“No,” I rasped, tasting bile. “It is a haunting that never ends. A ghost without salvation. A penance that I have no way of paying.”
“Nonsense,” she said matter of factly, settling into the settee beside me.
Anna. I longed to reach for her. I desperately wanted her to run as fast as she could, and escape this dark land I was forced to tread so miserably.
“It is a woman,” she said startling me. “A mere woman. And I have never known you to back down from a woman before, Inspector. Don't break the habit now, I beg you.”
“Anna,” I started.
She met my gaze; her chin lifted, her face serene, her eyes willing me to accept what solace she offered.
“You don’t understand Eliza May,” I urged frantically.
She clasped her hands in her lap and looked down at them demurely. Then tilted her head as she gazed across the room and said, “Oh but, Inspector, I understand the human mind in all its frailties. I have studied it for decades, having seen the decline in my own dear Mama. I rather think your wife is not so different. Aside from the fact that she is your wife, of course.”
I stared at her.
She stared at the fire.
And then we moved as one and stared at each other.
Lost. I was lost. So help me, God, I was lost to this woman.
My hand was wrapped up in her hair in the next heartbeat. Her chest pressed against mine before the organ had managed another burst of life. And then my lips crushed to hers and her fingers dug into my shoulders, and her mewl of delight stole all thought.
I’d lost my soul that night in Lime Street. My heart so long ago battered. I was a fraction of the man I had once been.
But in Anna’s arms, under Anna’s touch, wrapped up in Anna’s embrace, I found something. Something I had no right at all to claim.
Hope. An insidious emotion. For hope could break a man, more so than a murderous wife ever could, it seemed.
Anna was far more dangerous than Eliza May had ever been.
And for the life of me, I couldn’t stop the train wreck from happening. I was breathless for more.
Breathless for Anna.
And destined to hell for my longing.
And Then The Beast Within Burst Out
Anna
My body came alive as though lit by fire. Miniature explosions coursed through me. Andrew’s lips melded to mine, his hands cradling my head, his frame wrapping around me as though it was made to do so for eternity. His tongue was an illicit invitation to tangle, twisting me up, setting me free even as I clung to him in desperation. His touch was a brand I gladly received.
He had kissed me before, of course. I prayed this would not be the last kiss I ever received. But I knew my inspector; I knew Andrew. He would eventually retreat. At that moment, however, he’d forgotten his propriety. Forgotten society’s rules. Forgotten his position of authority. Forgotten his estranged wife.
Forgotten himself.
Completely.
Andrew kissed me like a starving man. At that moment, he changed me.
For how could I go back to what we’d had when he’d opened up his darkest secrets and reached out a hand for me?
I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. If he asked it of me, I would surely crack.
Andrew Kelly had crossed a line today, and I was damned if I would let him retreat.
I kissed him back.
He made a sound. Dear God, how could a sound be felt? So intimately? How could noise make your body burn, your breaths hitch, your nerves unravel?
How could this man undo me?
He clung to me harder; just as desperately. My breasts grew heavy. My breaths laboured. My body shifting to accommodate him further. He immediately took advantage; lifting me up, placing me on his lap, devouring me. He pressed his torso against my chest; my hip moulded to his stomach; his thighs sat strong and unyielding beneath me.
“Anna,” he rumbled, his voice low and devilishly rough. His fingers combed my hair as his lips trailed a line of fire across my jaw, down my neck.
He breathed deeply. I had the sense he was trying to control himself. I willed him to failure, and then remembered myself.
This was Andrew Kelly.
“You’re going to stop, aren't you?” I said, sounding far too breathless.
“You make it inordinately difficult to do so,” he murmured in reply, laying a soft kiss on my bare shoulder.
“What a fine pair we make,” I said, suddenly feeling heartbroken.
“What a temptation you present, Anna Cassidy,” he whispered, pulling back to look me in the eyes.
