Passionate Kisses

by Various

My dressing room is as big as a small living room with alternating open wardrobes, and beveled glass-fronted drawers, all made from cedar and full-length mirrors built into the walls. In the center of it all, a chandelier presides over a small round table and matching chairs. My great-grandmother designed the space, and I’ve never seen reason to change it.

  She walks up to a glass front and opens the door. Inside this particular one, Parker keeps my ties, cufflinks, tie clips. She chooses one of my favorite tie clips and holds it up to the light. It winks blue fire. “I love this.”

  She loves clothes, that much is evident. And it’s probably a pleasure she doesn’t get to indulge, not with her limited salary and her school debt. If she were mine, she’d wear the finest clothing in the world, everything tailor made, and she’d have a dressing room bigger than mine where I could strip her and make hot, delicious love on the rug.

  “Ooh, this is so pretty.” Having moved to an armoire that holds pajamas and such, she’s holding a shimmering blue dressing gown. No idea why Parker buys sleepwear since I sleep in the nude. “Did you buy this?”

  “No. That’s a birthday gift from Brianna. Don’t know why she chose that color.” I slide it off the hanger and hold it out for her. “Here, put it on.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes, you.”

  The damn thing’s too big for her but she makes it work by looping the belt twice and tightening it around her waist. When her bright gaze turns to me, her happiness shatters me. I rub my chest to still the pain lodged in my chest. What is it about her that affects me so? I’ve dated women more beautiful, more glamorous, and, yes, even more intelligent. Yet, none captivated me the way Elizabeth does. I want to spend all my nights loving her, all my days watching over her. I want to make her mine. A dangerous thing, that, for I’m not free to make such a commitment.

  She brushes the sleeve against her cheek. “It’s beautiful. So soft. What is it made of?”

  “Silk probably.”

  She holds the cloth up to my face. “The color matches your eyes. That’s why she chose this shade.”

  When she starts to take it off, I stop her. “Wear it to breakfast.” After we eat, I’ll bring her back to the bedroom, slip her out of the robe, and make love to her. For as long as possible. In as many ways as possible. Until she tells me to stop.

  A door slams somewhere, and she streaks out of the dressing room into the bedroom where she trembles so badly, the silk fabric rustles around her, shimmering in the light.

  Baby steps, I tell myself. At least I managed to get her into the dressing room. If only for a little while.

  We arrive in the kitchen to discover Brianna nursing a cup of coffee.

  When I greet her with a cheery, “Good morning,” I get a grumble in return.

  Ignoring her, I pull out a kitchen stool for Elizabeth. “You took care of me last night. Let me fix breakfast for you.”

  She avails herself of the seat and rewards me with a smile.

  “How are you feeling?” she asks Brianna.

  “Brilliant, thanks for asking.” Good lord, Bri looks like something the cat’s dragged in. Her hair’s flattened at the top, sticking out at the sides, and she’s sporting a pair of raggedy jeans and a torn top she must have dredged up from the rubbish bin.

  When I snag a frying pan from the overhead rack and drop it on the stove, she flinches. “Dog’s bollocks, Gabe. Must you make such a racket?”

  Elizabeth’s lips twitch, but she doesn’t say anything. Smart girl.

  “My apologies.” As quietly as possible, I grab eggs and butter from the fridge, scramble the yolks, tuck bread in the toaster.

  Leaning into the counter, Elizabeth rests her chin on her palms. “I’m impressed.”

  “I may not cook much but I can do the basics. Bacon?”

  “All right.” She doesn’t sound too enthused.

  “Would you prefer sausage? Plenty in the fridge.”

  She makes a face. “Bacon’s fine.”

  After I put some strips in the grooved plastic tray and stick it in the microwave, I grab a jug of orange juice and pour some into three glasses. “Want bacon and eggs, Bri?”

  She gulps, her complexion turns greener than before. “Please. Don’t mention food.”

  That’s what she says now, but knowing my sister, I prepare extra. Once her belly cooperates, she’ll sneak a bit off my plate.

  Finished cooking the food, I pull up a seat next to Elizabeth and dig in.

  True to form, Bri pillages eggs off my dish.

