Gently, he rolled her onto her other side, so he might spoon against her. She awoke long enough to whisper. “Don’t leave me.” She reached back for his hand, which he took in his and pulled her close.
“I’m here.” He nuzzled the nape of her neck. There wasn’t a place on her body that didn’t arouse him. Her skin was as soft—as he was hard. She was so strokable. And he was so in need of stroking. Exeter was sure he’d never get to sleep, not with that velvety bum rubbing up against a blistering erection. And then again . . . he closed his eyes and slept.
A warm, gentle breeze brushed her cheek. Exeter’s breath. His arm was around her and she could feel the rise and fall of his chest against her breasts. Mia lowered her eyes. Exeter was lying beside her fast asleep, and he was—she took a sneaky look further down—wearing nothing but his God suit.
She explored slowly, taking in the smallest detail—from the mole on his shoulder to the light covering of fuzz on his upper torso. She ran her fingertips through his chest hair and lower, across the pale golden skin of his abdomen. Exeter had always been handsome of countenance and stature, but his body was also lovely. Wickedly so.
Her gaze traveled over an exposed hip and a fascinating curve of muscle that disappeared under the bed sheet. Mia had studied Greek sculpture and architecture extensively, including the Doric, Ionic, and Corinthian columns . . .
Her gaze returned to his sleek, muscled groin and she wondered, dare she?
She stole a furtive glance at his face. Exeter appeared years younger in his sleep, unencumbered by all the worries and responsibilities he took so seriously. She lifted the covers slowly, enough to view . . . an impressive phallus at rest.
“It is called nocturnal penile tumescence. The spontaneous occurrence of an erection of the penis during sleep.”
He was awake.
Caught in the act of peeking, Mia dropped the sheet. Her cheeks flamed with heat, still she was filled with curiosity and more than a little trepidation. Her need to know, however, trumped any fear. “This is normal for men—this size and stiffness?”
She dared to meet his gaze and wasn’t exactly sure how to read his expression. Something between sleepy arousal and amusement. “Fully erect, a man’s penis varies in size. Some are larger than others—all of them get the job done.”
She folded back the sheet. “I see.” Her gaze traveled up his torso. “You are handsomely made, Doctor Exeter.”
“As are you, Miss Chadwick.” He cupped her buttocks and brought her pelvis against him. How easily this man thrilled her. Even now her body tingled from the feel of his hard penis pressing against her belly.
He had mentioned his discomfort last night, which had set her wondering about his pleasure. About exactly what happened when a man climaxed. She understood the mechanics of procreation—but this was different. No one had ever mentioned the part about pleasure—except Exeter.
She placed her hands on his chest. “May I touch you here?”
Exeter nodded.
Her fingertips moved down his torso. “Here?”
Exeter’s eyes narrowed. “Mia.”
She nuzzled the dark stubble of beard on his chin. “May I please touch you . . . ?” She moved lower and he caught her hand in his and brought it to his lips.
He brushed a kiss over her knuckles. “I’m not sure that should happen right now.”
A sharp rap preceded the sound of Jersey’s sword reopening the door latch. Exeter leapt out of bed and grabbed his trousers from the floor. Propped on her elbows, Mia nearly gasped. He shoved a long limb into a pant leg and covered a nicely muscled buttock cheek. Even as he hopped into his trousers he aroused her.
A pale pink glow suffused the room. “It’s dawn,” she mused aloud. Exeter dipped to peer out the window as he buttoned his pants. “We should be in Paris.”
Jersey stuck his head in the door before he entered the room. “A drawbridge went out last night—the train was held up for nearly two hours.”
Exeter opened his valise and pulled out a fresh shirt. “When do we arrive?”
“We’re on the outskirts of the city—no more than twenty minutes.” Ever the vigilant bodyguard, Jersey stole a quick glance around the room. “They’re serving pastries and coffee in the dining car—join us.”
Chapter Ten
“OH, MY”—Mia poked her head out of the carriage—“this is lovely.” L’Hôtel Claude exuded an Old World charm with its gated yard and striking dark blue awning over the door. Topiary trees planted in carved stone containers made charming sentries to each side of the hotel’s entrance.
