Rake Most Likely to Seduce

by Bronwyn Scott

  Gianna’s eyes narrowed. ‘My logic is not “ridiculous”, as you put it. A man would do those things if there was something in it for him.’

  ‘Like what?’ Nolan’s elegant hand lifted his goblet to his lips. ‘A stay in an Italian jail? I believe stealing is still a crime in Venice. I doubt anything in the jewel case is worth the risk. At any rate, it’s not a gamble I would take simply on merits of profit.’

  ‘Then why are you?’ The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them, the question a natural evolution of the conversation, but not a wise one. What would she do if he realised the rashness of his commitment and backed out now? Did she dare storm the palazzo alone? It was sobering to acknowledge how much she’d come to depend on him in such a short time. She, who’d sworn to never be dependent on a man, was relying quite heavily on a stranger she’d met two days ago. He had been generous and she’d been cruel. She offered a hasty apology. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know why I said that.’

  ‘I do. You’ve been fighting for so long you don’t know how to do anything else.’ He took the goblet from her, a hand cradling her jaw as the gondola rocked gently beneath them. ‘Stop fighting, Gianna. Just for the afternoon. Let me show you the possibilities of pleasure.’ He didn’t wait for an answer, for permission. But he’d already given fair warning, hadn’t he? He moved into her, covering her mouth with his, wooing her with the subtlety of his kiss. She tasted the rich flavour of wine on his tongue as it made a slow tour of her mouth, her lips.

  She opened to him, her own tongue wanting to explore, too, wanting to tangle lazily with his. Nolan made it sound so simple. Just for the afternoon. It was a temporary indulgence after years of loneliness. As such, what harm could come of one afternoon? She couldn’t summon an answer. There was no reason to resist when she felt his arm slide around her, his hand drawing her close against the length of his body as they reclined on the velvet cushions. This was their world, here beneath the privacy of the felze where there was no one to see, no one who would ever know. The fantasy would end with the boat ride.

  His hips moved against hers, inviting, luring, his lips whispering temptation with his words. ‘Let me show you pleasure.’ He made it sound as if she had a choice, but that choice had already been made. Perhaps she’d made it long before this.

  Gianna placed his hand on her breast, her mouth at his ear with words of her own in answer. ‘Touch me, Nolan, show me how it can be.’ She knew, of course, how it could be, in part. Last night in the church had offered her a taste. But this was different. He wasn’t trying to teach her a lesson, wasn’t trying to scare her off as he had been last night, although that lesson had been quickly forgotten by both parties by the time it was done. This was something altogether different, in some ways gentler but no less in its intensity. His hands worked her bodice loose, the cool air brushing over bare skin to be replaced by the slide of his warm hands over her breasts, the contrast of heat and cold a decadence all its own, heightening the sensitivity of her skin to even the lightest of touches. The palm of his hand ran reverently over the slope of her breast, her body tightening, priming itself in anticipation of his touch in other places.

  ‘I want to touch you, too,’ Gianna murmured, her hand dropping to the fastenings of his trousers, working them free before he could protest. He was hot beneath her hand, ready and entirely alive in a way he had not been that first night when she’d knelt before him. He had roused, certainly, as would have any healthy young male. But this was not limited to the perfunctory provision of physical release in exchange for something in return.

  She slid her hand along his length, her thumb running over his tender head, eliciting a gasp. She did it again and he sucked in his breath. ‘You are a temptress,’ he growled with a chuckle, his teeth nipping at her earlobe in playful retaliation. But he was not without his own temptations, his own sensual retaliations. His hand slid beneath her skirts to the dampness between her thighs. Her breath caught at the intimate contact. She knew with a certainty of instinct, this was where they would have gone in the church if they’d allowed themselves to continue; to an intimacy far greater than any they had shared yet, to a pleasure greater than any he’d given her.

  ‘Look at me, Gianna.’ His voice was a soft command, his gaze steady as she held it. ‘I want to see the pleasure in your eyes when it comes.’ He stroked her then, his hand pressing on her mons with intimate force, his thumb running up the narrow furrow to find the nub inside.

