She looked like a 1940s starlet. She’d let her dark hair down, parted on the side and falling in gentle waves down her shoulders. She was wearing the pearls . . . all the pearls, if her slow, careful walk was any indication.
She was holding a tie for him. A blue silk Hermès with small fleur-de-lis covering it.
He wished he could write music, poetry, something. Instead, he struggled to keep his hands still with the urge to draw her. It was a relief when she handed him the tie. It gave him something to do beside stare at her like a complete idiot.
“Thanks. You look beautiful.” He took it from her and began tying it absently, looking in the entryway mirror as he deftly made a Windsor knot. With each loop, his heartbeat steadied in his chest.
He caught her eye in the mirror. Her pupils were dilated and a delicate flush suffused her cheeks. He had a feeling she liked his second gift.
When he finished, he held out a hand for her. “Ready?”
She nodded.
“I have a coat for you,” he whispered near her ear and went to get the faux sable he’d purchased for her. He would have bought her a real one, but she’d mentioned her opposition to fur during one of their conversations.
He got it out of the coat closet and held it out for her. When she frowned, he held up a hand to stop her comments.
“It’s not real.”
She nodded, turning to slide first one arm and then the other into the blue satin–lined sleeves.
She fixed her hair and examined herself, coordinated from inside out. “You had this entire outfit made for me, didn’t you?”
Milton nodded, opening the door and holding his arm out for her. “Blake designed it, and I had it made.”
“It’s beautiful,” she said sincerely and took his arm.
Milton followed the instructions he’d been given, and had Shane drive around to the delivery entrance of the museum. There they were met by the public relations director.
“Mr. Shaw, a pleasure.” The man, slightly balding and short, had a surprisingly deep voice. “Your dinner is waiting inside.”
“Thank you.” Milton stepped back and allowed Regina to precede him inside. They walked down a long hallway lined with what looked like the rolling doors in a storage room, through another set of back offices, and into the main part of the museum.
He heard her breath catch, and was very pleased with what the museum, Blake, and the owner of the five-star restaurant Menton had arranged for the evening. A table had been set up for two among the European art, directly beneath a Monet. There were no candles, rules of the house, but the soft lights in the museum sparkled on the silver and glassware. He’d had an additional table brought in and an enormous vase full of flowers in shades ranging from white to champagne had been placed just next to where they were dining. Pearls dripped here and there from the greenery, just to remind her.
“May I take your coats?” the director asked them with a slight bow.
“Of course,” Regina said.
Milton stepped forward to take it from her shoulders and then removed his own coat, handing it to the man.
“Thank you, Howard.” He pressed a hundred dollar bill unobtrusively into the man’s hands.
“Your waiter’s name is Steve.” Howard nodded to a young man pouring water into glasses.
“Thank you.”
Milton escorted Regina to her chair and pulled it out for her. She sat very slowly and carefully, making him wish that she could describe what it felt like as those pearls shifted inside her. He was going to enjoy removing them. She smiled at him like his very own Mona Lisa.
They ate wild Scottish hare, bluefin tuna, Arctic char, cherry tomatoes, eggplant, and a few other tastes that Milton couldn’t remember. He ate mechanically, watching her face, enjoying the buildup as much as he enjoyed the pleasure of her company.
He was telling her about Saint George, about how well he was doing with his trick, when she asked him a question he’d been dreading.
“Milton, why do you perform at the hospital?”
He swallowed the last of the bite he’d just taken, caviar, before he answered. “I thought you might ask me that.” He’d known he’d have to tell her. You told people you cared for about the horrible parts of your life, about the parts that had destroyed you. She’d told him how she felt when her grandmother died; he couldn’t not tell her about William.
“You lost someone you loved, didn’t you? Someone like Saint George?”
Taking a sip of water just so he had something to do with his hands, Milton nodded. “My little brother, William. He died of the same thing, leukemia, when I was twelve.”
“I’m sorry, Milton,” she whispered.
“I’d just started trying to learn magic—I think I’d seen a story about Houdini—and I just became obsessed. William helped me with it, and then he got sick.”
“So you started performing for him at the hospital?”
“Yeah.”
Milton didn’t know how to explain what he’d felt then: helpless, angry, crushed. He hadn’t known what to do with those emotions, hadn’t been able to just sit and watch his brother die. He’d wanted to do something, anything, and so he’d thrown himself into the magic. Somehow, some way convinced that if he just pushed a little harder, learned the next most difficult trick, he would be able to . . . what? Save his brother? He hadn’t thought that, had he?
Watching his face, she changed the subject neatly by sliding her bare foot up his calf under the table.
“So when do you plan on . . . relieving me of my pearls?” she asked, making him nearly choke on his second sip of water.
“I should have had them seat us side by side,” he muttered darkly and she laughed.
“Don’t rush on my account. I’m enjoying myself.” She smiled at him, a wicked smile that she flashed at him every time she shifted in her chair.
When they finished dinner, they walked around the museum looking at the paintings. He showed her the Jasper Johns he was coveting.
