by Delta James
“I understand you’re going on a private tour of the British Museum. Try to stay out of trouble,” Gabe admonished.
Holmes chuckled again. “I’m tempted to wonder how she could get into trouble at a museum, but somehow, I think Ms. Matthews can pull it off.”
Sage grinned, liking Holmes in spite of herself. “I appreciate your faith in me.”
“Please, Sage, stay with the guide and allow the town car to take you to and from,” Gabe requested.
Sage ushered both men from her room and finished getting ready. When the front desk called up to let her know a driver and guide were waiting at her pleasure, she gathered her things and stepped into the hall.
Sage spent the morning at the British Museum, enjoying both the exhibits and the guide. Once he realized she was more interested in the characters of history than the specific history itself, his entire demeanor changed, and Sage was treated to a lively and engaging waltz through the halls. When the tour was concluded, Sage treated him to lunch at the Great Court Café located in the museum.
Not wanting to take up any more of his time, Sage left after lunch and requested the driver help her see some of the additional tourist spots she had yet to visit. The driver proved to be amenable, and with the Savoy’s blessing, treated her to a lively tour of greater London, including some local shops and sites. Sage found time to linger and browse in local vintage and antique shops in the city. She picked up a few items to personalize her hotel room and began considering ways to breathe new life into the Roark Samuels novels.
When she returned, she was greeted by Felix.
“Good afternoon, Sage,” he said quietly, stressing her first name. “Corinne spoke with management this morning. As you will be staying with us and have agreed to sell the paperbacks of the Roark Samuels’ novels here in the hotel exclusively, we took the liberty to upgrade your room to one of the river view suites… like the one you describe as Roark’s residence. We also had an ergonomic chair brought up, as well as a large monitor and small printer.” Felix escorted her up to the suite and ushered her in.
“This is the exact suite I was shown the first time I came to the Savoy. I based Roark’s suite on it. This is absolutely perfect,” Sage said gleefully.
“I’m so glad you’re pleased.”
“You didn’t think I wouldn’t be, did you? It’s absolutely gorgeous! I may never leave,” she teased.
“I don’t think there’s anyone here at the Savoy who would think that’s a bad idea,” Felix said with a smile.
“Felix, could you get me a list of places where I might find some clothes? I had only planned to be here for a week…”
“That’s not an issue. All guests have access to our Butler Service. I can have someone meet with you about what you like and can advise you, accompany you, or do your shopping for you.”
“Ding! Ding! Ding! I’ll take Door Number Three. I am the woman online shopping was meant for.” Sage turned and looked at the desk where her laptop, a monitor, and printer had been set up. “The small box next to the monitor?”
“A free-standing hard drive for backup in case you didn’t want to use the cloud.”
“Thank you, this is just amazing. Please extend my thanks to everyone.”
Sage spent the afternoon writing. Thankfully, it was going much better than it had the night before, and she was making excellent progress on the last novel she owed her old publisher. She returned calls to several publishers who had expressed an interest in her work, including mainstream traditional as opposed to erotic romance niche publishers. The most interesting message was from a literary agent and publicist who urged Sage to speak with her before making any decisions about a publisher. Sage returned that call and arranged to meet with her the following week. She wanted a chance to finish the novel, then have a few days off.
When she reached a good stopping point early in the evening, Sage decided to venture out into the surrounding area and wander along the River Thames until she found a friendly pub. She was mindful of Gabe’s words of caution but was determined not to let someone force her to be confined to her room or even to the Savoy.
She entered the dimly lit space, going up to the bar to order.
“Greetings, Mistress. Happy All Hallows Eve to you!” said the bartender, a short, stocky, balding man who had a jovial face and demeanor.
“And the same to you, good sir! What’s good?”
“You’re an American. Well, welcome indeed!”
Sage reached up and touched the pair of Kirk’s Folly witches’ shoes that hung from her ears. “It’s the earrings, right? That’s how you knew I was from the States.”
The barkeep laughed. “Yes, ma’am, that was it… nothing to do with the accent. As for what’s good, we have a great light micro-brew exclusive to us, and our mac ‘n cheese is the best in all of London. It comes with smashed mint peas and bread we make here in the pub.”
“Sold! It sounds delicious.” The man she assumed was the proprietor drew her draft. “Is there a place at the bar?”
“Might be down at the end…”
“Hey! Yank! We have room at our table for a pretty girl like you!” called a man from a large round table filled with a number of men and women that looked to be about her age.
She looked at the bartender.
“They’re regulars. You’ll be safe with them as long as you don’t mind a thousand and one questions about America,” he said in answer to her unasked question.
“Sounds good. Do I come back for my food?”
“No, we’ll bring it out to you.”
“Thanks,” Sage said over her shoulder as she went to join the raucous table. “Thanks for inviting me,” she said, grabbing a seat. “I hate to eat alone.”
“What brings you out on All Hallows Eve?” asked the man who had invited her to join them.
“I was at a good stopping place in my work, so I decided to go for a walk and find a place to eat.”
“You’re from America? I’m Henry, and this is my girl, Darcy.”
