Jenna Petersen - [Lady Spies]

by Seduction Is Forever

  Emily’s eyes went wide as her hand covered her thigh by instinct. He’d seen her weapon? Dear God, the carriage was almost totally dark! The only time there had been any light was when he lit his cigar. He would have to be very observant to catch the outline of her blade in the flash of a moment before the flint went out.

  “You’re lucky I haven’t,” she managed to answer weakly. “And if you don’t give me the key to this room and leave, I’ll take it out now.”

  He slowly straightened up. In the brighter light, she saw the expression of mocking challenge in his eyes. At least, she did before she turned her face so he wouldn’t recognize her. Damn, how had this situation spiraled so far out of control?

  “Do it,” he challenged, holding his arms out. “Go ahead. Attack me.”

  She stumbled back. Of course she wasn’t going to attack the man. She was protecting him, though right now the idea of sending him out for the wolves wasn’t a bad one. But he was backing her into a corner and at some point she was going to have to do something to distract him from examining her too closely, reclaim the key and escape.

  “Please, just go,” she pleaded as she sidestepped around him and started blowing out the candles he had lit.

  Grant caught her elbow and spun her toward him. “Why don’t you want the light?”

  Emily shook her head. There was no choice. There was only one option left.

  Reaching up, she cupped the back of his neck and drew him down for a kiss.

  Grant jolted at the unexpected pressure of the mysterious woman’s lips against his own.

  What was even more unexpected, however, was his body’s reaction. A jolt of powerful desire rocketed from the point of contact of their lips all the way through him, awakening his nerves like he hadn’t felt for over a year. Her kiss was exhilarating, and yet it seemed…familiar. Just as she seemed so familiar.

  He started to pull back, to look at her again, but she clung tight to his neck and parted her lips, tracing the crease of his mouth. Grant’s lips parted and the kiss deepened.

  She tasted like…strawberries. Not like a woman who made her living on the street and passed her time in the lowest of hells should taste. No, as her tongue tangled with his in a seductive, sensual dance of promise, he never felt like he was with a lightskirt.

  Though she was using her body against him, just as a woman of the night would do, there was something genuine about it. She wasn’t just lifting her skirts and offering him a free tumble in an attempt to make him go away. The way she kissed him spoke of real passion, a night of pleasure that couldn’t be bought.

  How long had it been since a woman’s touch made him forget all the things that haunted his mind? Yet hers did. Shut away the pain and the memories and left only desire.

  Despite his lingering questions about her motives, he wanted that desire, that pleasure, that passion.

  Thoughts and reason melted away as she pressed closer. Her full breasts flattened against his chest and his arms came around her. It had been a long time. Too long. And the temptation of this nameless woman whose face he’d hardly seen was too strong.

  Grant surrendered, letting his hands glide down the slope of her spine, cup her backside. She let out a little gasp that melted into a groan as he cupped her against him and rocked into the sweet softness of her body. He pushed her back as he continued to kiss her, maneuvering them toward the bed against the back wall across from the fire. When her thighs hit the edge, she pulled away.

  In the near darkness of the room, Grant could hardly see her face. It was just outlines and shadows when the firelight flickered. But he could tell her lips were set in a firm line, almost as if she was considering what to do. Like she wanted to run. But why? This was what she did, wasn’t it? Why would she hesitate?

  A powerful desperation shook him at the thought she might refuse him. He needed this tonight. To forget everything. He tightened his hand on her waist and brought her flush against him. She let out a whimper as he pressed his lips against hers and lowered her to the bed.

  Emily arched as Grant’s weight came down over her. This wasn’t happening. But God, it felt so good. The kiss…the kiss had just been meant to keep him from asking more questions. But then it had developed into something more. Something powerful and potent.

  And she wanted it.

  She’d never really wanted like this before. Her relationship with her late husband had involved shame and anger more often than pleasure. She’d come to be wary of the man rather than wanting. So this was almost like the first touch for her, the first kiss.

