Ecstasy Wears Emeralds

by Renee Bernard

  She slid her hands up his chest and over his shoulders to push his shirt off him, thrilled at the expanse of bare skin and smooth muscles beneath her touch. She pulled her fingers lightly through the hair on his chest and allowed her hands to roam where they wished, trailing them over his extremities until she pushed him back onto the bed and knelt across his legs to hold him captive. She bent over to concentrate on the buttons and ties at his waist, and unfastened his pants with unhurried hands, all the while watching his handsome face.

  He was already hard, his cock jerking up to meet her hands as she released him. She caressed the velvet-smooth skin, enjoying the delicious textures of corded throbbing power that sprang so jauntily against her palms. The color of it was compelling, the head of him as ripe as any plum, but there the comparison ended as she absorbed with a sigh the masculine beauty that stood so proudly at her attentions. To tease him, she slowly drew the cotton cloth back over him, and then squeezed along the sensitive ridge to elicit a moan of pleasure from Rowan. “I love the way you’re formed, Rowan.”

  “I’m seduced, Miss Renshaw. See how easy that was?” I don’t think I have the self-control this is going to take if I continue to let her—

  Her mouth dropped, latching onto the shape of him through the thin material of his breeches, and he nearly spent himself right then and there. She looked up at him with a wicked smile, his cock straining through the cloth mere inches from her red lips. “One compliment? Truly?”

  “Very well. I shall try to present more of a challenge for the sake of education, but—” Oh, God! So much for bravado. . . .

  She pushed the cloth away, and she brazenly kissed his cock with the sweetest feminine sighs he had ever heard. Her mouth moved up his shaft, only to tease the tip of him, her tongue dipping down to meet the moistened rutting head that begged her for more. When her lips encircled him, and her tongue began to dance across his skin, he had to fight not to buck his hips upward and risk sending them both to the floor.

  Rowan moaned and deliberately lifted her up and away from the demands of his cock, determined that this delightful interlude should last more than two minutes. “Here, woman, sit here and smother the poor thing for a bit.” He settled her sex onto his, the barrier of her nightgown adding to the sensual promise of the position.

  “Rowan.” She pouted slightly, but wriggled to find a comfortable perch with his cock pressing up against her. “I wanted to learn how to please you.”

  He nodded. “And so you are.” He grasped her hips, trying to hold her still and slow the pounding of his own heart. “Touch yourself.”

  She obliged him, tentatively at first, unsure of what could be gained, but she grasped the game almost instantly. The molten desire in his eyes and open approval of her actions was heady. She cupped her breasts, pressing them together for him, encircling them with her hands as his hands had when he’d tasted her in the laboratory.

  Without realizing it, she began to writhe and pump her hips as she moved in a primal dance of seduction and satisfaction. Her nipples hardened when her palms passed over them, and her breath caught in her throat at the discovery that her own hands could surprise and seduce.

  He never looked away and a new power surged through her.

  “Between your legs . . . touch your sex, there, for me.”

  She nodded, not trusting her voice.

  It was a new experience. It had never occurred to her to touch herself, much less to allow someone to watch her when she did. But her nipples were still tingling from her own hands and the ache between her legs was unmistakable.

  She dropped one of her hands, fingering the coarse black curls on her mons and then easily found the wet flesh beneath. Slippery and hot, she gasped as her fingers brushed over her clit and slid a little inside her own body. This was a flavor of wicked she hadn’t anticipated, and her eyes widened in surprise.

  “Go on, Gayle. Touch yourself the way you would like me to touch you.”

  As before, the nuances of the game came to her very quickly. She imagined that it was his hands pressing the tight little bud between her legs, his finger entering her and stretching her entrance, faster and faster, until her hand was coated with her own arousal and she could smell the sweet musk of her sex.

  She was shameless only because he never looked away. His eyes reflected nothing but desire and approval. She felt more powerful than she ever had in her entire life—a queen in a very small erotic kingdom—but a queen, nonetheless.

