Secrets of Sin

by Chloe Harris

  The yearning to hold him to her grew as she caught him looking out to the sea with such a deep longing in his eyes. Soon he began to spend the evenings alone at the shore, watching the sun going down as night ascended, and only then, when every star finally flickered, had he come into the house. Emiline had felt it. She was losing him.

  With a heartfelt sigh, she rose from the chair and walked to the French doors of her room. Opening them, she welcomed the fresh night breeze as it whispered over her. Her skin tightened with the sensations of the wind drifting under the gown and nightdress. The light material seemed unbearable all of a sudden, so she let the gown fall to the floor.

  Without realizing it, she cupped her breasts with her hands. Their weight was heavy. They felt swollen, and just touching them made her gasp. She quivered inside as the tingling sensation of lust rushed through her like a bolt of lightning and pooled right between her legs.

  She made it to her bed, lay down, and brought her knees up. Her nightdress slipped up to her waist. The breeze was now the only thing that kissed her aching, exposed core as her legs fell open.

  Her folds were warm and moist, her sensitive nub hard and aching. She let her fingers play over it, bathed them in her sweet dew, and slowly circled around the most eager spot. She knew how to draw her own pleasure and give herself what she needed.

  Her other hand found her breasts and cupped them, one after the other, squeezed the hard peaks just enough until her whole body started to quiver with the sensations she brought herself.

  Her sides tingled and tickled with anticipation. Only then did her fingers find the hard pebble and rub over it in small circles.

  Oh no, she thought just then and rubbed herself faster, she surely didn’t need him, not for this, not for anything. In all these years she hadn’t needed him, she hadn’t fantasized about him as she did this.

  Soon that familiar edgy pressure built in her that demanded an urgent relief. But she wanted to draw it out, and she had enough discipline to prolong her pleasure.

  She didn’t want to yearn for his touch. She didn’t. No. She hadn’t needed him, not once in all these years, years of distant longing to run her hands over his powerful body again, years of hungering for his kiss, years of feeling his member in her, move in her, thrust into her again, and again, soft, slow…or hard, yes, so hard he’d force the air out of her lungs with each rolling, pumping motion of his hips.

  A fresh gush of moistness bathed her fingers and she almost slipped.

  No, it didn’t turn her on even more to think about him while rubbing harder and faster.

  Her other hand came down, too, and she thrust a finger into her, then two, mimicking pumping movements.

  No. Thinking about him didn’t peak her desire. Not at all. Imagining him, how he looked covering her, how his hair tickled her face and breasts, how he threw his head up when she scratched his back and he smiled, rumbling his deep, masculine approval that he’d made her forget herself….

  Don’t hold back. Never hold back with me, Emiline.

  The pressure at the end of her spine built. Her body heaved off the bed. She threw her head back and closed her eyes as she felt the pleasant shower of memories wash over her.

  Her hand was moving harder now, on the place where he loved to kiss her most, he’d said, because she tasted like strawberries all over.

  Her body remembered his touch only too well, his teeth, scraping the inside of her thighs, raking each and every inch of her body in those almost bites that made her squirm. His satin lips nipping and pinching her nether lips…kissing her until her body caught fire…how his tongue swirled and danced and then flicked over her sweetest spot…

  Emiline didn’t want to remember how he could make her body sing to his tune alone, how he could make her ache for him in simmering pleasure or greedy lust. She refused to recall his breathtaking tricks with his clever tongue, his wicked hands, his glorious member….

  Damn him, she was her own mistress now. Emiline had learned all about her body’s yearnings and responses in all those years alone, not remembering, not fantasizing about…No, she didn’t need him anymore.

  Come, Emiline. Come for me. Now.

  Her body coiled with the growing tension, her blood catching fire. Falling through a pitch-black hole, she resurfaced on the other side in a shower of blissful sparks that licked at and then scorched her skin.

  Twisting on the sheet, her eyes snapped open. Emiline gasped, then wheezed in a deep breath and held it, trying not to make a sound. Her body shook hard in tiny, luscious spasms that seemed endless, intense, so much so that in the end she couldn’t hold back the low moan she’d been fighting.

  Exhausted, her head and limbs fell limply to the side. Trying to catch her breath, heart thundering in her ears, she licked her lips.

  Wickedly wanton. Amazing. Like never before.

  That wasn’t quite accurate, though.

  Sadly, she knew the truth. She’d just come harder than ever before by fantasizing about him.

  Reinier was back again and he’d asked for what was rightfully his. In spite of how hard she was trying to fight the attraction, her body demanded the opposite.

  Did he have any idea how tempted Emiline felt by his presence, by his words?

  Probably.

  No! She was too strong to give in. First thing tomorrow she’d have it over with. She’d get Reinier to sign the papers, then send him packing and back to his ship still hard and wanting what she wouldn’t let him have. That would show him.

  Having turned down the offer of a servant for the night, Reinier crossed to the dressing room and began to remove his boots and coat himself. At the sound of the bolt sliding into place on the door that connected their dressing rooms, Reinier couldn’t help but laugh out loud.

