Nash Security Solutions

by Lola Silverman

  “Don’t talk about my brother like that,” Stedman growled. All trace of humor was gone from his face and his demeanor. “Lyle was a good man.”

  “Sure,” Francesca said as she bobbed her head in agreement. “He was a wonderful man if you could get past the physical and verbal abuse. But I’m sure you had no problem forgiving him that since you were often party to it as well.”

  “Filthy accusations made by a liar!” Stedman snarled. “How dare you?”

  “How dare I?” Francesca retorted. “You’re the one who keeps trying to declare me mentally incompetent so you can steal what little I have left after you already stole most of what Lyle had.”

  This was getting nowhere fast. Francesca looped her arm through Quentin’s. He glanced down at her, and she saw such pride in his eyes! She had made him proud. The thought gave her wings. She disappeared into the thronging crowds with a huge smile on her face. Leaving Stedman behind with no explanation was one of the small pleasures left to her in life.

  “Well done,” Quentin whispered once they had left Stedman behind. “Ralston was having a hard time keeping his reactions in check.”

  “Do you think I offended him?” Francesca asked, thinking of her poor nephew.

  Quentin snorted. “I don’t think it matters if you offended Ralston or not. He knows what needs to be done, and he’ll react accordingly. Establishing your independence with your uncle is vital to your future. Ralston knows that.”

  She gave Quentin’s arm a squeeze and allowed him to choose a meandering path around the edge of the garden area. In spite of the company, this was turning out to be a really great night.

  Chapter Six

  Quentin had never seen Francesca so animated. She was stopping to speak to just about everyone. It was immediately apparent that not only had she grown up within the strictures of Boston society, but that she had been universally well liked for most of her life. She spoke to couples in their seventies and late sixties who had known her own parents. Nearly every guest under the age of forty seemed to have something nice to say to Francesca about her dress, or her hair, or about how it was just nice to see her out in society.

  It was tempting to touch her flushed cheeks. A few tendrils of blond hair had escaped the curls pinned on top of her head. They floated about her neck as though they were deliberately enticing him to gently tug them back into place. His fingers itched to touch her. She was beautiful and vibrant and everything that Quentin had ever dreamed of finding in a woman.

  She just wasn’t his. He reminded himself sternly of this fact half a dozen times throughout the evening. At midnight, he found himself longing for the exit. Even if a trip outside afforded nothing more than a breath of fresh air.

  “Are you getting antsy?” she murmured as she waved to someone on the other side of the tent.

  He could not tell her about the thoughts he was having, for so many reasons. So, he went with the response that made the most sense. “I’m happy so long as you’re happy.”

  “That isn’t an answer.” She exhaled a little sigh and stopped walking. Her gaze flickered toward the dance floor. “Dance with me?”

  Could he do that? Could he hold her in his arms and risk wanting more? As if challenging himself, Quentin took Francesca’s hand and led her toward the floating wood floor that had been placed over an expanse of grass beneath the tent. He spun her a little as he settled them into a small space between the other couples sashaying around the floor to the strains of Sinatra.

  Francesca put her right hand on his right shoulder and her left hand in his. It was so comfortable. Quentin had danced with plenty of impromptu partners over the years, but this was the first time he’d ever felt so automatic with someone. As soon as he started moving, it was as though her body automatically followed his. He started with a simple box step before getting a little more adventurous. When it seemed as though she had no trouble following him, he gave into the urge to spin her around a few times. Out and back, in and out, over and through, and she never faltered.

  “Did you think I couldn’t dance?” she asked with a sparkle in her eye. “I wouldn’t have suggested it if I couldn’t.”

  Quentin considered her question. “I didn’t know what to think. Maybe that dancing meant standing out here and swaying back and forth to the rhythm.”

  “Ugh!” She made a little face as she swished her hips and let her skirt fly about her calves. “That wouldn’t work at all!”

  He laughed and pulled her in close to his chest. He kept her there for a while, swaying and stepping out as they did a quick waltz step around the floor. “Did you think I couldn’t dance?”

  “I didn’t know what to expect.” She looked properly impressed. “Do all marines know how to dance?”

  “Only the ones that grew up in a small town where their mother was the local dance instructor,” he quipped. “I was expected to be in just about every one of her ballroom dancing classes because there were so few men that would take lessons, and apparently, the ladies needed someone to practice on.”

  “That explains why you’re so good,” she said with a brilliant smile. “I bet you had those old ladies swooning by the end of each class.”

  “Maybe just a little.” He winked at her. It was getting warm under the tent. He longed for some stars and a little fresh air. “How would you like to get some air?” he asked hopefully. “I’m about to die in here.”

  Francesca’s giggle warmed his heart. “Then by all means let’s step outside for a moment.”

  He twirled her to the edge of the floor and then placed her fingers gently on his arm. Escorting her to a gap in the tent that showed a broad expanse of dark, moonlit lawn, Quentin led Francesca toward the expansive golf course grounds.

  Their quick strides soon left the party noise behind. A gentle breeze ruffled his hair and made the skirt of her dress flutter. She seemed to be stepping lightly, as though she was in a good mood and feeling really well.