Everything about their temporary residence was elegant and understated—very much like the man who handed her down from the carriage. She took note of the quiet courtyard’s neatly trimmed, ivy-covered stone walls and tall iron gates. It was also a fortress.
Exeter checked in and distributed room keys. “We’ve got two connecting suites on the sixth floor with four sleeping chambers. If we require more rooms, the hotel assures me they will make every effort to accommodate us.”
During the trudge upstairs, Jersey calmly laid down a few security rules. “I’d like to request that no one leave the hotel alone and never without either Valentine or myself as an escort. Report any strange occurrence, no matter how insignificant. And I must ask everyone to leave their rooms unlocked, in case Valentine or I have to get to you quickly.”
On the sixth floor, before Exeter could turn his key, the door to room 19 opened. “Bon jour, mon amis.” Mr. Ping bowed politely and ushered them inside the suite. “The rooms are perfectly situated, Doctor Exeter.” Ping swept back the pale under curtain behind a swag of sumptuous drapery and opened French doors. “Come, have a look.”
The view from the hotel room was spectacular. Her gaze traveled across the Quai des Orfevres and the Seine to the Latin Quarter on the left bank. A telescope mounted on a tripod had been set up on the narrow balcony, which hardly had room for the window box planted with red cyclamen. Exeter leaned over to take a look, adjusting the eyepiece. “What am I looking at, Ping?”
The attractive and somewhat whimsical character folded his hands over his chest. “Latin Quarter. The east wall of the Sorbonne. There is an underground entrance to a student dinning hall—mostly used by delivery people to the kitchen.” Exeter motioned Jersey in for a look.
“Directly below the kitchen,” Ping continued, “is one of your long-lost entrances to the catacombs.” The gifted genie was in shirtsleeves and waistcoat; he apparently had been there for some time, preparing the room for their mission. Of all the Nightshades, Mia found Ping the most fascinating. He was also a powerful, magical force who was said to transmogrify between male and female at will. She had never seen him in his female form . . . Jinn. There was something intriguing about this beautiful, androgynous character, whom she found to be deadly handsome in a most exotic way—with his liquid silver eyes and long black hair. She had once had a discussion about him with America and Valentine, more of a girlish giggle, but she was surprised to learn they all felt the same attraction to Ping.
“What about the other locations?” Jersey looked up from the eyepiece to the river.
Ping sighed. “The view is blocked from here, better from the rooftop—we can set up there if need be.”
Mia hadn’t taken her eyes off the iron spire across the river. “By Mr. Eiffel’s Tower?” she queried. “It is rather . . . intrusive.” They all turned to study the daunting edifice.
“I’m not sure I like it—yet.” Jersey muttered. Exeter added a grunt of agreement.
“Why the surveillance?” Mia asked.
Exeter turned to her but spoke to all. “It is my understanding that Tim will be bringing several new gadgets with him—radio communication devices modified for our world. These will allow us to speak to one another, no matter where we are in the city. The telescope is a precaution—an aboveground lookout, to keep us apprised of either the French police or Prospero’s patrols.”
Ping n
odded. “The other device will track us underground, and keep us from going in circles.” The young man crossed the comfortable sitting room and pushed apart pocket doors to a dining area. “I thought this would make for a kind of war room. We can tack up the maps and store all of Tim’s equipment in here”—Ping gestured to the table—“and enjoy a meal.”
A number of covered dishes were placed on a table set for six. Mia and America both lifted domed lids. “Thoughtful of you.” Mia thanked the jinni.
He turned to America. “Phaeton has been a great friend to me as well as a brave protector of us all. I sense his time with Prospero has been difficult”—when America looked up in alarm, Ping smiled a mysterious Ping smile—“. . . for Prospero.”
While Exeter and Jersey pinned up the map purchased in London, Mia fixed a plate for Exeter. She piled on his favorite foods, including lamb braised in a luscious ratatouille. Exeter sat down at the table beside her. “This looks perfect, Mia.”
“Of course it is.” She grinned, digging into her salade niçoise. “Is there a bellpull about? I know I’d love a good soak and a nap, after luncheon.” There were nods from both America and Valentine.
