Family Jewels (25 page)

“Ah, such sweet heaven,” he murmured between firm probes into her sex. Trevor held her hips still when she could no longer control herself. He sucked one side of her labia into his mouth and strummed his tongue across the plump flesh before moving to its twin. Trevor lapped at her opening, slurping and sucking until she was certain not one dollop of ice cream remained inside her core. He tunneled the tip of his tongue through her sex until he found the hardened pearl of her clit and then swirled around the tight bud of nerves in an ever-closer spiral. Finally he nipped at her with his teeth.

“
Aaaah
!” Cynthia grabbed onto the headboard with both hands and dug her nails into the pinewood headboard. She was beyond panting. She grunted from the tightly coiled knot inside her womb. “Trevor, stop! I can’t stand any more.”

“Oh but you can.” He kissed the inside of each quivering thigh. “You will, darling. Here, let me show you how easy it is.”

A thick finger probed the tight flesh of her vagina. It felt so good to have him push inside! Very slowly, he stretched her by pressing up and down. She held her breath. He flicked her with his tongue again, harder, making her gasp and slipped two fingers inside. He pumped them in and out, twisting his fingers side to side, alternating between nibbles and licks across her straining clit.

The electrified knot inside her belly uncoiled. On a strangled gasp, lava-hot sensations whipped out and around her abdomen with blinding speed until she screamed out her orgasm.

Still, Trevor indulged her trembling flesh with his tongue. He made wet sounds between her legs she would have normally found embarrassing. But not with him, not with Trevor. It was clear this was what he wanted from her. To give her body over to his expertise, to allow him to tie her up and bring her pleasure, pleased him. He murmured words of encouragement, urging her to a full, complete release.

When she quieted, he moved from between her legs and kissed a moist trail to her navel. Her stomach twitched with delightful aftershocks. A warm flush infused her blood and turned her bones to jelly.

While she lay there, panting and sighing, he smoothed his hands down her legs and untied the knotted cloths from her ankles. The handcuffs loosened from her wrists. He brought her hands together and kissed the skin burned by her struggles against the cuffs.

She opened her eyes and smiled. He looked so striking with the moonlight spilling across the angles of his face, his broad chest and that upright, straining cock. It arched rigidly up to his navel and glistened with dew at the tip.

“Since you’ve untied me, does that mean I get a chance to torture you now?”

“Was that torture?” He grinned.

“The best kind. I want to return the favor.”

He kissed her fingers. “Whatever my lady desires. We have all night.”

Cynthia chewed her lip for a moment before saying, “Does that mean you plan to leave in the morning?”

“Certainly not. Unless you want me to go?”

“Definitely not.”

She glanced over at the ice cream carton on the nightstand. A coating of white frost shadowed the waxy, outer label. “Is there any left?”

Trevor picked it up and peered inside. “Plenty. But it’s beginning to melt.”

“Great.” She crawled upright and took the ice cream from him. “My turn. You’re on the bottom this time, buster.”

“Buster?” He lay down, folding his hands beneath his head. “What does that mean?”

“I dunno. It’s a friendly sort of nickname I used on my brother when we were teenagers. I think it might have something to do with that Forties movie star, Buster Keaton. He always played the bad-boy type.”

“So, I’m a scoundrel?”

She giggled, feeling lighthearted and oh-so-happy. “Yeah, like my brother used to be. Naughty and full of mischief.”

“Your brother. You say that with such affection. You’re very close to him, aren’t you?” A sad sigh escaped his lips. “That’s admirable.”

Cynthia cocked her head at his swift mood change. Was he really sad, or just relaxed?

“Paul and I are close. We’re twins. We used to share all of our deepest darkest secrets with each other. Still do.” She winked at him and then dipped her finger into the soft ice cream. His erection drooped. She widened her eyes with dismay. Was it the thought of cold ice cream on his hot shaft that did that? Or the conversation about her brother?

“Trevor, what’s wrong? Are you sure you want to talk about this now?”

He glanced down at his sagging cock, then sighed and lay back down. “Yes. I need to get some things off my chest.”

“Your timing really stinks.”