He pointed to the 3-D design, how the edges seemed to fall away from the paper. “It’s like some of my tricks. An illusion, but Johns was just brilliant.”
Regina tilted her head. “I see why you like it,” she said. Shrugging a little uncomfortably, she admitted, “Cheesy, but I’ve always loved Monet.”
“It’s not cheesy,” he murmured, kissing her temple. “Next time we’ll go to New York. I know a woman with a private collection of Monets. Come on, they have a hedge maze through this way.”
He led her out of one corridor and into an antechamber. Double-glass doors opened to a mazelike garden. “I went to a wedding here once. Some of the guests managed to get themselves lost.”
“Is that what we’re going to do?” she asked, her voice husky.
He nodded, unable to speak, and pulled her into the garden. It, unlike the one at the hospital, was not enclosed—the bright night sky opened above them, but brassieres had been set up every few feet, warming the air around them.
Regina shivered anyway. He felt it and tugged off his suit jacket, draping it around her shoulders.
“Thank you,” she murmured, her gaze thoughtful. She strolled away from him, the undulating walk of a temptress.
He followed, as lacking in free will as a zombie. If she’d asked him to buy her a Bentley and a house in Ibiza, he would have made the call instantly. She wouldn’t ask for anything, though, except for him to touch her.
She walked among the hedges for a time. He stalked behind her, so aroused he could barely see, certain she was a dark-haired goddess come to life to tempt him to his destruction. She turned and turned again, and managed to do exactly what he hoped she’d do, trap herself in the maze. There was a stone bench in the center of a circle of hedges and two brassieres. But no exit except for the way they’d come in. Except for the brassieres, there wa
s little light, just as he’d requested. They were alone, and, in the dark and shadowy center of the garden, unlikely to be disturbed.
She sat on the bench, with one leg over the other, her eyes daring him. And then, as if she knew he wouldn’t be able to hold out much longer, she uncrossed her legs, just enough that her shapely thigh glowed white in the slit of the midnight blue gown.
God, I love her.
Milton didn’t remember crossing to her, but suddenly he was on his knees in front of her, spreading her legs even farther. He heard the rip of fabric as the slit in her skirt widened. He ducked under her skirt, taking deep breaths of the humid, salt-scented air between her legs. He kissed the inside of one thigh, and then the other, sliding his hands to where the curve of her buttocks met her thigh and spreading her a little farther apart.
She was wet; he didn’t have to touch her to know it. The pearls had done their work, filling and arousing her all evening, making her aware of the stretch and tug inside her own body, making her want to be penetrated in a different way.
“You like these inside you,” he whispered against her hot flesh. His finger ventured inside, just enough to touch one of the pearls, and he shifted it gently. She moaned and tightened involuntarily.
“Yes,” she gasped, and he felt the shift in her body as she braced her arms on the bench and threw her head back. He went to work, moving the pearls inside her as he gently suckled the taut bud at the top of her sex. She was swollen, her little clit hard against his tongue as he flicked it roughly. His fingers moved more urgently, stretching her, tightening her, until she came with a startled cry, her body clamping fiercely around his fingers.
He continued to lick and pet her until she settled, and then he gently removed the pearls from her body, making her moan as he worked his fingers inside her to get a grip on one, and then again as he removed the second. He put them in the pockets of his coat, still draped around her shoulders.
He straightened her skirt as best he could and stood, taking a moment to adjust himself.
“What about you?” she murmured, her gaze level with the distinctive bulge in his crotch.
“I’ll be fine until we get home, but then I’d like you dressed in that negligee I gave you, standing next to the bed. Will you do that for me, Regina?”
She nodded, her eyes so dark they dominated her face, her lips swollen from biting down to keep from screaming. But he wanted her to scream, he wanted her to scream a lot.
AN HOUR LATER, Regina vibrated with a mix of emotions as she slowly changed into the glittery negligee he’d given her. She still couldn’t believe how she’d felt, surrounded by darkness, her head thrown back looking at the sky as Milton had pleasured her. She’d felt worshipped. Worshipped and adored, his lips and tongue and fingers telling her with every flutter that he wanted her, that the scent and smell of her made him lose him mind.
Now, looking at herself in the mirror dressed in the nude lace that accentuated her curves with tiny glittering sparkles and emphasized the shadow between her legs, she felt powerful knowing he was going to see her like this.
She stepped out into the room, knowing that he was waiting for her, and was pleased to find that except for his tie and jacket, he was still dressed. She wanted to take his clothes off, wanted to show him that she did care for him—even if she didn’t want to be a public spectacle, she did want him, very much.
There was a single lamp on in the room, next to the bed. She knew that he could see straight through her gown. She moved toward him slowly. He seemed frozen for once, his eyes locked on her.
“You’re a little overdressed,” she said in a low voice, and knelt slowly, enjoying the feel of the rough lace on her nipples as the fabric tightened over her chest.
She removed his shoes, gripping his ankles and sliding them off his feet. His socks followed. She stood, slowly sliding her hands up his pants, making sure to brush his crotch with the back of her knuckles as she lifted her fingers to his shirt. She leaned forward and kissed the base of his throat.