I was grateful for that small mercy; the acknowledgement of what had transpired here. Andrew did not back away from much in life, but this forbidden desire we shared was his Achilles heel. The one thing that made him run, time and again.
He held my gaze, his lips softening; a calloused finger grazed my chin, swept over my jaw. Tingles flared out over my body, goose-flesh following wherever he touched.
“I am taking liberties,” he murmured.
“I give them freely.”
“They are not yours to give.”
“It is my body,” I argued. “My life.”
“Your father…” he started, and I let out a frustrated breath. “Anna.” This time curt, firm, a hint of the frustration he also felt clipping the end.
He pulled his face back, his expression determined.
“I am your guardian,” he said.
“Self-appointed,” I snapped. I wished to stand and pace, place distance between us. But Andrew held my shoulders firmly, kept my body in place. Refused to release me.
“You know damn well there is more to this than his dying wishes.”
Unfortunately, that part was true. Whether my father had asked Andrew to keep watch over me was up for debate; considering he’d died miles away from Auckland City. I didn't doubt his friendship with the young inspector had garnered many in-depth, late night conversations about his independent daughter. But Andrew often saw certain situations in an entirely different light than reality.
Especially if it involved protecting something he cared for. And I had no doubt that Andrew Kelly cared for me. The dichotomy of his desires lay, however, in more realistic pastures.
He was married.
“Your wife,” I said, tasting acid as it hit the back of my tongue.
“Ours is a complicated relationship, Anna,” he murmured. “Made more so by your father, my wife and society.”
“My father is dead, and I care not what society thinks of me.”
“You say that now, warm and safe, unobserved as we are, but think you not that society’s opinions would have a disastrous effect on your career? On the path you have chosen? You wish to return to Auckland, do you not?”
I nodded my head and bit my lower lip. Andrew’s eyes darted down, but he lifted them again and snared me.
“To take up position with the Police Force as surgeon?” he pressed, and my heart plummeted. “I would back you,” he said softly. “I would do everything in my power to make that a reality.” I looked into the depths of his dark gaze and saw the truth there. Andrew believed in me. “You know how Chalmers is, however,” he added soberly. “You know his prejudices are vast and ill received. If he caught wind of this…of us…he’d ruin you.”
“I’d take that chance.”
“I won’t.” Of course, he wouldn’t. “Anna,” he said, cupping my face. “Darling. I could not bear to see you hurt. Ostracised. Following in your father's footsteps has been your sole focus in life. I would not have that torn asunder by a bitter, misogynistic man.”
“Yet by living my life as he and others would see fit is giving in to his false opinions.”
Andrew smiled. I was momentarily caught in the trap that was this man’s magnetism when lit by a simple smile.
“Oh, Anna,” he murmured, “how wretched you make my life.”
I blinked. His smile widened. My gaze was drawn inexorably to thos
e lips. I’d tasted them. I knew how they felt pressed against my bare skin. I longed for more; I would never stop longing for his kiss.
“So fearless,” he whispered, running a hand through my hair and tucking a strand behind my ear with such focus, such care, causing such a wealth of delight. “My scarlet suffragette.” He sighed. His hand stilling. Falling away.
I knew instantly he would return us to our former selves; respectable, professional, with the occasional burst of aggravated interaction. But not allowing the type of interaction I craved.
“One more,” I said urgently; anything to make this moment last. “One last kiss.”
“For what purpose? Torture? Torment? Oh, how you love to wound me.”
“To know this is not a dream, but a moment in time,” I whispered, reaching up and running my fingers over his whiskered jaw. “A moment I shall treasure forever. And then I promise, I will do as you wish. Behave in the manner you so desire. Return to how things were.”
Things could never return to how they were now.
He stared at me, his nostrils flaring, his eyes deep swirls of hunger and forbidden desire.
“One kiss,” he said as if testing the words aloud.
“Just one. A memory to sustain us. A parting gift.”
