by Merry Farmer
“Upstairs,” he panted, breaking away from her instead.
Her eyes flashed with desire and her kiss-reddened lips spread into a naughty smile. He grabbed her hand and practically sprinted to the stairs, ignoring the slight ache in his knees. She followed without a word, doing her best to keep her footsteps as silent as possible, especially when they brushed past Cece’s room at the top of the stairs. It wasn’t the first time they’d had to sneak past without waking Cece, and, God willing, it wouldn’t be the last.
As soon as they reached his bedroom at the end of the hall and slipped inside, silently shutting the door behind them, Katya whirled about and backed Malcolm into the wall. It was her turn to trap him with a kiss that left him senseless and burning with need. It didn’t matter how many times they’d ravished each other or how much their bodies had changed since their first, fateful meeting seventeen years before. She worked with deft fingers to unbutton his waistcoat and shirt as he did his best to wriggle out of his clothes.
“You seem sad tonight,” she said, breathless with passion, as she helped him tug his shirt over his head. As soon as his chest was exposed, she smoothed her hands across his muscles, teasing his nipples, before leaning in to kiss and nibble his shoulders. “What’s wrong?” she asked as she returned to his lips.
He didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t want to think about anything but tearing Katya’s clothes off and seeing her naked, splayed, and wet on his bed. “I want you,” he answered, meaning it on too many levels. “I always want you.”
She laughed, low and deep in her throat, and reached for the fastenings of his trousers. As soon as they were loose, she slid one hand inside to play with him. “I know,” she hummed, sending unbelievable pleasure coursing through him. More potent still, she sank to her knees, tugging his trousers and drawers down with her, then drew his cock into her mouth.
The heady pleasure of moist heat and sucking threatened to pull him under as she toyed with him. She was beyond skilled with her tongue and capable of swallowing him deep. Every nerve throbbed with pleasure as the wet heat of her mouth sheathed him again and again. A younger man would have come in thirty seconds, but he was seasoned enough to enjoy the slower journey toward climax that came with age. And he and Katya knew each other well enough to know how to drive each other wild.
She pulled back, took a deep, gasping breath, then stood, shaking slightly with the force of her desire, and turned her back to him. Without hesitation, he fumbled through the row of buttons down her back, helping her out of her stylish gown with lightning speed. Once all the fastenings were loosened, they broke apart to finish discarding clothes on their own—something they’d learned was far more efficient than the so-called romance of stripping each other naked. Katya tossed her things over the large chair by the fire as she always did, and he gathered his clothes and shoved them haphazardly into the wardrobe before crossing to the bed and tearing back the covers. She joined him in bed a minute later, and he rolled her to her back. The two of them had perfected the routine of getting as close as possible as fast as possible into a science.
“Why are you so sad, Malcolm?” she asked again as he nibbled his way from her shoulder to her breast. He raked his thumb across her nipple, causing her to suck in a breath. She let that breath out on a sensuous hum as he closed his mouth over her nipple and stroked it to a point with his tongue. She wasn’t about to let him ignore her question, though, no matter how much pleasure he brought her. “Is it because of Sir Christopher?”
He pulled away from her, narrowing his eyes as he stared down at her. “The man is a boob. I don’t know what you see in him.” It was likely that she saw nothing in him. Katya adored making him jealous and always had. And damn him, but jealousy made him hard in ways he didn’t want to think about. “He could never make you feel the way I do,” he growled, proving his point by skipping about twenty steps in their lovemaking routine to thrust inside of her.
Katya gasped, her eyes popping wide at the deviation from the norm. “If this is what I get for flirting with a passing stranger, then I should do it more often.”
“Don’t you dare,” he growled, thrusting hard and deep. He reached for her leg, bringing it up over his hip so that he could increase the pressure of his thrusts. For a woman past forty, Katya was astoundingly flexible—something they routinely made full use of.