  She gasped against the sensation: startling, pleasing, addicting. ‘Again, Nolan, please,’ she whispered, watching a smile take his mouth in response to what he saw in her eyes. He took her then in full force, his mouth on hers, his hand at the core of her pleasure, his thumb mirroring the caress of his tongue until she arched against his hand in a desperate need to accommodate the release sweeping her. She was torn. She wanted nothing more than to be swept away by this pleasure, yet she wanted nothing more than to linger on this new shore a while longer, suffering the pleasure to lap in waves against her body.

  ‘Let go now, Gianna, no more fighting. Let it carry you away, you won’t be sorry,’ Nolan coaxed, his own words coming breathlessly, he, too, caught up in her pleasure. ‘Trust me.’

  She let go then, like someone giving up a life rope amid tossing waves. There, in the intimate privacy of the gondola, she let herself be swept out to sea, clinging to Nolan as the pleasure took her, testing her passion and her resolve. The former soared in those moments, the latter shattered.

  She had misjudged pleasure. It was her first thought when she’d recovered the ability to think. Her second thought, lying against the curve of Nolan’s body, was that he had not made that error. He was far too experienced for that. He’d known from the start pleasure was far more powerful when it wasn’t wielded as a weapon. No wonder he had been so eager to show it to her, so eager to disarm her. Perhaps he’d known, too, that there was no way to limit pleasure’s power to the span of one afternoon, no way to cage its effects.

  She had yet to determine how detrimental those effects might be, it was all too new, too wondrous. She wanted to wallow in that wonder a while longer before she had to dissect it, understand it. What she could do now was even the playing field. ‘I have had my pleasure, but you have not had yours.’ She moved into the curve of Nolan’s body and reached for his phallus.

  His hand covered hers. ‘There is more pleasure to be had,’ he promised, ‘but I have to ask, Gianna, are you a virgin?’

  She was feeling reckless and bold in the wake of her climax. ‘Does it matter?’

  Nolan’s gaze was solemn. ‘It does. It determines the sort of pleasure we can have. Tell me the truth, Gianna. Did the count lie about that, too?’

  The count’s lie or hers? Nolan would know if she lied. There would be no hiding it. ‘He did not lie.’ She opted for the truth even though she knew what it meant. Nolan would not make love to her here in this gondola. He was waiting for something, some sign from her she had not given yet. The admission left her feeling bereft. Now that she’d sampled pleasure, she wanted all of it.

  ‘Well then, that settles it.’ Nolan released her hand, but took no action to remove it from his phallus. He lay back on the pillows and gave her a wicked smile, his eyes dark with unfulfilled desire. ‘Take me in hand, Gianna.’

  It was another lesson in pleasure, she realised; that there was pleasure for the giver as well as the receiver, that she could take joy in his joy, another reminder of how potent pleasure could be beyond weaponry; this was mutual pleasure, not a double-edged sword. She revelled in the swell of him beneath her strokes, in the milky bead that formed at his tip, in the moans from his lips. This, too, was addicting, to know she could provide this man of experience with experiences of his own.

  She reached for the tender sac beneath his phallus and felt the balls within tighten, contracting with their own reaction to the pleasure as Nolan’s
body built towards its release. His head was thrown back against the pillows, his phallus pumping into the cylinder of her hand, warm and pulsing as it came. It was beautiful, he was beautiful in those moments, utterly male and wholly hers.

  Gianna lay down beside him, her hand pressed to his heart, feeling the rhythm race and slow. Nolan lay a hand over hers, his voice cracking a little as he spoke. ‘I don’t think I could stand much more. It’s a good thing we have a house to burgle.’

  The reminder of business was the perfect segue to move out of the idyll of the afternoon and back to reality, but Gianna wondered if there really was any going back. Only forward. They’d shared secrets and they’d shared pleasure. Both of which might or might not have been part of this game they played. Nothing would be the same.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The count knew how to give a party, Nolan had to concede that much. Under other circumstances, he would have enjoyed the masquerade immensely. There was just the right sort of women, the right sort of wine, and food; champagne, snails, oysters, chocolates and cheeses abounded along with an abundance of private alcoves in which to take advantage.