“I love what you did to me tonight,” she whispered to him and felt his breath catch.
He released it on a sigh as she began unbuttoning his shirt, revealing his sculpted chest covered lightly in dark hair, his nipples taut, the washboard muscles of his chest trembling with every stroke of her fingers.
She pushed his shirt off roughly, making sure her breasts brushed his bare chest.
“I should tie you to the headboard,” she murmured. They hadn’t tried anything with him tied yet. “I’d like to lick every inch of you.”
“I can’t tonight.” He licked his lips. “Please, I’m begging you. Hurry.”
She chuckled and kissed his collarbone, and then one nipple, testing its firmness lightly with her teeth.
His breath hissed out, and his hands—those clever hands, moved to her waist.
Regina cupped him and he froze. “No hands,” she said against his chest. “Not just yet.”
He dropped them, cursing, and she kissed his neck, stroking him gently between his legs at the same time. He was clenching his teeth, his face turning red, before she took pity on him and slowly undid his belt buckle and the button holding his pants closed.
He was so aroused the engorged head escaped, rising toward his stomach. Careful not to catch his skin, Regina slowly slid down the zipper. He sprang completely free, jutting fiercely, and Regina thought he was beautiful: a thick gorgeous cock that he wanted to put inside her.
Unable to wait, Regina gripped him at the base and went to her knees, taking him in her mouth, sucking on the heat and breadth of him, making him moan and sink his fingers into her hair.
“Oh, fuck, yes,” he muttered as she began moving up and down on him, tightening her fist at the base of his cock as she worked him on her knees.
She kept doing it even as he warned her that he was about to come, even as she cupped his balls and felt them tighten and rise toward his body. He came and she drank him down, doing for him what she’d never done for anyone, and finding that she liked the taste of him, liked having him helpless to the pleasure of her mouth.
When she’d licked every last drop from him, she stood and met his eyes. He took her shoulders in his hands. Regina tensed, half afraid he was about to tell her he loved her. Surely not. What would she say back if he did?
“I’d like to put in a standing request for you to suck my cock for the rest of our lives.”
Regina chuckled. It wasn’t “I love you,” but it was certainly heartfelt. She had no doubt as to his sincerity.
She patted his cheek. “Only when you’ve been really, really good.”
“Hmmm.” He looked down the front of her gown, and before she realized what he intended, he ripped it down the front, releasing her breasts. Little beads and diamonds tinkled as they hit the wood floor.
Regina gasped and nearly clutched the gown closed, but he caught her wrists.
“That thing was made to be ripped off a woman,” he assured her, cupping her breast and pinching the nipple roughly. “And now, if it’s all right with you, I’d like to fuck you again.”
“Yes.” Regina nodded, already aroused by taking him, getting even wetter with his attentions on her breasts.
“Get on the bed. All fours,” he ordered.
Regina shed the remains of the gown and crawled onto the bed, stopping in the center and glancing behind her. He’d removed his pants, but he was drawing the belt out of the loops.
“What are you doing?” she asked, licking her lips.
“You’ll find out,” he said ominously, coming closer, and the bed dipped as he climbed just to the side of her on the bed.
She felt the gentle stroke of the belt along her back, down her spine, and over her buttocks. She could smell it, feel the cool leather, and knew that a less gentle stroke would be coming soon.
He pressed the belt b
etween her legs, rubbing it against her, and she gasped, jerking her hips back for more. The belt cracked, stinging against her ass in punishment and she cried out. It hurt, but she was so aroused, it also felt amazing. She wanted it between her legs again.
As if he could read her mind, he slid the belt between her legs again, and then gently swatted the tender place between her legs, making her jerk and moan. He did it again, and again, until the soft folds between her legs were so swollen and hot that she wept, begging him to take her.
She heard the belt hit the floor somewhere in the room and then he was moving behind her, sinking himself deep on the first thrust. She moaned and arched backward, trying to take more of him, all of him, trying to pull him into her soul.
“Harder,” she screamed, but he pulled out and turned her around, tossing her onto the pillows.
“I want to see your face when you come,” he said, and harshly spread her legs, taking her just as roughly as he had from behind, sliding his cock in and out of her, making her feel every inch. She jerked her hips upward, tightening frantically, trying to hold him, keep him, make him surrender.
He fought her, holding her legs spread wide at the knees, and it wasn’t until she came, shuddering hard against him, that he gave up, crying out as he spilled himself inside her, each shudder bringing him closer to her, until he was lying against her, half crushing her into the pillows.
They lay in a sweaty tangle, too exhausted to move. He shifted to the side and pulled out of her. She heard a drawer opening, and then something soft on her stomach. A handkerchief.
“Thought you might want to clean up.”
She picked it up with two fingers, smiling. Only Milton. “I don’t think this is going to cut it,” she told him with a wry smile. He laughed and said the three little words she’d been dreading.
“I love you.”
The Lady Vanishes Page 22