Parlor Games

by Jess Michaels

  Even though she had long ago promised she would not give her heart or power to another man. She peeked over her shoulder where Valentine leaned against the wall, fully dressed and looking none the worse for wear. With a shiver, she broke their stare. Breaking her promise with a man like Valentine was even more complicated and treacherous.

  He pushed off the wall and she felt him come up behind her. When he touched her shoulders, she shuddered with renewed desire. She’d had her own plans for tonight. Ones that didn’t involve utter possession on the floor of her opera box.

  No, her plans involved taking control back. She’d prepared her room for Valentine. Had a plan. But he’d swept that away, and that proved, more than anything else, that she could never surrender to his will again.

  Turning, she threaded her hand through his arm and blinked up with a flirtatious flutter of her eyelashes. He arched a brow at her sudden shift in attitude, but she didn’t back down. She couldn’t.

  “You’ll accompany me home, won’t you?” she asked. “You aren’t going to stay away again?”

  He sighed and there was something pained in the sound. Something that called to an answering ache in her heart. “Of course I’ll escort you. You shouldn’t be out alone. You’re still in danger.”

  She nodded, briefly sober. Somehow when she was with Valentine, it was all too easy to forget why he had come into her life in the first place.

  “Did you find any new information about who might be threatening me?” she asked, dropping her voice as he pushed the curtain aside and escorted her out of her opera box.

  As they entered the crowded hall and headed for the main entrance, people stared. Valentine didn’t seem to notice as he guided her through the throng, always sure of each step. She wished she were as steady on her feet and in her mind.

  “Not quite enough,” he answered, just as low. He drew in a long breath and looked unhappy to be broaching the subject. “Who are you?”

  She started. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  His scowl deepened as they walked through the thinning crowd and through the doorway to the street. Her carriage was parked in front and the footman hopped down to open the door as they stepped toward it. But before they reached the vehicle, Valentine came to a halt, turning her to face him.

  “You know,” he said, his voice little more than a harsh whisper. “You know exactly what I mean. Your name isn’t Arabella Nichols. What else have you been hiding?”

  Valentine watched the blood drain from Arabella’s face, as she realized exactly what he was saying. She yanked her arm from his and he winced as she stumbled away.

  “I—I—” she stammered, her blue eyes darting around wildly as her hands trembled.

  “Please don’t deny it,” he said softly, somehow still longing to pull her into his arms even though he was watching proof of her deceptive practices play out before his eyes. “I have seen enough proof that I won’t believe you. And I don’t like to be treated like a fool.”

  Her breath came sharp, but her trembling had subsided and she managed to control her expression. In fact, she looked at him in challenge now.

  “I won’t deny it. Clearly you are no fool, Valentine. But that doesn’t mean I intend to share my private past with you.” She shook her head. “My body was the bargain, not my soul.”

  Pain roared through him at that dismissal of all they’d shared. As if the sex between them, which was so powerful and consuming, was only part of some bargain. But then…he looked at her, cool as the evening breeze, arms folded. Perhaps what they’d shared was only a side deal of a business arrangement.

  No. He’d felt something more in the way she touched him. The way she arched beneath him. The way she lost control when he took her.

  “The bargain we made was for protection and investigation, my dear,” he said with a sneer. At least when he turned to anger, his chest didn’t feel like it would burst. “I’ve done both, with little assistance from you. I deserve to know what I’m up against. If you expect me to continue to serve you, I demand it.”

  “Demand?” She repeated the word as if it were poison. “You are my employee, you have no right to demand.”

  Valentine stood stone-still as her words of anger cut through him, burned through his frustration to his very core. He could not, would not, do this again.

  “Then you’ll have to find another ‘employee,’ Arabella. I won’t work under your terms.” Turning his back, he stalked away.

  “Valentine!” she called after him, her voice filled with shock…undeniable pain. He did not turn back. He couldn’t.

