A Courtesan’s Guide to Getting Your Man (24 page)

I dropped my face into my hands. “Really, really stop doing that.”

“Stop doing what?”

With a gasp I flipped over to see Sir looming dark in the doorway of my bedchamber. What should have been sinister was instead so welcome that I felt my eyes dampen ridiculously. I hid my reaction with a wicked smile and climbed to my knees to kneel on the mattress.

“You’re still dressed,” I said.

I saw his lips twitch. “It is a curable condition.” He gazed at me for a long moment. “You are delicious. I think I like you this way best. No ball gowns and definitely no breeches.”

His frank, unadorned admiration warmed me much more deeply than did the wicked flirtation of Lord B
____
. I gave him a real smile, then bounced from the mattress and ran to him. He caught me in his arms and buried his hands in my hair.

“You smell like a garden.”

“I swam in roses.” I twined my arms about his neck and pulled him down for a long kiss. The taste of him soothed my restless imagination. The heat of his big, solid body reminded me of all the hours he had spent with me in the past. Whatever the past held for him with the Swan, whatever the future held for him with me, he was here now and I was happy to see him.

I felt his cock harden against me as we kissed. I never let my mouth leave his as I slid my hands down his hard chest and rigid belly to reach the fastening of his trousers. When I released his thick length into my hands, he groaned into my mouth, deep enough to send tremors through my belly and cunte.

Our kiss turned abruptly hard and hot. I lost my grip on his cock to clutch at his shoulders as he wrapped his big hands around my waist and lifted me. Turning, he pressed my back into the closed door. I wrapped my thighs hard about his hips, never allowing his mouth to leave mine. He entered me swiftly, easily, for I had lain longing for him until my body throbbed in readiness. I tightened my arms about his neck and cried out at his entry, my sob of aching satisfaction disappearing into his hot mouth. He took me there, hard, one arm about my waist, the other hand bracing his weight upon the door, my chemise rucked up over my hips, his breeches about his knees.

I clung to him as he thrust deeply into me, my hands buried in his thick hair, my feet crossed behind his back, the hard oak of the door behind mine. It was fierce and relentless and wild, without a smidgen of control or seduction. I lost myself in his pounding rhythm, feeling nothing but the hot, wet slide of his thickness in and out of me and his groans, rumbling warm and deep down my own throat. When I began to orgasm, his pace increased, until he fucked me wildly. I could no longer breathe. I tossed my head back and wailed aloud as his cock pounded into me again and again. I thought he might come as well, but when I began to lose my ability to cling to him, he held me tightly and fell to his knees, rolling me to the floor without losing an inch of penetration. He rose above me on his hands as I panted weakly on the carpet, my legs barely with the strength to grip his hips with my knees.

He thrust pitilessly, gazing down at me, his eyes enigmatic behind his mask. I tossed my head in protest as my body responded yet again. How did he do this to me? How could I want him again so soon? Yet my body slickened and heated for his thick cock yet again, just at the sight of him above me, still in evening clothes as he fucked me on the floor.

I stretched my hands above my head and let him, sighing my way into yet another orgasm as he drove hard into me. I would be sore tomorrow with an ache so deep I could not soak it away. I relished the notion and drove my heels into his rigid buttocks, taking him deeper still.

My voice rose in panting, wordless begging as I came and this time he came with me, driving into me with a final groan so guttural it was almost a roar. I enfolded him in my arms as he fell upon me, gasping at the power of his release.

I slept a little, I think, despite the hardness of the floor. His weight upon me was warm and comforting, his pounding heart beating alongside mine. When he rolled from me I roused. My skin chilled rapidly, for the fire had long burned low. I shivered and protested sleepily. Sir lifted me in his arms and put me into bed. I snuggled beneath the coverlet, barely aware that he was quickly stripping off his clothing. I simply opened my arms and thighs when he slid between the covers. He pulled me close and tugged one thigh up onto his hip. I let my head rest upon his broad chest and slipped away to someplace safe and warm, a place I had not found with Robert, despite his earnest sweetness. Sir offered me a shelter and freedom from judgment that no other man could understand.

