by Robyn DeHart
It was enough reassurance for him. He pulled her to him again and kissed her fiercely. She unbuttoned his shirt the rest of the way, then ran her hands across the warm hardness of his chest.
“You’re so beautiful,” she said absently.
“Beautiful?”
“Quite.”
“Men are not beautiful,” he argued, all the while tracing kisses down her throat.
“You are.”
She continued running her hands across his chest.
“Your hands are so soft,” he said. “Where are your gloves?”
“In my room. I took them off earlier. Why?”
His eyes trailed down her arm to her fingers. “Curiosity. Nothing more,” he said with a shrug.
She gave him a smile.
He lifted her hand to his mouth and placed a warm kiss to the inside of her wrist. His mouth created delicious sensations on her arm. She had not been completely honest with him: Her heart was at risk. But it was a battle she’d already lost, so she might as well enjoy this one evening. He led her to the bed and sat her down.
“I’ve never done this before,” she blurted out.
“Done what?”
“This.” She spread out her arms. “Tonight, with you.” She shook her head. “There has never been anyone else.”
“I suspected as much.” He tilted her chin to look into her eyes. “I will not take your gift for granted. Are you absolutely certain you want to do this?”
Something warm bloomed in her chest, and she cupped his cheek. “Absolutely.” She chewed her lip for a moment before putting words to her fear. “What if I do something wrong?”
“Impossible. You seem to know precisely what you’re doing. When you kiss me.” He groaned.
“Yet I have never kissed anyone before. Not as I’ve kissed you,” she said brightly. That was reassuring.
“Simply do what feels right.”
She played with the hair at the back of his neck.
“I should have brought my book,” he said quietly.
“A book? What sort of book?”
“A book on the techniques of lovemaking.”
“I suspected there might be such a book.”
“Indeed. It is quite ancient.”
“And you’ve read this book?” she asked.
“Some of it.”
“And?”
“There are illustrations,” he said with a rather naughty grin.
“Illustrations? Of ...”
“Yes.”
“Oh, my.” She released a giggle. “I suppose it’s too bad you didn’t bring it along. I would have liked to have taken a peek.”
“Would you indeed?”
“Oh, yes. I find that most curious.”
“You are a fascinating woman, Amelia.”
She felt bold and brazen and wonderful. He made her feel that way. So she tossed propriety and caution aside for the night and did exactly what she wanted. She pushed against his chest until he fell back on the bed. Leaning over him, she ran her hand down his chest and traced her fingers through the hair on his belly.
“Men are so very different from women,” she said.
“Yes, they are.” His words were choppy, as if he had a difficult time breathing.
“You’re so much harder than I am. Darker. And there’s the obvious hair difference.”
She tentatively leaned down and pressed her lips to the warmth of his chest. His breathing stopped. She moved slightly, kissing her way across his torso. She felt invigorated, alive, and surprisingly powerful. He closed his eyes, and his jaw clenched in a rhythmic cadence.
She ran her hand down his chest to the thin line of hair that disappeared into his trousers. She did not, however, get the opportunity to explore that curious line of hair. She’d barely touched it when Colin grabbed her arms and flopped her down onto the bed—clearly shifting the positions of power.
Desire surged through her. This would be a night she’d never forget. He leaned down and trailed kisses across her neck down to her collarbone. She felt tingly all over and cold and hot all at the same time. Sensations fired all over her body, fighting for dominance. She didn’t know what to focus on, so she merely closed her eyes and ceased thinking.
Feeling was what she should do. Only feel.
Amelia closed her eyes and languished under the feel of Colin’s hands and mouth. Gracious, she didn’t know her body could experience such things. So many sensations.
“Stand up,” he said, his voice rich and deep.
She obliged, not sure what he’d have her do next. But she trusted him. Implicitly.
He peeled off her clothes, layer by layer, until she stood before him completely nude. She’d never before been nude in front of anyone save her nurse and maid. Part of her wanted to cover herself from him. Hide her generous hips and curved bottom.
But he sucked in his breath as he removed the last piece of clothing.
“You’re exquisite,” he said. And her shame melted away. Instead of hiding, she wanted to spread her arms out and reveal herself fully to him.
Exquisite. She was exquisite. And she felt that way too, regardless of her less-than-perfect areas, because he thought her exquisite.
That was all the invitation she needed to rid him completely of his shirt. She moved next to his trousers, but before she could unfasten them, he stilled her hands. “Not yet. There is much I want to do to you first.”
“But I want to see you,” she said.
“And you will. But first this.” He pushed her gently back onto the bed. Slowly he ran a hand from her ankle, up the side of her leg, over her hip, across her abdomen, until it rested on her right breast.
It was the first time she’d ever really taken much notice of her breasts, and she realized they were rather small for a woman with hips her size, out of proportion. But his hand cupped her perfectly and she arched her back.