He lifted one corner of his lips in a parody of a smile. “Sorry. I’m serious, though. We need to have a chat.”

“Uh-oooh. Why don’t I like the sound of that?”

“Fear not, darling.” Trevor reached up and caressed her lower lip with his thumb. “I still want you, all night long. But I need to talk to you now.”

“All right.” She put the carton back on the nightstand, took a deep breath and gave him her full attention. “What would you like to talk about, handsome?”

“You. Me. My family.”

“I’m listening. Tell me about them.”

He cleared his throat. “I’m not sure where to start. It’s a rather thorny tale.”

The muscle in his jaw clenched with tension. She rubbed her hand over his arm to soothe him, massaging the full roundness of his biceps beneath the smooth hot skin.

“You know,” she said, “we all have skeletons in our family closets, Trevor. I’m not going to judge you because of who yours are or what they did. It doesn’t matter.” She dipped into the ice cream and painted his chest and belly with intricate patterns.

Trevor grunted, whether from her words or the cold dessert on his skin, she couldn’t tell. “Why don’t you start by telling me about your childhood? What was it like to be an only child, to have both your parents dote on you?”

“Being an only child was a lonely experience. I wished for brothers.” His gaze focused on the ceiling, his voice flat. “My mother miscarried four times before she became pregnant with me.”

“I’m so sorry.” Cynthia rocked back a little. For him to share such personal information meant he cared about her as more than just a fling. Now was her chance to pull away. Did she want to?
No
. She wanted to know everything about Trevor St. James, good and bad.

“That had to be very hard on your mom.”

“She’s a remarkable woman. Very strong-willed.” He shrugged. “It was hard on her, especially since my father needed a son. After I was born I think my parents just felt grateful they had one heir born to the family name.”

She snorted. “That’s so medieval.”

He laughed. “In many ways, England is very old-fashioned. Medieval isn’t far from the truth. The concept of a male heir is still, like you Americans say, a big deal.”

“Heir to what?”

“The St. James name, of course. It has to do with being born with the family jewels, so to speak.”

“Ah, I get it. If you aren’t born with balls you won’t carry the prized family name into the future. A name is no big deal. Lots of women keep their own family names these days, even after marriage. And having children out of wedlock isn’t taboo anymore. Of course it happens a lot by mistake but some career-minded women choose to do that.”

Trevor reached for her hand and placed it over his heart. “That’s not something I believe in,” he said. “Do you?”

The strong, steady thump of his life beat beneath her fingertips. Her gaze locked with his. “Which part?”

“The part about choosing to have children outside of marriage.”

“Well, no. Not for myself. I had a wonderful childhood with great parents. I love them and can’t imagine growing up in a home without them. And my brother. I’d want my children to have the same. But on the opposite side of that coin, I’m not my mother. She was a homemaker and happy with that. I’m very career-minded, Trevor. I’m an artist, a jewelry designer. That’s part of who I am and not something I can just give up.”

“A man would have to be a total fool to ask that of you. My mother didn’t give up her career when she agreed to marry my father.”

Cynthia blinked. “Good for her. What does she do?”

“Believe it or not, you and she have a lot in common. She’s an artist, a sculptor.”

She gasped, smiling. “That’s awesome!”

“I agree.” He kissed her hand and let it go. “Now, as I said, being the only child and heir in my family is a very big deal.”

“Why?”

His voice grew soft, as if he regretted something. “I’m heir to Whitrose Hall, my family’s estate in Sudbury.”

Cynthia sat up straighter. “So that means what, that you’ll inherit a house? That’s not so bad.”

“I’m afraid it’s more than a just a house. There’s the land surrounding the house and other property, too. And when my father dies the very old title, Earl of Sudbury, and all the responsibilities of that title will pass down to me.”

She gaped at him. “You’re kidding, right?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Oh my God,” she murmured. “Wow. So, that makes you what? Royalty or something?”

“Not royalty. Nobility. A member of the very stodgy, British upper class.”

“Wow,” she said again, louder. “But didn’t you say your father was a farmer who dabbled in politics? Can he do that and still be an English Lord something or other?”