  Without intending it, the arcs of electricity that began to link her breasts and her clit exploded in a lightning storm of sensation, and Gayle threw her head back to allow her release to take over, wave after wave of shimmering fire pushing her over the edge.

  She collapsed on top of him in a graceless, contented heap. “Oh, dear . . . what of your pleasure, Rowan?”

  “This is pleasure, Gayle, but perhaps you’re right. I don’t think I can play the spectator any longer.” He sat up suddenly and turned the table on his temptress, pushing her down on the narrow bed, her black hair fanning out beneath her like Ophelia floating on the water. “I’ll take my pleasure as I wish.”

  He’d been in awe of the goddess that had knelt above him and climaxed at his command. That Gayle would trust him and give in to her own passions was a humbling thing, and he hadn’t lied about enjoying it. His body craved a release of its own, but he was in no hurry to end this interlude and return to the real world that awaited them both.

  He nibbled on her toes and gently bit the inside of her instep, then kissed her ankle and worked his way up her leg, lingering briefly at her knees and then again at the soft curves of her thighs.

  She sighed. “This is heaven.”

  He rolled her over with a wicked smile and leaned over to tongue the crease of her bottom and dip his tongue into the dimples above each rounded cheek. She wiggled at the playful change and gave him a questioning look over her shoulder. “What are you up to?”

  “Did you prefer it on your back, then?” Without warning, Rowan flipped her back down into the bedding and spread her legs wide so he could tease the indent between her thighs and her sex. “Is this better?”

  “Rowan!” She giggled. “That tickles!”

  His delight at her laughter was the herald of all that followed. “You are far too serious, Miss Renshaw. Perhaps that’s just what you need before I roger you soundly.”

  His fingers replaced his tongue, and she was helpless to stop the fantastic torture of his hands tickling her into submission.

  Gayle struggled, caught in a merry battle not to scream out in delight, unsure of when she’d last experienced the unmitigated joy of being tickled. It was childlike, but then there was nothing innocent in his touch or the wicked work of his fingers. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from squealing, kicking out to escape the hands that tormented her with pleasure.

  “Enough! Rowan, enough!” she begged.

  Never enough. Rowan chuckled but gave in to her pleas for mercy, only to spread her thighs and press his mouth against the swollen flesh of her body. “Here is what I need. To drink you in . . .”

  His tongue dipped into the well of her folds, and Rowan lapped up the delicious ambrosia of her essence. He took his time, savoring her, inhaling the sweetness, and fanning her inflamed skin with his cool breath until he knew from her moans and the fever building in her body’s frame that she was almost ready for him.

  He lifted himself up and covered her body with his, kissing her so that she could taste the salty-sweetness of her own climax on his lips. She began to wrap her legs around his waist to pull him down, but Rowan resisted her to roll her over onto her stomach, one last time, this time lifting her hips so that she was on her knees for him, her sex swollen and glistening with her own crème. His flesh was rock hard and pulsing in a furious rhythm that matched the pace of his heart. He sheathed himself in a condom and prepared to find his own release inside of her.

  Gayle lowered herself onto her forearms, pus
hing her bottom into the air as she spread her knees wide, instinctively wanting to achieve the depth she craved and the access he needed. She was already so sensitive from her own release that, at the first touch of his cock to her slit, she had to cover her own mouth to keep from screaming.

  He thrust into her, so hard the iron cot screeched in protest, but she reached back to clutch at his hips, urging him to go on. Again and again, Rowan drove forward, each thrust slower and deeper, in an ancient dance that ground out all logic.

  He bent over to encircle her waist with his arms and then leaned back with her head back against his shoulder, her bottom pressed up against his hips. He held her upright, letting her find her balance with her thighs spread wide. She was impaled on his cock, and he filled her completely. Her muscles began to milk him, and there was no need to thrust or make any great movements, as their bodies blended into one passionate organism.

