Emily drew back with surprise he would even ask such a question. She was offering a tryst, not demanding a commitment. Anything more than a physical relationship was beyond her reach. All she could hope was that Grant would continue to make her feel alive, lessen her fears of the danger surrounding her. And in the end, she would let him go. He would find a proper wife one day, and she would return to her duties.
She cleared her throat. “Emotion is what complicates sex, I think.”
She thought of all the turbulent emotions that had clouded her relationship with her husband. Fear, loathing, anger, longing…those emotions had bound her to the man and kept her from running from him. They’d given him enormous power, and she had vowed never to give anyone that kind of sway over her again.
Grant nodded. “Probably true.”
“There is no reason why we should involve our emotions, is there?”
Her heart stirred, reminding her she had already developed some feelings for this man. When she believed he hated her, she hadn’t been able to keep tears from filling her eyes.
She shoved those thoughts aside.
He tilted his head. “Could you do that?”
Her lips thinned. “Could you? Do not assume that just because I am a woman means I cannot master my emotions. That was part of my training as much as it was yours. If I choose not to allow anything outside of lust into my heart, then nothing else will have entry. I’ll make utterly sure of it. Can you say the same?”
Something flickered in his gaze. Something that called to her in a way that belied her strong statement.
“Yes, I am able to separate emotion from lust.” His lids drew heavier and his gaze dropped from hers to focus on her lips, then lower. Her body reacted accordingly, warming as wet desire flooded her thighs and made the insistent ache of want thrum to life. “And I want you, Emily. I want you so much that I ache to touch you, despite every argument that this can lead to no good.”
She leaned forward, placing her hands on each of his shoulders as she rose up on her knees to lift her lips toward his.
“Is that a yes to my offer?”
He brought his mouth down in answer, but the kiss did not claim, as she expected it to. His lips brushed hers, light at first, then increasing in pressure. Like he was savoring her, drawing out the kiss for as long as he could to test her control. To test his own.
“Yes, Emily. God help me, but yes,” he murmured as he broke his lips from hers.
“Now,” she murmured as she drew his mouth down again.
“Now?” He broke away to look into her eyes.
She nodded. “Now.”
He cupped her chin, tilted her face up, and groaned. “Yes, now. But not here. Not in some parlor where any servant could burst in. Not on the floor or on a cramped settee. And this time, I want to see you. I want to see everything about you, Emily.”
She shivered. What a dangerous proposition, showing Grant everything. Oh, he meant her body and that didn’t frighten her. It was the things that lay beneath the surface. Things he seemed more than capable of revealing, despite their promises not to become emotionally entangled. Things that would certainly make him cringe away.
But touching him was too strong a desire to be denied.
“Upstairs,” she whispered, catching his hand.
“The servants?” he asked, even though he followed her to the door, waited for her to unlock it, allowed her to lead him up the stairway.
She smiled. “A spy must be able to trust her employees. And I trust mine implicitly.”
He didn’t question her again. In fact, she was surprised by his silence, his acquiescence, as she took him to her chamber. She had expected talking, demanding from him at every step of the way. Instead, once inside, he waited quietly for her to lock the door.
But the second she pulled the key from the lock, his attitude changed. His body hit hers, thrusting her against the door as his mouth came down. The key clattered onto the wooden floor as she wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders and clung for dear life. His mouth did magical, wondrous things, his tongue drawing hers into an erotic dance, tasting her, tempting her.
And his hands, those big, masculine hands. They seemed to be everywhere, sliding to her hips where he pulled her close, up her sides where he made her shiver with anticipation, then to cup her breasts and strum his thumbs across her nipples until she gasped with sensation.
He stroked his hands back down the same line, cupping her backside and lifting her like she weighed nothing. Her legs came open and he stepped into the apex of her thighs, pressing his heat to her, rocking her against the door as he kissed her.
Emily clawed at his jacket, yanking at buttons, pulling at the shoulders, frustrated by her lack of mobility now that she was pinned, helpless, against the door. She had the jacket half off and Grant had begun to shove her skirts out of the way when he suddenly stopped.
He looked at her, dark eyes glazed with heat and potent desire. She was certain her expression was much the same.
“No.” He lowered her feet to the ground. “Not like this. Not this time.”
She shook her head, confused, driven to distraction by the thrumming need that coursed through her body, centered between her thighs.
“Grant!”
He caught her hand. “This time slow.”
Relief flowed through her as she stumbled forward toward her bed, stopping obediently when he did.
“There will be plenty of time for taking later.”
Emily thought she would drop to her knees from want at his words. Taking. The very notion sent a shiver down her spine. No one had “taken” anything from her in years. She never let them.
But she very much wanted to allow Grant that freedom. At the moment, she feared she would allow him almost anything.
Especially when his fingers came up to the pearl buttons he had already loosened once that afternoon. They fell away just as easily this time and he slipped his hands beneath the gown to caress her bare shoulders.