  “Valentine!” she repeated, filled with fear. He hesitated, but wouldn’t allow himself to turn. He couldn’t protect her when his heart and mind were tangled in her presence. It wasn’t fair to either of them.

  He took another step, but was interrupted by her voice yet again. Only this time, it wasn’t his name from her lips, but a bloodcurdling, terror-filled scream. His heart pounding, Valentine turned back.

  Just in time to see a man he did not recognize grab Arabella’s wrist and thrust a knife toward her heart.

  6

  Valentine didn’t recall jumping forward. He didn’t remember throwing his full body weight on top of Arabella’s attacker and slamming him to the cobblestones below. But he found himself on top of the man, raining blows upon him with all his might. His knuckles stung from the force of each punch.

  He wound back, ready to thrust another fist into the man’s flesh, when from the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of Arabella. She was crumpled to her knees, leaning against the carriage with a pale and frantic footman beside her.

  Valentine turned away from her attacker, too distracted by seeing her so pale and terrified to care anymore about the man he held down. She met his gaze, her blue eyes dull with terror and pain. Then her eyes widened.

  “Valentine!” she screamed. “Look out!”

  He spun back as her assailant shoved him away, slicing at him with his knife. Valentine felt no pain as he made a grab for the man, but the stranger was too quick and took off into the gathering crowd of stragglers leaving the opera house and passersby.

  Valentine struggled to his feet and took a step after the man, but he was long gone. He turned back to Arabella.

  “Are you hurt?” she asked, trying to stand. “Are you cut?”

  He dropped to his knees beside her, elbowing her footman out of the way. “I’m fine. You were injured. Let me see.”

  She drew back, as if she were surprised to hear the news, but then her gaze dropped down. She looked at the handkerchief she clutched to her shoulder as if she hadn’t seen it before. Valentine frowned. She was in shock from the attack…and possibly the wound she would not show him.

  “Come on, sweetheart,” he coaxed, touching her wrist and drawing her hand away. “That’s my girl.”

  He winced at the sight of Arabella’s blood slashed across the snowy handkerchief in an ugly line. The shredded fabric on the shoulder of her gown was also edged in blood. The cut was a long, deep slash across her shoulder.

  Arabella looked at the bloody handkerchief, moved her gaze to her wound, and promptly collapsed against his chest.

  Arabella’s eyes fluttered open. Distant voices buzzed in her ear, but they seemed so far away. So removed. It was like she was lying on a cloud and she couldn’t quite move to see where she was.

  She shifted and a shot of pain rocked through her shoulder. It brought a dose of reality with it and memories assailed her. A strange man came out of the crowd at the opera. He lunged toward her, knife drawn. A searing pain as he pulled his weapon free, tinged with her blood, and readied himself to strike again.

  Valentine. He’d drawn the man away. A fight.

  She sat up, ignoring the pain.

  “Valentine?” she called into the dim light of what she now realized was her bedroom.

  There was shuffling in her sitting room and Valentine appeared in the doorway. His shirt was off, his muscles
gleaming in the firelight.

  “I’m here, Arabella,” he soothed as he crossed the room to stand beside her bed. “Lie back.”

  She did as he asked, but grasped his hand. She needed to touch him. It was only then she noticed an ugly line across his chest. Blood and stitches.

  “You were hurt!” she cried as she tried to sit a second time. He placed a gentle hand on her uninjured shoulder and kept her in place.

  “I’m fine. The doctor was about to bandage me. Your wound was much deeper and you must be still.”

  She lay back, but kept hold of his hand. She needed to know he wasn’t hurt. Staying in contact with him soothed her. Made her own pain fade.

  A man appeared in the doorway behind them. “Mr. Valentine, I must finish my work.”

  Valentine kept his eyes on her, never withdrawing his comforting gaze. “You can finish here, can’t you, Doctor?”