  His hands roamed over her body, steadying her but also fondling her breasts and then finding her clit. She trembled against him, thrashing a little as another more powerful orgasm began to gather momentum, and he waited until he was sure she was just on the brink—and then he pushed her over by pinching the ripe red tips of her breasts until she cried out his name and sagged against him in a half faint.

  Civilization fell away and Rowan abandoned all pretenses as he went over the precipice, stripped of any façade of tenderness. Her passion had fueled his, and he knew that she was the one with the whip hand. His orgasm jetted from him in scalding spasms that left him shaking.

  This was ecstasy so sweet, like falling into an ice green pool of emeralds....

  I could meet death with a smile on my face if this were the price.

  Later, Rowan gently pushed the black silk of her hair back from her cheek while she slept and lifted one long, heavy curl to his lips to inhale the floral fragrance of her hair and draw it over his lips.

  She’s like an orchid—exotic and beautiful, but a man can kill himself trying to keep her.

  For the strange courtship of his apprentice, he didn’t think there was a source of advice available for the path ahead. He was wary of pressing her too hard on the subject of marriage, for fear of losing her entirely. Miss Gayle Renshaw was a puzzle. For all her reluctance to accept the respectability he was willing to provide, she was equally mortified to be discovered in his bed or looked down on as a mistress. She was caught in the grip of his desires as surely as Rowan was.

  A willing captive to desire—for now.

  She’d asked for time to get used to it all, and he wanted nothing more than the chance to win her over completely, heart, mind, and body.

  But time may be the one thing I don’t have.

  He held her close and watched her sleep in the illumination provided by a slim ray of moonlight through her windows. It was selfish to keep her close, and he knew he would have to creep out before dawn to his own rooms to ensure that none of the household found him out of bed. But in a week it would be the full moon, and the need to keep her close and safe was as palpable and real as any fear he had ever experienced in his life.

  One of us will fall, it said. I suppose I should be worried that it might be me, but all I can think of is Gayle. Should I keep my distance to keep her safe if the threat is against one of us? Or should I ensure that she is at my back to protect her from any outside force?

  Damned if I do. Damned if I don’t.

  Chapter 20

  The following day was unnervingly quiet for Rowan. He’d already alerted Carter to be on his guard, hinting that one of his patients had warned of a new rash of burglaries in the area. He’d instructed Barnaby to stay close to the house and to keep an eye on the ladies if they ran any errands. He sincerely doubted that Mrs. Wilson would be in any danger shopping for eels, but he wasn’t going to take any chances.

  As for Gayle, he’d decided to keep her by his side until the threat passed. As far as she was concerned, it was a normal day in the laboratory as they worked side by side on documenting the latest changes to his testing environments.

  When the bell rang in the afternoon, and Carter came to get him, Rowan did his best to look calm as he waited to hear where the hammer had fallen.

  Please God. Let it just be Ada Featherstone asking for sugar pills, or even one of Lady Pringley’s headaches.

  “A runner from Blackwell’s.” Carter held out the note and Rowan took it with numb fingers.

  Rowan, it’s Caroline. She fell down the stairs. It’s urgent that you come now!

  —A

  “Miss Renshaw. Come with me. We’re needed on a call.” He folded the note into his pocket and they were racing for the door. “Carter, tell Theo it’s urgent and if the carriage isn’t ready by the time I reach the door, tell him to hail a hackney.”

  Carter rang the bell for Theo, confident that the man would be waiting downstairs, and trailed behind them to hand them coats and finish getting instructions from Rowan. Rowan stopped briefly in the library to pick up his bag and then again at his office on the ground floor to repack a few things from the exam room he thought he might need while the house launched into motion at Carter’s experienced direction.

  A fall down the stairs. It could be a broken bone, an internal injury, a head injury . . . any number of things. He made his selections quickly, and Gayle only watched, no doubt sensing that this was not a good time to ask questions.

  Within just a few minutes, they were on their way, and Rowan tried to take a steadying breath. The significance of the date wasn’t lost on him, but tripping down stairs inside one’s own home didn’t sound like the dastardly work of an unseen enemy. Still . . . they would just have to wait and see.

