by Bec McMaster
"Correct. I would much rather be overseeing this case. But apparently I have flowers to peruse, and cakes to taste, and places to be seen...." Malloryn grimaced. "One month and then I can forget this ever happened, and return to my regularly scheduled duties."
Forget he was married? Ava blinked. She knew the duke and his fiancée were forging a marriage of convenience in the wake of a scandal where the duke had been caught in the gardens of some ball with Miss Hamilton, but she'd thought relations between them might have thawed by now. "Isn't it time to forgive Miss Hamilton?"
"Forgive her?" Malloryn shook his head. "Miss McLaren, I know you're a kind soul, but one doesn't forgive being trapped into marriage by a manipulative young woman. Ever."
"That sounds like a very sad state of affairs to me," she said quietly.
"Quite the opposite. Sadness indicates one cares. Marriage is going to be a formality, a distant affair Miss Hamilton and I shall navigate with the utmost ease. If I'm lucky, I doubt I'll see my wife more than once a week. If she's lucky, she won't protest this fact." Malloryn tipped his head to her, "And if we're quite finished here, I'd best be on my way. There's a garden party this afternoon, apparently. I'm the guest of honor. I can hardly wait."
"Good luck," Kincaid called as the duke exited the building. He glanced down at her, his hands in his pockets. "I'd make some pithy comment about enjoying the idea of Malloryn choking down samples of wedding cake, but you have that look in your eye."
"This proves nothing. Weddings are a happy event in most cases. Of course Malloryn must be the exception, but not all marriages are unhappy affairs."
"I beg to differ," Kincaid began. "I think this proves my point quite perfectly...."
But she wasn't truly listening to him.Carriage wheels turned, and she waited until the horses clopped away before kicking a pile of tumbled timbers.
"Damn it," she whispered. "He's taken my case away from me. I knew he'd do this the second Gemma and Charlie returned."
"He's merely getting the others to do the legwork. Be patient, Ava. Neither Gemma nor Charlie know how to examine the evidence, so let them fetch it like errand runners. You're the one who can draw the conclusions."
He was right. "Well, what are we going to do in the meantime? If I sit around at the safe house I'll go mad, and there's no point pacing the Nighthawks guild while I wait for them to confiscate all the vaccine samples."
A wicked, wicked smile dawned on Kincaid's lips. "Well, I have something we could do to pass the time."
Ava paused, the breath rushing out of her. He looked so devilishly assured all of a sudden. "You do?"
"We have an hour or two to spare. Come with me," he said, taking her hand and tucking it inside the crook of his elbow. "I can almost guarantee I can distract you."
She was quite certain he could too. "Where are we going?"
"I am considering how best to go about our compromise," he muttered, leading her out of the burned clinic. "You want me to bed you. But first, I want you to be aware of what, precisely, you are committing yourself to. Consider it a way to take your mind off the waiting for a few hours, at least...."
Ava swallowed.
Eleven
"THE HAMDEN GALLERY?" Ava demanded as she stared up the marble steps to the Corinthian entrance of a very subdued building. Only the brass plaque on the stone wall gave any hint to what was within. "I've never even heard of it."
"I daresay you haven't. It's not widely advertised, and it's not the sort of place innocent young ladies are aware of."
"I don't really appreciate art," Ava muttered, though she could admit she sometimes admired the skill it took. Art seemed a little drab and dull, from her limited experience.
"You'll appreciate this." He guided her up the stairs, his hand on the small of her back. "I can almost guarantee it."
"Mr. Kincaid, just what are you up to?"
Pushing open the door, he gestured her inside, then followed. Ava felt a hand press against her back, and suddenly she was flush against the door as he closed it, staring up at the pulse in his throat.
"It's called seduction, Ava." His breath whispered against her temples, and his thumb brushed beneath her jaw. "I told you I wanted you to be aware of what you should expect, of just what you're agreeing to. This is your last chance to say no."
She swallowed, uncertain what sort of thing might make her consider backing away from this bargain. She wanted it so very much, after all. "Just what sort of art gallery is this?"
