Dangerous Seduction: A Nemesis Unlimited Novel (34 page)

Simon waited. This was always the crucial, delicate moment. When the mark decided to take the bait or not. You couldn’t pressure them into making a decision, in case you appeared desperate, inciting their suspicion. But he couldn’t appear too indifferent, lest his target feel as though the risk weren’t worthwhile. So he schooled his features to look attentive, like a man at an agricultural fair.

He avoided glancing at Alyce—too much would show in his face if he looked at her.

“Come round the office at ten tomorrow morning,” Harrold said. “Bring your wife, as well, so we can make the transfer.”

“Very good,” Simon answered. He did not throw his teacup down and shout in victory. But that didn’t mean the urge wasn’t there.

Harrold grinned, a man well pleased with himself. “Can’t wait to see the look on Darby’s face when he realizes he’s been scuttled.”

Jack would enjoy letting his rage out. He might even get the chance to break some furniture.

“It promises to be an interesting morning.” Simon set his cup aside on a table and bowed. “The hour is late, and we’ve imposed too much on your hospitality.”

“Not at all. Been a very pleasant change from the usual dinner parties Mrs. Harrold hosts. I actually gave a damn. And your wife is a very charming young woman. You’ve got my envy, Shale.”

As quickly as he could, Simon disengaged himself from Harrold. He strode over to Alyce. Judging by the way she clutched at her wrists and the taut muscles of her neck, her composure was beginning to fray. No blame in that. Even he was about to explode like a burning ammunition magazine.

“We’re expected at the gentlemen’s office tomorrow morning,” he said.

She pressed her lips tightly together—he suspected it was to keep herself from yelling in triumph. “Not too early, I hope,” she said.

Heat cut through him at what her words implied.
We’re going to be up late tonight.

“Not so early that a cup of bracing tea can’t cure any lingering lethargy.” But Simon had plans, many plans, between now and sunrise. If everything went as he envisioned, they’d be so exhausted, they would need to be rolled into the offices on wheelbarrows.

Farewells were exchanged with the guests and their hosts, with Stokeham and Tufton giving his hand an extra-hearty shake. Tomorrow, they believed, he’d be leading them directly toward boundless, underhanded profit.

He and Alyce descended the stairs into the foyer, where a footman appeared with their hat, coat, and wrap. Neither he nor Alyce spoke. The air around them crackled, and they didn’t look at each other, nor did she take his arm, as if knowing that once they spoke, looked, touched, there’d be no stopping them.

The footman signaled for a cab. A hackney rolled to a stop, and, his touch as light as possible, Simon helped Alyce inside. “Cormorant Hotel,” he growled up at the driver. “There’s an extra quid in it if you get us there in ten minutes.”

If anyone later reported to the local law that a cabman had been driving with reckless speed through the streets of Plymouth, Simon didn’t care. All that mattered was that seven minutes later, he and Alyce were going up the steps to their hotel room, and he felt as if he were climbing a stair that led straight to a long-denied paradise.

*   *   *

She liked that he fumbled with the key. It took him several tries, his hands faintly shaking, before he unlocked the door and ushered her inside their room. He’d picked locks and slipped easily through danger, calm as the night sky. But now, here, with her, he shook, and that made her even more unsteady.

Still, neither of them said anything as he turned up a lamp. He left the flame low. The room felt small and warm as two cupped hands.

She draped her wrap over the back of a chair, watching him as he paced to the drawn curtains, then back. He shoved his hands into his pockets and finally looked at her. A burning gaze. But he stood in the middle of the room, while she lingered by the table in the corner, and made no move to close the distance between them.

Need and eagerness shuddered through her. But she took a kind of pleasure from them, in this stretching out of tension. Maybe the outcome was inevitable. Maybe it wasn’t. Just this once, she’d let herself enjoy uncertainty.

But it truly wasn’t uncertain. Not really. Not the way he licked his lips when he looked at her, and her breasts already felt tight and heavy, and the lamplight traced the line of his hard cock pulling at the fabric of his trousers.

“It isn’t settled yet.” His voice was a rasp. “Not until the documents are signed. Even then, there’s more.”