“You are temptation personified.”
“And I am desperate for that one last kiss.”
He made a sound; so deep and wretched. I understood then what he had meant. How I tortured him; tempted him; cut through his resolve and undid him. Made his life wretched.
It was heady, this power. My heart set up a dramatic pace, my breaths rushing out in quick succession. I licked my lips, my eyes darting down to his lips. His fingers clenched on my waist then inched me closer. I was certain he wasn't aware of what he was doing.
“One kiss,” I whispered, leaning in, my breath washing over his lips. “And then we are done.”
“Done,” he repeated.
I pressed my lips to his; he remained motionless for all of a second.
And then the beast within burst out.
My World Shattered Once Again
Inspector Kelly
I was going straight to hell. But I was going there with fire coursing through my body, melting my convictions, fuelling my desires. I was going there willingly for one last taste of Anna.
Oh, the siren had sung her song well.
She tasted of honey and Anna. She filled my senses with silk and chamomile. She matched me, tongue stroke to tongue stroke, eager fingers, desperate sounds. If this were indeed the road to hell, I would gladly live here. Forsake all else.
If it were a dream, I would kill any who should wake me.
To know this is not a dream, but a moment in time.
How I loved her. Craved her. Longed for her to be mine.
Bitterness edged its way into what should have been pure and light. This moment, this last moment tasting Anna, invaded with thoughts of my murderous wife.
I pushed Eliza May away, clung desperately to Anna, thrust my tongue between her lips even as I fantasised thrusting between her thighs. How this woman could make me wish to better myself; to live up to the man she deserved; to endeavour to provide the relationship she required. And yet fill my mind with such deliciously inappropriate thoughts.
I fantasised about bedding Anna. Taking what was not mine. Stripping her of these bothersome garments. Running my fingers over her naked flesh, watching that tempting shade of pink she so often wore infuse her cheeks, noting the storm brew in her expressive eyes. I longed to make her sigh, moan, beg. Call out my name. Become the woman I knew she was deep inside.
Fierce. Demanding. Fearless.
My hand cupped her breast through her corset. Damn the distance between us. She groaned, ground her hip against my achingly hard shaft, arched her neck, closed her eyes, parted her lips for my plundering.
I imagined plundering her elsewhere. Licking and nibbling on a taut nipple. I pinched one now between my thumb and forefinger, made her eyelids flick open, her mouth round in a surprised ‘O’. Her breath come out in a sigh.
My hand swept lower. My mind already there. Kissing across a decidedly feminine rounded belly. Biting the curve of a hip. Nuzzling between creamy thighs.
Good God, I was close to spilling. My hands shook. My breaths laboured. Sweat coated my spine.
“Andrew,” she rasped against my lips; such sweet sounds, such a delectable taste. Such temptation.
I kissed her silent, then pulled back to watch her reaction as my hand slipped under the copious layers of her skirts, trembling fingers dragging up silk stockings, desperate digits sweeping over unwanted hindrances. Finding that one place, I should never desire.
But I knew with a certainty I would die craving, I would gasp my last breath longing, I would never stop desiring Anna.
The parting in her drawers lured me into heaven and conversely condemned me to hell. My fingers moved of their own volition, seeking refuge, searching for salvation. Chaining my desires.
I watched her eyelids flutter as heat washed up her smooth cheeks and her mouth parted; hot breath panting. My finger stroked through her lush folds, dipping ever so slightly inside, and then returning, coated in her moisture, and circling the small hooded nub at the top.
God in heaven, she looked divine. Her hips rocked up to meet me, her back arched across my arm, her throat, her neck, her breasts begging for my lips, teeth, tongue.
And then she opened her eyes and looked right at me, and stole my heart and soul as she fell apart under my touch, in my arms.
I couldn't breathe. I couldn't move. I couldn’t think.
I wanted more.
