Her skirt inched higher, revealing the curve of her knee, the lower sweep of her thighs, which she still squeezed tightly together. That wouldn’t do at all. Valentine forced his shoulders between them, inching them open, even as he ducked his head for clearance beneath the table.
“You wouldn’t dare,” Arabella hissed above him, the table shifting as she gripped it, scrambling for purchase.
He smiled as he reached the top of her stockings and spread her legs further.
“A challenge,” he whispered as he revealed the soft nest of blond curls that hid her feminine core. They were already dark with needy moisture, her outer lips swollen and pouting for his touch.
She tensed, pushing back against his shoulders, but to no avail. He was far stronger and forced her to open wide. He pulled at her hips, bringing her to the edge of her seat and taking the last fraction of access she refused him.
Gently, he smoothed her curls aside, opened her sex to his eyes, his fingers, his tongue. She shivered again, her thighs quivering against his arms, her breath panting in and out.
Then, breathing in a deep whiff of the perfume of her desire, he pressed his mouth against her and tasted her.
4
Arabella bit back a moan, even though other moans echoed around her. To voice her pleasure might not bring any more attention than Valentine disappearing beneath the table had, but it would give him the satisfaction of knowing how much his touch affected her.
Not that he wasn’t fully aware. Even before he pressed his lips against her, speared his tongue inside her, her desire had been wet against her thighs.
And now that he was tasting her…
She dipped her head back, clawing at the table as he swirled his tongue around her clit for an all-too-brief moment of bliss, then returned his attentions to her weeping slit.
It was too much. The pleasure was far too focused, building too fast for her to keep up. All she could do was try to hold back her release as long as possible. Try to regain some control, though she had no idea how that would be possible. It wasn’t like she could touch him in her vulnerable position. Nothing she did could entreat him to come back to her level, give her some chance to entice him.
She sighed as he lapped at her and her hips jolted in response. Long had she used pleasures like this against her partners. Used orgasm to bend them to her will. Gave, but only because it let her take. She used her body against her lovers…without them ever knowing.
But Valentine knew all her tricks.
A gasp bubbled free as he suckled her clit and starbursts lit before her eyes. She felt his smile against her pussy before he went back to firm, teasing strokes of his tongue within her folds.
Valentine was using her own tactics against her, making her pleasure the center of his world. It seemed selfless, but in reality this act was designed to have her slipping under. Surrendering.
And God help her, she was doing just that.
She arched as his strokes grew harder, but he withheld what she craved. Release taunted her with its closeness, but he seemed to purposefully avoid her clit and keep that ultimate pleasure from her.
“Please,” she moaned, hating herself for it. “Please.”
His chuckle was muffled by the fabric separating them. “Please give you what you need?”
“Yes, damn you,” she ground out, thrusting her hips helplessly against his ever torturing tongue. “Yes!”
He didn’t smile this time. Instead, he glided his hands up her sensitive inner thigh. One, then two, he slipped thick, rough fingers into her clenching channel. She groaned at the fullness of the invasion, though it wasn’t nearly enough.
But he was no longer tormenting. He pulled her tight against him with his free hand and went to work on her clit with his devilishly skilled tongue. Swirling and suckling, he gave her tingling pleasure, all while pumping his fingers inside her.
Arabella’s release built fast and hard, a wall low in her belly that was growing brick by brick until, finally, in an explosion so massive that she blocked out everything around her, she came. The table rocked with the force of her release as her hips bucked wildly against his still strumming tongue and working fingertips. She bit her lip, tasting her own blood as she held back screams.
The waves crested, lapped, and with a final shudder, subsided as she went limp against the leather seat.
Valentine pulled her gown down over her legs, his own heartbeat throbbing so hard in his chest that he was surprised it didn’t burst free. He’d never wanted to fill a woman more, but he held back. He’d proven a point by making her beg. He’d gained control. Now he had to keep it. Keep sex on his terms. And they didn’t include rutting with her in front of the Empire.
Carefully, he climbed out from under the table and retook his seat beside her. He sucked her essence from his fingertips before he unfolded the nearest napkin and dabbed his mouth, knowing she watched his every move.
“That should prove our affair well enough, shouldn’t it?” he asked.
Her eyes flickered with emotion for a brief moment. Was that hurt he saw in her stare? No, it couldn’t have been. Arabella wanted him and she needed his protection, but a woman like her would never allow herself to become more deeply involved.
“It will,” she answered softly. “If that was your only intention, you succeeded.”
Valentine thought about that. Proving a point to those around them should have been his only intention. But it hadn’t been. Giving Arabella intense pleasure, hearing her moans, feeling her quicken at the stroke of his tongue, quiver in release around his fingers…those things had moved him. In those moments, he all but forgot duty. To Arabella. To himself.
A dangerous proposition. One he could not repeat. So he cut away any remaining emotions and leaned back in his chair. Trying to forget that he could still taste her on his lips, he said, “Then the first part of my duty to you is on its way to being accomplished. Let us begin on the second. Tell me more about your past.”