  She’d made herself crystalline clear. As bad as his reputation deservedly was, he’d never force himself on anyone—that didn’t want him to at least—and he wasn’t about to start with his own wife. He might not be the most moral of gentlemen, but he was one nonetheless.

  Stalking from the locked door to her dressing room into his, he wondered why she’d stayed in the smaller mistress’s suite and not moved in here. She’d said herself she ruled Bougainvilla.

  He wasn’t sure if he felt comforted or disconcerted by the fact that at least in this tiny respect he still had a place here. At first he’d thought maybe the lover Connor had spoken of had been using it, but when he’d first arrived there hadn’t been any evidence of a lover currently in residence. Reinier had turned his suite all but upside down—twice—and either her staff was beyond remarkable or no one else had recently occupied it.

  Reinier ran his hand across the soft-washed navy silk of the dressing bench at the end of the bed, remembering a time when she’d come to him wearing only emeralds and citrines begging him to let her make love to him right here on this bench, in fact.

  That had been close to the end. Probably she’d already begun to feel him pulling away. It had been one of the very few times she’d approached him instead of meekly awaiting his attentions. It had finally been a much welcome change from the smitten, immature girl that hung on his every word and was more than happy to lay back and let him have his way with her, body and money alike.

  But it had been too little too late. His heart and mind were already at sea with his new ship and his newly formed partnership.

  Reinier slipped into his dressing robe and went to see if the cabinet beside the large armchair had been stocked with any of the island’s famous rum. Indeed, it was, and he poured himself a tall glass and sat in the overstuffed chair.

  The silky dark liquid was still as warm and soothing as the first time he’d tasted it. It had been the night he’d met Connor. He and the impertinent Irishman with his raven hair and midnight blue eyes had become fast friends soon after.

  Another sip of the burning, smooth liquid had Reinier pacing the soft oriental carpet, harking back to the first time he’d come to Bougainvilla.

/>   He’d been desperate for freedom then, anxious to be free of the Galatea and her monster of a captain. Not willing to settle for just another position on just another ship, he’d decided to follow Connor’s advice. Reinier easily charmed his way into an invitation to the carnival ball on Ronde, hoping one way or another to find backing for his own shipping venture.

  He’d been willing to do whatever it took to find some freedom and enough money to control his own destiny, but he surely hadn’t meant to set his sights on the Master of Bougainvilla’s daughter. In fact, he wasn’t sure if at the time he’d even remembered that the master had a daughter until he saw her. But when he did, he knew that was the prize he’d sought all along.

  She was the most exotic and unique beauty he had ever seen. The added forbidden allure in the contrasts to himself made her impossible to resist at the time. All soft feminine curves, she had skin like creamed coffee, so much darker than his own, and those dark, wild curls strewn with hints of gold made his fingers itch to dive in. But the final straw had been those eyes. Those perfect, clear aquamarine flames behind luscious charcoal lashes drew him like a moth until all he could think of was finding out if bringing her to climax would make them darken or lighten even more.

  But having her in his bed wasn’t an easy prospect. She was young, educated, highly respectable—and looking for a husband, not a lover.

  Finally, he’d decided that the sacrifice of marriage would be worth it to have such a rare jewel in his bed—and her father’s money for his shipping company.

  Looking back, it had been easy really. Her inexperience had been no match for his well-heeled seductive skills; plus, her father was fortunately the doting kind who could never say no to his daughter’s wishes.

  What started out as a marriage of convenience for him soon turned into his worst nightmare, though. Not that she did anything wrong, quite the contrary. Emiline did everything in her power to make their marriage work. And she charmed her way into his heart.

  Yes, there was a point in his life…He remembered when he woke up one morning and she wasn’t by his side that he knew he’d fallen in love with her, helplessly fallen in love with her. He thought he’d go mad without her being near him. Nothing else mattered for him anymore, not the shipping venture or anything else. She was all he needed to breathe, to live. He craved her presence, yearned for her touch, longed to lose himself in her arms. He’d have given up everything for her. It was love so consuming it had him despair and hope at the same time.

  That helped to make the hardest decision of his life. It wasn’t easy, but in the end he was convinced it was the only thing he could do to save his soul, because he knew she didn’t return his feelings. Not one bit. For her, he was just another thing she’d conquered, and their marriage was just another thing she’d master. He’d heard her say so to her friends. She had shown him off like a prize stallion to them, vowing to be the perfect wife to the one no one else could tame, happily unaware that he was standing right outside the room where she’d made that little speech.

  Her words had broken his heart.

  Yes, Reinier had had to get away to save himself.

  The weight of the chains of being a full-time husband and one day master of the estate, which he knew absolutely nothing about, were too much for his wounded heart. The call of freedom his new ship would bring grew too seductive. So he’d left and never looked back. Until now.

  Refusing to delve any further into the past, he threw back his head and finished the rum in his glass.

  The time apart had served its purpose. Reinier could be near her now without the oppressing weight of his feelings. He could face her with just as much indifference as she faced him with.

  Suddenly, there was a sound that caught his attention. He cocked his head and stopped breathing. It was a sound Reinier remembered only too well. It caused a lazy smile to spread over his lips. Oh yes, he’d heard many over the years, but hers was special—no, it wasn’t just special, Reinier corrected himself, it was…singular.