Kincaid had the sort of smile that might have graced Lucifer himself. "I wouldn't want to spoil the surprise."
Without another word, he pushed away from her, greeting the red-liveried servant who was hovering circumspectly. Kincaid paid him, and then held out a hand toward her.
If you dare, his eyes seemed to say.
Ava stared across the sumptuous red carpets, taking in the gilt on the ceiling and the dark mahogany panels on the walls. Kincaid stood amongst it all, dressed in black, looking like some feudal warlord. He'd always had rough-hewn, somewhat savage features. The only thing lacking was an axe in his hands.
It felt a little like stepping into temptation itself, but she was curious. One last chance to turn around.... Heart kicking a little in her chest—or perhaps skipping a gear—Ava swept toward him. She was tired of her sheltered existence. Tired of always being overlooked. Surely Kincaid wasn't leading her too far astray—she trusted him to look out for her.
Kincaid took her hand, staring down into her eyes. Not surprised, so much as viciously pleased with her decision. "Didn't think you'd do it."
"I'm a woman of my word."
"Yes, but we're skirting dangerous territory in your eyes, Ava." His voice roughened. "You're the type of woman who likes to know what lies ahead, and in your worldview, we just stepped off the edges of the map. Here be dragons, kitten...."
Dragons. She almost smiled. "It's a good thing I'm a virgin then."
Startled blue eyes locked on hers, and then his smile dissolved into something smug. "Not for long, sweet Ava. Not if I have my way with you."
He handed her a guidebook, took her hand in his, and led her along the plush red carpets.
"What is this?" she whispered, for the front cover depicted a naked woman draped in red cloth, one who glanced over her shoulder at the viewer with a naughty expression.
"You've seen anatomical diagrams, yes? I thought we could at least start with something you had some experience with. The owner of the gallery is a man I know. I created a piece of artwork for him several years ago—a private, very wicked commission fused of metal. I've paid him for the hour. Nobody will disturb us. It's the sort of place that offers exclusive entertainment."
"Just how much did you pay him?" she whispered, glancing over her shoulder to find the servant. He'd vanished.
She was all alone with a man who intended to ravish her.
Ava couldn't wait. A burst of excitement flooded through her.
"You don't want to know." Kincaid pushed open a door and led her into a hallway.
Windows further along the hallway let in a wash of gray light, but the carpeted path was silent and empty. Candles flickered as Kincaid shut the door behind them—and locked it.
"There's nothing here," she whispered, staring at the red velvet curtains on the walls.
Kincaid reached for the nearest velvet covering, and then hauled it away from a painting with a flourish.
It wasn't a diagram.
Ava sucked in a sharp breath as her mind made sense of what she was seeing. Rich dark colors splayed across the canvas, highlighting its main focus, and the frame was gilt.
There was a naked woman on her knees, the pale globes of her breasts luridly graphic. A man knelt behind her, one hand curled around the woman's hip and the other clenched in her hair, forcing her head back until the woman's spine arched in an almost obscene—
It all hit her at once. What the man was doing to the woman in the painting.
And every in
ch of her went still.
Every inch of her was hot and cold all at once.
Kincaid watched her, clearly digesting her every thought. Ava swallowed hard, gaze flickering from the painting to Kincaid, then back to the painting again.
It was nothing like her anatomical diagrams.
She stepped closer, her fingers running over the oil-roughened canvas. The man's lip curled, his hips thrusting forward as he filled the woman from behind with his... his penis.
Kincaid's legs brushed against her skirts as he stepped behind her. "Do you like it?" he breathed, one hand resting lightly against her waist.
She felt the shock of his touch as if she were naked. "Like it? He looks like he's hurting her."
"Does he?"
Ava's eyes found the painting again. The woman's pale skin proved a stark counterpoint to the man's olive body. Her lips were parted, her eyes closed. An expression, not of horror, but... something else.
Ecstasy?
