What They Call Sin

by Philippa Grey-Gerou

  He couldn't allow himself to think about what this would do to Lindy.

  He went into the bedroom, opening his shirt as he went. He was dead tired, and more than a little buzzed from the sex and alcohol.

  The bedding still smelled like her perfume, sweet and flowery with just a hint of exotic spice. Just like her. He picked up the phone to call housekeeping to change the bed, then changed his mind, crawling nude between the rumpled sheets and letting her scent surround him. Trying not to think about the fact that she was in another bed now with another man, a man he despised, when he wanted to wrap around her warm body and hold her close as they slept.

  Chapter 8

  Friday was one of those unusually fine October days that New York is fortunate to get, bright sunshine making the air comfortable bordering on warm, bringing the denizens of the apartment towers and office buildings out in droves to enjoy the outdoors before the snow flew.

  Lindy was one of them. Instead of taking a cab to the East Side, she walked down Central Park West to cut across the park on the Seventy-Ninth Street transect. The fresh air and warm sunlight did a lot to dispel the butterflies building in her stomach. She couldn't think clearly sitting at home alone, her mind racing through all the things she was feeling, all the things she should be feeling. And she couldn't think at all when she was with him. Her capacity for reason went out the window the moment she even heard his voice. But here, moving, concentrating on her body, in the kind of privacy one can only find in a crowd of strangers, her mind could start to take out the pieces and examine them one by one.

  She was cheating on her husband. Shouldn't she feel bad about that? Gabriel hadn't done anything to earn her disloyalty. But she just couldn't make herself feel guilty about what she was doing. A little scared, yes. But not guilty. A part of her thought that she was actually making herself better for Gabriel, that she'd be able to offer him more by learning what Michael was offering to teach her. But she knew that was mostly just rationalization. She wanted this for herself, to be different for herself. To maybe find a way to be happy with her life.

  Why did Michael want her, anyway? He had said himself she was too innocent, too inexperienced. What could she offer him? A blank canvas, maybe. Or perhaps a better analogy would be a raw lump of clay for him to shape to his will. She found herself trembling at the thought of what she might look like when he was done.

  What if he'd changed his mind?

  That thought hurried her steps up the sidewalk to the entrance to Belvedere Castle. And there he was, slouched against the entrance archway, a long black leather coat over his Friday casual business wear. She smiled in relief and crossed the courtyard toward him.

  He saw her as she approached and snapped away the cigarette he had been letting mostly drift to ash to jump down the short flight of steps and meet her halfway. He didn't stop walking until she was pressed fully against him, her hands resting at his waist. He cupped her jaw, fingers loosely threading through her hair, and kissed her welcomingly, a slow, soft, open kiss full of promise but not demanding. He finally pulled back to look at her, fingering her chestnut locks gently. “Wasn't sure you would come. Wasn't sure last night wasn't just a fevered fantasy I found at the bottom of a Scotch bottle."

  She smiled. “No dream. And of course I'm here. I always honor my appointments."

  He smiled softly, blue eyes meeting green with a spark. “I imagine you do, pet. I'm just glad you're here. You hungry?"

  "Famished."

  He took her hand and led her back to the steps up to the building where he had been waiting. There he picked up a large picnic basket and a blanket he had left sitting there.

  She was surprised. “I thought we were going out to lunch?"

  He handed her the blanket and wrapped an arm around her waist. “We are. Operative word ‘out'. I don't want to have to share you with a whole restaurant full of people."

  "So instead we'll picnic in the most populous open space in the entire city?” she asked in amusement.

  He smirked at her. “It can be right cozy if you know where to go."

  They crossed Seventy-Ninth Street and walked along the main path in companionable silence for a few moments before he guided her onto a smaller footpath off the right-hand side of the walkway. This path twisted and curved through trees and glacial boulders, along ponds and over streams until she felt completely disoriented. “Are you sure we're even still in New York?"

  "Trust me, pet. We're almost there."