A small smile spread her delectable lips, the high colour of her cheeks only making her more delightful to look upon. Anna was indeed fire and light and sin and fearless wonder.
She was my temptress.
She’d be my downfall.
I could ruin her.
I had just ruined her.
I regretted nothing. But my eyes did dart to the still closed door.
Relief rushed through me. I looked down at the woman in my arms, stroking a hand over her thigh, down her legs, straightening her skirts.
“Well,” she said, all mischief and sinful smiles.
Bloody hell, what was I to do with that? I begged her silently not to continue the thought.
“That was fun,” she said, shattering my world and then swiftly rebuilding it.
I let out an amused huff, opened my mouth to reprimand her - this was our last kiss, last touch, last moment - when a loud clatter sounded out against the window at my back, pulling us both out of the bubble we’d created.
I sprang back, placing Miss Cassidy on the settee, far away from me, and turned to face the interruption.
A spiderweb of cracks appeared on the glass, and on the ground outside, head cocked at an odd angle, blood stark against ruffled feathers, lay a bird.
A nightingale.
My world shattered once again. This time, I feared, irreparably.
The Faint Hint Of Jasmine Met The Still Air
Anna
“It’s a bird,” Sergeant Blackmore stated.
We stood in a semi-circle around the deceased bird staring down at the poor creature in stunned silence.
“Birds hit windows all the time,” the sergeant added. “Must ‘ave got itself lost or somethin’.”
Mrs Pugh wrung her hands in front of her apron. “What would cause such a beautiful animal to fly at a window?”
“Perhaps it saw somethin’ it liked,” Blackmore muttered, reaching down to pick the bird up by the cloth he’d produced from out of nowhere.
“What type of bird is that, Sergeant?” I asked.
“I’m sure I don’t know, Doctor. Never been a birdwatcher, myself.”
“Mrs Pugh?” I enquired of the landlady.
“I’ve seen enough of ‘em around, but I’m afraid I’m not aware of its name, miss.”
“Inspector?” I p
ressed, turning to face him. He’d not uttered a word since the household had come running to see what the noise was about.
“Does it matter?” he replied, coolly.
I thought, rather, that it did.
“I think Wilhelmina has a book upstairs on birds,” I announced. “I shall fetch it.”
“Oh, Dr Cassidy,” Mrs Pugh cried, “knowin’ its breed will only upset you.” Or going through Mina’s things would, I thought.
“I must discover its name,” I advised.
“Nightingale,” Inspector Kelly said abruptly.
I paused, my back to him, and then turned and lifted my eyes to his face.
Thunderous was his expression. Inordinately angered at having to reveal his pain.
“Thank you, Inspector,” I said. “The mystery is solved.”
He and I both knew that was a falsity.
Nightingale. Nightshade. I sensed a theme, and the inspector damn well knew it.
“Well,” Sergeant Blackmore exclaimed, the bird somehow disappearing from view as if never there, “I’m famished. Fancy a bit of grub, then?”
“Oh, Mr Blackmore,” Mrs Pugh said, “you are a man after me own ‘eart.”
“Lead on, dear lady,” the sergeant said with an overly theatrical wave of his hand toward the house’s front door. “And I shall follow ye.”
Mrs Pugh giggled as she sashayed up the front steps, behaving more like a woman half her age than a widow of two-and-forty.
“He does seem to have developed a rather fascinating talent for mischief, does he not?” I enquired of the inspector.
“Incorrigible, I believe you would call it,” Andrew said, grasping the lifeline I threw him.
He walked beside me toward the door, but his eyes kept sweeping the street for any threats. He wouldn't see them. The shadowed form I’d witnessed last night had shown her hand already. If she wanted us to find her, she’d lay breadcrumbs.
The bird was an invitation to play.
“Do you know the scientific name for a bird-lover?” I said mildly.
Breathless (Scarlet Suffragette, Book 2): A Victorian Historical Romantic Suspense Series Page 10