Warmth slithered through Ava's veins. She didn't quite understand the painting. But it made her feel something she'd never felt before in her life.
And Kincaid's hand was rubbing, just gently, against her hip.
Suddenly her focus wasn't on the image, but on the press of his body against hers. A wash of heat swept through her.
Suddenly she was inside the painting, on her hand and knees, and it was Kincaid behind her, buried to the hilt inside her. Every nerve in her body was suddenly alert.
"He's not hurting her," Kincaid whispered, his breath warm on the back of her neck. "Some women like to be controlled like that." His mech hand brushed from her nape the loose curls that had tumbled from her chignon, and swept them over her shoulder.
Ava shivered, and her nipples hardened. She clenched her fingers into a fist, almost desperate to touch herself there. Or no, to ask him to do it. But even as she thought it, she knew she couldn't say the words. Not quite that confident, not yet.
Kincaid's mouth brushed against her nape, and it was everything. Ava curled a hand over his, forcing his touch to harden against her waist. She couldn't stop herself from melting against him, until her back was pressed against every inch of his chest and abdomen, and her head tilted forward in subjugation, surrendering her nape to him.
"I think you're that type of woman," he whispered. "Do you want to be controlled, Ava?"
Hell if she knew. She nodded, her lips parting slightly. Right then she'd say yes to anything he asked.
"Do you feel wet?" he murmured, brushing his mouth against her ear. "Between your thighs?"
A pulse of illicit pleasure echoed through her abdomen. How could she answer a question like that? "I-I don't know what it feels like."
"You ache," he said gently, splaying a hand across her lower abdomen, "here. Don't you?"
Ava's knees trembled. It was as though he set off a chain reaction within her. "Please," she whispered, not quite certain what it was she asked for.
"Not yet. You've barely seen anything yet. I want you to know what you're committing yourself to, Ava. What I'll expect from you. Come." Taking her hand, he moved toward the next painting, and relieved it of its velvet cover.
Ava followed him in a hush of skirts. The oils in the painting were dark, yet lush. She'd never seen art like this before. There was something incredibly warm and inviting about it, something intimate.
And then she realized what she was looking at.
A woman lay sprawled across dark red velvet, staring out at the viewer with a knowing Mona Lisa smile, even as she slid a hand through the dark hair of the man bending over her. Ava froze. The man's face was buried between the woman's thighs, and she had no idea what he was doing to the woman, but... but she felt it, somewhere deep inside her.
Do you feel wet? Kincaid had asked her, and Ava knew now what he meant, for there was a delicious slickness between her thighs. "What is he doing to her?"
"He's pleasuring her, kitten." Kincaid stepped between her and the painting, and her gaze locked on the way the top button on his shirt was undone. Her vision dipped, turning the world to shadows around her, and then he was pushing her back, one hand clutching her fingers and the other on her midriff. "Fucking her with his tongue." He leaned toward her, brushing his lips against her ear and the sensitive skin in front of it. "Perhaps he's even nibbling on that sweet little button between her thighs. Have you ever touched yourself there, Ava? Do you know what I'm speaking of?"
"I know what the clitoris is," she whispered, arching in his arms as his teeth sank into her earlobe, shooting lightning through all her veins. "Oh."
A rush of molten heat went through her, centering right between her thighs.
"You didn't answer the question." Kincaid's whisper held all manner of wickedness. "Tell me. Do you ever touch yourself, Ava? Do you fuck yourself with your fingers? Do you know what I'm talking about?"
She pushed away with a gasp, pressing her hands to her cheeks. "Yes."
But he wasn't done with her.
A hand captured hers, and he spun her back against him, breathing hard. Kincaid pressed her against the wall, and this time he held nothing back. The hard planes of his thighs melded against hers, until she found her own legs parting, just slightly, and then there was something else pressing against her quite intimately.
Something hard.
Something that hit her at exactly the right spot.
Ava caught his wrist, flinching as a shock of sensation ran through her. Her skirts were crushed between them, and her body at his mercy. It was overwhelming to know she had no control in this moment beyond her consent.