  “Are you having more fun than you expected?” he asked curiously. “It seems pretty obvious that you used to go out a lot and see most of these people.”

  She sighed. They walked in silence for a few minutes before she responded. “It’s good to be back, and yes. I used to be out and about far more than I am now. Lyle loved to be social. The party scene was most definitely his thing. I was expected to be an elbow trophy most of the time. Occasionally, though, he would get himself into some kind of social issue with someone, and I was expected to smooth it out for him.”

  “That doesn’t seem fair.” In fact, Quentin thought that it was horribly unfair for any man to make a mess and just expect a woman to smooth things over because she happened to be the better communicator. “He was very lucky to have you around.”

  THE FLATTERING WORDS soothed Francesca’s pride in so many ways, but probably, for the most part, because it was so very obvious that he meant them. She turned and gazed up at Quentin in the moonlight. “How come you never got married? You would make any woman an incredible prize.”

  They had walked quite a distance from the tent. There was a bench. A short ways away, Francesca saw the dark outline of a flag. They had made it to one of the holes. She tried to remember if she had seen any more signs of civilization, but she had not. There was just this lonely bench, a lone garbage can, and one of those little receptacles for washing golf balls.

  “I suppose I would have had to have met someone that would have been able to entice me,” Quentin said slowly. He took a seat and tugged her down beside him. “For the most part, the only women I’ve associated with have been like Analise. Not that I don’t think she’s attractive, but she’s sort of like my sister.”

  “I suppose I can understand that.” A sudden thought occurred to her. “How old are you anyway?”

  To her surprise, he looked as if he didn’t want to answer that. Why was he being so strange about his age? Finally, he threw his head back and looked up at the sky. “I’m thirty-eight.”

  “So young,”
she murmured. God, he must think her ancient! At forty-five she was almost ten years older than he was. All of these thoughts she’d been having about how good looking he was now seemed silly. He probably hadn’t wanted to tell her because he was afraid of having to rebuff her advances. The poor man.

  “It’s not that much of a difference, really,” Quentin offered.

  She drew back, surprised. “You don’t think so? I’m practically an old lady compared to you!”

  “You’re hardly old,” he said drily. “And you’re so beautiful that I would have guessed you to be younger than I am. My body is probably ancient compared to yours, considering all of pain and torture I’ve put it through.”

  “Then you don’t think I’m—old and gross?” She struggled with how to put that. Old and gross really didn’t encompass what she was trying to get at. “You don’t find me repulsive?”

  “No.” He reached out and gently placed his palm against her cheek. “Hell no, Francesca. You’re beautiful. I’ve—I shouldn’t be doing this. I’m supposed to be protecting you, not seducing you.”

  She could not help but laugh at his choice of words. “I would hardly call this a seduction.” She put her arms around his neck and pulled his mouth down toward hers until their lips were just a hairsbreadth apart. “Unless you said that I was the one seducing you.”

  He didn’t answer, which was good. Because that meant he was too absorbed with the fact that their mouths were so very close together. She could feel his breath against her lips with each and every exhale. The scent of him was intoxicating. She had never wanted anyone this badly before in her life.

  “Francesca,” he whispered. “I want to kiss you. May I?”

  She made a tiny noise of desperation in the back of her throat. “I’ll die if you don’t.”

  The way he put his arms around her was so very gentle. She had never been touched like that before. Then he carefully lowered his mouth to hers and took gentle possession of her lips. He moved his mouth against hers in a slow, languorous kiss. The taste of him was better than she could have dreamed. He was all male spice and erotic intent.

  She flicked the tip of her tongue against the seam of his lips. His mouth opened, and she pushed inside with her tongue to slide it sexily against his. They dueled like that for several seconds until her need became so great that she went limp in his arms. She was draped against him, head thrown back, and lips wide open to receive his kiss. Her fingers played with the short hairs at his nape as he kissed her again and again.

  “You feel so good,” he murmured against her lips.

  One of his hands strayed to the bodice of her dress. His clever fingers drew tiny circles around her nipples on the outside of the fabric of her dress. She could feel only a muted sensation that drove her wild with the desire for more. She arched her back and pushed her breast into his hand. What would it be like to be naked with this man? Would he touch her body and bring her the kind of erotic pleasure that she’d only read about in books?

  “Take me home,” she whispered. “I want to be yours. I want you to make me yours.”

  His low laugh made her belly tighten with need. “What?” he teased. “You don’t think we can do that out here in the middle of this golf course?”

  “Actually. I think we probably could,” Francesca informed him.

  She got up from her seat, hiked her dress up to her thighs, and then straddled him on the bench. The slats of wood hurt her knees, but she was cushioned by the huge erection burgeoning between his legs. She felt naughty, and she liked it very much.

  She bit his earlobe. “Would you like to have me right here? I would let you, you know.”

  He cupped her face and dragged her down for another kiss. This one turned carnal in the blink of an eye. Every moan and whimper was moving them toward that moment of ultimate fulfillment. It was all that she could think about. The taut flesh between her legs was getting hotter and wetter with each stroke of his tongue against hers. She rocked against him. The ridge of his erection pressed against her mound and created a delicious amount of friction. She could come like this. She knew she could, but was she really prepared to do this outside in full view of anyone who might happen by?

