by Lily Silver
And that scarred old table was now an elegant mahogany dining room set in which the dark wood gleamed in warm tones in the golden candlelight. Even the stove had been updated from a severe and raw black iron model to a new one with white enamel paint and shiny chrome handles. The ugly apple green cupboard was gone, replaced by a beautiful, sleek china hutch that bore actual china and crystal.
“How did you do this?” her voice drifted off as she gazed about the room with wonder. She had been out little more than two hours. There was no way Adrian could have gone shopping for all this, had it delivered and set up in that time.
Their lone oil lamp had been replaced by several elegant frosted globe lamps that lit up the small living space from each corner. The soft light revealed a cozy, comfortable home instead of the bland rental it had been. The old tenement buildings in Montmartre had not been renovated for gas lighting as the wealthier districts of Paris had, so the tranquil glow of oil lamps was the only option, aside from cheap tallow candles.
“I sought your brother’s assistance in making this a proper home for my lady.”
He accepted help from the fairy realm, something he’d claimed he couldn’t bring himself to do as it would trespass some ambiguous rule in his mind.
Was it because Mick was a man, and taking help from a male was easier than from her?
Whatever the reason, it pleased Tara to know that Adrian was capable of amending his obstinate opinions in some areas. Perhaps there was hope for their future as man and wife.
“You didn’t feel it a grave transgression to ask my brother to provide for your needs?”
His eyes were like a soft caress on her skin as he drew near. A hand cupped her cheek, and light fingers brushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “I didn’t ask him to provide for my needs. I asked him to help me make this place more lovely and agreeable for you. Mick and I agree on one point; you are a fairy queen. As such you deserve every consideration for your comfort due to your high position in both our hearts.”
Put in that way, Tara could not argue the finer points of their earlier quarrel. She could only gaze into his sultry gray eyes with astonishment.
“I want to give you beautiful things. I want to worship you with gifts.” Adrian’s voice slid down her spine like warm honey. His lips hovered close to her neck, lingering so his breath caressed her skin. “It is an honor for a mortal to be loved by a fairy, a rare and precious gift.”
She’d rather they were equals in this relationship. A man and a woman in love, not lords or highborn queens. Tara raised up on tip-toe to seize his lips in an impassioned kiss. He was making love to her with words. She wanted to love him with her body.
The touch of her lips on his, of their mouths melding together with desperate need kindled his desire as she hoped.
Adrian crushed her to his chest and seared his name on her heart with his possessive kiss.
Drawing away slightly, his hands circled her waist and Tara was bore up like a dancer in his arms with her hands on his shoulders. Adrian whirled her through the room in a seductive waltz and then glided toward their bedchamber. Once there, his lips sought forgiveness for a transgression that no longer existed.
Tara couldn’t maintain anger with this charming man for his deep-rooted mind-set that placed her so high on a pedestal in his heart. It was foolish to resent him for trying to prove his love to her so thoroughly, so completely.
To Adrian, love meant taking care of his woman, providing for her, protecting her, shielding her from the distasteful things in the world. Having been alone for so long, Tara was unaccustomed to having someone worry over her, having someone care so deeply about her future happiness. It was a wondrous gift, one she must cherish. If not for such a potent, all consuming love, she could be right beside Gisele in the dance clubs.
Adrian set her on her feet and closed the door against intrusion. Tonight, nothing would tear them apart. He needed her. Oh, how he needed her, and she hungered for him.
Oh-oh, the bed! She pulled back from his kiss, concerned by the boxes she’d left piled on the bed when she left in anger. The sight greeting her eyes was like something out of a fairytale, like a sultan’s chamber in the Arabian Nights. The old brass bed with its faded blue quilt was gone. In its place was a round mattress with a red silk bedspread and mounds of pillows covered with gold and red fabric. Gold fabric panels draped in graceful arcs from the ceiling about the bed, festooning it in a cloud of shimmery silk wrappings.
“How do you like your new fairy bower, my love?”