  As it was, Nolan only appreciated the crowd for its camouflage and even that enjoyment was tempered. Where was Gianna? It was almost impossible to find anyone in the crush. They had come together, but decided to separate in the hopes of drawing as little attention to themselves as possible. He’d managed to keep her in sight most of the evening, for safety’s sake, he told himself. Nothing more. It certainly wasn’t a twinge of envy that tugged at him as he watched her dance. She had to dance, after all. Not to dance would have been noted as odd. He had danced as well. His partners were sophisticated women who had promised to do sophisticated things with him, to him, in those elegantly curtained alcoves the count seemed so fond of. Brennan would have loved this party.

  Three months ago, three weeks ago, even three days ago, he would have loved this party, too, would have taken the sophisticated ladies up on their decadent offers of physical pleasure. He and Brennan had come to Venice for precisely nights like this. Everyone could prose on about coming to Venice for the art and the history of the Serene Republic, but he and Bren had come for the sex. Art be damned. Napoleon had taken most of it anyway.

  Now that he had the night of nights ahead of him when it came to free pleasures, Nolan wanted no part of it. The ladies and their offers seemed unexciting, nothing more than empty activities to while away the time, certainly nothing that competed with the thrill of Gianna finding her pleasure against the plush pillows of a gondola and knowing he’d been responsible for it, had been the first responsible for it.

  He could argue that perhaps it was the mission that diverted his attention from the entertainments tonight, but Nolan was honest enough to admit it might be Gianna who had him distracted. The problem with being first was that it implied there would be a next and a last. Normally, those concepts didn’t bother him if he thought of them at all. He’d been the next man, well, always, and it was understood there would be a next man after him. That was the kind of woman he associated with.

  Not so with Gianna. He could be her first, but that was it. There was no future for them. They were thrown together by circumstance, neither of them looking for a long-standing affair. Nolan craned his neck to catch sight of her red queen-of-hearts costume. He thought he saw a flutter of red among the crowd and then lost it again. Perhaps it hadn’t been her, after all.

  In truth, tonight marked the beginning of the end. Once she had her jewel case, she would be free to leave Venice. Her need for him was satisfied even if his need for her wasn’t. It’s for the best. She’s nothing but a piece of lovely trouble. But knowing it didn’t make it any easier. He might have let her go before today, before the fish market, before the exchange of confidences over fish stew. But now he knew the danger she would be in. She would be a woman alone without his protection, facing an evil adversary if the count ever decided to hunt her down. It was almost a surety the count would after tonight.

  Nolan flipped open his pocket watch. Ten minutes remained before they were supposed to rendezvous. He was starting to worry. Gianna was still out of sight. That made him extremely nervous. She wasn’t to leave the room—that had been their agreement. Had she been recognised? Was she in danger even now? Had she decided to retrieve the jewel case on her own?

  Nolan began to quarter the crowded ballroom with his eyes in earnest now. Another flash of red caught his eye on the ballroom perimeter close to the terrace doors. There she was. Nolan knew relief and then anger. She wasn’t alone. A man had a hand on her arm, tugging, but it was hard to tell with the distance and the crowd. Nolan began to make his way to her side, carving a path through the crowd with his body.

  His instincts were correct. The closer he got the more clear it was the man’s attentions were unwanted. Nolan flexed his arm, taking comfort in the feel of his knife hidden in the secret sheath in his sleeve.

  ‘Whomever you’re meeting, darling, he isn’t coming,’ the man holding her arm slurred drunkenly. ‘Besides, we’re all in masks, how would you know anyway? Maybe it’s me you’re supposed to meet. Come outside with me and let’s find out.’ The man was drunk enough to be dangerous. He would need to move quickly and not let the confrontation turn into a protracted scene.

  Nolan stepped between them, his body a shield for Gianna. ‘What’s going on here?’ His knife flashed in his hand, coming up under the other man’s chin.

  Usually the cold prick of steel against one’s soft vulnerable skin was enough to create instant sobriety. Not in this case. ‘The Queen of Hearts and I are just talking,’ the drunk man drawled. ‘Who the hell are you anyway?’