  Chapter Seven

  This was not the way that Quentin had wanted to make love to Francesca for the first time, and yet the moment seemed almost too perfect to pass up. Everything outside was bathed in lavender moonlight that made the world seem almost surreal. The night air was cool, and a breeze gently ruffled the loose hair around Francesca’s face and neck.

  She had never looked so beautiful and enticing all at the same time. The bemused expression on her face would stay with him for a long time. He lifted his fingers to gently caress her cheeks. The way she was straddling his lap was quickly making him harder and hotter with each passing second. Her dress was rucked up around her waist. The fabric gathered together and actually covered most of her bare legs and his lap. It certainly made a handy cover up.

  Then she cocked her head to one side and gave him a sidelong look of uncertainty. “Should we be doing this?”

  Quentin didn’t answer. He was afraid to. So, he let his fingers do the talking instead. He slipped his hand beneath her skirt and found the place where the fabric of her satin panties stretched taut over her sex. It was warm to the touch and more than a little moist. Gently letting two fingers rest on her swollen pussy lips, he began to stroke her through the fabric.

  Francesca went rigid against him. She sucked in a quick gasp and seemed to almost swallow the sound. Her eyes were wide, and her fingers dug into his shoulders. “That feels good,” she said hoarsely. “Very good!”

  “Then just let it happen and stop worrying about should or could,” he suggested.

  Exploring her with his fingers was fun. She was so responsive! Each time he gently brushed her, touched her, or rubbed her clit through the fabric of her panties, she left him completely certain that she was enjoying the attention. Her panties were soaked through with her cream. Her breathing was shallow, and each second, he expected to feel her orgasm. Her eyes were half closed, and her hips had just begun to rock with each stroke of his fingers.

  “Quentin,” she panted. “Quentin, I’m going to—going—oh. Oh!”

  Everything beneath his hand shuddered as her pussy lapsed into orgasm. She bit her lip, and the sight of her white teeth against the pale pink surface of that lower lip was erotic as hell. He’d never wanted anyone so badly in his life. His cock was so hard, and it had been so long that he was afraid he was going to come the instant he managed to get inside her.

  “Please,” she moaned. “The underwear needs to go!”

  Quentin gave a chuckle that sounded as though he’d been swallowing gravel. He was holding back so tightly that it felt as though he might explode at any second. But for now, he could focus on Francesca. That was what mattered.

  Her position made it next to impossible to slide her panties down her legs in the usual way. That left Quentin with no choice but to improvise. Twisting his fingers into the lacy elastic stretched across her hips, he snapped the closure in two on both sides. She gave a short gasp of surprise. Then he carefully pulled the fabric free of her body and let it drop to the ground. He had never been so glad that a woman wasn’t wearing pantyhose.

  He placed the palm of his hand over her bare pussy. The crisp, short hairs tickled his palm. The heat of her was enticing. He wanted her so very badly, but first, he wanted to make her come one more time.

  Spreading her nether lips apart, Quentin very gently traced her damp folds with his fingers. He used very little pressure. Her nails dug into his shoulders and told him beyond doubt that she liked what he was doing. Her breaths were coming in short, little pants. He found her clit and circled it slowly with his index fingertip. She squirmed and pressed herself more firmly against his hand. She began to rock. Her hips jerked reflexively as she rode his hand and searched for her fulfillment.

  “That’s it, baby,” he crooned. �
�Come for me. One more time, Francesca.”

  It was as if his words set her loose. She jerked and cried out. Creamy wetness from her pussy coated the palm of his hand. He could feel her inner muscles clenching and unclenching as she shuddered in the throes of orgasm. He couldn’t wait to put his cock inside her and feel her body melt around his as she came again.

  Her breathing was ragged, and her eyes were closed. The movement of her hips grew languid as she continued to grind her pussy against Quentin’s palm. Not disturbing her obvious enjoyment, he used his other hand to carefully unfasten his dress pants. The tuxedo was awkward to work around, but once he unbuttoned his jacket and pushed it out of the way to the sides, he managed to pull his cock free of his underwear. The zipper’s teeth were dangerously close to his sensitive flesh, but right now, that just didn’t matter.

  “I need you, Francesca,” he murmured. “Can I be inside you?”

  Her eyelids fluttered open. “Please, please,” she whispered. Her head lolled forward until her forehead rested against his.

  Quentin palmed his cock and gently probed the soft flesh between her legs. She was damp and slick with cream. Each quiver of her body sent a resounding jolt of pleasure through him as well. Finally, he felt the tip of his cock enter her body. He removed his hand and let her slowly sink down until she had fully impaled herself on his erection.

  Heaven. This is heaven on earth.

  FRANCESCA HAD NEVER felt so full or so deliciously satisfied. There was almost a fiery burn at first as she sank down onto Quentin’s cock. He seemed enormous. Her body struggled to accommodate the length and girth of him. Then, gradually, the burn melted away and left an aching need that made her move restlessly against her lover.