  She squeezed his hand in assent and held on, enjoying the warmth and strength of him in so casual a gesture.

  Finally they slipped up a hidden trail into the trees, ducking under tree limbs and pushing aside overgrown shrubs until the trees opened up into a very small clearing, a small creek babbling beside it. She could hear the sounds of traffic not far off, but not so close as to be distracting, hear voices occasionally passing by on a nearby trail. But otherwise they seemed to be completely isolated. “Oh, Michael! This is so beautiful! How did you know this was here?"

  He took the blanket from her with a wink. “Man's gotta have some secrets, luv.” He spread the blanket out with a flick of his wrist, laying it on the ground where the most sunlight hit it. “Otherwise a girl loses interest.” He shrugged out of the duster and the blazer beneath to reveal a purple silk dress shirt, unbuttoned at the collar, complimenting the black slacks that covered his long legs.

  "Can't imagine anyone losing interest in you.” She covered her mouth in shock when she realized she had spoken aloud. He just grinned at her and winked. “So, what about the basket?” she asked, covering her gaff. “What secrets have you got in there?” She knelt down next to it and started to lift the lid.

  "I put a bag of snakes in it."

  She dropped the lid quickly, whipping her hand back.

  He laughed and sat down next to her. “Relax, pet, nothing but nummy treats, I promise.” He began pulling packages out, crusty bread, slices of fresh mozzarella and tomato, small bottles of olive oil and vinegar, marinated artichoke hearts, sliced fruit and two enormous chocolate brownies. He began working to open the bottle of white wine that was included as she opened the food.

  "How did you do all this?” she asked, amazed.

  "Wish I could take the credit. I told the concierge at the hotel what I needed, and he arranged it all."

  "I guess that's why it's all so tame,” she looked over the offerings critically.

  "I don't need food to seduce a woman, luv."

  Her skin tingled.

  "Besides,” he handed her a glass of wine, “'S not all so prosaic. Artichokes have a long history as an aphrodisiac. And chocolate, of course, is the ultimate orgasm replacement drug. Hmm,” he thought, then reached for the brownies, “maybe I should just get rid of these."

  She grabbed his wrist. “Oh, you so don't want to come between me and chocolate. It's an ugly, ugly scene."

  He laughed and saluted her with his glass. “We'll see. Maybe I can get you to change your mind."

  She blushed at the innuendo.

  "Come on, pet, eat up. You look as though one stiff breeze could float you away."

  "Oh, thank you, now I feel very attractive.” She popped a piece of cheese into her mouth with a grimace.

  His eyebrow cocked at her. “Did I say you were unattractive?” He ripped a hunk of bread off the loaf.

  She shrugged.

  "Wouldn't be here if you weren't, Lindy. Just think you need to look out for your health is all.” He handed her the bread, now piled with cheese and tomato, the dark vinegar staining the white cheese in veining patterns.

  She took it, surprised. He thought about her well being? She stared at the food, puzzled.

  "It's a sandwich, pet. You eat it."

  She laughed, then took a bite.

  "That's better.” And he began to eat as well.

  They didn't speak much as they ate, content to enjoy each other's company. He sat close to her but didn't crowd her, occasionally stroking
her arm or her back, offering her bits of food, more wine, just comfortable and undemanding. It was a kind of attention she was not used to, and it soothed and relaxed her as much as the meal did.

  "Had enough?” he asked finally.

  She leaned back on her arms and let her head fall back. “Mm-hmm. I feel like I could fall asleep right here."

  He chuckled. “Well, don't do that, luv. But here,” he tossed the last of the containers into the basket and moved it aside, taking up the long coat and folding it into a neat square, “Rest your pretty head here and we'll have a chat."

  She slid out of the soft cardigan she wore, baring her arms and collar to the warm sun and lay down on the leather pillow. He settled himself next to her, close but not touching, his head propped up on his elbow to watch her. “What did you want to talk about?” she asked.

  "I had some questions about our arrangement."

  Her heart stopped. “What kind of questions?"

