by Bec McMaster
“Yes,” she whispered, leaning forward, her breath curling across his lips. “I was certain the moment I said I’d return with you. And there you have my answer to your question too. I don’t need time to think of the consequences. I’m tired of worrying and thinking and deciding if everything I do is the right thing. I’m tired of being afraid. Of wanting something that I can’t have…” And here her thumb brushed against his lip, leaving him little doubt as to what she referred to. “I don’t want to think about it anymore.”
Yes. She’d said yes. His hands dug into her thighs, where they’d been resting, a dark exultation sweeping through him. Garrett knew she wasn’t truly his—not until he knew her secrets—but this was a move he’d been afraid she wouldn’t take.
With quivering hands he took that final step across the line drawn in the sand between them. His mouth met hers, palms sliding up to cup her face.
Need boiled within him, but he kept the kiss gentle. A tasting. Stealing her breath into his lungs. The sweetest kiss he’d ever tasted; a moment he wanted to savor for the rest of his life. For a moment, just a moment, the hunger was a distant sensation.
And then it roared to life.
Baring his teeth, he turned his face into her shoulder. The hammer of her pulse was loud in his ear, and he blinked and looked away, the room falling to shadows.
Hands slid into his hair, lips pressing against his forehead. “Don’t be afraid,” Perry whispered. Her hips rolled against his, riding against the rough ridge of his cock. Garrett sucked in a sharp breath, his need turning from blood to something infinitely more pleasurable.
Somehow her hand found one of his and slid it up against the soft linen of her shirt, settling his palm over the heated curve of her breast. Her hips rolled again, a slow, torturous temptation. Garrett turned his face, nipping at her lip.
“You’re definitely no innocent,” he murmured, his other hand sliding up her lean flank and over her ribs. His cock ached hard enough to make him weep.
“Curious?” she whispered, throwing her head back and arching against him.
Yes. It drew a hiss from between his teeth. “You’ve never been with anyone. All these years.” He would have known.
“Haven’t I?” Hot breath in his ear.
Jealousy surged again, burning far more fiercely than even the hunger. He looked up, just in time to see her lips curve.
“There is no other man for me,” she whispered, plucking open the first button on her shirt. “But I like seeing this side of you.”
“Jealousy, you mean?” He slid both hands up her back, his lips finding her throat. She was still working on those buttons. He took a shuddering breath, lips trailing lower over naked skin that felt like cool silk beneath his lips.
“Yes,” she whispered. “I like to see you jealous.” Fists clenched in his hair, dragging his face up to hers. “As I have been.”
The shirt clung to her shoulders, barely hiding her. But he couldn’t have looked away from those blackening eyes if he’d wanted to. This was one of her little secrets…something he’d never realized before. He’d never been a monk and she knew it, all too well.
A blithe answer hovered on his tongue but he didn’t give voice to it. There was something about her expression, about the way she held herself. This had hurt her and he’d never even known.
“You never said anything,” he replied.
“What could I have said?”
A challenge if ever he’d heard one. Slowly his hands eased down her back, sliding over the curves of her arse. But he did nothing else. “Maybe if you had, I’d have realized what an idiot I was long ago. I won’t apologize for what’s in the past. But if you want the truth, there was always something missing. Something…” He shrugged helplessly. “You. You were what was missing.”
Perry’s head lowered, her fingertips tracing his collar and her expression opaque. Garrett brushed his mouth against hers. “And yes, I know it’s completely unfair of me, but I’m insanely jealous that there’s been another man in your life. And I’m also curious”—he slowly rolled her onto her back on the sofa, pressing his weight over her—“very curious about just how innocent you are.” He kissed her throat, her chin, her jaw. Then paused. “I wouldn’t want to hurt you, if you were not very experienced.”
Her voice was smoke. “You won’t hurt me, Garrett.”
“No?” He brushed her collar aside, exposing a breast band. Meeting her eyes, he tugged it down, revealing the faintest tip of her nipple. The sight of it locked up every muscle in his gut. Every instinct in him wanted to bury himself inside her. Take her. Make love to her in every way he knew.
Jealousy reared again. And possession. And emotions he didn’t think he could even name. All of them alien to him. “You’re mine, my fierce lady peregrine,” he whispered, leaning down and tasting the smooth curve of her breast. The ache inside deepened, tightening his balls. The body beneath him was so familiar—lean and lightly muscled, the strength in her apparent as her fingers curled around his biceps. But she wasn’t fighting him now, and as he pressed down between her thighs, the sensation was completely new between them.
Tugging apart her shirt, he brushed his lips against her bared breasts, tongue darting over one nipple. A gasp stole from her and he looked up, meeting her startled gaze. No sign of gray in them now. Only darkness; only hunger, need, the fierceness of the craving. But it wasn’t blood she was hungry for. Not now.
He used teeth and hands, learning her, delighting in each little hissed intake of breath he earned. He rocked forward until her hips cradled his and it was torture and pleasure for both of them. Garrett pressed his face against her breast, breathing hard. Need her. Now. But he’d never had the urge to prolong the experience so much before. He wanted to remember every moment, every sweet caress between them as he took her for the first time. To make love to her, truly.