“What’s ever settled?” She took a swaying step toward him. “What do we ever have, except now?”

Standing inches in front of him, she slowly peeled off her long gloves. It was a process—loosening the fingers, the part that covered her hand, and then pulling deliberately at the tight leather. She couldn’t go fast if she wanted to, but why would she want to, when he watched her keenly, as if each movement, each little bit of skin revealed, was the most important thing in the world?

One glove came off, and she dropped it to the ground. She repeated the process with the other glove. Her arms and hands were bare. She felt herself glow—from the light and the need radiating out from him.

She slid her hands down his starched shirtfront. It rasped against her sensitive palms. But she kept them there, pressed against his chest. Beneath the shirtfront and the shirt itself, he was hot and solid, and his heart was like an engine as it raced under her hands.

“Tonight,” he growled. “At Harrold’s, you were … perfect. A warrior.”

“I talked like a featherbrain, not a warrior.”

“A brilliant disguise. Only the best can pull it off—hide who they truly are.
You
did. All I could think about was that wicked, clever mind of yours.”

“Just my mind?” She’d never smiled like this in her life, as if she were the essence of seduction.

“The wicked, clever rest of you, too. Especially your hands. And your mouth.”

She was pierced all over with darts of need. “Tonight, I kept thinking about how polished you were, a handsome, smooth talker. In that drawing room, in the dining room. Those
elegant
places. And I thought about your cock in my hand, hard and thick.”

He growled.

“Now we’re here,” she continued. “Alone.”

He didn’t need the prompting. He cupped her head with his hands and brought their mouths together. Ravenous, explosive. Their kiss ricocheted through her body. He surged against her, and she met his force, straining to him.

Everything she’d tried not to feel for the past hours, days, weeks, she let herself feel now. What she felt most of all was him, his own power and want. Need for
her
. His tongue slicked into her mouth and she sucked on it, tearing a groan from him.

He kept one hand around the back of her head, but the other he ran all over her: neck, arms, waist, and up again, to curve against her breast.

“You fancy folk and your fancy clothes,” she muttered. “I can’t
feel
anything.”

After pulling off his own gloves, his hands quickly went to work, undoing the many fastenings and lacings of her gown. She didn’t know how he did it—she’d watched the maid at work earlier and it had seemed some kind of agonizing, deliberate ritual—but in moments, her elaborate gown was gone, thrown aside with a rustle of silk. He wasn’t finished, however. One by one, her layers disappeared. His fingers flew over the hooks of her corset, and she felt giddy with the rush of air—or that might have been him making her head spin like a top.

And then she was just in her chemise, drawers, and stockings.

“You’ve practiced getting women out of their clothes,” she said with a breathless laugh.

His smile was wickedness itself. “All leading to this moment.” He pulled her against him once more, and there,
there
he was, his hands shaping her buttocks, skimming up her sides, caressing her breasts. He rubbed her tight nipples through the sheer muslin of her chemise.

She’d never been this uncovered for anyone—but she wasn’t afraid. She wanted more.

Sensation flooded her. She felt all of her body, as if every nerve came alive at the same time. Without the barrier of her clothes, she felt him—the fine wool of his evening suit, his taut, long body, the thickness of his erection pressed into her belly. It was still a shock, to feel that part of him, even if she’d had him in her hand only hours earlier. Proof that he was
real.
A man. With her now.

They kissed with swelling hunger, until, rumbling, he broke the kiss. “It’s your turn.”

Her mind was fogged while her body was alert. “For what?”

He led her to the chaise, sitting her on the edge. Sitting gave her a perfect view of his straining cock.

He pushed her hands away when she reached for the buttons of his trousers. “Not yet. You first.”

She didn’t have time to ask him what he meant before he knelt before her. A look of utter concentration crossed his face as he undid her garters. His hands glided over her legs as he removed each stocking, and he made a growl of approval. Up to now, only her own hands had taken off her stockings. Each step was a new intimacy.

“I love your legs. Sleek.” One of his fingertips traced a muscle along her inner thigh. “Strong.”