  To my surprise, Elizabeth slides her plate to her.

  “Not hungry?” I ask.

  “Stomach’s off.” Eschewing the butter and orange marmalade, she bites into a slice of dry toast.

  Is she sick? I wrap an arm around her shoulder. “Anything wrong?”

  “No. Plane travel always does this to me. I’ll be okay in a couple of days.”

  How very odd. She had no problem eating yesterday afternoon. I return to my meal, but keep a careful eye on her.

  After we finish eating, Elizabeth insists on cleaning up. We’re chatting over inconsequential things—the infamous London weather, sights to see—when the elevator dings. Only a handful of people have the code to the lift—my siblings, Jake and Samuel. If I don’t desire any visitors, I lock the elevator, but with everything that happened last night, I forgot to secure it.

  Seconds later, Jake walks into the kitchen, and Bri groans. “It would be him.”

  “Good morning, Lady Brianna, Storm, and ... I’m sorry we haven’t met.” He sticks out his hand. “Jake Cooper.”

  Elizabeth freezes before she reluctantly shakes without giving her name. Makes sense. She wouldn’t want a stranger to know she’s been in my kitchen.

  I curl my arm around her shoulders. “This lovely lady is Elizabeth Watson. Darling, this great big lummox is my head of security.”

  Bri snorts.

  “Ms. Watson.” Jake nods while he studies Elizabeth. His close scrutiny doesn’t surprise me. He’s bound to be curious about the woman I asked him to investigate.

  But Elizabeth is not as accepting of his silent inquisition. Her chin comes up, and she glares at him.

  Hoping to reassure her, I squeeze her arm before turning the conversation in another direction. “Anton?”

  “He returned this morning for something he ‘forgot’.”

  “Such as?” Bri asks, her hackles up.

  “A sculpture of a naked man.”

  “The Donatello!” She screeches. “That’s mine. I inherited it from my great grandmother.”

  Jake levels a glance at her. “I didn’t allow him to take it, Lady Brianna.”

  She hates to be called that as much as I hate my lord. Which is why Jake does it.

  In typical Jake fashion, he ignores the dagger in her eyes while stealing the last of her bacon. He wipes his hands on a paper towel before sliding her a small manila envelope. “I changed the lock on your door. Here’s your new key and two copies. Put the duplicates somewhere safe, in case you lose the original, like you did twice last year.”

  Her eyes narrow at him.

  Wish these two would just jump into bed and get it over and done with. Maybe now that Anton’s out of the picture, they finally will.

  She grits her teeth, but uncharacteristically says, “Thank you.”

  He arches a brow as he scrutinizes her. Probably wondering who’s taken over Brianna’s body.

  “When you’re ready, I’ll escort you down to your place, and make sure Anton hasn’t returned.” Jake’s tone softens. Maybe out of pity, maybe out of something else entirely. “But”—his gaze pinballs back to me—“we need to talk.”

  Elizabeth slides from her seat. “I better go then.”

  What? Hell, no. That’s not happening. “Excuse us.” Putting my palm on the small of her back, I lead her into the bedroom and close the door behind us.

  I allow her to gather her dress and her purse, but when she walks toward the bathroom,
I block her path. “I want you to stay.”

  She stubbornly refuses to look at me, but keeps her gaze pinned to the floor. “I can’t. I have things to do to get ready for tomorrow. Plus I need to check into my own room.”

  When she left the bedroom, she was gay, full of joy, reveling in the clothes and the silk robe. But between then and now, her mood’s changed. And I’ll be damned if I can figure out why. I want to argue, but I see it would be futile. Maybe she needs time to herself. Fine. I’ll give her until tonight. “I know how much you hate the lift. I’ll ride down with you.”

  After she dresses, I escort her back to the kitchen where she says goodbye to my sister and Jake.

  Bri hugs her. “Thanks for last night. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

  “You’re welcome.” The melancholy smile she gives Bri confuses me. Why is she so sad?

  “Give me your mobile.”

  “Why?” Elizabeth asks while handing her phone to Bri.