“I am, indeed,” Sage said with a smile. “I’m Sage.”
“That’s an unusual name,” Darcy said. “My favorite author’s name is Sage.”
“Mine, too,” Henry teased. “I always know I’m in for a great weekend when one of Sage Matthews’ novels comes out. Darcy thinks I was the model for Roark,” he said, striking a pose and making everyone laugh.
“Nope, you’re blond, and Roark has dark hair,” Sage teased.
“You read Sage Matthews’ books? The girls here at the table have a book club and meet once a month.”
“Really? That’s great. Maybe…”
“Oh my God, Sage? You’re Sage Matthews, aren’t you?” Darcy asked.
“Guilty as charged,” Sage replied with an enormous smile as her food was put in front of her.
Sage spent the evening sharing food and ale and playing darts. At first, there had been a lot of questions about the books, how she got started and the like, but once the novelty wore off, she just became one of the crowd. When a man who also appeared to be on his own entered the now rowdy pub, he was invited to join them and took up a seat next to Sage.
“William Shackelford,” he said to the table, shaking Sage’s hand. “I’m with the British Foreign and Commonwealth Office.”
“Sage Matthews, erotic romance writer.”
“Really? That sounds ever so much more fun and exciting than my job.”
Sage couldn’t remember when she’d had a better time or the last time she’d had so much fun. A large part of her enjoyment came from the attention she received from William. They seemed to share the same sense of humor. He was sexy and solicitous in the way only a well-raised English gentleman could be. As the evening went on, he found ways to subtly touch her. When she didn’t dissuade him, the touches got bolder—a glancing touch along her breast, a caressing hand on her backside. Gradually, his gentle fondling ignited the spark of her arousal into a flame that grew brighter with each pa
ssing hour. While she had enjoyed pleasuring herself and the often-sensual dreams she experienced at night, it had been a while since Derek’s departure from her life.
William drew her hand beneath the table and placed it on his thigh, allowing her to decide for herself whether to leave it there or move it to feel his thick, hard cock. Sage leaned into his body, and William wrapped his arm around her as she slid her hand down, covering his cock and giving it a gentle squeeze.
“Mmm… that’s nice, love,” he whispered in her ear.
She grinned and nuzzled him. “Yes, it is.”
They continued to play darts with their newfound friends. The only difference was as the evening wore on, William pulled an unprotesting Sage into his lap between turns at the throw line. She found herself relaxing back into his body, his arm curling around her waist, and his hand resting lightly between her legs. She could feel his cock throbbing beneath her, promising all kinds of pleasure to be had.
More than a little tipsy, those at the table called the evening to a close. Sage left the pub with William and offered no resistance, or even protest, when he pulled her into an alleyway, pressing her against the brick wall and kissing her. William took the lead, his mouth covering hers, his tongue darting out to trace the seam of her lips as his hands moved from her shoulders down her back to cup her buttocks and bring her closer. Sage’s lips opened and his tongue surged into her mouth—tasting, exploring, devouring.
When he suggested a walk, Sage’s only protest was leaving the shelter of the alley and William’s arms. William drew her hand through the crook in his arm, and they walked several blocks along the Thames. Although it was late fall, the weather was mild, and she was enjoying the night and the company more than she had anything in a very long time.
Earlier in the week, she had feared her trip to London was turning into a fiasco, but little by little, she seemed to be finding her way and making it a triumph. Everything about the city seemed to have a positive impact on her life. She and William walked hand-in-hand in companionable silence as Sage mused, as an author, that she was in a position to pursue her career anywhere in the world… including London, perhaps even with William.
Chapter 6
Most of the wide causeway they meandered down was well lit, but William drew her into his arms, ducking into the shadows and behind trees, his hands brazenly roaming her back and buttocks, pressing his hard length against her body. She could feel his shaft pressing through his trousers, straining to get to the place between her legs. Never tarrying long, he moved them along the walkway until they came to one of the few bridges that crossed the river. Sage noticed there was no one around.
He turned her into the darkness and kissed her again. She ran her hands down his arms, well-muscled under his perfectly cut suit. Sage nibbled kisses along his strong, square-cut jaw, enjoying his clean and masculine scent.
William drew her hand down so there could be no question in her mind he wanted her. His cock pressed against the front of his trousers, trying to get out. Sage enjoyed fondling him, feeling his size and strength, wondering what it would be like to have him lie between her legs before he surged forward, driving into her, stroking her to ecstasy. She could feel desire pooling between her legs and realized she was looking forward to being pleasured with something far better than any vibrator.
“Why is it women like to wear leggings?” William whispered seductively, cupping her bottom before running his hand inside her waistband and beneath her panties to caress her bare flesh.
Sage moaned and might have protested, but William’s mouth captured hers in a searing kiss, overwhelming her already frayed senses. How long had it been since she’d been kissed like this? Had she ever? She melted against him, her body molding to his as she groaned in need. His lips rubbed against hers, and hers parted, inviting his tongue to taste her more deeply, entreating and emboldening him. Sage knew it was madness, but didn’t care when he pushed her leggings and panties down past her buttocks, exposing her mons and lower body to the cool London night.