  It was as mind-addling as the laudanum she had avoided during her recovery. But unlike the drug, she couldn’t push through this feeling she had when Grant touched her. She couldn’t grit her teeth and resist it. Instead, her body reacted of its own accord, ignoring her mind’s increasingly feeble protests.

  His tongue invaded her mouth. Instead of turning away, as she knew she should, she pulled him in, dueling and parrying with his thrusts. Feeling her body grow heavier with need as he tasted every part of her mouth.

  Now that they were on the bed, he wasn’t stopping with a kiss either. One hand slipped from around her waist. He brought it to her stomach, resting a hot and heavy palm against her belly until she was burned by the intimate touch. She ached to rip her clothing off. To bare herself to him, to invite him deep inside her. To forget her duty. Forget she was in disguise.

  Forget that he thought she was a stranger.

  That thought pierced her cloudy mind for a brief instant and brought a dash of painful reality to chill her. But then Grant’s hand slipped up. He cupped one breast and her internal protests were dashed again as he squeezed gently.

  Her hips bucked and she grabbed his arm as Grant’s thumb circled her nipple. Through the worn fabric of her gown, the nub hardened, tingled, exquisitely sensitive after so long without a man’s skilled touch. His fingers strayed up and suddenly he was pushing them past the scandalously low neckline of her gown, pulling her breast free.

  Emily tensed, even though the feeling of the cool air in the bedroom hitting her bare skin was delicious. Now he would see that the way she’d offered her breasts up was just an illusion. Would he wonder what else was a lie when it came to her appearance?

  If he did, he made no mention. His mouth came down and his lips closed over her nipple. Emily couldn’t help it, she let out a low wail and her fists, clenched reflexively against Grant’s arms again, against the coarse fabric of the coverlet beneath them.

  Sensations long forgotten met with new pleasures as heat rushed from her breast and washed over the rest of her being. Every time he swirled his tongue around the sensitive peak, desire rocked her. Her legs trembled, her thighs clenched to relieve the growing ache that centered itself at her wet and ready core.

  Her hands were moving. It took her a moment to fully realize that. Her fingers found Grant’s greatcoat, pushing it off his shoulders and going to work on the jacket beneath. He helped her, shedding it before he opened enough buttons on his shirt to yank it over his head.

  Emily stared. His body, which was so impressive when clothed, was even more magnificent without anything to cover it. In the flickering, dim light of the fire, she caught glimpses of hard muscle, the kind a man got from real work, stretching his skin, rippling when he moved. Mesmerized, she reached up and flattened her palms against his skin, one on his chest, one on the contoured belly beneath.

  “Good God,” he groaned as she stroked her fingers over his flesh. He was so hot and hard and she wanted more of him. Everything. It was wrong, so very wrong.

  Or was it?

  Grant didn’t know who she was. If she was careful, he would never know the truth. She could have this wicked, wanton night and it would never affect her case. In fact, it might help. All that tension, all the heat that flared between them in the ballrooms and halls of Society would be banished once she’d given her body what it inexplicably craved. Those desires that interfered with her work would
be purged.

  A little voice in the back of her head told her what a foolish notion that was, but she crushed it. She would have this night. And she wouldn’t regret it.

  Hesitation gone, she put her arms around Grant’s shoulders and brought him down on top of her a second time. She molded her mouth to his, burning every moment to her memory. Allowing herself to feel the pleasure that raced through her instead of fighting it.

  It was as if Grant sensed that surrender of her inhibitions because the force of his kiss increased. He pulled at the buttons of her gown with an edge of desperation as she stroked her hands over his broad back. Finally, the thin fabric peeled away and both her breasts were bare. He drew her dress down to her hips and then yanked her against him so that hot skin met skin.

  Grant fought the urge to growl out pleasure as she brushed her breasts back and forth against his chest. Every part of him was heavy, ready, and he knew it was only a matter of time before he fully surrendered to that hunger and took.