  "Well,” he slowly dragged the back of one finger down her arm, “there are so many things I could show you, so many things I'd like to teach you. I just wondered if there was anything in particular that you wanted to learn."

  "That I wanted...?” Even such a light touch, coupled with that liquid voice and the blatant sexuality of his question, made speaking hard. Or thinking. Or anything else.

  "Mm-hmm,” he purred. “Anything you've ever been curious to ... try?” His fingers danced delicate circles over her collarbone and throat.

  She reached up to clutch at his bicep as she lifted her chin to his touch. “I never...” she gasped as his knuckle brushed the peak of her breast, “...never think about it that way."

  "Never fantasize? Find that hard to believe, a healthy young thing like you.” He swept his hand lightly down her body.

  "No, I just don't think about actions. I think more about situations.” She arched as his hand slid under the hem of her tunic to slide over her stomach.

  "More of a role player, then.” He nuzzled softly into the curve of her neck. “The last few days must have seemed a romp in your psyche's playground, then."

  She just nodded.

  "Making love in the park on that list?"

  "Michael!” Her eyes flew open. “We can't..."

  "Side zipper. What a thoughtful skirt you wore, pet."

  "Michael...” She succumbed as his warm fingers worried at the waistband of her panties.

  "So tell me, luv,” he murmured, his lips resting on her ear, “what do you think about when you touch yourself?"

  She mewled softly as one finger slipped under the elastic at her leg. She tried to move closer, to direct his touch, but he pulled back.

  "Uh-uh, pet. Answer the question."

  "I ... I don't."

  "Don't what? Don't think?"

  "Don't...” she whimpered as his hand slipped beneath the waistband and began to tangle through the soft curls there. “I don't touch."

  "No?” He did.

  She almost wept as his fingers probed her, separating and opening her up to him. “It doesn't feel like anything when I touch my oh god Michael!"

  "Like that?” His fingers slipped around her clit again. She just nodded. He slowly walked his fingers around every inch of her eager pussy as she twisted around his touch. “It's not unusual for a woman who hasn't had orgasms yet to not be able to get herself off."

  "But I have..."

  "Really? Had a lot of throat searing, glass rattling, bedclothes ripping, screaming orgasms in your life? Guess you don't need me, then.” He started to pull his hand away.

  "No!” She clutched at his arm, keeping his hand where it was.

  He chuckled and slid three fingers down over her slit and back, comforting, soothing, arousing. “Considering the week you've been having, you might want to try it again sometime.” He began circling her opening, flicking his thumb against her swollen clit. Her breath was coming in harsh gasps, sweat beading across her skin. “It may feel different to you now, now that you know what it can feel like. You'll do it for me, won't you, Lindy? I want to watch you touch yourself."

  His fingers slid up to focus on her clit, rubbing slow and hard as she rode against him, whimpering and pleading softly. “I want to watch you spread out naked in my bed, your hair a mess, your face all flushed, your hips pumping as you finger yourself.” His fingers moved faster, driving her on. “I want to watch you come all over yourself. And then I'm going to take that delicate, busy little hand of yours and lick it clean. And then,” he shifted his hand, the pad of his thumb taking up the tattoo on her clit as his long fingers began to prod at her opening, “then, I am going to crawl up between your juicy thighs and slide my cock deep inside you and remind you that no matter how good you can make yourself feel, it will always be a distant second to the real thing."

  He slid his fingers home and began stroking hard and fast, his thumb never easing up. She began bucking underneath him, clutching at the blanket. “That's it, luv, just let it go,” he coaxed. “Come for me, Lindy. Just let go.” He kissed her hard as the scream erupted from her throat, held her seizing body tight with the hand buried inside her. She clutched at his shoulders, his arms, his head as all control left her and she was driven under by the wave of her release.

  As her strength returned, she rolled to face him, her fingers twisting in his hair as she kissed him hungrily, her body arching against his in languid sensuality. He had wound up something tight within her, something her orgasm had only fueled. She wanted more, she wanted it all.