“I like you when you’re on fire like this,” she panted as he increased the pace of his thrusts, her words turning into impassioned cries.
“You just like to be fucked,” he said, doing his best to give her everything she wanted. All the same, the agonizing whisper that hinted she liked it whether he was the one inside of her or not dampened the pleasure he felt.
His pace slowed, and the energy pulsing through him subsided somewhat. Katya obviously sensed it. She pushed him to the side, then rolled to straddle him, impaling herself on his cock and riding him without mercy.
“That’s more like it,” she said with a devilish sparkle in her eyes, her face flushed with need.
The sight of her body moving over him, still amazing even at her age, her full breasts with their large, pert nipples bouncing, and her face contorting with pleasure, fanned the flames within him into an inferno once more. She was everything he’d ever wanted, the only woman he’d wanted since the moment they’d met. She could reach into his soul, grab hold of his heart, and hold him in a state of arousal that drove him to blissful madness. He was completely at her mercy, and she knew it. But he doubted she felt the same way about him.
He spread his hands across her hips, meeting her movements with thrusts as she pleasured herself on him, and stroked his way up her sides to cradle her breasts. He knew her so well, knew that she was close to coming, and that it would be astounding for her. Thank God he’d read her signals right, sensed that she was in a randy mood, and sent her the note ordering her into his bed that night. He rolled her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers before pinching them with just the right amount of pressure.
She cried out as the muscles of her pussy clenched around him, milking him into his own orgasm. Her shattered look of ecstasy as she came kept him pumping until he was spent. The searing intensity of climax slowly gave way to the sated feeling of contentment that he’d grown to enjoy almost as much as the flash of orgasm over the years. Katya rode out the waves of her pleasure, then loosened, sinking to lie splayed across his chest, panting into the pillow beside his head.
The urge to sleep was almost overpowering, but he fought it. He reached awkwardly to cradle the side of her head, nudging her to face him. When she did, he surged into her and kissed her with a tenderness far more powerful than the lust they’d just spent in each other’s arms. His heart swelled to fill the places that raw need had inhabited. He circled his arms around her and simply held her, brushing her lips with his own and wishing he could melt into her and be one with her forever.
Their light, bleary kisses continued until the heat of their bodies subsided enough that Katya reached for the bedcovers to envelop them in a cocoon of warmth.
“Tell me why you’re so sad tonight,” she said, her tone infinitely more patient and less demanding than before their lovemaking.
“I’m not sad,” he insisted, rolling to his side and fitting her against his body.
“Malcolm.” She pursed her lips and sent him a scolding look across the pillow. “I know you. I know when you’re sad.”
She did, and he wouldn’t be able to get away with lying to her for long. “Cece was talking about her coming out earlier,” he admitted. “It made me realize that she won’t be mine for much longer.”
The tender sympathy that filled Katya’s eyes was enough of a reward to make him wonder why he hadn’t confessed to her from the start. She smoothed a hand over his cheek, brushing her thumb across the stubble on his chin.
“My dear Malcolm,” she sighed. “You’re a sentimental old fool.”
He intended to reply “I know,” but the wo
rds that blurted past his lips were, “Marry me, Katya.”
She stiffened, pulling away slightly, her gaze dropping.
“We both know it’s inevitable,” he went on, urgency burning inside of him. “We belong together. We don’t work when we’re apart.”
“We don’t work when we’re together either,” she said in a voice so quiet he almost didn’t hear it. He wished he hadn’t. Her gaze flickered up to meet his. “You know that.”
“No, I don’t,” he insisted. He cupped her backside, pressing his hips into hers. “We just experienced how well we work together.”
“We know how to give each other pleasure,” she said, her expression stern. “But we don’t know how not to cause each other pain.”
Malcolm frowned. “Life is pain. It’s unavoidable. And it’s easier to face when we’re together.” He wanted to add that he could only face the pain he knew was coming for him if she was with him, but he’d humiliated himself enough for one night.