He leaned down and took her nipple into his mouth and she nearly levitated off the bed. The warm sensation shot pleasure down her chest, pooling between her thighs. She felt the moisture gather there. The same had happened when he’d kissed her those few times. She was aroused, she knew enough to know that. And her body was preparing itself for him.
His hand rubbed against her left breast while he licked and nibbled her right. She squirmed about the bed, never knowing exactly what position was perfect or where to put her hands. She felt out of control and disordered, as if only he had the power to make her body obey, as if she’d lost that privilege.
His hands and his mouth on her breasts felt so good, she would have allowed him to do that for the rest of her life. But his hand moved away. Trailing down her torso, he moved it slowly to her belly. Then down, farther, farther, until it rested on her hip. He left it there a moment and she nearly forgot about it until she felt his hand creep across her hip to her most private part.
He passed his fingers softly through her hair and she cried out. Heaven’s Gate, but he created heavenly sensations. Something was building inside her, and it was becoming increasingly more difficult for her to lie still. Her body bucked and squirmed and rocked against him, trying to find the right spot.
His hand slid down to the juncture of her thighs, and she parted her legs for him. Slowly, he ran his fingers against her inner thigh, closer and closer until he touched her core.
“Oh, Colin, that feels so good. I never knew. Oh, my.” She wanted to say more, but words were becoming increasingly difficult to string together into coherent sentences. Her thoughts weren’t even coherent.
His fingers continued to move in her nether regions, until she felt one slip inside. She moaned loudly.
In and out. In and out, he moved it. That spiraling feeling built to an even greater point and she lost her rhythm in an attempt to capture whatever might be around the comer. “Oh, my goodness,” she managed to say.
He brought his mouth back down on her breast while his hand continued its magic down below. Stronger and stronger the feeling beca
me, until she thought she couldn’t take it anymore. Something was coming, she could feel it. What, she wasn’t certain, but she knew it would be intensely pleasurable.
She rocked her body against him as he sucked hard on her nipple. It felt as if cool water shot through her veins and then a tight explosion pulsed through her. She tossed her head back and cried out as the pleasure overtook her. He stopped moving his hand, and pressed sweet kisses against her breast, then her cheek.
“That was beautiful,” he said.
She managed to open her eyes and meet his dark brown gaze. “Amazing. I didn’t know my body could do that.” She knew she had a silly grin on her face, but she couldn’t help it. “Thank you.”
“That’s not all there is,” he said.
“It’s not?”
“Oh, no. There is a lot more.” He stood and removed the remainder of his clothes.
Chapter Seventeen
“Detection is, or ought to be, an exact science and should be treated in the same cold and unemotional manner.” ~The Sign of Four
She sat up and stared blatantly at his body. At the middle of his body, in particular.
“I have never seen a nude man before,” she said. “We are odd-looking,” he said.
“Not in the least. I’d say you were rather fine- looking. Like an ancient warrior. Achilles.”
“Achilles?”
“Yes.”
“Then don’t touch my heel.”
“At this moment, I’m not so interested in your heel,” she said.
He crawled in bed beside her and leaned over to give her a passionate kiss. She let her hands wander up his chest and around his back. He was hard and sinewy, and she couldn’t get enough of touching him. And she wanted to touch him in one part in particular, but she wasn’t so certain how that worked.
“May I touch you?”
“Please,” he said.
“Down there,” she said, feeling a tad embarrassed.
“Please,” he said again.
“What if I do it wrong?”
“Just don’t pull it off and we shall be fine.”
“Will it pull off?” she asked, horrified.
He chuckled. “No.”
She punched him lightly on the arm. “No jesting with me.” She reached between them and ran two fingers softly up the length of him. He closed his eyes and groaned.
“Did I hurt you?”
“No,” he said between gritted teeth.
Again and again she ran her fingers up and down his length. The skin was velvety soft, while the member itself was stone-hard.
Growing bolder, she wrapped her hand around him and moved it back and forth. He moaned with each of her movements, never opening his eyes.
“Stop,” he said quietly.
She stopped moving her hand, but did not release him. “Did I do something wrong?”
“No, but if you continue to do that, you’ll be most disappointed.”
“Oh.” She released him.
“Are you still wet?” he asked. Reaching between them, he plunged a finger deep inside her and she cried out. “Yes, you are. Perfect.”
He climbed on top of her. She loved the feel of his skin pressed against hers.
“Part your legs for me, Amelia,” he said.
She did as he requested. She felt the tip of him against her opening. Anticipation shot through her, and she lifted her hips up to meet him.
“Patience, my dear,” he said.
In one swift movement, he entered her. A shot of pain tore through her. He did not move; instead he simply lay there while her body accustomed itself to his. It was invasive yet intimate, painful yet pleasurable. As contradictory as their entire relationship had been.
“I’m going to move now, Amelia, but I need for you to tell me if I’m hurting you. Can you do that?”
She met his gaze and nodded. “It pinches a little, but it’s not too painful.”
He moved a little, withdrawing himself, then pushing himself back in. Tight twinges, little pinches, and then pleasure, sweet pleasure building. Building as before, only bigger.