*   *   *

In the early morning hours, we lay in each other’s arms and talked.

“Sir, I have been thinking…”

“Hmm. I’m frightened now.”

I tugged vengefully at his chest hair. “Listen to me. Robert left me very well set, at least for a time. I’ve been considering that I need not find another protector for a while. I could use a bit of time to myself, and…” I trailed off. How to ask what I wanted to ask? Could he even afford to devote himself solely to me for a time? Would I be willing to share him with his female companions?

Exclusivity. Love given freely. These were dangerous thoughts for a courtesan. I might never regain my popularity if I rendered myself invisible now.

I might never want to.

“And?”

“I wondered … I thought … perhaps I might take a lover without recompense.”

His body stiffened. “Stay away from B
____
,” he ordered sharply.

I blinked. “What?”

Reaching across us both, he threw the covers off and swung his feet to the floor. I sat up chilled and naked to watch him stride across the room to the pile of his clothing. “W—wait—” I scrambled to find my chemise in the covers. “I was talking about—”

“You were talking about going against my counsel and dallying with that wastrel,” he snapped out, his voice a rasp. He was half dressed already. He turned on me with his lips tight with fury beneath his mask. “For once in your life, Ophelia, would you just do as you’re bloody told?”

My belly turned to ice at the anger I saw in him, but my spine snapped straight in response to his manner. “No man orders me.” Was that my voice, low and even and spiked with fury?

He finished pulling his shirt over his head and threw his hands wide. “No man or woman! You do not even care to restrain yourself! You can be as foolish and thoughtless as you like, for you care for no one but Ophelia!”

My heart was spinning and crying out against how matters were going so very wrong. My head, I fear, was as stubborn as always. Better to be entirely misunderstood than to give in, even once! I folded my arms and coldly watched him dress. “Don’t forget your cravat,” I reminded him. “I’ve no need of it, for I’ve one of my own.”

He slung the length of linen over his neck and stared at me for a long moment. “Is this it, then?”

I pretended not to understand.

His shoulders fell slightly. “Is this how we end, you and I? Over a scum-eater like B
____
?”

End?
My heart gibbered in panic, running in tiny circles in my chest. My mind would not falter, not even to keep Sir by my side. If I gave in to his demands, what would be next? Would he begin to decide my friends, my wardrobe, the length of my hair? I had given up every expectation of a normal life in order to ride the winds of freedom. To clip my wings now would mean that I had been wrong all along.

So I gave nothing, said nothing, let him leave my house with naught but stony silence from me. I remained behind, still free.

However, those cherished winds now blew colder than they had before.

*   *   *

The next morning, I listlessly poked at my breakfast, breaking the dry toast into ever smaller squares while my tea grew cold. From the corner of my eye, I could see the always substantial pile of invitations. On the top lay a distinctive blue-tinted envelope. Another missive from Lord B
____
.

Why did I hesitate? Had I not ruined a treasured friendship in order to have this man?

Well, not precisely, but that had been the end result. If I did not pursue a liaison with him now, would I not be admitting to myself that I was wrong?

Heaven forfend. Wrong I dared not be. If I were wrong about this, I would be wrong about everything.

Besides, he was handsome and exciting. Indebted to his eyeballs as well, but what did that have to do with me? I was rich enough to entertain us both for months. Even then, if I ran short of funds, there were a dozen men who would sign away their inheritances for a single night with me. I might take one up on his offer, as some of the other courtesans were wont to do.

The Swan’s voice rang in my mind.
“We are not prostitutes. We are artists of love.”

The Swan might not know everything. An affair could last for months or years.

So why not hours, if that was how I wished it?

Rebellion is a heady mix and I was drunk on it. I angrily pushed my breakfast tray from me and scrambled over my vast bed to the other side. My writing desk was in my bedchamber sitting room. Sitting down in the chair, nearly naked in my chemise, I removed paper and ink. Sharpening my quill took too long, for the strokes of my knife were too fierce by half. Finally, I dipped my quill and began.