She reacted as though he’d said it anyhow, smiling gently and kissing his tight lips. “Oh, Malcolm. There are so many things I wish I could tell you.”
His frown deepened. “You can tell me anything. You’ve always been able to tell me anything.”
She shook her head and stroked his cheek again. “No, I haven’t. There are far more things I can’t tell you than ones I can.”
His body began to heat all over again, but with frustration more than desire. “What things?”
She let out an impatient breath. “I can’t tell you.”
“Why not?” he demanded.
“Because you wouldn’t listen,” she said, inching away. “You’d pretend to listen, but you wouldn’t really hear.”
“Is that what you think of me?” He pushed away from her, the cozy feeling of completion changing to an ache of emptiness inside of him.
“It’s what I think of all men who try to learn all my secrets and toss me aside with all the other puzzles they’ve figured out,” she snapped, propping herself up on one arm.
“I see,” he growled, sitting up. “I’m just like every other man, am I?”
“I—” She blinked, sitting, her mouth hanging open for a moment. “No, actually. You aren’t like every other man. Not even close.”
Hope warred with anger and disappointment in his gut. “I’m special then?” he said, knowing there was too much sarcasm in his voice. “Not like all the others. I’m the only fool who’s stuck around long enough to know just how replaceable I am.”
“You are not replaceable,” she said, glaring at him. “Far from it.”
“Then marry me.” He twisted toward her, cursing himself for sounding like he was begging.
“It wouldn’t work,” she said, turning away.
“Why not?” he demanded.
She snapped back to him, her eyes wide with indignation. “You know full well why not.”
“Impossible woman,” he hissed to himself before saying louder, “I have no idea why I’ve never been good enough for you.”
She laughed as though he’d said something ridiculous. “You’ve always been good enough for me, but that doesn’t change the fact that you—”
A sharp knock on the door silenced Katya before she could finish her thought.
“Papa,” Cece called from the hall, her voice high with excitement. “Papa, a messenger’s just arrived.” She knocked again. “I told Galston I would fetch you.”
Katya swore under her breath and dove off the far side of the bed.
Malcolm leapt from the other side of the bed and snatched at his robe, hanging over the wardrobe door. “What messenger?” he called.
He threw on his robe and fastened the belt. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Katya scrambling on hands and knees to retrieve her clothes from the chair. She barely made it under the bed with the bundle of her things in her arms when Cece knocked one more time, then threw open the door.
Chapter 3
Katya’s knees and elbows would have bruises for days, but at least she’d made it under the bed in time. Not that she believed for one second Cece was fooled.
“Did I interrupt something?” Cece asked. Katya could see her feet and the hem of her gown a yard or so inside the door. Her voice held a teasing lilt.
“No,” Malcolm answered, too gruff to be telling the truth. “I’d just gone to bed is all. What’s this about a messenger?”
“Were you having a hard time falling asleep?” Cece asked on, more gloating than ever.
“The messenger?” Malcolm growled.
“Only, it looks as though you were tossing and turning quite a bit,” Cece said, undeterred. “Your bedsheets are horribly tangled.”
Katya let out a breath, but nearly burst into a fit of coughing as she breathed in a tuft of dust. She fought to hold her breath and keep still. Damn Malcolm’s staff for not cleaning under the bed.
“Cecelia. What of the messenger,” Malcolm said, raising his voice.
Katya watched Cece’s skirts sway, as though she’d given up her prying for something more exciting. “Mr. Croydon just sent a messenger to the house,” she said, her voice animated. “There’s been a development in everything you’ve been doing to fight against Lord Shayles.”
“What development?” Malcolm asked, the same eagerness in his voice that Katya felt.
Katya scooted across to Cece’s side of the bed, no doubt picking up more dust as she did. It would be undignified for a woman half her age to hide, naked, under beds, listening in to conversations, but at the moment she didn’t care. Anticipation surged through her, making her reckless.
