Kisses Like a Devil

by Diane Whiteside

  He reached for the packet of condoms he always placed in the nightstand drawer.

  Not tonight he wouldn’t. She crooned approval and leaned forward to kiss his gleaming, crimson cockhead.

  “Meredith!”

  She swirled her tongue over the tip, fascinated by the hot, salty taste.

  “By all the saints, Meredith, I’ll never fit a condom on if you do that.” He beat his fists against his thighs.

  She tilted her head back to look at him and cupped his balls very gently. His eyes crossed in sheer pleasure.

  “Or we can simply enjoy ourselves, if you’d prefer.” She shifted to finger herself but his hand caught her wrist.

  “Mrs. Donovan, you’re becoming greedy.”

  Why did that tone of voice make her core clench so fiercely? She moaned, her head tossing restlessly on the sheet. “Mr. Donovan, you’re driving your wife insane.”

  “You could drive a saint mad, Meredith!” He leaned over her, cupping her small breasts in his big hands. He brushed his cheeks over them, inciting her with the slight roughness of his beard stubble.

  She arched and pulled him closer. More, please, anything…

  He rolled onto her, running his hands down her sides, fondling her boldly between her legs. She opened herself willingly, drunk on the whirling delight of bare skin to bare skin, curve to curve, muscle to muscle. Her hot wet folds rippling over his cock’s fiery bar.

  Brian. Always Brian. No matter what else happened, she’d stay with Brian.

  He twisted again, his blue eyes brilliant above her, and brought her under him. She arched to meet him, wrapping her legs around him. He thrust and thrust again, driving himself home, until she was finally, gloriously, full of her husband.

  Yes, oh yes.

  He moved faster, harder, driving both of their bodies recklessly into exhilaration. His face locked into a rictus of pure joy, his hands clenched her like the key to all his tomorrows. Her blood pounded through her, burning down to her bones and rocketing between her breasts and her core. She fought to keep his cock within her, moaned her hunger, raked his back in blood lust.

  He shouted and arched, driving deep within her. His hands locked tighter around her. He tumbled into his climax, pumping her full of his seed.

  Hot, wet explosion…It was too much, too different, too perfect. Too Brian.

  Meredith spun into orgasm, howling her pleasure like a perfectly tuned she-wolf, a creature of instinct, not intellect. Her muscles locked around him, gulping every last drop of his essence. Fireworks raced up her spine and out through her head, shattering her mind and world.

  Something scratched on the door afterward.

  “What the devil?” Brian lifted his head.

  “Morro.” Meredith closed her eyes. “We should probably rejoice he waited this long to demand entry.”

  Grumbling all the way, her husband climbed out of bed, stalked across the room, and admitted the small, black rogue.

  Morro bounded over to a rectangular cushion under the table, scratched it once, turned around several times, and flopped down. He tilted his head at his humans and yawned.

  “We’ve just been told it’s time to go to sleep.” Meredith held the covers open for Brian. He said something very rude about who really ruled the roost and rejoined her. She snuggled against him.

  “Why did you stop me from wearing a condom?” Brian spoke very softly.

  She yawned. “Why would you want to? We’re married.”

  “Do you want children?”

  “A husband and wife can enjoy each other any way they want, without worrying about the consequence.”

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  His very tense voice brought her fully awake. She fumbled for words to explain something deadly serious to both of them.

  “Children have never been an ambition of mine, whether to adopt or bear some nameless man’s babe.”

  Brian flinched.

  “But I do want yours because you’re very special. You want to have children and I’d like to live in a household with your children.”

  “Only mine?”

  “Nobody else’s. Never anybody else’s.” She shook her head vehemently.

  “My darling, my life.” He showered kisses on her and she happily wrapped her arms around his neck.

  The White House, Washington, D.C., October 1901

  Meredith looked out of the carriage, considering the armed soldiers gathered under the great white portico. Ceremonial troops, no doubt, but undoubtedly dangerous since the last president had been violently killed only a few weeks before.