How different it was to be doing this with a woman he cared for. With Perry. Every time she gasped or squirmed beneath him, he loved it. Slowly he worked his way down, leaving her nipples pink and glistening. Nipping at the smooth skin of her hip. Tongue darting into her navel…
Perry bit back a moan, sinking her hands into his hair. “Oh… Garrett.”
“Are you wet for me?” he whispered, the rasp of his stubble leaving marks on her porcelain skin. She was so fucking beautiful. All long legs and smooth skin. Lithe and sleek, like a cat.
Color burned in her cheeks. A hint of shyness. He liked it when she was flirtatious and sensual, but this too was Perry. “Garrett—” she choked out.
He smiled against her hips, his lips brushing against the buttons on her breeches. He tugged one between his teeth, then looked up at her. “Yes? Or no?”
She was biting her lower lip so hard that she would leave a mark. “Yes,” she whispered.
His heart thundered in his chest. Surrender. He felt it as she relaxed back onto the sofa. Felt it as he reached for the buttons on her pants.
A sharp rap sounded at the door. “Sir?” Doyle called.
Garrett looked up, breathing hard. “You’ve got to be bloody kidding me.”
Perry jerked the two halves of her shirt together and rolled onto her side, her cheeks turning a furious pink. “Damnation!”
“Stay there,” he growled, planting another kiss on her startled mouth, far too tempted to linger. He looked at her—then at the door. “What the hell is wrong?”
The guild had better be on bloody fire.
“You’ve a caller, sir,” Doyle replied. “The Duke of Moncrieff.”
“Again?” What rotten timing. “Tell him I’ll be a moment.” He needed to straighten his shirt and stifle the raging cock-stand in his pants. He shot Perry a frustrated look, but the expression on her face froze him. “Perry?”
She seemed to shake off the fugue that had overtaken her. Gave him a weak smile.
&nbs
p; “Duty calls,” he said dryly. “Time to see what His Grace wants this time.”
“Garrett”—she caught his arm—“wait.”
“Later.” He bent and kissed her, capturing the protest on her lips. Perry’s fist curled in his shirt, holding him there. “There is definitely going to be a later. I won’t have this rushed—”
“Wait,” she blurted. “I need to talk to you. About the case. About the…the duke.”
“Can it wait?”
“No.” She shook her head. “Please sit.” Definitely nervous. “I meant to talk to you. I think…I think I know who the killer is.”
Seventeen
There was no other way to tell him.
“I said once that this case was personal,” Perry blurted out, dragging her knees up in front of herself and locking her arms around them. Her whole body felt shivery, tingling with the echo of his touch. But the thought of what she was going to tell him cut straight through the lust. “I told you it was because it reminded me of what had happened to me. I lied.”
His gaze shot to hers. Intense. “I’m listening.”
“I thought that I’d killed the man who infected me with the craving,” she said carefully. “But I’m beginning to wonder… I don’t think he died. I think he’s still alive, and I think he’s the same man who kidnapped Ava and Alice, and killed those girls.”
“Why would you say that?”
Good. Let them stick to facts. That was something she could manage to deal with. “The laboratory under the draining factory. It’s virtually the same as the one he trapped me in years ago. The same smell, the same instruments… He was exploring the effects of the craving virus on healing—exploring just how much damage it could heal. And then, of course, there are these rumors about that monster prowling the mists of the East End—of Steel Jaw. Garrett, I cut half his face off. It was…hanging.” She swallowed hard, pushing away the memories. “His name was Hague, and he was a scientist who performed illegal experiments on women. I think Hague is Steel Jaw. And I think he’s also masquerading as Sykes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this? How could you think to leave without letting me know such a thing?”
“I was going to send a letter.” She saw his expression. “Garrett, he broke me,” she whispered. “I’m frightened and I’m trying not to be, but I…I can’t. You don’t know what…” An icy shiver ran down her spine, her gut locking tight. “It makes me feel ill when I think of what he did to me. I can’t breathe at times. I have these…these moments of hysteria—you saw what I was like at the factory.
“It hasn’t been so bad of late, because I thought he was dead. But now, now that he might not be… Others will be hurt. I just wanted to get away from here.” She buried her face in her hands. “Even now, he’s stripping me of my self. He makes me less, every time I think of him. I want to be brave. I want to hunt him down and get justice for what he did—what he’s still doing. But I don’t know if I have it in me.”
And that was the horrible, shaming truth. Everything that she’d fought for in the last nine years was a sham. Every time she’d forced herself to enter the dark tunnels of Undertown or to track down some killer, she’d thought that she faced some inner demon. But it was a lie. The moment Moncrieff reentered her life—bringing that monster back into it—she became nothing more than a victim.
Warm hands covered hers and then Garrett slid his arms around her, tucking her in tight against his body. Perry couldn’t move. Her whole body locked up tight as her shoulders shook.
“I’m frightened,” she whispered. “I’m so frightened and I don’t know what to do anymore.”