“Enjoy your meal, ladies, and allow me to order your baths.” Ping exited the room, returning some minutes later holding a plainly marked tin, and a tubular device, of the kind Tim Noggy carried about.
“Tim asked me to bring these on ahead.” Ping pushed a toggle switch on the side of the cylinder and a vibrant green line shot out from the end of the tube and into the air. The narrow light beam snaked up and down, sometimes curling back on itself, sometimes dividing into two lines to make a rectangular box, then merging into a single line once more. The beams traveled up and down, side to side, forming a labyrinth of glowing green lines in the air.
“A map of some kind?” A wide-eyed Mia looked from Exeter to Ping.
Ping positioned the projection over the map on the wall. Almost at once they all realized what was happening. The new semitransparent grid was aligning with the much older map, at least in most places.
Exeter set his fork down. “Another version of the catacombs?”
Ping nodded. “From the other side.”
“The catacombs of the Outremer,” Mia whispered.
“Using both maps, and the locator bugs, we should be able to triangulate the most likely spots Prospero has hidden Phaeton.”
America’s gaze fell on the plain metal box. “Locator bugs?”
Ping nodded. “Open it.”
America used two fingers and gingerly lifted the lid. Simultaneously they all peered inside. A great number of black beetles—mechanical creatures the size of a tuppence—swarmed about inside the tin. “I’ve been working with the tech wizard, Oakley.”
“Tech wizard?” Jersey asked, holding up a wine bottle. “Anyone wish to finish the last of this fine vintage?” Seeing no takers, he poured the remaining claret into his glass.
Ever the professor, Exeter elucidated. “From the Greek word, technologia. Meaning a systematic treatment of an art— from tekhne? art, skill plus logia. Used to describe applied sciences, like engineering.”
“Tim often calls Oakley a tech wizard, who in turn refers to Tim as the Big Brain.” Ping appeared both amused and impressed by the eccentric brothers, and it was difficult to awe a creature like Ping, whose very existence was the antithesis of technology and science. He was a supernatural force.
“Oakley designed the flies on the wall, as well as these creatures,” Ping explained. “Rather unique little bugs—they’re heat seekers. They’ll scurry straight for anything with a temperature of thirty-five degrees centigrade or greater.” He closed the lid on the tin.
“And when might we expect Mr. Noggy?” Exeter inquired.
“He’s here, in Paris.” She did not believe she had ever seen Ping smile—actually it was more of a grin—and it was lovely. His silver eyes crinkled. “Actually, he’s below Paris—in the Outremer. He’s taking in the sightseer version of the catacombs. He intends on making a break from the tour and have a sneak about.”
“He’s here, but he’s in another dimension—an alternate Paris, and he expects to reconnoiter—when?” Exeter rubbed his temples, not a particularly good sign.
Ping arched a brow and coupled it with a half smile. Mia thought he looked devilishly like Phaeton Black. “Tonight.”
“Let’s hope he doesn’t get lost down there.” Exeter leaned back in his chair and looked around the table. Mia supposed they all looked a bit ragged.
“No one got much sleep last night. Now that Ping is here to keep watch, I recommend we all get some rest.” Exeter the doctor advised. “We begin the search for Phaeton tonight—two groups of three—that way each of us will have a Nightshade with us. We’ll enter the catacombs from two different map positions and turn the bugs loose.”
Exeter entered the room and shut the door quietly. He was immediately struck by the sights and smells of their bedchamber. Their bedchamber. His heart pounded out of control at the thought of Mia’s next lesson. Truth be told, he was both excited and disturbed by his role as Mia’s sexual initiator.
Recently, Mia had matured considerably in his eyes—exactly the kind of perception adjustment Phaeton had mentioned months ago. Even better news, she was learning to use her newly sexualized body to control the wild creature inside. This most unusual therapy from an eccentric bookshop owner actually appeared to be working.