He gripped the nape of her neck with one hand, holding her in place, while he leaned her back against the stone pillar of the bridge support. He used his other hand to find the soft curls at the apex of her thighs, gently trailing his fingers between them until he discovered her clit, circling and tugging before pressing it firmly as if it were some kind of ignition button, which it seemed to be. Sage felt dizzy with need, clinging to William while he explored her most feminine place.
“Wanton little wench, aren’t you?” he whispered.
“Not usually,” she said with a muffled laugh. “I think all that ale has gone to my head.”
William spun her away from him so she was facing the wall, her hands splayed on the damp stone. He stroked the cleft between her butt cheeks, circling her dark rosebud before slipping his hand between her legs and penetrating her wet heat with two fingers, plunging them in and out.
“William,” she breathed.
“Shh, Sage,” he crooned, fingering her while stroking her hair before drifting his hand to her breast and squeezing it briefly before dipping into the pocket of his jacket. “If I’d known you’d be this ready for a good romp, I might have set this up differently.”
The seductive tone was gone—in its place was one as cold as ice.
Sage felt the thin, cloth-covered wire slip around her neck as he removed his fingers from her pussy and grasped the other end of the garrote. William used his hard thighs to force her against the stone as she brought her hands up to try to keep him from strangling her.
“Why?” she barely managed to stammer.
“Why not?” he hissed.
The loop tightened and her breath was cut off as darkness began to cloud her mind. She tried to struggle, to no avail. She felt cheated when her life didn’t flash before her eyes. She wondered why she had been able to provide her readers with a storybook hero… yet failed to find her own. All she felt was the peace of acceptance as the noose cut off her air. Time and space shimmered and seemed to shift, darkness descending upon her.
Just before she lost consciousness, she thought she heard a spitting sound… then the blackness became complete.
The room was dark, lit only by the ambient light through the windows. All he could see was what was directly opposite the veil. Where the hell was she? Hadn’t she heard both Gabe and Holmes tell her to take care with her safety? It was late, and she had yet to return. He pressed against the barrier that separated them and felt it give way—more than the usual permeable feeling, more even than the spongy texture that had been gaining in the last few days.
Without warning, he could feel a loop tightening around Sage’s lovely neck. Her airway was being closed, and she couldn’t breathe. Her hands clawed at her throat, but the noose was too tight. Someone was trying to kill her, and if he couldn’t break through, the assassin would succeed.
That was not happening.
He leaned his shoulder into the barrier and shoved with all his might. The veil gave way, and he felt himself falling forwards, tumbling through time and space as everything around him shimmered. When he landed, instinct took over, and he rolled to his feet. Looking around, he realized he wasn’t in her hotel room. It took only a moment to recognize he was outside the Savoy, not far away, but down by one of the many bridges that crossed the Thames. He knew she was ahead in the shadow of the bridge, out of the sight of prying eyes.
Running toward her, he prayed to whatever power had allowed him through the veil that he could reach her in time. He could feel unconsciousness descending on her. He was running out of time. He strained his eyes to pierce the darkness and finally located them. Sage was shoved up against a wall, her killer’s thighs pressing her tightly against it as he leaned back, the handles of the garrote firmly in his grip. He stopped, reaching into the pocket of his tuxedo jacket, praying his SIG Sauer was there. Thank God it was, as was the silencer that had been made to his specifications to seamlessly fit his gun. Checking to en
sure it was loaded and the safety was off, he stopped and took aim.
Squeezing the trigger—in the same way he would later squeeze her nipple or her clit—the SIG responded in the same way, doing precisely as he wanted, the sound of the two bullets making no more than a quiet spitting sound. The first caught the assassin in the side of the head, his hands loosening their hold as the impact spun the killer toward him, the second bullet catching him between the eyes.
He ran forward, pocketing his gun as Sage slid down the wall. He ran to her, sliding to try to catch her before she hit the dirt. She couldn’t be dead… not his Sage. He’d come too far, endured too much to be with her. He would not allow her to die. He’d made love to her in her dreams just the night before. Now, when he was so close, he would not allow her to leave him. She was his, and he would have her.
“Don’t you die on me, Sage. Come back, do you hear me? Holmes was right, you know, you need someone to look after you, but I’m here, Pet. Daddy’s here.”
After what seemed like an interminable amount of time, he saw her chest rise and fall—slowly at first, then more steadily as she gasped for air. He dragged her into his arms. He had to get her back to the Savoy. He gently pulled her leggings back up and placed her on her side for just a moment as he rifled through the man’s pockets. No ID—no surprise there. He had a large roll of bills and nothing else. He pocketed the money and rolled the body over the edge into the icy water before returning to Sage.
Cradling her to his chest, he stood and came out of the darkness from under the bridge. He scanned the area, finding no one around. He got his bearings and began walking back to the Savoy, carrying her as if her weight was nothing. He slipped in the back entrance, using the key card in Sage’s purse, accessing the elevator, and finally entering her room. He stripped her and pulled back the covers of the bed, laying her gently on her back, then retrieved a cold, wet washcloth from the bath and pressed it against the growing weal.