She tensed, the satiated posture of her body gone in an instant. “Why?” she snapped, motioning to one of the women serving in the hall. The girl brought two tumblers of sherry and Arabella took a sip. “Why would you want to know about that?”
He tilted his head. “Because someone from your past might well have something to do with the attempts on your life. It’s more likely a person you know than a stranger, especially considering the venom with which you’ve been threatened.”
She hesitated, searching his face with captivating eyes. For a moment, he thought she might bring him into her confidence. But then she shook her head. “I don’t think telling you about the past will do any good. If someone from my history wanted to harm me, why would they wait until now to do so?”
He frowned. She held back. It was something far too familiar. The last woman who had inspired his passion held back, as well. She had betrayed him. Stolen everything he had. His profession. His name. And he wanted Arabella even more than he had that woman. What more could she steal if she chose?
“How am I to protect you if you won’t be honest with me?” he snapped, much harsher than he had intended.
She started at his tone, her lips parting in surprise. But before she could respond, a woman approached their table. It was the red-haired beauty who had taken him to Arabella’s chamber the night before. The one with the enticing stares.
“Arabella,” the mystery woman cooed as she drew Arabella into an embrace. “You are positively glowing…though there is no doubt why.”
Her gaze fell on Valentine and one auburn eyebrow cocked in question and invitation. He nodded an acknowledgment, though he waited for Arabella’s lead on how to proceed.
She smiled. He realized it was the first genuine expression he’d seen on her face, outside of unguarded moments of desire and release. He took a second look at the woman who inspired such friendly regard.
“Lydia, there you are. I haven’t seen you since you brought Mr. Valentine to me last night,” Arabella sai
d with a light laugh.
Valentine looked closer. Arabella had mentioned that a Lydia had encouraged her to leave London when the threats against her began. This must be that same woman. Her friend and only confidante.
“A difficult package to deliver, I promise you.” Her eyes, green and a little catlike, focused on him yet again. “I would like a proper introduction to the man you pursued…and apparently won…so single-mindedly.”
Valentine rose as Arabella introduced him. So, Lydia was close enough to know Arabella desired him for a lover, close enough to know about the threats…but not close enough that Arabella confided he was her protector, as well as her bedmate.
“A pleasure, Miss Bartlett.” He dropped a kiss on the top of her hand.
“Lydia,” she insisted. “You simply must call me Lydia.”
“Lydia,” he repeated. He watched as the two women began to chat. It was business talk mostly, nothing overly interesting, though he marked the fact that Lydia Bartlett was very involved in Arabella’s club. He also caught the stares the young woman sent his way, appraising, cool, despite the invitation in her words and demeanor.
He might have dismissed that underlying coolness as concern for Arabella’s welfare with a man she hardly knew, except Lydia also turned it on her friend. When Arabella turned away, any pretense Lydia showed of being concerned or friendly fell, for a brief moment, only to return when Arabella refocused on her.
Was that a character trait of Lydia’s? A woman who made a living at pretending emotion might have difficulty doing anything but acting a part, certainly. And her words to Arabella were nothing but kind.
Still, it was a fact worth looking into.
“How long have you been acquainted with Arabella?”
Both women’s faces froze at his question. Arabella turned toward him slightly, her eyes wide. Again, she wished to hide her past from him. And again, her reserve alarmed him.
Lydia’s smile was forced. “For many years, Mr. Valentine. She saved my life.”
He cocked his head. Interesting. “Did she? You must be very close, then.”
The redheaded woman bobbed out a nod. “We are.” There was a sudden sadness in her expression that seemed out of place. “We always have been.”
Arabella clutched his arm, dragging him to his feet. “I’m afraid my head is beginning to ache. Lydia, darling, you’ll excuse us, won’t you?”
Her friend nodded, giving a brief smile to them both. “Of course. It was a pleasure making your full acquaintance, Mr. Valentine.”
“The pleasure was all mine,” Valentine said as Arabella began to drag him away from her friend. They weaved through the main hall, dodging the arching bodies of some of Arabella’s more adventurous clientele. Valentine didn’t speak as she dragged him into the hallway, but at the bottom of the main stair, he stopped, easily bringing her up short.
“I don’t know what put you to running, Arabella,” he said, low and close to her ear. She shivered as his breath caressed her and the response set his blood back to full boil. “But it is foolhardy. I need to know more about the people who come here, about your friends and enemies, in order to help you as you’ve hired me to do.”
She shook her head, pulling back against his arm to no avail. He had no intention of letting her escape either his arms or his questions.
“I hired you to protect me,” she answered, her hiss as low and harsh as his own. “I hired you to determine who wants me dead. Not to delve into my private affairs, or those of my friends.”
He let out an exasperated sigh. “You are by no means a stupid woman, Arabella. Surely you see the two may very well be connected.”
She drew in a breath and he saw that she knew exactly what he was talking about. She knew full well that he needed to know more in order to assist her.
But she wasn’t willing to share it.
“You’re willing to die rather than give away a few secrets?” he asked, drawing away in shock.