  Nolan pressed the blade into the chin, drawing a tiny bead of blood. ‘The King of Hearts. Now bugger off.’ He gave the man a shove, sending him stumbling through the terrace doors outside, to all appearances just another drunk taking the air. Nolan grabbed Gianna’s hand and disappeared into the crowd, making his way towards a darker exit that gave out into the depths of the house. Once in a less-populated hallway, Nolan made use of a vacant alcove. He pulled the curtain around them.

  ‘Are you all right?’ He untied his mask.

  ‘I’m fine.’ Gianna took her mask off, too, but her hands trembled. ‘Nolan, thank you.’ She held up a hand when he would have protested. ‘No, let me say it. Thank you. I could have managed him—’ her voice softened ‘—but it was nice not to have to.’ He had the sense that she’d had to handle too many men on her own. Something protective fired in him. Not on his watch. Even the strong needed champions.

  She reached up and kissed his cheek. It was sweetly done, the innocence of the gesture seductive even. His blood fired at the brush of her lips. The alcove, the tight-fitting bodice of her costume, the kiss, his own imagination were conspiring against him. But they had work to do and a limited amount of time in which to do it. Masks came off at midnight. They needed to be gone by then. Nolan took a small step backwards and resheathed his knife.

  She glanced pointedly at his sleeve where the knife had disappeared. ‘Do you carry that thing with you everywhere?’

  ‘Yes, he’s quite the friend in tight spots.’ Nolan smiled and put his mask on, signalling it was time to return to work.

  ‘I think it’s intriguing that you find yourself in so many tight spots to make such a “friend” worthwhile.’ She lifted her own mask and fitted it to her face. Nolan stepped behind her and tied the ribbons. He allowed his hands to linger at her shoulders, his mouth to pause at her ear.

  ‘I’m a gambler, a good one. Tight spots are an occupational hazard.’

  She detected his innuendo. Her head bowed slightly, her own voice husky. ‘I think tight spots might be an occupational hazard for reasons other than cards.’

  ‘It’s up to you now. Which way do we go?’ Nolan whispered at her ear, knowing she’d hear that innu
endo, too. They could abandon their quest and pursue another sort of quest in the alcove. But he knew, too, which one she would pick.

  Gianna led him through the dark halls, up a staircase at the far end of one and into another wing of the palazzo. They could barely hear the party, only the occasional strain of music reached them. They were in dangerous territory now. No one would accidentally wander this far from the ballroom. Nolan slipped his knife into his hand. Would the count have guards posted? It wouldn’t be uncommon with Carnevale going on. Carnevale was notorious for unexpected guests.

  ‘It’s here in the count’s rooms,’ Gianna whispered and Nolan swallowed hard. They were burgling the count’s personal rooms? Of course it couldn’t be in a study or library, or some kind of common room they could have claimed they stumbled into accidentally and then chosen to stay in it for an illicit rendezvous. Nolan tightened the grip on his knife. If they were caught in the count’s chambers, there would be very little to explain.

  He was starting to realise just how much trust he’d put in her, and for what reason? Why should he trust her beyond the fact that she swayed him with her beauty, and the rare glimpse she offered him into her truths? Truths he had not bothered to test. He’d believed her when she said the count was her enemy, that she’d lived here as a veritable prisoner, that the item they were after was really hers to claim.

  A hundred ‘what ifs’ ran through his mind—it was what he got for being such a critical thinker, although the critical-thinking piece was making a rather late appearance. He should have thought of all this earlier. Was this an elaborate set up? Was she somehow in league with the count and trying to wreak some revenge for the losses at the tables?

  Nolan was well aware that it might have been his idea to come here tonight, but it had been her idea to come at all. Were she and the count trying to frame him for a theft? Nolan had no particular desire to experience the Venetian prison system as part of his Grand Tour. She’d so expertly drawn him in with her story, he hadn’t thought to ask these questions until now when it was too late. Mostly, because they were questions he didn’t want to ask. He wanted Gianna to be the damsel in distress, not a femme fatale using him for her own purposes. He wanted to believe he was not that easily duped by a pretty face.