  She extended her hand to her husband and allowed him to assist her down, careful to keep her head high and her smile gracious. She wasn’t about to look anxious about being abruptly summoned to the White House so early in the new administration.

  She’d worn a new black, Parisian day dress for the occasion, since appointments like this called for all possible armor and ammunition. A Worth gown offered advantages few men knew how to counter, starting with the blatant reminder of wealth and privilege. She shook it out carefully, fluffing her soft skirts back into order.

  Brian was immaculate, of course, in his top hat and cutaway morning jacket, the very formal black attire required for any man calling on the president.

  Pounding hoofbeats and rattling wheels announced a cab suddenly pulling into the long, curving driveway. Immediately after it stopped just behind their carriage, the door flung open and William Donovan sprang down.

  Thank God. She closed her eyes briefly. How had they arrived so quickly from Seattle? Who cared about that now?

  She’d reached a state of armed truce with William, undoubtedly aided by her home near Stanford University which gave her a little breathing room from the family castle. What mattered now was that William would make sure his son was safe, no matter what happened to her.

  “Father, Mother, how good of you to make it in time.” Brian hastened forward to greet them with warm hugs. Viola gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, careful not to disturb their equally impressive gowns, while William shook hands with her in their usual greeting.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Donovan?” A black-clad bureaucrat approached.

  “I am William Donovan and this is my son, Brian. The ladies are our wives.”

  Meredith inclined her head, dozens of feathers whispering across her hat, and rested her hands on her parasol. Viola did the same beside her, each lady flanked by her husband.

  “Oh yes, of course, both pairs of Donovans. We weren’t expecting all of you.” He blinked, studying William Donovan as if he expected the man to suddenly sprout horns. “Please come this way. The President is expecting you.”

  Meredith accepted Brian’s arm and entered, following her in-laws. Surely her unsettled stomach was due to her increasing need for a new corset.

  The rooms were smaller than she’d have expected for a house of this importance, although the ceilings were very high. Each room was decorated in a single color, following the fashion of decades earlier, with worn furniture and immense chandeliers. Men brushed past them, following the tracks beaten into the carpets, their hard eyes assessing them quickly. This was a potentate’s workplace, far more so than Eisengau Citadel’s crystal and gold showroom.

  Their escort knocked politely on a door. “Mr. and Mrs. William Donovan, with Mr. and Mrs. Brian Donovan,” he announced, holding it open for them.

  “Donovan! How very good of you to come!” Teddy Roosevelt bounded up from behind a paper-strewn desk. “Mrs. Donovan!”

  He rushed at her in-laws, displaying all of his notorious exuberance, and clapped William on the back. “How many years has it been?”

  “Since you were riding alone and starving in Dakota?” William retorted dryly.

  “Wasn’t I the greenhorn! Bully for me, you happened along when you did.” Roosevelt laughed, in no way disconcerted. “Mrs. Donovan, you are a lucky woman to have men like yours, who treat even dudes honestly.”


  “You’d have done very well on your own, Roosevelt,” William demurred.

  “But you took the time to teach me about supplies and freighting. Not many teamsters would have done that.” He shook hands with Brian, pumping his arm as if priming a well. “Good to see you, too, young Donovan! Just two old campaigners, aren’t we?”

  His eyes weren’t quite as innocent behind his spectacles when they considered Brian.

  Whatever she chose, whatever she did, would reflect on her beloved. If they threatened him, she’d have to agree.

  “Yes, colonel,” Brian agreed. “May I introduce my wife, Meredith?”

  “Mr. President.” She curtsied, most properly of course.

  He shook hands with her, studying her like a scientific specimen. She looked straight back at him, wrapping herself in ladylike behavior. Survival in this room would probably not depend on socialist tactics.

  “My condolences, sir, on President McKinley’s untimely death.” As the senior member of the family, William offered the necessary platitude.

  Roosevelt’s expression turned cold, his mobile mouth freezing into a hard line. “It was a very grievous loss to the entire nation, something we must all work to overcome.”

  “Of course, sir,” Brian agreed.

  “So what did you do with the plans for the cannon?” Roosevelt shot back at him.