“It’s beautiful,” Tara murmured.
She felt like Cinderella, only instead of having a pumpkin and mice turned into a coach, her small utilitarian apartment had been turned into a luxurious suite. New globe oil lamps lit the corners of this room as well. Their orbs cast a warm, soft circle of light around the bed. And in the corner, just beyond the small open closet, she spied a copper bathing tub, a full size tub. Its hammered metal side gleamed like a rippled ocean of orange and gold as it reflected the lamplight on the metal exterior. The inside lining was of white porcelain.
“Where are my gowns?” She looked up at her lover as he set her on her feet. The gowns had been the reason for their argument in the first place.
“I put them in the closet,” Adrian whispered as his lips nibbled at her ear.
He stepped back and removed her striped satin jacket for her, and carefully placed it on the back of an upholstered gold and ivory striped parlor chair that had taken the place of the plain wood chair next the now drape festooned window.
Her blouse was tugged from the confines of her skirt. Adrian slowly lifted it over her head. He admired the corset she wore, leisurely taking in the swell of her breast rising above the padded fabric. “We’ll need a new one of these, my pet. One of red silk, with black lace about the edges.” A fingertip moved down the slope of one breast, seeking the tip confined beneath the tight binding. “Unless you think it too scandalous to wear a red corset beneath your clothes.”
“Not at all.” Tara liked this game. She would enjoy it more if she could feel his warm skin beneath her fingers instead of the fabric of his shirt. “I’d like to see you find one for me, Lord Dillon.”
“I’m told they exist. The bawdy house girls wear them at one of the lairs Dan creeps out to in the night. We can obtain one for you quite easily, Lady Dillon.” He unbuttoned her skirt and lifted it over her head. Once she was free of the skirt, Adrian draped it on the chair with care. He went down on one knee before her. Firm hands outlined her hips and then he cursed as his fingers met an obstruction when he sought to cup her butt in his palms.
Tara gazed down at her prince charming with apology. She still wore the bustle cage. It formed a waterfall of cotton padding over a wire bump that covered her backside. Beneath that, she had on a petticoat and those cotton pantalets Gisele insisted were proper attire for a lady as she’d gone to dinner in a high society restaurant tonight.
“For the love of St. Patrick, woman, where are you?” Adrian’s brow creased as he studied the rest of her attire with perplexity. “These Victorian ladies are severely overdressed.” His long, lean fingers untied the strings of the bustle and tossed it behind her with annoyance marring his handsome features. “I’ve never had to work so hard just to find you, my darling girl.”
Next would come the petticoat. First, he reached up to cup her ass with his hands, kissed her belly, and just hugged her for a long moment before his fingers untied the petticoat strings.
The white garment floated soundlessly to the floor.
Adrian tugged her pantalets slightly, just enough to reveal the skin above her muff. His lips moved slowly over the exposed flesh, making her moan with delight as tiny prickles of excitement heated her blood.
She slipped her hands inside her pantalets to push them down her hips and speed their progress, but Adrian’s big hands caught her movement and held her hands still.
“Let me,” he whispered in a rough voice tinged with
desire. Slowly, he peeled the last barrier between his hands and her skin away, and she stepped out of the garment. Next, he focused on removing her white high-heel granny boots. He lifted her right leg behind the knee, propped her foot against his thigh and unlaced the boot. Adrian removed it. He did the same to the other boot, making it a sensual game of lifting her calf at the back of her knee and stroking the inside of her thigh with one hand whilst unlacing the boot with the other.
Once he had her boots set aside, he sat back on his heels and gazed up at her with a potent smile. “You are ravishing from this angle, darlin’. A veritable Venus.”
A man kneeling in front of a nearly naked woman with pure lust in his eyes was a marvel Tara had never experienced before. The exquisite feeling of power mingling with the suggestion of being completely vulnerable to those sensuous, smoky gray eyes was more than she could endure.
She reached down, determined to bring him up to her level by tugging at his wrists.