She couldn’t care that she didn’t look like a fine London lady, white and soft. Her muscles meant she worked, and worked hard, and she prized each one. Judging by the stark need in his face, he did, too.

He tugged off her drawers. She peeled off her chemise. And there she sat on the chaise, completely naked. Another threshold crossed—her first time fully nude in front of a man. Everything was so much better because it was Simon here with her for all these new experiences. She wouldn’t want anyone else.

His hands pressed on his thighs as he continued to kneel in front of her. He stared at her, his gaze hotter than any refinery. “I just want to look. I want to touch. I want everything.”

The intensity in his face and voice almost frightened her—but they
did
send another wave of arousal crashing over her. “We’ve got all night.”

“Isn’t enough.” He leaned forward, kissing her deeply. “But we’re going to start somewhere.” The kiss continued. One of his hands stroked up her thigh, higher, higher, until—she gasped into his mouth as his fingers dipped between her legs.

The only fingers that had touched her there had been her own. He caressed her there, lightly at first, and then delving deeper, with an instinct for how she wanted to be touched. As if he were in her mind, in her body. She arched and writhed. His fingers had to be dripping, and she was shamelessly glad that he could make her feel so much. When his finger rubbed against her bud, a sound unlike any other she’d ever made clawed up from her throat. She’d touched herself there before, but it hadn’t been nearly as agonizingly sweet.

“God, Alyce,” he groaned. “Sweet Alyce.”

“Not sweet.” How was she able to speak? “Never have been.”

“You’re wrong. I’ll prove it.”

He spread her thighs apart and ducked his head. Her eyes widened. Was he really…? Did people
do
that?

They did. She grabbed the back of the chaise, fighting back a scream, when he put his mouth on her. His hands stayed firm, holding her down, as he licked her with long, potent strokes. He toyed with her, commanded her, worshipped her. His tongue circled her bud, and he sucked it gently between his lips. One of his fingers slowly eased inside her, then began to glide in and out. She’d put her own fingers into herself before, but his were thicker, stretching her.

He still wore his fancy evening clothes. She wore not a single stitch. Though he bent low over her, she could make out the high, sharp planes of his cheekbones, the elegance of his gentleman’s face. And she could see the exquisite pleasure on that face, the complete concentration and devotion to his task.

She felt the smooth upholstery beneath her naked body and the wooden back of the chaise she gripped. She felt his mouth, his finger. Felt what seemed like a lifetime of want and struggle and desire building, building. She never would’ve thought people gave each other pleasure this way—but, God, did Simon pleasure her.

The climax took her. It was freedom and a cage, tightening over her, releasing her. A pleasured scream tore from deep inside. Her body arched completely up from the chaise. But still he held her, gripping her. He was ruthless with his mouth. He wouldn’t let her go. Not until she’d come again. And once more.

Finally, she collapsed back to the chaise. All of her bones had dissolved. She couldn’t do much beyond watch him as he unsteadily stood and threw off his clothing. Revealing himself bit by bit.

A new surge of energy filled her as she saw him for the first time. Not just the suggestion of muscle beneath his shirt, but the planes and contours of his chest, his arms and shoulders. The barest gleam of golden hair glimmered on his chest. He was lean and tight, sinewy. Each muscle sharply defined in the lamplight, from the ridges of his stomach to the lines arrowing down from his hips toward his groin. More fine golden hair trailed down the flat of his stomach. Scars formed shadows on his body—one across his ribs, another on his shoulder, a line on his calf. He was a soldier. A warrior. Had fought and survived to stand before her now.

He stepped out of his trousers and drawers, then kicked them aside.

His thighs were hard and just as keenly muscled as the rest of him, his calves strong but not thick. He had long feet, and they looked primal and male as he stood on the Oriental carpet. But her gaze didn’t linger on his feet. No, her attention fixed on his cock. She’d seen it—touched and caressed it—earlier today. But she hungered at the sight of him, thick and curved, the head dark, shining, with a little bead of liquid at the slit.

He bent and lifted her up in his arms. She felt dizzy, freed from the force that tied her to the earth. As if she and Simon could fly out the window and soar into the night sky.

After pulling back the covers, he laid her down upon the bed.