  Meredith turned very, very cold, far colder than the cramped room would account for.

  “Everything is in my report to the War Department,” Brian said steadily. “The four prototypes suffered a grievous accident and were demolished. The plans were destroyed during our departure from Eisengau, to keep them out of the Russians’ hands. Alaska remains safe.”

  “Secretary of State Hay reports our London ambassador and Whitehall believe Mrs. Donovan can recreate those plans.” Roosevelt leaned forward, his hand on a chair back, as belligerent as a battery of cannons.

  “No.”

  “Are you saying they’re wrong? That she can’t redraw them?” The words shot out of his mouth like bullets.

  Brian and Meredith looked at each other.

  Young Grand Duke Nicholas was doing very well in Eisengau. He’d even adapted quite smoothly to the last election when the workers’ party won a majority. But none of Zorndorf’s assistants could rebuild the Eisengau 155 from the remaining jumble of parts.

  San Francisco society already knew she could recreate any drawing she’d seen. Lying wouldn’t solve this.

  “No, I’m telling you…” Brian began.

  “I won’t do it.” Meredith slipped her hand into Brian’s and he squeezed her fingers. Her warrior was fighting for her this time, rather than blindly obeying his country. Warmth began to creep over her skin.

  “Mrs. Donovan!” Roosevelt stared at her, his high-pitched voice rising even farther in astonishment. “Don’t you understand how important those cannon are?”

  “I’ve seen them in action many times, unlike you, Mr. President. I am quite sure the world doesn’t need such firepower yet.” Would Russia try to steal them and seize Alaska? Or would a war break out somewhere else, fueled by feelings of invulnerability? She wouldn’t help that happen.

  Could a president throw her into prison for refusing? What nastiness could he hurl at her and Brian, or their family?

  “Donovan, will you talk some sense into them?” Roosevelt spun to face the patriarch. “You know how dangerous matters are growing overseas. We must, must have these guns.” He pounded his fist on the table.

  “Why? I understand the great advantage is their range.”

  What? She’d expected him to make the best possible deal with the War Department for her help. He could make a fortune from her knowledge.

  “What need do we have for that here in America, when we have the Atlantic and Pacific to protect us? Will Canada invade us or Mexico?” Traces of Ireland swirled through William’s melodious voice.

  Viola stood shoulder to shoulder beside him, ghostly generations of Southern aristocracy armed for battle against impetuous New York politicians arrayed at her back.

  Meredith’s jaw dropped open.

  “Matters could change in a moment.” The former Rough Riders’ colonel frowned and thrust out his jaw.

  “If they do, you know where to find us. Until then, my daughter-in-law will be very busy in San Francisco,” William said implacably.

  That wasn’t much of a bargain. Instead, he was claiming her as part of the family, drawing her into the dynasty.

  “If you have any further questions for her, I suggest you direct them to my attorneys.”

  No deal whatsoever. She was free to be Brian’s wife and her own woman, thanks to William Donovan. Meredith blinked rapidly, pushing back tears.

  “Donovan…” Roosevelt’s orator’s voice turned coaxing.

  William raised an eyebrow. “Would you let anyone turn your Alice’s life upside-down?” he asked softly.

  Roosevelt rubbed his chin but finally shook his head. “I’ll remind Whitehall that Mrs. Donovan is an American citizen now and, as such, not to be meddled with. By golly, if we can’t put those plans into immediate production, nobody else will.”

  “Thank you.” William inclined his head.

  Meredith rested her cheek against her husband’s arm, enchanted by her father-in-law. He would have gained far more politically and monetarily if he’d handed her over. Yet he’d kept her within the family.

  Now they could visit her brothers, while they were at school in Austria. Smuggled letters were all well and good but seeing them in person would be far more pleasant.

  She squeezed Brian’s hand and he grinned down at her, smug as a cat lapping milk. He’d promised her this would happen and she hadn’t dared believe him.

  After they returned to the hotel, she’d gift him with news of his child growing under her heart.