  He shut his eyes, covering her lips and devouring her kiss like a starving man as he lifted her slightly to shove her dress past her hips. She gave a little shimmy and it slipped from under them and fell to the floor beside the bed.

  As with most women of her profession, she was naked beneath the gown. Soft and warm and willing as one long leg wrapped around his calf. He slid his hand up that soft leg until he found the one remaining item she wore. The sheath that held the knife he’d seen earlier. With a flick of his wrist, the weapon clattered away. He squeezed the thigh where it had been, massaging her flesh until her whimpers urged him on. Her nails bit into his back as he smoothed his hand over her body.

  Her kiss grew ever more passionate. Grant had never felt a kiss like this before. It was wild and drugging. As he held tight to her, an image flashed into his mind.

  Emily Redgrave.

  Grant jolted back, breaking their lips. He panted out breath as he squeezed his eyes shut. Why had he thought of her at this moment? No. He wasn’t going to picture her. Not while he took this woman. He lowered his lips and trailed them over her throat, lower still to draw her nipple into his mouth.

  Emily groaned as Grant slid his hands down her skin. It had been so damned long since anyone touched her. She shut her eyes and reveled in the rough slide of his fingers over her rib cage, across her stomach. At her side, they hesitated.

  Her eyes flew open. Her scar!

  In the dim light, she saw him look at her, search for her eyes. But he couldn’t see anything, of that she was sure. She held her breath. What would he say about the ridged scar that covered most of her left side? A testament to her injury six months before.

  “You have experienced much pain in your life,” he said softly as he dipped his head to brush his mouth over the wound lightly.

  She bit her lip as tears rushed to her eyes. How ridiculous, to be moved by that statement. Grant had no idea of who she was, let alone the pain she had lived. Physical pain, like the gunshot and the other kind that left no scars. He never would.

  “Tonight let there be only pleasure,” he murmured before he moved his hand away from the mark and slipped it between her legs.

  Emily clutched at the coverlet as Grant’s big hand covered the soft curve of her mound. His fingers brushed across the crease, opening her, stroking as his mouth returned to her breast. It seemed she couldn’t get enough air into her lungs. She gasped for it, but the pleasure was so intense that moving was difficult. Thinking impossible.

  His thumb pressed down, circling and stroking the hidden nub within her folds, even as his fingers slipped inside her heat. Emily let out a strangled cry as he stretched her long empty body. Good. So good. She wanted to grab him and demand more. Beg for more, but she didn’t. She simply raised her hips in mute request, arching in time to the movement of his fingers as she reached for completion and satisfaction.

  Then his fingers were gone, leaving her throbbing, aching. She sighed out discontent, and his chuckle was her only reply. Opening her eyes, she watched as he backed away to shuck off his trousers. She strained to see him, but the dim light prevented it. All she saw were shadows, hints of movement.

  But when he stepped toward her a second time there was nothing to separate them. Nothing to maintain sanity.

  Emily just didn’t care. She wanted this man inside her body. She wanted it more than she could remember wanting anything for a very long time. She wanted to be his, even just for one wicked night, even if he never knew the truth about her identity.

  As Grant moved for the bed, she spread her legs, offering herself with a confidence that made his already throbbing erection pump even harder. By God, he wanted this woman so badly. Even if Emily Redgrave’s face kept finding its way into his lust-addled mind.

  He moved over her, moaning as her arms and legs wrapped around him in surrender. Stifling a gasp as his cock settled against the wet and welcoming heat of her. He positioned himself and thrust.

  Her sheath was surprisingly tight, fitting around him like she had been alone for a long time, though that couldn’t be true in her profession. Beneath him, she stiffened, raking her fingernails across his back with a hiss of breath.

  “Did I hurt you?” he asked, confused by the resistance of her body when he rocked forward. He was relieved when she rested her forehead against his shoulder and shook her head in the negative.