  She wanted him.

  He responded eagerly, devouring her mouth as his hands roamed freely over her body. But when her hands began working the buckle of his belt, he pulled back, rolling her over to pin her hands to the blanket. “Lindy, shh sh pet, take it easy.” He kissed her face softly, staying away from her mouth. “We can't, love. I have to get back to the office. I've stayed too long as it is."

  "Work.” She stopped struggling against him. “Oh."

  "Lindy, no, it's just..."

  "I understand.” She turned away, fighting to keep the tears out of her eyes.

  "Oh bloody...” he rolled off her and away, turning his back on her. She sat up, straightening her clothes, a stab of shame slicing through her.

  "Yeah, this is Fitzwilliam.” She whipped her head around to see him talking on a cell phone. “I'm not coming back in this afternoon. Something's come up. Yeah, can you reschedule that for me? How late is he going to be in tonight? Okay, tell him I'll call him after that. The rest will keep till morning. Okay, thanks, pet, you're a dream. Go home when you're done, start your weekend early. You've earned it.” He snapped the phone shut and dropped it in the basket. “Get your sweater, luv. We're off."

  She was baffled by his transformation. “What? Where are we going?"

  He yanked her against him and plundered her mouth until she couldn't stand. When he finally pulled away, he locked eyes with her, his almost black with desire. “I am hard enough to pound nails, and if I'm gonna spend the next four hours fucking you so you can't see straight, it's gonna be somewhere comfortable. We're going back to the hotel where we'll have a proper bed and I can treat you like the wanton, delectable siren you are. Any problems with that?

  She looked at him thoughtfully for a moment, then reached down and scooped up their coats. “Let's go."

  Chapter 9

  They made out like teenagers in the back of the cab as it slowly worked its way through the mid-afternoon traffic down Fifth Avenue. The kisses were all soft and wet and eager, speaking of desire and frustration as they ground against each other through their clothes. He started to slide a hand under the hem of her shirt, but she grabbed his wrist. “Not here!"

  He chuckled and nuzzled into the side of her neck. “I'm sure he's seen a lot worse in this job, haven't you, mate?"

  The young cabby looked at them through the rearview mirror. “Oh, hell yeah! But not with a girl as pretty as yours."

  Lindy blushed and buried her face in his ches
t. He laughed and held her close, lying back against the seat. “Almost there, love."

  When they pulled up in front of the hotel, he reached across her to open the door and handed her his room key. “Go on up and make yourself comfortable. I'll be up in five minutes. Oh, and Lindy,” he stopped her as she moved to get out. He grabbed her wrist and brought her hand down onto the solid bulge in his lap, sliding it up and down. “If you like that outfit? Don't be wearing it when I get there."

  She blushed again, but her eyes twinkled wickedly as she leaned in for a quick kiss, giving his package a warm squeeze before she slipped out of the car.

  He watched her climb the steps, the sway of her hips, the curve of her ass, the way her hair rose and fell with each step. Finally, she disappeared through the revolving door, and he turned to the driver. “Just around the block, but take your time."

  "Not much problem with that, this time of day on a Friday,” the man said, pulling away from the curb. “You two been seeing each other long?"

  Rogue kept watching the point where she had vanished. “Not long enough."

  "Yeah, I get that. New love. Makes you feel like you've known each other forever, but you still can't get enough."

  He barely heard the man's words. He just wanted to get back to her. Ached for her.

  She amazed him. She was so open, so artless, all passion and no artifice. When she committed herself to a path, she gave herself over to it completely. He didn't know how she had justified the infidelity to herself, but she seemed to have, somehow, because she came to him without guilt. Shy, embarrassed, but unashamed. It was a heady drug, having that power over a woman.

  But then, she had it over him, didn't she?

  How had she gotten him to capitulate so easily? It wasn't just lust. It wasn't like he had never had to endure unresolved sexual tension before. But the look in her eyes at the thought that his work was more important than she was had devastated him. He didn't want her to see him like that. Didn't want to be like that.