Mia had drawn the drapes to keep in the warmth. The room glowed softly, from a candelabra placed beside a copper tub. She lay back in her steaming bath, a washcloth covering her eyes. Pale flickering light cast a warm glow over her glistening skin. She was partially submerged in a froth of bubbles and aromatic bath salts. One knee angled out of the milky water. His gaze followed the line of a long shapely leg to the end of the bath. Her toes curled over the rounded edge of the tub.
“Water’s lovely, Exeter—care to join?”
He pushed off the door and headed straight for the center of the room. Circling the heavy poster bed, he let down the side curtains. If they were to leave the door unlocked, the least he could do was assure them some privacy. He removed his coat and lay it across a side chair. “You’re certain there’s room for the three of us?” He untied his cravat, as he approached the bath.
The beauty in repose lifted the washcloth and looked him up and down. “Pussy wants her back scrubbed.”
He stood at the end of the tub and undressed. Cravat and collar, shirt, trousers, hose, and low-topped boots—finally he stood in front of her with nothing but a dancing erection. Her eyes lowered to his penis. “You are stimulated?”
“What does it look like?” Exeter reached behind his head. Most often, he wore his hair tied in a queue that emphasized his noble forehead and elegant cheekbones. He pulled off the ribbon and his hair fell in loose waves to his shoulders. “And how is the minxy she-devil this afternoon?”
“She stirs about—but, I feel as though . . .” Mia appeared to be searching for the right words. “The urge to shift is a bit like a sneeze—you can wiggle your nose and interrupt the itch, but sometimes it can’t be stopped.”
“Scoot forward.” He climbed in behind her, wrapping his legs around her. He quickly washed his chest and shoulders, then soaped a washcloth and scrubbed her back. “Mmm,” she murmured.
“Lay back, Mia.” She leaned against his body and he nuzzled the topknot of luxurious hair piled on her head. “I must admit, there is something wonderful about being naked with a beautiful young woman in a tub filled with soap bubbles.” As he luxuriated in the bath, she scrubbed his legs, one at a time, down to the soles of his feet.
Exeter groaned. “I never thanked you and pussy for your assistance last night—you are quite powerful in feline form. There is potent force in the cat.”
“I have flashes of memory—leaping onto the roof of the passenger car—a bit of a scuffle—gnawing on wraith bones.” She handed him a mildly scented soap and cloth.
&nbs
p; “Nothing on how you got there?” He worked carefully over her anatomy, starting with firm, plump breasts and working his way down every inch of her body.
Mia moaned softly. “I remember feeling rather ferocious and protective”—she reached back and rubbed the stubble on his jawline—“of you.”
He pulled her knees up and extended her leg into the air. “A test to see just how flexible you are. Good God, love, you’re a ballet girl.”
He imagined the arch of her brow. “You know ballet girls intimately, Doctor Exeter?”
Exeter turned on his side against the wall of the tub, and at the same time, angled her body toward his. She easily tucked herself to one side. “Throw a leg over my hip—that’s it.” They lay in the warm bath, breathing in the layer of hot steam that floated just above the glistening surface of the water.
Mia reached up and ran a wet finger over his upper, then lower lip. “Tell me about the ballet girl.”
He studied her for a moment. “I was on break from university, trying to decide if I would push on for a medical degree. I met a few chums at the theatre—each one of us ended up with a young lady that night.”
“Did you . . . love her?”
Exeter’s mouth twitched, ever so slightly. “I’m afraid with young men, the urge to mate is not often governed by the heart—alas, not even the head. It is a much more primal urge.”
“Oh yes, I know about urges.” Mia furrowed her brows. “Does that make me a wanton?”
Was it the protruding lower lip or the genuine look of worry on her face that so beguiled him? “It makes you—Mia.” He leaned forward and kissed her lightly. A simple brush of his lips to hers, and all he could think about was more.
She toyed with the washcloth. “I want to touch you tonight.”
He angled away. “But you are touching me. Look, we lie together in this bath—every part of us is touching.”
Even though he smiled gently, her expression darkened. “What do you do with your desire, Exeter? Where does it go? I do not wish you to think of me as a torture.” He was near speechless as she explained. “America says Phaeton becomes unbearably irritable when he is . . . pent-up.”
Jillian Stone - [Phaeton Black 03] Page 9