  By God she felt like heaven. So hot and tight as her body enveloped his aching erection. A few movements and he could easily be unmanned. But somehow, despite everything this woman was, he didn’t want that quick burst of satisfaction. He wanted to make her arch beneath him. He wanted to make her cry out in release. After feeling the evidence of her pain in the ugly scar that marred her soft skin, he wanted to give her pleasure.

  He rocked into her, grinding his hips against hers, which elicited a little gasp of sensation against his neck. He repeated the action as he slipped his hands beneath her and tucked her even closer. She was trembling as he thrust again and again, controlling his movements for their mutual pleasure.

  “I want to see you,” he groaned.

  The flickering firelight only gave him the occasional glimpse of her full lips, just the fleeting hint of her features.

  She tensed beneath him and then surprised him by rocking her body until he found himself on his back with her straddling him. Now the fire was behind her and he couldn’t see her face at all. Just the outline of wild hair around her shoulders. Only the dark lines of her slender frame.

  She sat up, tightening her thighs around his waist as she began to rock her hips. Every thrust brought a little cry of pleasure from her lips and brought him closer to the brink. He grabbed her hips and helped guide her, tugging her forward as she pulled back, her slick sheath clinging and releasing him.

  Finally, she began to tremble. Her body shook and she was panting. Release was imminent. Grant slipped his fingers between them and pressed her gently.

  Her back stiffened and her body exploded in an erratic burst around him, milking him as she cried out, “Grant!”

  Hearing his name from her lips tore the last shreds of control away. He bucked up, somehow managing to pull out of her body to spend himself.

  Panting, she collapsed on his chest, pressing hot kisses along his collarbone. A heavy sense of peace that he hadn’t felt for months fell over him and brought with it an exhaustion he hadn’t allowed himself to feel for so long that he couldn’t remember the last time he had a decent night’s sleep. And as the veil of fatigue pulled over him, his last thought was that this mystery woman had said his name.

  But when she did, no accent had touched her voice.

  Chapter 7

  Long after Emily was sure Grant was deep in sleep, she lay on his chest. It seemed so right to feel his sweat-slicked, naked body beneath her. To hear his slow, steady breaths and let them soothe her.

  It was a fantasy, of course, but she didn’t want to let it go. She wasn’t ready to get up and slip away. To leave him
behind and be forced to pretend this sudden, powerful night had never occurred. Tomorrow or the next day or the next, she would encounter him in a ballroom or a parlor and would have to pretend they had never kissed. That he hadn’t claimed her in the most elemental way possible. That he hadn’t brought her to powerful release.

  She’d be forced to pretend she didn’t want to repeat it all again, but this time without the barrier of her costume. With lights blazing so she could see more than the shadow of his body. So she could watch his expression when she gave him pleasure.

  But that was a desire she would never fulfill. It wasn’t possible.

  With a sigh, she carefully slipped out of his arms. Grant grumbled, reaching out to find her. Emily winced as she slipped one of the pillows into his arms so he wouldn’t wake. That seemed to placate him and he rolled onto his side, pulling the cushion against his chest.

  Damn, but she wished she could just stay in that bed.

  Stifling a curse, she moved over to the candles on the mantel she’d snuffed earlier. She glanced at Grant before she lit one. She needed light to get dressed and to search his clothing for the key…and also for evidence about who might be making the attempts on his life. She had forgotten her case long enough. Now she had to refocus.

  She shrugged into her gown and slippers, then crouched to the floor. Setting the candle beside the pile of Grant’s clothing, she started to go through his things. There were a few shiny coins in his pockets, a ragged slip of paper with a reminder to meet his brother the next day, but there was hardly anything of interest.

  She shoved her hand into the inside pocket of his jacket and grabbed the key, but before she could withdraw it, her fingers grazed a smooth, circular piece of metal. She grasped it, as well, and pulled both out. She put the key in the small pocket of her gown, then leaned the circular metal disk toward the candlelight. It was a pocket watch. She turned it over to examine the engraving, the design.

  With a click of the clasp, she opened it. Inside there was a message: To Lord Westfield for commendable service.