His gaze captured hers, the brown of his iris so dark it almost blended in with the pupil. Raw desire boiled in his expression and she couldn’t look away. When he lifted the fabric from her shoulders, she never broke the gaze. When her dress pooled at her feet and he sucked in a harsh breath, she never stopped staring into his eyes.
“I have a confession to make,” he whispered as he bent his head to press a hot kiss at the juncture where her shoulder and neck met.
“More confessions?” she gasped, clinging to his arms as he caught her chemise strap between his teeth and pulled if off her shoulder to droop at her elbow.
He nodded as he slipped his fingers into her hair and freed the pins from her style in a few gliding strokes. Blond curls bobbed around her shoulders, down her back, tangled around his hands, and covered her breasts. He brushed them aside and peeled the chemise away.
“One confession more,” he promised as he brought his mouth down and captured her bare nipple between his lips.
She arched up with a sharp cry as sensation raced through her. The things this man could do to her, the feelings he could evoke with a grazing touch, a firm one. She never imagined her body would crave those things so completely. So much that she was ready to beg.
Instead, she steadied herself by slipping her fingers into his crisp, short hair.
“What is your confession?”
“The first night we made love,” he whispered against her skin as he slipped the other chemise strap away and sent the delicate fabric to join her gown on the floor. “Before I knew the truth about your disguise, I thought of you. I pictured you while I touched that ‘other’ woman, even though I knew I shouldn’t.”
Emily shut her eyes and a low moan escaped her lips. He couldn’t have given her more pleasure. She felt his admission through more than just her aching body. It seemed to touch her very soul.
“And one final confession from me as well,” she murmured, dipping her head back as he pleasured her opposite breas
t. He lifted dark eyes to spear her with a stare. “I was jealous. Jealous of that woman, even though it was really me. I wanted you to know who you were touching. I nearly threw away my duty to tell you.”
He straightened to his full height and forced her to bend her head back to look at him. There was a gentleness in his eyes. A softness she hadn’t expected.
“I’m glad that woman was you,” he murmured before he lifted her onto her bed, resting her head on soft pillows.
Grant watched Emily as she settled back with a sigh, then looked up at him through hooded lids. By God, she was the most beautiful woman he had ever encountered. And he wanted her more than he’d ever wanted anything, or at least anything he could recall with the hot rush of blood pounding to his straining erection. Perhaps later he would think of something.
But he doubted it.
He reached out, tracing the back of his hand over the delicate arch of her collarbone, down between the valley of her breasts, lower to her quivering, flat stomach. His gaze skirted to the scar on her side and he winced. He could only imagine the pain she had endured.
And yet here she was, lying back on her bed, looking up at him with want. She showed no fear. No worry. She was bold and tempting and everything he’d ever wanted.
The flash of that thought clanged in his head. Everything he’d ever wanted, and everything he’d sworn to avoid. But he shoved the thought aside as he brought his lips down to her stomach.
She arched beneath his touch, clenching at the bedclothes much as she had the first time he’d made love to her. Only this time the room was bright with late-afternoon sunshine. There were no disguises between them or darkness to shield them. He could look to his heart’s content. Savor the way her mouth twisted when he darted his tongue into her belly button. The way her pale skin flushed when he slipped a hand between her thighs and parted them.
“Grant,” she gasped, her head coming up to look at what he was doing.
He smiled at her while he traced the outer folds of her sex with just the tip of his index finger. Her eyes widened and she stared, unblinking as he probed deeper, wetting his finger with her hot juices before he swirled it around the hooded pearl of pleasure hidden within.
She lifted her hips with a groan of encouragement and he repeated the process while she watched. Tracing, probing, circling. She grew hotter, wetter with the pleasurable torture. And he suffered the consequences, as well. Had he ever been so hard in his life?
Her gaze shifted at that moment, as if she read his mind, and fell on the outline of his cock beneath his trousers. She sat up slowly, her hair bouncing off her shoulders as she leaned forward to cup him.
“I never got to see you clearly that night either,” she whispered with a wicked glance.
He pushed from the bed and stripped his clothing in what must have been record time. When he was naked, he stood back, watching her eyes rove over him with sinful intent and loving every moment of that heated, unabashed scrutiny.
“My God,” she practically purred as she leaned closer, motioning him back to the bed. “You are beautiful.”
He couldn’t help but smile as he took a place beside her. “Men aren’t usually called beautiful.”
She shrugged. “Normally, they aren’t. But you are.”
To punctuate that statement, she repeated the action he had done to her. The back of her hand traced over his shoulders, over the peaks and valleys of his chest. The expanse of his stomach. And then she took him in hand, palming his cock with just the right balance of gentleness and strength.
His eyes fluttered shut and he let out a low growl as starbursts of lightning-hot pleasure exploded throughout his body. She inched lower, stroking him from base to head, then repeating the action until he couldn’t take much more.
But the torment was nothing to what he felt when her mouth came around him. His eyes flew open and he darted his wild gaze down to her. Her eyes were closed, her face enraptured as if she was savoring a sweet treat.
