjoying her, that he’d mostly given up trying to manage her in the bedroom.

  Life could almost be called good. Almost.

  “What did the cable from Washington say?” she asked. Trust Meredith to seek a distraction by heading for the intellectual.

  Yes, that was a large portion of the almost.

  “There’s nothing in any reports from St. Petersburg to indicate an attack on Alaska.”

  She swung around to stare at him. Her hair was drifting deliciously over her temples, begging to be taken down further for a tumble among the sheets. “Do they expect an announcement in the newspapers?”

  “Probably.” Morro sat down to scratch.

  “Arrogant old fools.”

  “It gets worse.” He glanced around for an audience, found none, but still headed for a side path.

  “How bad?” How could anybody this beautiful be so good at talking business—and playing in the bedroom? She’d be perfect for marriage. He grinned privately.

  “We’re instructed to let them handle any repercussions from the so-called cable.”

  “They don’t believe it exists.” She swung her parasol over her shoulder and spun it.

  “London has it and they believe it’s real. But they too ordered us to sit tight.”

  She paused, her parasol’s silly ribbons fluttering around her beautiful face. “Is the British Empire that afraid to anger Eisengau?”

  “London’s bought cannons from the grand dukes for years,” he reminded her. They undoubtedly hope for more.”

  “We’re running out of time here. You haven’t been able to buy the four examples of the new gun.” She twisted the thin wand with unnecessary violence, her voice very tightly controlled.

  “Neither has anybody else.”

  “You’re very calm.”

  “The old fox is gathering bids, playing us off against each other—and the clock.”

  “Summer maneuvers end in four days.”

  “Exactly. That’s when he’ll probably gather the top two, maybe three, bidders together and try to wring us dry.”

  “Who do you think will make the final round?”

  She was almost quivering, the same as if they were locked in each other’s arms. He’d never met a woman before for whom an intellectual discussion was as exciting as making love.

  “Sazonov, of course. He’s spending far too much time whispering in Grand Duke Rudolph’s ear. And me, I think.”

  “But you’re not sure.”

  “No, dammit.”

  She grimaced and tapped her parasol briefly on the pavement. “Who else?”

  “Everyone else is pretty much equal.”

  She shot him a speaking look. Her lithe body was poised against the parasol, ready for long bouts of arguments—or tumbling across the sheets. She’d be just as feisty about protecting her own children.

  “God’s own truth, Meredith. That gun would make any country in Europe either a conqueror or impregnable or both. They might not pay in cash but they’ll offer him something just as attractive.”

  “We have to stop it somehow.”

  “We will.” He’d already figured out how.

  “You’re too confident.” She glared at him. “Those guns are locked up in a stone fortress, high atop a granite cliff, and guarded by some of the world’s best troops. There are only three doors in, one of which is kept locked at all times. And—”

  “Hush.” He patted her elbow. “You’re working up your color before dinner and people will talk.”

  “Gossip? I want them to do that!” She almost shrieked.

  He didn’t. He wanted the world to see her on his arm and envy him. While he didn’t think she was the type of woman who’d only have her name in the newspaper at her birth, marriage, and death, he hated hearing the trollops here whisper about her.

  Dammit, he wanted to take her to church with his parents. He wanted to see her swell with his babies and bounce them on his knee. And laugh to see his father carrying his grandchildren on his shoulders or teaching them to ride. Plus, there’d be the pure joy of making those little darlings with Meredith. Oh yes.

  He’d always planned to marry first and provide the first grandchild to his parents, thus replacing the family his father had lost. It would also prove to big brother Neil that yet another responsibility wasn’t a burden when performed with somebody you trusted.

  They’d have a great marriage, just as soon as she agreed.

  “Will you believe me if I promise to make sure Sazonov won’t lay his hands on the guns?” he asked cautiously, bringing his mind back to their original quarrel.

  “How can you guarantee that?” Lord, how he needed to kiss away the frown from between her brows. He wanted to see her happy.

  “I’m here and I know Sazonov, the guns, and the terrain. Nobody else really has a chance. He means to conquer my country and I won’t let him.”

  His tone had deepened into a growl, despite his attempts to keep it civilized enough for a lady’s boudoir.

  Her eyes widened and she nodded after a moment. “God help you.”

  He crossed himself automatically and went on. “Once matters start changing, we’ll have to get you out of Eisengau quickly.”

  “Why? My parents should forgive me for breaking the betrothal to Zorndorf, since they know what he’s like.” Her voice broke briefly. “If they don’t, then I’ll go to Edinburgh.”

  She turned for the stairs to their suite, clearly ending the conversation.

  Edinburgh? Like hell! He’d wrestle this out here and now, even if he’d planned to wait until they’d left Eisengau.

  “Marry me and come back to California with me.”

  “Marriage?” She spun to face him. Her gray eyes, once so vibrant, were now narrow and cold. “Marriage? Why?”

  His skin prickled. But he’d already said the big word. Stopping now would mean never bringing it up again.

  “I’d like to introduce you to my parents and brothers, to start with.” Buy a house close to his family. Thank God she was Catholic, not that he’d have cared if she was a Protestant. Definitely dress her in a Paris wardrobe. Oh, and introduce her to Teddy so she could tell him everything about the gun.

  “Your parents? Do you mean your father, the patriarch? Never.” She huffed and turned on her heel.

  “Meredith, what’s wrong?” He caught her by the shoulders and turned her.

  “
What will your father want from me for his dynasty?”

  “What do you mean?” Brian frowned, caught totally off-guard.

  “Will he want me to draw the big cannon’s plans from memory so America can build one?” She was standing perfectly still yet she couldn’t have been farther away.

  “Can you truly do that?” Sweet Jesus, if she could, Eisengau wouldn’t have such an infernal monopoly.

  “You see, all you care about are the weapons!” Tears sparkled on her eyelashes. “You’re just like every other man—you want me to live my life in your world, doing what you want, not what I asked for. Well, I won’t do it.”

  Had he actually said that? Well, yes, he’d implied it. He tried a different approach. “Meredith, darling.”

  “Don’t you darling me! We made a bargain and you can’t change the terms in midstream.”

  “I asked you to marry me,” he protested. “I’m trying to honor you.”

  “Take your so-called honors someplace else. I’m not clay to be molded, Brian. I won’t turn meek and mild, I won’t marry you, I won’t go to America—and I won’t draw the gun’s plans for you.”

  “I’m trying to protect your reputation!”

  “My reputation is already ruined, thank God—and maybe I’d like to grind it deeper into the mud.” She poked her finger into his chest.

  He reached for her. She flinched, almost flinging herself against the wall, so he tried to think of a bribe instead. “I could give you a superb library as a wedding present,” he coaxed.

  She shuddered. “If you think money makes you more acceptable, you have much to learn. The answer is still no.”

  “I’ll keep asking you.”

  “You are certainly free to. I will maintain our original bargain but nothing more.”

  Hell, how was he supposed to enjoy a mistress who’d cold-shouldered him? Especially when he knew he’d missed something in their conversation—and he still needed to somehow destroy those damn guns and Sazonov.

  Marlowe Donovan paced the Hotel Ritz’s lobby, keeping a wary eye out for his twin brother, his father, and the hotel clerk, in more or less that order. Even though every palm tree in Paris seemed to have sprouted here, he’d have preferred rather more cover. The old man had an uncanny ability to know when his sons didn’t want him around.