  “I’m giving you my number. Call me. Anytime. I mean it. You know in case you have any questions about ... anything.” Her head tilts in my direction. Bri’s as subtle as a wrecking ball. While giving Elizabeth another hug, she whispers something to her, something I can’t hear.

  Whatever it is, it puts tears in Elizabeth’s eyes.

  Curling my hand around her, I lead her toward the lift.

  She takes a deep breath and steps in. I push the “G” button.

  While the lift rattles its way to the ground floor, her gaze darts up, down. Her breathing hitches.

  I rub my hands up and down her arms hoping to keep her from coming apart at the seams. “Look, whatever Jake’s got to say won’t take long. So I’ll call you when I get back to the hotel. I can go to your room, or you can come up to the suite.” And we can pick up where we left off.

  Her gaze stops bouncing about and zeroes in on me. “I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

  What the hell? I push the red button on the elevator and the lift lurches to a stop.

  She gasps. “What are you doing?”

  “I stopped the elevator.”

  “W-why?” She’s trembling.

  It kills me to see her this way, but I need to know what’s going on in her head, and this is the fastest way to do it. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

  “N-nothing’s wrong.” Her breaths pick up speed. I need to get her to open up. Fast. Before she passes out.

  “Bullshit. Now, tell me.”

  “Start the elevator. Please, Storm.” Her gaze pleads with mine. But I’m not giving in.

  “Gabriel. Not until you explain.”

  She wheezes out a deep breath; her shoulders droop. “I don’t belong in your world.”

  “My world?”

  “Your sister’s a Lady; you’re a Lord. You have clothes custom-made to your measurements. I buy dresses off the rack. On sale. With a coupon. You can trace your lineage back to William the Conqueror. I don’t know who my father is.” The glance she sends me is filled with tears. “We don’t fit.”

  What nonsense. “Oh, I don’t know. I thought we fit pretty well last night.”

  She scowls. “It’s not funny. This thing between us. Whatever it is? Nothing can come of it.”

  Something’s going to come of it, or I’ll die trying. I tweak her chin. “I’m not so sure of that.”

  She clamps her hands together. To still their trembling? Or to beg me? “Let me go. Please let me go.”

  I don’t know if she’s talking about the lift, or something I don’t dare think about. Either way, it’s not happening. “I can’t, sweet girl. I need you.”

  The hopeless glance she casts at me breaks my heart. “You can have any woman you want, Storm.”

  In the last three weeks, I’ve had plenty of chances to shag other women, but I haven’t. Because not one of them can give me what Elizabeth can. “I don’t want anyone else. I want you.”

  Confusion reigns in her eyes. “Why?”

  I brush the hair from her face, tuck a loose strand behind her ear. “When I’m with you, the world fades away. I forget my troubles, if only for a little while. You make my days sweeter, my nights hotter.” I thread my hand through hers. “I want you in my life.”

  While I speak, her eyes grow wider and wider. “Wait. Are you saying you want a relationship? With me?”

  I haven’t thought about it until now, but isn’t that what I’d like? To hold her hand in public, take her out to dinner, show the world she’s mine. And then come home, wherever home was. Maybe The Brighton, maybe that cottage I bought a year ago, the one with the cherry orchard where we could make love in front of the fireplace on cold nights. “Yes.”

  She freezes. “I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “I can’t be in a relationship, not with a full time job and three years of law school to get through. Not to mention, how could we even do such a thing? We can’t date. Not while we’re in the middle of negotiations. And they won’t conclude for several months. Plus we live in separate continents. It won’t work.”

  I tighten my hand around hers. “I’ll make it work.”

  She huffs. “How?”

  “Weekend trips, to the Caribbean or anywhere else you’d like to go. We can do it, Elizabeth. It’s only three months until the closing.”

  “You’d do that? Fly across the Atlantic to spend a weekend with me?” A wild pulse beats in her throat and she licks her lips. She’s considering the idea.

  “I’d fly to the moon to be with you. You’re worth it.”

  She breathes hard for a couple of seconds and the atmosphere charges with thick sexual tension. I push her against the elevator wall, lift her and wrap her legs around me. “We can do it, Elizabeth.”