“There are many different types of courage, Perry. Sometimes simply surviving is the bravest thing a person can do,” he murmured, hand splaying over her back and rubbing. “To reforge a life after such trauma. You’re not a coward for being frightened. Indeed, you’d be a fool if you weren’t, for you know firsthand the horror of the situation.” His voice dropped an octave. “And you came back, knowing what he did to you. Knowing you might have to face him again. If anything, I admire the hell out of you.”
The words stole through her, warming something deep within.
“My mother survived,” he continued, “when my father forsook her, and did what was necessary to feed both herself and me. That too is bravery, in its own way. She taught me that the man with the biggest fists or the best skills in a knife fight isn’t always the strongest or the bravest. It’s those who survive the worst life can throw at them and keep on fighting.”
“But what if I face Hague and freeze?” Her head lifted from his shoulder. “What if I can’t breathe again? What if—”
“Then we deal with such when we face it,” he replied, cupping her cheek in his hand. “But I don’t think you’re going to panic when you come face-to-face with him, Perry. And if you do, then I will be there to help you breathe. I promise. Now what did you want to tell me about the duke?”
A part of her was still hoping that she could protect him from this. “Perhaps… I just have a suspicion he’s involved.”
“Because of what happened to his thrall? Octavia?”
Strange to hear those words from his lips. “Yes. Because of what he did to Octavia.”
Garrett stared at the window, his chiseled profile stained by the afternoon light. It bleached the tips of his chestnut lashes, highlighting the blue of his eyes. “I think he’s up to something too. He’s tasked me with finding Octavia. He doesn’t think she’s dead.”
Perry could barely hear for the sudden roar of her heartbeat in her ears. “He wants you to find Octavia?”
“Thinks she ran away from him. I’m not certain if I believe him or not. I only know that something strange happened with that case. There’s virtually nothing in the case file.”
But the duke had looked at her. Looked right at her, then away. Only that one jest he’d made, about her taking the name of the peregrine, her family’s House sigil, gave any hint that he’d recognized her.
Then Garrett’s words penetrated. Nothing in the case file. The only person who had the authority to do that was Lynch.
He’d known all along who she was.
Perry slid off his lap. “What are you going to do?”
Garrett straightened, tidying his coat and breeches with a rueful glance at her. “I’m going to see what he wants this time. No doubt a progress report. He was adamant I devote my time and attention to this, rather than the Keller-Fortescue case.”
“And your intentions?”
“The duke can kiss me arse,” he replied with a devilish gleam in his eyes and that roughened Bethnal accent reemerging for a second. She liked the way the words sounded. His tone was warmer in its natural state. Not as crisp and precise, as if he had to say each word carefully to ensure its accuracy.
Garrett leaned one knee on the sofa and bent down to press a gentle kiss to her lips. “If only because of his appalling sense of timing.”
The taste of his lips warmed against her, his tongue sliding over hers in a teasing thrust. Slowly the back of his hand brushed against her shirt, rasping over her taut nipple. The knot in her abdomen tightened with an ache that desperately wanted her to reach up and drag his weight down upon her. To feel every hard inch of his body on hers, pressing her into the soft cushions of the sofa. She slid her hands into his hair, dragging him down, his tongue spearing into her mouth as she tumbled against the back of the sofa.
She needed this so much right now. Something to take away the panic, the fear. To remind her that she wasn’t alone.
And he gave it to her, his own movements just a little desperate.
Hot. Hard. Drugging. She’d never been so aware of her body, every nerve ending tingling beneath her skin as his elegant fingers curled over her breast, palming the aching flesh. More. The angle of their position denied her, no matter how much she arched aga
inst him. She needed to ride her hips against his, to feel the heavy surge of his erection between her thighs.
Garrett dragged his mouth aside with a groan, breathing hard against her neck. Cool breath shivered over her skin and then he wrenched away from her, mouth parted, gasping, the fierceness of his hunger staring back at her with predator eyes.
“Stop looking at me like that.” Something flickered through his gaze. Heat and need, a shiver of the darkness within. His lashes lowered, palm splaying over her breast, cupping it through the thin lawn of her shirt. “I’m trying to be dutiful.”
Let the duke wait. For the first time in years, she felt nothing more than a flash of heated irritation at the thought of him. Damn him. Her fist curled in Garrett’s shirt and she reached for him—
“Later, my love,” he breathed harshly, drawing away from her. “Bloody hell. I’d almost managed to forget what we were up to before we were rudely interrupted. Almost. Now you’ve given me a cock-stand again.”
“I could take care of that,” she replied in a smoky voice that stiffened every muscle in his body.
Garrett stood in front of her, staring down at her with the kind of look that heated her through. He swallowed. “How?”
Leather glided beneath her palms as she slid her hands up his thighs, shifting her hips to the edge of the sofa. In that moment, fear was a distant memory. She liked herself like this, liked being bold and reckless. The way he looked at her made her feel distinctly feminine in a way she’d never particularly wanted to be before. But this… For the first time she understood what it was like to feel comfortable in her own skin. For a man to want her with no expectations, no demands that she change and be more like the standard vision of femininity.
Perry pressed her lips against the leather straining over his muscled thighs. Higher. Looking up at him and letting him see exactly what she intended.
Garrett sucked in a breath and caught her wrists. “Fuck.”