She stared up at him, blue eyes clouding with sudden and, he guessed, uncharacteristic tears. Her shoulders tensed and her arm trembled against his. Frustration bubbled inside him. And fear. Fear for her life. Fear for what would happen if she didn’t surrender what she refused to give.
“You won’t tell me?” he whispered. “Then I have no choice but to determine the truth for myself.”
He dragged her up the stairs behind him. She squealed out a protest, then scrambled to keep up with his long, anger-driven steps.
“Valentine, slow down,” she snapped as he hauled her down the hallway, through her bedroom door and slammed it behind them. Immediately, he released her and looked around.
“You really should have that door locked at all times,” he said before he took a long step forward. “Where to start? I think your escritoire is a good place.”
“Stop!” she shrieked, but he ignored her pleas as he sat down and began to open drawers. Letters, ledgers, pens, and ink clattered as he searched through each drawer, dragging its contents out for examination before he shoved what ever he found back inside with no thought to the order it had once been in.
“You cannot go through my private things,” she insisted, grabbing for his arm as he pushed away from her desk and strode toward her bedroom. Memories assaulted him as he looked at the bed, but he pushed them aside, along with her hand.
He headed for her dresser. The top drawer revealed a variety of sheer stockings, but nothing else. The second a collection of negligees that made his blood burn a little hotter. He could only imagine drawing the lacy strap of this one over her shoulder, stroking her through the satin bodice of another.
Shaking his head, he opened the third drawer.
“What…?” He gasped as he stared at what he had uncovered. A drawer filled with velvet ropes, satin blindfolds, erotic books, and explicit drawings. He picked up a sketch of a woman stroking herself as a man looked on, clearly ready to finish what she started.
“Arabella?”
She straightened her spine and stared at him with no trace of embarrassment. “This is my private collection,” she explained, snatching the drawing and replacing it in her drawer before she slammed it shut and turned to him with folded arms.
“Your private collection, your private past, your private demons.” Valentine ran a hand through his hair as he just barely resisted the urge to pull her against him. “Those things could get you killed. Keeping me in the dark defeats the purpose of hiring me.”
The stubborn chit’s jaw set in a harsh line he knew was as unbreakable as her will. It was something he normally admired, but at the moment, he hated it.
“Whether that is true or not, my hiring you gives you no right to invade my private things, to delve into matters better left buried.”
“And does taking you to bed give me any right?” he asked, moving in on her. She started at his sudden advance, but didn’t back down. Her chin lifted, but he saw desire mixed with the anger in her eyes. “Does making you scream in pleasure, surrender like you never have with any other man, give me the right?”
She stiffened and a swell of pride rushed through him. So his words were true. Despite her jaded past, the passion they shared was as unique for Arabella as it was for him.
He tamped back the dangerous joy that accompanied that realization. He knew nothing about her. She shared nothing. Only an illusion.
“No,” she said softly. “Even if that is true, and I admit nothing of the kind, it gives you no right. You are in my employ and I’ll tell you what you can and cannot pursue when it comes to this case. No man controls my comings and goings. No man controls my secrets, past or future. Not even you.”
His nostrils flared at her condescending dismissal, but he didn’t allow emotion to show on his face. “I’m afraid not, Miss Nichols,” he sneered. “That isn’t how I work.”
He motioned to the drawer she had closed. “I hope your ‘private collection’ keeps you entertained. Because I won’t be around to pleasure you for a few days.
”
She stepped forward with widening eyes. “What? Why?”
With a shrug, he said, “You offer me no choice. If you won’t share the truth, I’ll seek it elsewhere. While I’m gone, be sure you stay here where you have some level of safety. Keep your door locked and don’t go out alone.”
He turned, but before he left, he came back. Crowding Arabella against the dresser behind her, he gathered her into his arms. Her breasts flattened against his chest, her thighs molded to his. He ached to fill her, take her, but after her denial tonight, he knew he could never possess more than her willing body. It wasn’t a bargain he could make, though it tempted him.
“Arabella, while I’m gone, consider why you hired me. Somewhere out there, perhaps closer than you realize, someone hunts you. They want you dead. I can protect you, but only if you let me past this barrier you have built.”
He looked at her, so soft in his arms, her eyes dewy with desire, with confusion, with a fight to remain distant. Slowly, he dropped his lips to hers, coaxing her mouth open to taste her. Her fists clenched against his chest, her heart rate doubling. She returned the kiss readily, but immediately tried to turn up the heat. As tempting as that was, he refused to allow it, keeping this kiss a tender exploration rather than a passionate possession.
With effort, he broke away. “And remember this, as well. You may entertain yourself with that drawer full of toys and pictures, but nothing will fulfill you the way I have. Surrender is fearful, but you’ve experienced the rewards of it…and I have done nothing to prove I don’t deserve your trust. And I never will.”
With that, he let her go. As much as he wanted to look back, he did not, and she didn’t call to him. And as he shut her door behind him, he wondered why that fact made him ache.
5
“Arabella Nichols does not exist.”
Valentine clenched his fists and screwed his eyes shut. How he wished he could block out those words.
Parlor Games Page 4