She moved her mouth up and down his shaft, stroking him with her hot tongue. His entire world became focused on her lips, her breath, the gentle graze of her teeth. He couldn’t survive the torment much longer and spending himself like this was not the way he intended to end this encounter.
He caught her elbows and hauled her up, thinking of anything he could to keep from spilling his seed across her bed before he even had a chance to fill her.
“Grant,” she murmured, but he silenced her by flipping her over on her back, covering her mouth with his.
He drowned in her kiss as he pushed her legs open wider, draped them over his elbows. She lifted her hips for him, unabashed in her silent demands for what she wanted. He obliged, positioning the head of his cock at her entrance and then he slid home in one smooth stroke.
He thrust inside, guided by her slick heat, gripped by her along every inch of the way. And encouraged by her harsh cry of pleasure. He gritted his teeth as he fought for control. It was a losing battle, but he needed to hold out a little while. He wanted to savor the feeling of being inside Emily. And knowing it was Emily this time, not just fantasizing.
She didn’t help by lifting her hips to perfectly stroke him on every thrust. She watched him with parted-lipped appraisal, then let her tongue dart out to whet her lips with pleasure as he increased the pace. It was torture, but he wanted to give her release before he took his own. He’d been obsessed with seeing it since their first night together. With wondering what she looked like at the moment of climax.
Reaching down, he slipped his fingers to the place where their bodies ground together. He nudged her curls aside and stroked and she shuddered. A deeper thrust and another stroke had her gasping, her back arching, her skin flushed and sparkling with exertion. And finally, with one last skilled touch, he took her over the edge.
Her thighs clamped tight around his waist, her legs shook, her body pulsated around him, milking him. But it was her face that made him lose control. The utter pleasure that made her already beautiful face even more irresistible.
He cried out as he felt his seed begin to move and reluctantly withdrew to spend himself. Then he flopped down on the bed beside her, wrapped her into his embrace, and held her as their breathing returned to normal.
Chapter 12
Grant lay on his side, half covered in Emily’s sheets. She was on her back, staring up at him as he traced the lines of her body with a fingertip.
The pleasures they shared had been shattering, powerful. But since they slowly detangled from their tight embrace and he covered them with her tousled bedclothes, she had scarcely spoken a word. Only watched him with a look of contentment softening her expression.
He had certainly found release. Pleasure so intense, so potent he’d almost let himself go inside of her. But they had already established they would be very careful to avoid a pregnancy. He would have to be more aware, more restrained, the next time.
He shuddered at the thought that there would be a next time. And a time after that. Emily was his, in every wicked way. At least until their partnership ended.
But for now he had to focus. At least for a little while.
He let his fingers skim over her arm. “We should discuss this case you uncovered.”
She smiled up at him, eyes dancing. “You do know what to say, my lord.”
He couldn’t help but chuckle and marveled at how good it was to laugh again. He hadn’t really allowed himself to feel so good for a year. Now it seemed natural.
“I would wager talking about cases is exactly what you like to hear,” he teased.
She shrugged one shoulder. “I’ll admit I love my work.”
His smile fell. She loved her work, even if it put her in danger.
Emily must have sensed the shift in his mood, because her tone became businesslike, efficient. “And you are correct. We must work quickly to uncover what purpose the imposter and his cohorts have in mind. We must determine how much danger the Prince is in.”
“If Cullen Leary is involved in this plot, I would say a great deal.” Grant pursed his lips as he stared down at her. His mind returned to the night Leary had chased her, and the thought of her in such danger turned his stomach. “I don’t like the idea of you being involved, especially since the man went after you once already.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I won’t have that discussion with you again.”
He let out his breath in a harsh sigh. “We need to have the discussion again, Emily.”
She shook her head. “I uncovered this case and I won’t be shut out. Not because of some misguided attempt to protect me. I get enough of those from my friends, I don’t need them from you.”
Grant’s mouth set in a thin line. The woman could be ridiculously stubborn. There would be no convincing her to back away to protect herself. He could only hope he would be able to keep her safe.
“Very well,” he ground out. “But we still need to determine our first step. The men who chased you that night at The Blue Pony, did you recognize any of them?”
She shook her head. “Only Leary. The man in the costume was too made up to determine if I knew him or not and the other was a stranger. No one I recognized from past cases or government watch lists.”
Grant stroked his chin as he considered that fact. “Napoleon is all but done for. I’d wager we’ll have him nicked before the spring, if it ever comes after this hellish winter. The plot could have to do with him, but you would think his spies would be more careful than to make up their false Prince in the middle of a lowly hell with a broken door.”
Emily nodded. “I agree. Someone professional would have been more discreet. It could be a personal vendetta. The Prince has made many enemies over the years. So this could be as treacherous as an assassination scheme…or as lowly as a plan to humiliate the Regent.”
Jenna Petersen - [Lady Spies] Page 13