  Rasping harsh gulps of air, she rocks into me. “I can’t. It won’t work.”

  I trap her hands with mine, raise hers above her head. “I’ll fucking make it work.” She’s bare from the waist down, and by now I know what she likes. I rock my hips against her so my erection rubs her sweet spot. She throws her head back and moans while I double, triple my pace. Nobody ever said I play fair.

  Another big gulp of air. “Damn you, Storm, I’m coming.”

  “So come, darling.”

  As her body shatters, she clutches me and screams. Once the crisis passes, she drops her head on my shoulder. “I don’t think I’ve ever climaxed so fast in my life.”

  My balls may be bluer than blue at the moment, but I grin down at her.

  “Oh, stop it with the cocky smile.” Still breathing hard she threads a hand through my hair and suckles my lower lip. “Why can’t I say no to you?”

  Because you need me too, sweet girl. You just don’t know it yet.

  When my mobile interrupts us, I duck my head against her shoulder and groan.

  “You have to answer it,” she says. “Could be about your father.”

  I retrieve my phone from my jeans and click it on. It’s Jake.

  “Anything wrong?” he asks. “The elevator stopped, and I thought I heard a scream.”

  “No, nothing’s wrong.” With my cell to my ear, I suckle Elizabeth’s bottom lip into my mouth. Her tongue dips out to play.

  He laughs. “Playing your games, I see.”

  Elizabeth stiffens.

  Fuck. She heard that. I end the conversation.

  She drops back to her feet. “Start the elevator, Storm.” Her glance could freeze a man’s bollocks at twenty paces.

  “It’s not like—”

  She holds up a trembling hand. “Please, don’t.”

  I heave out a sigh and pull the ‘Stop’ button. The lift jerks into motion and resumes its rattle and roll. When we arrive at the ground floor, I escort her through the gate into the lobby. “I’ll walk you out.”

  She turns and pushes a hand into my chest. “No. Thanks for everything, St-Gabriel. Bye.” Her voice’s gone hard and cold. She walks away without once looking back.

  My gaze follows h
er out the glass exit to the sidewalk where she sticks out her hand in the universal hail sign. Even though she’s facing the wrong way, a cab pulls up behind her. Of course it does. Who wouldn’t stop for a beautiful woman outside The Brighton? Seconds later, the taxi pulls out and just like that, she’s gone. The hotel is only a few blocks away, but she might as well be on the far side of the moon. Unreachable. That much I understood from her goodbye.

  Chapter 22

  WHEN I RETURN TO THE PENTHOUSE, Brianna’s nowhere to be seen and Jake’s plunked on one of the stools sipping a cup of something. Coffee, by the smell of it.

  “Where’s Bri?” I ask.

  “Shower.” He gestures toward the back of the penthouse.

  “What did you need to discuss?” I try to keep my tone civil. Jake did nothing wrong when he called. He was only doing his job, after all.

  “The report you asked me to compile on the Duke of Marchstone and his family.”

  “Couldn’t it have waited?” I snap. So much for trying to control my temper.

  He levels a questioning gaze at me. “You told me you needed the information as soon as possible.”

  I punch both hands into my pockets. He’s right. I did. “Sorry. Not in the best of moods at the moment.” My migraines tend to strike harder and faster if I don’t hydrate, so I grab a water bottle from the fridge and guzzle it down. “So what did you find out?”

  “The duchess is quite ill. Cancer. The doctors give her only a few months to live.”

  Imminent death would prompt a caring mother to ensure the wellbeing of her children. And marriage to an earl’s heir would assure a daughter’s future, wouldn’t it? “Is Lady Melissande their only daughter?”

  “No. They have three others, all married.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Look, I don’t mean to pry, but given the circumstances, I feel I have a right to know. In the last month, you’ve asked me to look into the lives of two women—Elizabeth Watson and now Lady Melissande. What’s this about?”

  “I’m not at liberty to disclose my plans at the moment.”

  A muscle ticks in his cheek. “For eight years, I’ve obeyed your orders. Never questioning them even when they skirted the line, because I trusted you were doing things for the greater good. But in this instance, innocent women are involved. I would not like either to get hurt.”