  Instantly, his insides burned with rage, yet he felt himself harden as the sound of the soft, low moan in the other room reverberated in his head.

  So she’d rather take matters into her own hand? More’s the pity, she would have appreciated his…help. He could have made her come so many times, could have made her weep in pleasure.

  Good Lord, had he lost his mind completely? The only thing weeping right now was his rigid cock. It surged even higher thinking about burying himself in her tight, hot, wet sheath.

  Reinier growled in frustration, setting the now-empty glass still in his hand down hard for fear of breaking it in his hand.

  Feeling more than restless now, he left the room to make his way downstairs to her study. He’d roam the house until he was calmer.

  In the study, he lit the lamp by the door. Reading always helped. That is to say, it usually did.

  Reinier was highly impressed once he made his way to the bookshelves. This was an extraordinary collection. And it was a legitimate collection. So many libraries these days were filled with books bought by the boxloads just to fill the shelves. Their spines hadn’t been cracked in years, if ever, and certainly wouldn’t be again, but here he could tell each book was chosen with care and well read as they should be.

  Carefully, he set the lamp in his hand down and let his fingers glide softly over the spines of books on the shelf.

  There were the classics: Homer, Chaucer, Malory, Sir Thomas Moore, and Shakespeare. What struck him the most, though, was her collection of more recent poetry: Alexander Pope, Jonathan Swift, James Hammond, who he himself had only recently read, a collection by Thomas Cooke that he hadn’t been able to procure as of yet, Andrew Marvell, Thomas Traherne, Henry Vaughan, George Herbert…Amazing indeed!

  Some of the older works could have been her father’s, but these were too recent. These had to have been her choices.

  For Reinier, it was hard to reconcile a woman with this kind of love and taste in books with the girl he’d left. This contradiction, combined with how much spirit and resolve she’d shown since he’d arrived, had his mind racing with questions and possibilities about this intriguing new side of Emiline, a side he’d never imagined she’d have.

  His eyes were glued to the books, taking in the names and works repeatedly, flicking over one after the other, just like the soft light of the lamp was flickering and illuminating them. How very fascinating that Emiline shared his fondness for and taste in poetry. Perhaps they could talk about it—as soon as Emiline got over her unreasonable irritation, that is.

  Reinier took a step back, away from the shelf. He let his gaze take in the study once more. A rather strange but at the same time cold and hot pricking made the small hairs at the back of his neck stand up. Everything seemed the same as when he left, yet…

  How much had she really changed? Had he been wrong about her? What was it she’d been so eager to talk to him about after dinner? If only he’d listened more carefully, read between the lines…

  And perhaps more importantly, what was it going to take to make good on his threat to seduce her?

  Reinier had to find as many clues as he could. When his eyes fell on the large mahogany secretary, he decided to start his search right there. He stalked to the desk, determined to find information from among her private papers. The writing surface wasn’t locked, so he lowered it quietly. Reinier brought the lamp over and picked up an ivory-handled letter opener to work the locks on the two tambour slides.

  He began to pore over the ledgers in the dim light. To his astonishment, he lost any sense of how long he’d been there. With each moment that passed, his admiration grew exponentially. He prided himself on Barhydt-O’Driscoll being one of the most savvy, tightly run, fair, and highly profitable companies in the Caribbean, but it would seem that they had nothing on his wife and her estate. Her father had always done very well, but Emiline had raised the margin of profits by twenty percent at the least. Oh, and was she ever clever ab
out it. Some of the things she’d tried were unprecedented, especially with her workers. Some ideas hadn’t worked out, but enough had that she was able to do what no one else had seemed to do, treat her people kindly and fairly, and still turn more profit than anyone. It was incredible, really.

  An aching strain in his neck from studying the ledgers so long made him stop reluctantly. Reinier leaned back in his chair and took a deep breath in a weak attempt to calm his wildly pumping heart.

  The glow of pride tightened in his chest. In that moment, he was surprised at his reaction, but—goodness gracious!—the smartest sugarcane producer in the islands was his wife. Who’d have thought?

  He couldn’t wait until tomorrow when they could talk about it all. Although Connor was a wonderful captain and had a good head for business himself, he never seemed to find the enjoyment in discussing business that Reinier always did.

  Who’d have guessed he and Emiline had that in common—the love and fondness for business? The certainty of that, given the evidence right in front of him, had him smiling dreamily.

  Charming his wife with talk of something that interested him keenly also was infinitely appealing. It actually promised a very pleasant day at Bougainvilla—

  An almost pleasant day, Reinier corrected himself.

  It might not be so bad to have to play the husband for a day or two, after all. What a beautiful, clever, and savvy businesswoman his wife was. They may not be soul mates, but Reinier felt some kind of bond now, after all.

  When he placed her ledgers back exactly as he had found them, though, another document caught his eye. He recognized immediately that it had been drawn by the family’s lawyer and couldn’t resist a peek at its contents.

  Despite the warm night, his spine went cold.

  They were divorce papers.

  Reinier read over them five times before he let himself stop to think.