My Dear Lord B
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,

I have considered your offer of a carriage ride and find I am without distraction this evening. Perhaps an outing of this nature would suit. Call for me at sunset.

I had the note posted at once. It was rude and unromantic in the extreme. I knew he would not care, for tonight he would have me as he wished, naked and writhing above him in the carriage. Dark arousal made me slippery even as I wondered if I would regret my hastiness. It was too late now—the note was on its way and our liaison was already in progress.

As I rose, I felt a twinge of soreness from last night’s episode against the door. My thoughts turned to Sir but I did not allow them to linger there with him. I would not let Lord B
____
fuck me quite yet, I decided. It would do him good to earn what he could not afford to buy.

It was odd that, for all I was giving myself freely, I had never felt more for sale.

Twenty

Boston

The promise of discovery had always kept Mick going. It was his reward. When an object would finally peek from its ancient tomb of sediment and rubble, all of time and space would fall away, only to be replaced with wonder.

Life at a dig site was often exhausting, filthy, and monotonous. His back and legs would ache. Progress could come painfully slow if at all. If the site was in the desert, his skin might start looking like beef jerky. In high-altitude temperatures he could get frostbite. The tropics might leave him waterlogged and covered in insect bites. Wherever the location, the days of frustration sometimes piled up into a mountain of doubt.

All of it was forgotten at the moment of discovery, however. The tiniest bone fragment. A coin. A primitive weapon once held in another human being’s hand. Whatever the find, it became Mick’s job to unravel its deepest mysteries. He lived for these moments, and the challenge they delivered to his door.

But this? Nothing had ever come close.

Piper was shockingly beautiful. Unexpected. She looked like a hot piece of cotton candy. A wet dream in little poofy fuck-me slippers. And the decadent display of flesh and sex had Mick sprouting a near-fatal hard-on before he’d had time to enter the room.

His throat went bone-dry.
“Piper,”
he managed to croak. “What are you doing?”

Ah, yes—it was the stupidest comment ever made by a man in the course of human history. But that was the best Mick could do under the circumstances, since all of his available blood supply had just relocated to his cock.

She gave him a sly little smile and wiggled her delicious hips against what looked like satin sheets. He stared at her in awe, waiting for all the visual data to click in his brain.

“I’m seducing you, Dr. Malloy,” she said, her voice huskier than it had been all evening. “Haven’t you ever had a woman display herself like this for you?”

Crickets. Mick’s brain echoed with the sound of crickets. Then he couldn’t remember what she’d asked him but was pretty sure the answer was no. All he could focus on was the delicate vee of thong peeking out from between her juicy thighs.

“Mick?”

“I’m here,” he rasped.

Piper laughed. He liked what happened with her breasts when she did that—all the fascinatingly soft swells of female flesh began to rise and fall, popping their way out of the top of her …

Mick suddenly couldn’t recall the name for the thing she was wearing. A teddy? No. A camisole? No. Oh, Janey Mack, who gave a feckin’ rat’s arse what it was?

Then it suddenly dawned on him.
This is for me. Whatever she’s wearing and everything she’s packing into it is for me. She’s doing this for me!

“Why don’t you come over here and get comfortable?” She patted the bed next to her.

Mick moved fast. If he dawdled, she might change her mind.

Piper brought her arm down from over her head and reached out for him. He dove right into her embrace. Immediately, he was struck by the heat of her skin, the heady scent of her girl flesh and hair.

“You relax,” she whispered. “I’ll get the champagne. Then I have a little surprise for you.”

Mick nearly choked. “You mean this isn’t the surprise?”

She giggled, slipped out of the bed, and walked on her fuck-me slippers right out the door. Okay. Her ass was completely bare. Nothing but gorgeous globes of pink perfection framed in thigh-highs and garter belt. Like it needed framing! Like he wouldn’t have noticed her ass unless it had been brought to his attention.

“Damn,” Mick sighed, falling back against the satin pillows and gazing up into the swags of silky gauze. So Piper wanted to seduce him into her trap? She wanted to fuck with his head? Grind his nose into the fact that she was the finest piece of female he’d ever be lucky enough to know, past, present, or future?