“No, my sweet, let me look at you.” His sultry gaze inched up from her knees to her torso, pausing here and there to admire the curve of her hip, the dip of her navel in an unhurried pace. His fingers traveled at a leisurely pace over her stockings—from ankle to calf, past the back of her knee and thigh to the garter that held her stocking in place. “We’ll buy black silk stockings for your lovely legs, too.”
Tara sighed. She was unable to speak as her heart whispered one word to her brain. Yes.
“If they were silk, I would leave them on.” His hand rolled the garter down her leg, and with it the plain white stocking. Light fingers traced the back of her thigh as he pushed the bunching fabric down to her ankle. As the skin of her thigh met the air, his lips brushed over the newly revealed flesh in adoration.
At last, her foot was bare, the heel cradled in his strong hand.
Tara nearly swooned when Adrian’s moist tongue touched the top of her foot, just past her toes. She cried out in surprise at this new, sensual touch. As he set her naked foot on the floor, his hand snaked up the back of her other leg to capture the remaining garter. The second stocking was rolled down in a torturously slow motion as he christened her exposed flesh with a moist trail of kisses.
Her knees grew weak. Tara sank down onto the bed and lay back with her knees parted, her body open with invitation to him. He came up from kneeling on the floor and started kissing the insides of her thighs.
Tara giggled and squirmed, refusing to let him go where he wanted as she sat up and held his head in her palms.
With a heavy sigh, Adrian stood and unfastened his trousers. Tara reached out for him to come to her, to lay over her and possess her fully. He just stared down at her with dark, sultry eyes and a expression somewhere between ecstasy and pain.
“Love me, now,” she whispered, holding out her arms to him.
“I do love you.” His trousers slipped down, and then his small pants. The shirt was cast off. He was naked in front of her, completely nude with his cock saluting her proudly.
The bed dipped as he climbed onto the soft silk coverlet between her pale thighs. Tara was surprised when he did not bend down to remove his shoes. He’d been barefoot when she came home, and by all the saints in heaven, she had never noticed his bare feet.
Tara reached out to him, urging him to descend like a god from above to claim her.
He started to creep around her, as if he meant to lie on his side next to her and continue his potent seduction. Tara grasped his arm and his waist, urging him to move between her upraised thighs. He resisted, appearing surprised by her eagerness.
“What’s this, my darlin’ lass?” His brogue was more pronounced when he was tired or agitated, adding another irresistible layer to this beguiling spell he’d cast over her soul. “We’re just getting started.”
“No, come to me, now.” The words were powerful on her lips, bringing an erotic rush of excitement born of need. Tara tugged at his shoulder and curled a leg about his hip to pull him down on to her. “Don’t dally, Lord Dillon, I need you inside me.”
Surprise registered as his eyes widened, and then that sexy, self-assured smile made Tara’s heart soar with delicious anticipation.
It had been far too long since they made love. At least a couple of months due to his injury after being shot. After his seductive undressing moments ago, Tara couldn’t wait to feel his flesh invade her with the promise of completion.
Adrian’s weight covered her. She welcomed the feeling of being pressed beneath him as his hard cock slid into her with one deep, penetrating thrust.
A gasp of pleasure escaped her lips as he slid home and sent her hurtling closer to the edge. Adrian’s answering moan as he buried himself inside her was the loveliest sound in the world. Her passage was tight, but it brought more intense pleasure, not pain. She clutched him and imprisoned his hips with her legs in a tight embrace.
In that instant, he was all that mattered in the world. Adrian, her lover, her fierce protector, her soul mate. His rapid breath told her he was close to coming too. His teeth nipped a her ear, pushing her over the cliff with him as they came in unison. Tara gasped aloud. He shoved his granite cock into her in one last primitive thrust as waves of shivering ecstasy brought a delightful feeling of soaring high above the earth clutched in this intimate embrace.