  The doctor nodded, though he cast a disapproving gaze at Arabella as he came in. As his injury was wrapped, Valentine stood beside her. He never released her fingers and began to swirl gentle circles across the top of her hand with his thumb. Perhaps the touch was meant to soothe, but it had the opposite effect. Despite everything that had happened tonight, desire kindled inside her. And she saw it affected Valentine, too. His eyes glowed in the dim fire, reflecting everything she felt and needed.

  But more than desire flickered between them now. The questions he had asked her before she was attacked still lingered. Valentine had been willing to abandon his duty…abandon her because she wouldn’t tell him the truth about her past. That hadn’t changed just because of a madman’s attack.

  Arabella shut her eyes on a sigh, allowing Valentine’s touch to soothe her troubled thoughts. She didn’t want to lose him.

  Her eyes opened. He wasn’t hers to lose. Their affair was based on business and pleasure. Not emotions. But hers had become involved, despite her best efforts to stay in control.

  And now she had to decide if she could risk everything she had built by telling him the truth he so desired. Risk her heart by giving him her past. And trust him to protect her future as he had vowed to protect her body.

  Valentine walked to the door of Arabella’s bedchamber with the doctor. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “Is there anything I need to know to take care of her?”

  “Though her wound was more serious than yours, it wasn’t deep. She should be recovered very soon, especially if you follow my instructions on changing the dressing and cleaning it regularly,” the doctor replied as he peered at Arabella over Valentine’s shoulder. Clearly the man knew who she was, even if he wasn’t a member of her club. “The same goes for you, my boy.”

  “I’m fine,” Valentine said with a wave of his hand.

  The doctor pursed his lips. “If you really want to take care of her…be gentle with her. The attack wounded her shoulder, but it clearly frightened her. She may be more fragile than usual in the next few days.” He arched a knowing brow. “She’ll need care, not to be hounded by your desires.”

  Valentine clenched a fist. As if he would pursue deeply carnal desires while she lay injured on her bed. Not that he didn’t want to. Need still sparked between them, despite her injury…despite their argument.

  “Thank you,” he ground out. “I’ll keep that advice in mind.”

  The doctor grumbled his good-byes and left. Valentine closed her bedroom door, locking it to keep out the curious well-wishers who flocked outside. Lydia Bartlett was herding them away and he was sure she’d wheedle the information about Arabella’s injuries from the doctor. It would give her something to do. She’d been very pale when she saw Arabella’s bloody dress and limp form.

  Drawing a deep breath, Valentine moved to the bed. He stepped forward and Arabella turned her face toward him at the motion. He sucked in a breath. By God, she was so beautiful. He had removed her bloody gown and dressed her in the closest thing to a demure nightgown she owned, but it still hardly covered her. With her blond hair spread across her pillows and her blue eyes wide with the remnants of fear and pain, she looked so innocent. So sensual. Fragile, the doctor had said, though Valentine knew she fought to keep from appearing weak.

  So much like an angel. Fallen, but an inner light remained.

  “Will you lie with me for a while?” she asked, her voice soft.

  He nodded. How could he deny her? Just when he should have been pressing her for more details on her shadowy past, instead he wanted to hold her. Soothe her. Comfort her like a man who was more than her protector…more than her temporary lover.

  Ignoring that thought, he took a spot beside her and reached out to stroke her hair aside. She shivered with that light touch and heat pulsed through him, though dimmer with the events of the evening. Even after all she had been through, she was still so responsive.

  His gaze slipped to her bandaged shoulder and he winced, thinking of how he’d walked away and let someone hurt her.

  “Did you recognize the man who attacked you?” he asked softly.

  For a moment, she didn’t answer. Her eyes fluttered shut and she merely lay there, letting him brush his fingertips back and forth across her cheek. He almost thought she’d fallen asleep when her voice came quiet.

  “No. I didn’t know him.”