  Author’s Note

  Cannons have been called “King of Battle” for a very long time. Some of the cannons invented at the start of the twentieth century were so revolutionary, they became super-weapons, the equivalent of today’s intercontinental ballistic missiles.

  The Canon de 75 modéle 1897, or “French 75,” is one of the world’s legendary artillery pieces. Harry Truman commanded a battery of them during World War One and it remained the principal armament of the French, Polish, American, Estonian, Greek, Lithuanian, Portugese, and Romanian armies until the 1940s. Unlike almost any other weapon ever made, it was commemorated by a champagne cocktail, which was very popular during the 1920s and 1930s.

  The Eisengau 155 is based on Schneider & Company’s Canon de 155mm Longue Mle 1917 Grand Puissance, Filloux (GPF) (or “155mm cannon of great power, designed by Filloux”), which was a radical design. It served the French Army for a long time and was turned against the Allies as coastal fortifications during World War II. It’s also the direct ancestor of America’s beloved “Long Tom” cannon, which served throughout World War II and Korea. The Long Tom is fondly remembered for helping beat back the Nazis at the Battle of the Bulge on December 23, 1944 with a spectacular “time-on-target serenade.”

  Esquimalt Harbor in British Columbia was originally built as a Royal Navy outpost, to defend against attacks by Russia. Today it contains a spectacular naval dockyard.

  The Grand Duchy of Eisengau is a fictional creation, although based on several Germanic states existing in 1900.

  My deepest thanks go to JS, retired artillery instructor from U.S. Army Field Artillery School at Ft. Sill, and TS (U.S.M.C.-Ret.) for help in describing artillery. A big hug goes to Fred for explaining turn-of-the-century engineering drawings and master control systems.

  Further thanks go to the Stdschnauzer loop at Yahoo, who generously shared their infinite love, knowledge, and stories about the fabulous Standard Schnauzer breed. As ever, I owe a huge debt to Yahoo! Groups’ Weapons Loop and Willy, who proved a preacher’s son can answer the oddest questions. Any errors are entirely my own doing.

  I look forward to
hearing from my readers about this or any other subjects. Please visit my website at www.DianeWhiteside.com.

  If you liked this story, pick up

  INSTANT ATTRACTION

  by Jill Shalvis….

  “Why are you in my bed?” he asked warily, as if maybe he’d put her there but couldn’t quite remember.

  He had a black duffel bag slung over a shoulder. Light brown hair stuck out from the edges of his knit ski cap to curl around his neck. Sharp green eyes were leveled on hers, steady and calm but irritated as he opened his denim jacket.

  If he was an ax murderer, he was quite possibly the most attractive one she’d ever seen, which didn’t do a thing for her frustration level. She’d been finally sleeping.

  Sleeping!

  He could have no idea what a welcome miracle that had been, dammit.

  “Earth to Goldilocks.” He waved a gloved hand until she dragged her gaze back up to his face. “Yeah, hi. My bed. Want to tell me why you’re in it?”

  “But I’ve been sleeping here for a week.” Granted, she’d had a hard time of it lately, but she definitely would have noticed him in bed with her. Just thinking about it now had her glasses fogging up.

  “Who told you to sleep here?”

  “My boss, Stone Wilder. Well, technically, Annie. She’s the chef here and—” She broke off when he reached toward her, clutching the comforter to her chin as if the down feathers could protect her, really wishing for that handy-dandy bat.

  But instead of killing her, he hit the switch to the lamp on the nightstand and more fully illuminated the room as he dropped his duffel bag.

  While Katie tried to slow her heart rate, he pulled off his jacket and gloves, and tossed them territorially to the chest at the foot of the bed.

  His clothes seemed normal enough. Beneath the jacket he wore a fleece-lined sweater opened over a long-sleeved brown Henley, half untucked over faded Levi’s. The jeans were loose and low on his hips, baggy over unlaced Sorels, the entire ensemble revealing that he was in prime condition.

  “My name is Katie Kramer,” she told him, hoping he’d return the favor. “Wilder Adventures’s new office temp.” She paused, but he didn’t even attempt to fill the awkward silence. “So that leaves you…”