And thrilling in a peculiar, utterly breathtaking way.
"I'm not kind," Kincaid breathed in her ear. "And if you're still interested in having me relieve you of your virginity, then you need to know it won't be sweet, or intriguing, or satisfying to your sense of curiosity. That clever little mind of yours won't be taking down notes while we do this, kitten. It won't be an experiment."
She sucked in a sharp breath, but his hips thrust, and her eyes almost rolled back in her head as his erection pressed directly against that special spot again. "Oh."
"Look at the painting, Ava." A whisper. A demand.
She complied, her nipples aching, and her eyes taking in the flash of pale breasts, and the man with his face between the woman's thighs.
"Do you want that?" Kincaid demanded hoarsely, and this time he bit her sharply. "Do you want me to fuck you? To lick your sweet little cunt until you scream? To consume you? Because that is the offer on the table."
Yes. Her hands curled into fists in his collar. She didn't even need to say the word, he saw it in her eyes.
And his own darkened, stormy seas of pure desire that set her aflame. "God damn you, you've the worst sense of self-preservation."
"Do your worst, Mr. Kincaid." She couldn't resist daring him. "I'm not afraid of what you could do to me."
"No?"
"No." She licked his jaw tentatively, feeling as though her body wanted to burst its seams. Her skin felt too tight. "You were right. I had no true understanding of what I was asking. But now I do. And I want it. I want you."
I want pleasure, and abandon, and sensation. I want to feel like a woman, with a man who looks at her as though she steals his breath... even when that woman is just me.
She'd never be able to tell him what it felt like when he looked down at her as though she was the most beautiful woman in the world. Ava shivered, stroking his jaw.
The breath shuddered out of him. "You'll be the death of me."
Why is he trying so hard to warn me away from this course of action? From him?
A kiss stole her breath, and then her wits. Ava pressed herself against him, draping her arms around his heavily muscled shoulders. The hunger reared within her, and somehow she knew her eyes were black, and her vision darkened, even with them closed. It didn't matter. All her senses became more acute as she gave herself over to her primal nature, reveling in the firm hands that
slid up and down her waist. His thumbs brushed her breasts, and Ava moaned into his mouth, arching her back shamelessly, begging him for more.
But he needed one last hint of permission from her. Kincaid drew back breathlessly. "You won't be in control here, Ava. I am. Do you want that? Will you submit to me?"
She didn't know what was happening to her. All she knew was she wanted more of it. "Yes."
Then her skirts were being dragged up out of the way in bunches. Kincaid pinned her wrists above her head with his mech hand, and she was strangely helpless, yet not in a way that roused the panic inside her. Their eyes met again.
"Spread your thighs," he told her.
His thumb brushed over the tops of her garters, and Ava flinched. She'd never been touched there before. Not by someone else. Heat spilled through her cheeks. Taking short, sharp breaths, she took a step to the side, parting her legs just enough.
"Wider." The look in his eyes dared her.
Her cheeks had to be crimson. Ava gasped in a short breath. Yes.... No.... It felt dangerously exposing. And she... wanted to do it. Slowly she let her legs fall apart.
"Wider," he whispered, brushing his mouth against her lips in the faintest of caresses.
Cool air brushed against her inner thighs. With her skirts bunched between them, she was more exposed than she'd ever been in her life. That thumb stroked across her garters, exploring her stockings slowly as he gauged the expression in her eyes.
Then his touch was drifting higher.
Higher.
Ava stopped breathing as she felt her drawers shifting beneath his touch. Her hips gave an unconscious flex, and she finally looked away, turning her face to the side as two of his fingers found her through the slit in her drawers.
The touch sent a spear of sensation straight through her. Ava's spine bowed, her eyes shooting wide. Kincaid pressed his face against her throat, the rasp of his stubble shockingly sharp against her skin. But it was his touch below that anchored her entire being.
A slow, steady stroke through wet folds. So light she could barely feel it, and yet....