Chapter Twenty
Dan stumbled home from the dwarf’s lair. He’d joined the fellow in his lodgings on the better district just beyond Montmartre hill after the second dance ended. Henri invited two other men to his home. The three of them watched with fascination as the little man created a new cocktail drink, something he called an earthquake. It was absinthe, mixed in a shaker in equal parts with cognac.
It was a weird mixture. Dan had sipped his drink to be polite, but didn’t care for the blending of two strong elixirs. He much preferred a clean, pure glass of whiskey or brandy. Absinthe was unique, as a drink went, but he wasn’t as in love with the stuff as many of his new companions seemed to be. So, he laughed with them, and at them when they made asses of themselves under the sway of Henri’s new drink. As he watched the others, Dan thought about returning home. After the two men began to crawl on all fours and allow Henri to ride on their backs as if they were horses, Dan decided it was time to wander home.
The fellows were fun, and yet he couldn’t help but long for the company of a pretty Frenchwoman with rich, dark brown curls and soft sapphire blue eyes.
Perhaps he was just feeling his age. And yet, the blokes he’d spent the night drinking with at Henri’s crib were of an equal age with himself and didn’t mind getting stupid faced drunk and stoned. Yeah, there was that, too. The old Haight-Ashbury district of San Francisco in the nineteen-sixties had nothing on this wild Bohemian settlement. Henri’s friends were not only mixing alcohol in their drinks, but they were eating strawberries soaked in ether, something Henri had called a ‘smart dessert’. Dan shuddered at the thought of those men come the morning, and their putrid retching after ingesting not one potent substance but a mixture of three. All they were missing was an opium pipe, and he didn’t doubt for a minute that the little Frenchman might just pull that out of his sleeve to round out the evening.
Absinthe was not fermented for a long period of time like whiskey or brandy. He learned from his new friends who were devoted to the green drink that the herbs giving it a distinct taste and the vibrant green color were merely steeped in alcohol for about twenty four hours. Nevertheless it was still made up of 60 percent alcohol, and was 120 proof.
Dan pitied the men who seemed to think it possessed some kind of magical quality that made them wittier or more enlightened under its sway. In his opinion, it didn’t lend creativity to people; they either had it initially or those who lacked it were just plain deluded into believing the drink could make them a better poet or artist.
As the smoky pink dawn crept over the narrow cobbled streets of Montmartre, Dan felt an uncomfortable presence in the alley. A white cat scurried down the street, away from
him as he walked due east in search of his lodgings.
A skittering of footsteps behind him warned him that he was not alone in the deserted street. There were two of them, he guessed, two street toughs hoping to make an easy mark of him as he stumbled home, more than a little drunk himself.
Before Dan could turn to confront them, a hard thwack echoed around him. He’d been struck in the back of the head. The cobbled stones rose up to meet his face. His cheek screamed as it slammed into the hard surface of the stones beneath his face. He called out, and tried to grab at the hands sliding over his jacket in search of his coin pouch. His hand caught a thin, near skeletal wrist, and he held on tight.
His assailants were barely more than adolescent boys. Pick pockets. They were kicking at him, and punching his head trying to get him to let go of his quarry as they cursed in French.
“Arretez!” A harsh voice stilled the street vermin.
Both looked up and behind Dan’s prostrate form. The one he didn’t have shackled at the wrist with his fist ran off. The one he’d caught struggled to be free as he kept looking at the phantom-like figure near Dan’s feet. The dark, inky cloak swirled about the tall figure. Pistols were leveled at the waist, and a red scarf concealed the toff’s face.
What was this, a hierarchy among thieves? Did the youths run off because a bigger, more threatening thug had arrived on the scene to claim Dan’s purse.
The cloaked, black figure spoke again. “Get off him, you pox-faced little snipe or I’ll blow your lack-wit brains out the back of your head.”
Damn it, he knew that voice. It was Lord Dillon, or rather, his alter ego, Captain Midnight. “Son-of-a-bitch,” Dan spat and let go of the scrawny little punk’s wrist. “What the hell are you doing lurking in the street at this wretched hour?”