“You feel so good,” he said, his voice raspy with pleasure.
Faster and faster he thrust into her. She curled her legs up around him and crossed her ankles behind his back. The leverage intensified the feelings. Then it was as if her body had split in two. Rockets of pleasure shot through her body and she cried out. It took a moment for them to subside and she rode them the whole way down.
She felt him empty his seed into her, and then he collapsed against her chest. They lay there quietly, their breathing heavy and labored, and their sweat mingling.
She absently ran her fingers through his hair.
“I believe we got that quite right.”
He laughed, and his hot breath ran across her skin. And she realized in a moment of panic that she loved him and could very well stay here, as they were, for the rest of her life. It was both a happy and intensely sad moment. She finally had the opportunity to love. But she would have to settie for it being the memory of a lifetime rather than a lifetime of loving.
Amelia leaned up on her elbow and looked at Colin beside her. His eyes were closed, but she knew he did not sleep. “Colin?” she asked.
“Hmmm?” he said without opening his eyes.
“What brought you into this type of work?”
He cracked one eye open. “Being a detective?”
She nodded.
He propped himself up on his elbow and faced her. “I don’t know. I’ve never really thought on it much. I suppose I sort of landed in the job. After university, I needed a position and started with the metropolitan police. Before long, I was a detective with Scotland Yard.”
She traced her finger down the trail of hair on this chest. “How long were you there?”
“Six years.”
“And you left because the other detectives were not using solid evidence? Is that what you told me before?” Her hand still gently caressed his torso.
“Something like that.” He shivered. “You know, it’s hard to concentrate when you’re doing that.”
“Oh,” she said with a guilty smile.
He grabbed her hand and held it still against his chest. “There were several reasons I left. Lack of evidence. Too many people following their instincts rather than looking for facts. Paying known criminals for assistance. And in case it has escaped your attention, I’m not that good when it comes to conversing with people. I don’t work well with others—it just became too difficult on myself and the other detectives. So I left.”
“But why detecting? You could have been a solicitor or perhaps a doctor.”
“I suppose I could have.” He released her hand and toyed with her curls. “My father is a doctor. Well, he was. He doesn’t practice anymore. He lives in Sussex. Mostly plays in his garden.”
She’d never heard him talk of his family and it was nice. Intimate. As if they were indeed lovers and not simply two people pretending to be for one night. He continued playing with her hair and the sensations tingled across her scalp.
“What of your mother?” she asked.
His hand stilled. “She’s gone,” he said.
“Oh, dear, I’m so sorry.” She cupped his cheek.
He gave her a small smile. “Not dead, Amelia, simply gone. She left years ago. I was fourteen, I believe. She said she couldn’t continue to be caged, she had too much she wanted to do in her life.
“My father would have allowed her to do anything—he adored her—but she did not stay to find that out. She left. Moved to France. Traveled with some gypsies. Took several lovers. She sent me letters for a while, but they stopped after a year. I followed her over there. Tried to find her, but I never could.”
They’d lost their mothers at about the same age, Amelia realized. And they had both been left with fathers who didn’t quite know how to live on their own. She traced her finger down his jawline.
“She was too reckless and impulsive for her
own good.” He shook his head. “Didn’t know how to keep her urges locked inside. Instead she indulged in every desire she craved.”
“Where is she now?” Amelia asked.
“I don’t know. I stopped looking after a while. It no longer mattered to me where she was. I realized she’d left me, and there was nothing I could do or say to bring her back.” He was quiet a moment and resumed playing with her hair. “To go back to your original question, though, yes, I could have become a doctor,” he said in an obvious attempt at changing the subject.
“But?” she said.
“I don’t know. It didn’t appeal to me. I was more interested in why people commit crimes. You have two people, one steals a pie from a window, and the other does not. Why?”
His hand left her hair and trailed down her arm to her waist, leaving gooseflesh where he’d touched. She shivered.
“Is that a riddle?” she asked.
“No, a simple question.”
“Because the one was hungry?”
“Perhaps. But perhaps they were both hungry, yet one of the men is able to control his urge and swallow his hunger and walk past the pie. The other is not. What makes him different?”
“I don’t know,” she said.
“It’s simple, really,” he said. “There are those people who have a stronger nature about them, stronger urges, stronger desires. The honest man will walk by and forsake his hunger because he knows stealing is wrong. The other will not be able to resist his urge because it is too strong.”
“So they cannot help but commit crimes because it is in their being to do so?”
“Not precisely. You can control it. You simply have to want to.”
“Is this tied to why you want to collect fingerprints?”
“Yes.” He sat up and leaned against the headboard—the sheet dropped to his waist, leaving his torso uncovered. “If we could identify a commonality between these types of people, then we could possibly develop ways to prevent crimes rather than punish the people who commit them.”
“By teaching people to ignore their desires?” Precisely as she was ignoring her desire to run her tongue across his abdomen.