“Inspector Coleman of Scotland Yard has just been sacked,” Cece said.
Katya gasped, breathing in more dust. She couldn’t help but cough that time, though she buried her face in the bundle of her clothes and prayed Cece wouldn’t notice. Inspector Coleman was the name at the very top of the list that Mark Gatwick had given them—a list of the men protecting Shayles and his horrific club from the law.
“Coleman is gone?” Malcolm asked, nearly shouting. Likely he was attempting to cover up Katya’s coughing, but shouting was even more suspicious. “When?” he went on. “How did it happen? Who’s taking his place.”
“I don’t know,” Cece said. “The messenger merely delivered the news of the man’s sacking and said that Mr. Croydon wants everyone at his house within the hour.”
“Right.” Malcolm’s bare feet moved across to Cece, and she turned toward the door. “Go to bed.”
“I’m not going to bed,” Cece protested. “I received the message, so I want to go with you.”
“No,” Malcolm snapped. For once, Katya agreed with him. “You’re too young and naïve to be mixed up in anything having to do with Shayles.”
“Papa,” Cece said, stopping in the doorway, her feet pointing back to Malcolm. “I’m not that naïve.”
“You’re more innocent than you know,” Malcolm insisted, pushing Cece into the hall, by the look of things.
“It’s charming of you to think that, Papa,” Cece said, her tone back to teasing.
“You and I need to have a talk when I return home,” Malcolm said in a low growl.
“Yes, Papa, we do,” Cece scolded him. “Perhaps Lady Stanhope could join us.”
Katya winced. Cece most definitely knew she was there. But Malcolm was right when it came to how innocent Cece was. There were things in the world that the dear girl couldn’t begin to imagine. But it was a hallmark of youth to believe one knew much more than, in fact, one did when one was newly arrived in adulthood. Katya dealt with that kind of youthful arrogance on a daily basis with all three of her children.
“Go to bed,” Malcolm said at last, his tone brooking no argument.
Cece sighed. “I’ll go to my room, but I won’t sleep. I want you to tell me everything as soon as you get home.”
Malcolm made an irritated sound. “Are all young women these days so impertinent to their fathers?”
Ce
ce laughed. “Only ones raised by you, Papa.”
Katya watched Cece’s skirts sway toward Malcolm, indicating she’d kissed him, then swirl away as she marched down the hall. Malcolm stepped back into the room and shut the door.
As fast as she could, Katya slithered out from under Malcolm’s bed and stood. As she’d suspected, she was covered in globs of dust. Malcolm’s frown transformed into a chuckle as he gave her a once over.
“Lady Dust Mop, I presume,” he said, eyes dancing with mirth.
Katya let out a humorless laugh and glanced sideways at him as she tried to brush herself clean. “Explain to me again why you don’t lock your door at night?”
“Because I’m in my own house,” he said, crossing to help her banish the dust clumps. “It could be your house too if you’d only—”
Katya held up a finger to warn him. “We’ll argue about marriage later. For now, we need to clean up and get over to Alex’s house as quickly as possible.”
“You’re right,” Malcolm agreed, launching into motion.
As Katya shook out her clothes in preparation for putting them back on, Malcolm crossed to his washstand and poured water from a large pitcher into a bowl. He soaked a rag, then handed it to Katya.
“I don’t know why you haven’t invested in installing proper water-closets in your townhouse yet,” Katya said, using the rag to wipe away any remaining dust.
Malcolm shrugged, removing his robe and throwing it over the chair by the fire. “I’ll get around to it.” He opened his wardrobe and started to dress. Katya was a little jealous of his ability to put on clean clothes instead of the ones that had been worn half the day. It might be worth marrying Malcolm just to have fresh drawers at a moment’s notice.
“It appears as though Lavinia was right,” she said as she dressed in her rumpled clothes.
“About what?” Malcolm asked over his shoulder.
“She postulated that since Gatwick suddenly left the country, something must be happening to hurt Shayles.”