  He frowned, though he kept the movement of his hand slow and steady. If she hadn’t known her attacker, that probably meant he had been hired to hurt her. Which meant whoever was threatening Arabella wasn’t just some deranged lunatic trying to get revenge for an insult, real or imagined.

  That meant her stalker was willing to invest in her death, with some greater return in mind. His thoughts buzzed with the possibilities, but he wouldn’t be able to speculate on any suspects until he knew everything that Arabella refused to share.

  He opened his mouth to ask more questions when a tear slipped from her closed eye, trailing down her cheek in a slow, painful line. Strong protective urges rose up from deep within Valentine, crushing down his questions and fears and leaving only the strong, undeniable desire to hold her. Fix her pain, emotional and physical. Give this strong woman even more strength.

  Gently, he gathered her into his arms and held her, rocking as she wept. She poured her fear out in her silent tears, her worries, her pains. And the fact that she trusted him with those things was a gift he recognized and accepted with awe. Now if only he could have her explanations so easily.

  She let out a shuddering sigh after a long while and relaxed against his chest. As he held her, he finally looked around the room. Until now, he’d been too busy to truly notice his surroundings. Now that he did, it gave him pause.

  “Arabella,” he said softly.

  “Yes?” Her voice was muffled against his chest, her hot breath warming his skin.

  “What are these?”

  She pulled back. When she saw he was motioning to the leather thongs that had been attached to her bedposts, the color drained from her face.

  She struggled for words for a moment, then tilted her jaw up and said, “I intended to bring you back here tonight. I wanted to seduce you.”

  “You clearly didn’t need to seduce me if you wanted me. I’m sure you remember the opera box,” he said with a little smile.

  He was surprised when she didn’t return it. “The opera box is a perfect example of why I wanted to seduce you. Every time we make love, I’ve been swept away. Compelled to surrender, whether by design or weakness.” She sighed. “Tonight I hoped to take your control as you had mine. To tie you down, force you to bear my touch without being able to turn the tables as you have before.”

  Valentine sat up in surprise, staring at her. The images her words conjured were powerfully erotic and aroused him to a painful degree. But the concepts behind those images were equally terrifying. Surrendering. Giving her everything. Turning over his trust, his body…even his heart.

  She turned her face and the tracks of her tears glittered briefly in the firelight. Valentine winced. Arabella was a
strong woman. She had to be to create a new identity. To survive being mistress to a sadistic lord. To establish a haven of sex and sin so popular that it had made her a fortune. He respected her abilities.

  But he also realized she felt that strength slipping away. Because of a person who wished her dead. Because of him and his drive to keep control. She needed to reclaim her power in some way.

  And that was one gift he could give her tonight.

  Slowly, he lifted a hand and put it through the leather strap, tightening it as Arabella watched in wide-eyed surprise.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, her voice barely carrying, even at such close proximity.

  “Do you still want power over me?” he asked, just as quietly. “Can you fulfill your original plan, even with your injury?”

  Arabella’s throat worked as she swallowed hard. Then she nodded.

  “Then tighten my other hand,” he said as he slipped his free hand through the other thong. “I am yours.”

  Arabella’s heart throbbed at that simple, three-word phrase. Hers. Even if it was only in this bed, even if it was only for tonight, the thought thrilled her. She hadn’t realized how powerful her urge to claim Valentine had become.

  She pushed to her knees as she tightened the thong on his left wrist, then looked down at him. Even at her utter mercy, he looked dangerous. But she couldn’t go back now. She didn’t want to.

  Bending over him, she let her hair cascade across his body, brush over his stomach. His muscles tightened, flexed, and the erection that had bloomed beneath his trousers grew larger with the touch. She thought of the way he had used that same cock to torment her earlier in the evening and smiled. The tables would soon be turned.

  She crawled to the bottom of the bed and made quick work of his boots. Then she straddled his legs, giving him a sensual smile as she let her fingers tease around the crotch of his trousers. He let out a quiet groan as he lifted his hips to chase her tormenting fingers.