  “It’s Blackwell’s wife. She’s fallen down some stairs and Ashe has sent for us saying it’s urgent.”

  Gayle nodded. “They are newly wed, aren’t they? When he spoke of her, he was very sweet.”

  “I’d forgotten you’d met.”

  “Mr. Blackwell and Mr. Rutherford seemed very nice. You are lucky in your friends.”

  “Yes.” Rowan’s eyes dropped to the scars on his wrists. “Extremely lucky.”

  The ride wasn’t fast enough to suit Rowan, but they arrived before long. Rowan jumped out before they’d even pulled to a stop, and then he reached up for Gayle and his bag, only to run up the stairs and go in without waiting on ceremony.

  Godwin was at the door. “Dr. West! Thank God!”

  Ashe was bounding down the stairs before Rowan had removed his coat. “Where the hell have you been?” The panic on his face was unmistakable.

  “Did she break anything?” They were on the move back up the stairs as Rowan tried to understand what he was facing.

  “I don’t think so, but she’s . . . so sick! Godwin sent for me as soon as it happened. He said she was flushed and became dizzy. It was a bad fall, Rowan. Something is terribly wrong!”

  “Flushed and dizzy before she fell? Or is that only after?”

  “Daisy said it was just before! Could she be—”

  Rowan held up his hand as they reached the bedroom door, all too aware that Gayle was on his heels. “I’m not guessing. I’ll see her and then we can start ruling things out and get this sorted away, all right?”

  Ashe nodded.

  “Why don’t you wait here, Ashe? Or better yet, downstairs?” Rowan knew what his answer was going to be, but he felt obligated to try.

  “No.” Ashe’s eyes flashed icy resolve, and Rowan glanced at Gayle.

  “Stay close.” He pushed the door open and prayed that Ashe wouldn’t get in the way. Within seconds, it was clear that Caroline was desperately ill. She was writhing in pain, her eyes wild with fear, and it was all she could do to lift her head before the next wave of nausea overtook her.

  A hand on her forehead confirmed that she was clammy and cold to the touch, and Rowan did his best to smile and reassure her as he went through the steps of an initial assessment and exam.

  He applied pressure to her abdome
n and ruled out appendicitis with fleeting relief but dreaded what he was seeing. Gastric fever.

  Gayle handed him his stethoscope, and Rowan listened with alarm at the rapid pace of her heartbeat and the shallowness of her breathing. She’ll hyperventilate at this rate—or she’s going into shock.

  “Gayle, stay here with her. Just do what you can to comfort her. I need to talk to Ashe.”

  Gayle changed places with him to sit at Caroline’s side, capturing one of her hands, and with her free hand smoothing her fingers against Caroline’s cheek and forehead.

  “Come, let’s talk in the hall.” Rowan gestured back to the door.

  “I’m not stepping one foot outside of this room and leaving her, West. Talk.”

  Rowan wasted no time in arguing but walked over to the sitting area in the corner of the room. “Fine, we’ll stay in the room.”

  The terror in Ashe’s ice blue eyes was unquestionable, and as a friend, he knew that Ashe had to be there with his beloved bride—no matter what was coming. Rowan kept his voice low. “Was she ill earlier? Did she show any symptoms of discomfort?”

  “No! We enjoyed . . . a lovely morning.” Ashe had to take a deep breath. “She was perfectly fine.”

  “When did it change?”

  “Just a while after lunch, I think. She ate alone in the library—I can barely pry her out of there on some days, Rowan.” His words sped up as fear caught up with him. “I went to the sports club this morning with Michael. I should have stayed home! It’s Sunday! Threatening letters and I’m off like an idiot playing swords with Rutherford!”

  “We all expected the danger to come at us directly, not our loved ones, Ashe! This isn’t helping Caroline. Ring for Godwin. I need to know what she ate. I need to see anything that remains of that meal and to know everything we can of its source.”

  “Poison! Dear God, you think she’s been poisoned!”