Trevor smiled as if he remembered something funny from his past. “He certainly gives it his best shot.”

Cynthia relaxed. For a moment she’d thought the worst but there were no murdering parents in his family. At least his mother seemed modern enough to keep working. She didn’t understand what being a member of the British peerage entailed, only that it meant he was most likely the son of a very wealthy family, with a long, documented history. The whole proper English upper-class thing was confusing at best. Especially for someone raised in a working middle-class, American family.

“I’ve been foolish,” he continued, “you’ve made me realize how much.”

“That’s a good thing?”

“Definitely. You’ve made me rethink my future goals. You’ve made me realize how important my family really is to me. I’ve never had a very good relationship with my father. For some reason we were at odds with each other from the day I was born. He assumed his only living son would follow in his footsteps without qualm or question. Fortunately, my mother is a free spirit and encouraged me to explore everything that interested me. She gave me the drive to do something different, if that was what I wanted.”

“And,” Cynthia said softly, “I’m guessing that by joining Interpol, you did just that. I’m also going to guess it didn’t go over so well with your dad?”

“Not in the least.” Trevor stared at the ceiling so hard she looked up too, wondering if the roof was about to cave in on them while he talked.

“My father has spent the majority of his life dedicated to preserving a rare, primitive breed of cattle called Bohaty. They’re a solid white breed, quite beautiful. Bohaty are believed to have originated on the British Isles from the Roman occupation.”

“So that’s why you called him a farmer. You speak as if this has new meaning for you, Trevor. Like you’ve had a revelation. Are you thinking of changing careers, going back to live and work on your family’s farm? Perhaps make amends with your dad?”

He glanced at her and smiled and her heart jumped at how handsome and happy he looked.

“Yes. When I began my university studies, I majored in agriculture and animal genetics, mainly to appease my father. What I didn’t do was admit to him how much I enjoyed those subjects. I suppose it became a contest of wills and I was determined to best him.”

She drew her finger down the contour of his hip and muscular thigh, knowing that he planned to spend the rest of his life in England. Stubbornly she refused to think more about that. They had time together now and she intended to make the best of it.

“But your dad must have been very proud of you, too?”

“If he was, he never showed it. I’ve been very stubborn about accepting my destiny. As a child I balked at the privileges my family’s social status afforded me. I wanted to earn my own way, not be offered everything I desired on a silver plate. I enjoyed reckless sports and did everything to drive fear for my life into my father’s heart. I was quite cruel to him. Funny I should only see that now, after I’ve been so determined to make Interpol my life’s work. I didn’t desire a home life. I ran from it. Until I met you, Cyn.”

A rush of happiness blossomed inside her chest. Was he planning on spending more time with her? She threaded her fingers into his. “Go on, tell me more.”

He squeezed her hand. “You like what you’re hearing?”

“Yes. Tell me about your home.”

“It’s country living. Quiet. Old-fashioned in many respects. Sudbury is a small town, though only an hour’s drive from London. Quite honestly, the idea of breeding rare cattle, tending to pastures and one small orchard, riding horses, enjoying the outdoors from sunup ‘til sunset all have an intensely satisfying appeal that they never had before now.”

“That sounds so idyllic, Trevor.” Cynthia sighed. “I love horses. Even cows. That’s why I love coming here. Many years ago, there was a farm down the road. We used to visit them, play with their kids, ride their horses, feed the cows. I enjoyed that a lot. I haven’t been here in so long I’d forgotten about how much I enjoyed it.”

“What kept you away?” he asked softly.

She shrugged. “I was trying to get my career established. Now my parents have retired, moved thousands of miles away to Hawaii and put this place up for sale. Coming back here made me realize that I don’t want them to sell the cabin. I like being out in the country.”

“Must they sell? It seems your family’s memories are quite rich here.”

“They are.” Cynthia closed her eyes for a moment. “But Mom and Dad are counting on the sale to help carry them through retirement. They bought the place before my brother and I were born, as investment property. I’m really going to miss it.”

“I know how you feel,” he said slowly. “I never saw that as a child or young man either. I couldn’t wait to leave the family farm. I wanted excitement and to explore the world.”