by Sharon Page
She passed a wall on which velvet ropes hung.
Now she knew. Exactly what to do to prevent him from leaving.
She was adorable. Sinjin swallowed hard as Lucy drained her champagne. She gave an endearing little hiccup. Coyly, she sashayed up to the wall. He loved the gentle sway of her hips, enhanced by the rippling movement of her ivory skirts. Curls of silky black hair bounced against her neck.
Lucy plucked a length of black velvet rope from the wall.
Teasingly, he asked, “Do you want me to tie you up?”
She faced him, a frank and open expression on her face. “What if I want to tie you up again?”
He blinked, instantly aroused. He could picture her doing it once more—straddling him on the bed, and tying him to the bedposts, leaving him vulnerable to whatever she decided to do to him. He hoped it involved naughty things with her fingers and her lips and her sweet pink tongue.
He brought the champagne bottle and refilled her glass. Her gaze captured his, and it was magic. He had been given eternal life, but this moment was the most magical thing he’d ever experienced. “I am yours to command.” Strange, how hard it was to speak. “Do as you will, love.”
He didn’t touch the champagne, but he felt as though he was intoxicated, just by watching her lift the glass to her lips. She drained it in one drop.
“You, love, are going to be drunk.”
Indeed, she wove a bit as she came right up to him, her body moving unsteadily. A silly smile played on her lips. With her right hand, she pulled pins from her hair. A river of black silk poured down, falling over her shoulders, tumbling down her back. He plucked the glass from her hand and put it aside.
Lifting her hands, she planted them on his chest. He let her push him to the bed. It was a different room, and the bed was a large circular concoction, with an enormous canopy and mounds of pillows.
This one last time was going to be beyond his wildest dreams.
The bed bumped the backs of his legs and she gave him a firm shove. He let her knock him over and fell on his back on the bed.
“Have to undress you,” she said, her words slurring a little.
“I’ll do that, love.” He didn’t want to waste time—so he could get to the fun as quickly as possible. He was breathing hard. Wanting her. He stripped off his boots and tossed them. Peeled off coat, waistcoat, shirt, then trousers. Damn, but an Englishman’s proper dress was a pain in the arse.
Lucy had swayed back over to the ropes, giggling as she examined several more that hung on the wall. He watched as she tapped her lips and cocked her head, apparently making a decision over length, thickness, softness the way most ladies would assess their ribbons and lace. She draped several over her arm, nodding with satisfaction.
He was overwhelmed by emotion. By the sweetness of the way she studied the ropes. By the delightful surprise of discovering how wanton she could be. By the eroticism of the moment. By his hunger to spend the rest of his life with her. He, who had needed to provoke emotion, was swamped by it.
Sinjin swallowed hard as she returned to him and commanded, in husky tones, “Lift your arms over your head.” As he did, stretching out his body, her gaze raked over him. She seemed to be savoring the view, and she slowly ran her tongue over her lush lips.
Lifting her skirts, she clambered onto the edge of the bed at his side. Her bosom strained at the lace-trimmed scoop of her bodice. Her skirts flowed demurely over her hips and legs. Candlelight caressed her face. She was a devastating mixture of angel and temptress.
Then she leaned over him, lowering her breasts close to his face, and she tied his wrists together. His cock bucked, his balls tightened, and he almost came as she looped the rope and made a snug knot.
It took every ounce of his control to stay his climax. He took deep, ragged breaths and she diligently threaded a second rope through a ring in the headboard and proceeded to secure that to the rope holding his bound wrists.
There was something alluring about being bound and at the mercy of a beautiful woman. Or was it simply that he enjoyed being at the mercy of Lucy, whom he trusted and adored?
“Love, I can’t help you take your dress off now,” he murmured.
“Oh dear, I suppose you cannot. What should I do? I shall have to summon a maid.”
She would not do that. Not with him bound to the bed—
He was wrong. She slid off the bed, marched to the bell pull, and rang. When the young maid arrived at the bedchamber door, Lucy led the young woman into a dressing room off the bedchamber, but not before the young woman had seen him. Her eyes had been as large as saucers.
He was left on the bed for many, many minutes. But he could hear every aspect of Lucy undressing. The whisper of silk as her dress was removed. He heard the maid tell Lucy she was going to undo the laces of the corset. He heard the soft swish as petticoats fell. He heard Lucy announce she wanted to wear only her robe and nothing more.
Sinjin gazed down at his cock. It had bounced up and down at every word as if nodding its approval, as blood had surged into it and his groin had tightened. His ballocks were pulled up tight, his cock aching with each pulse of blood.
There was no way he was leaving now. He was in an agony of lust and hungering for satisfaction. He let his hands fall back on the bed. His hips were moving of their own accord, his buttocks flexing, wanting to pump against Lucy, wanting to shove his cock deep inside her.
Then she returned. Naked. Her loose hair flowed over her shoulders and shielded her bare breasts. Hard dark nipples peeped at him between the silky strands. Lucy looked beautiful, wanton, primal, standing there.
Then she brought her hands forward from behind her back and she revealed the lengths of rope. “Now I shall secure your ankles,” she said saucily.
Lucy had to admit: Sinjin looked so sensual and tempting and delectable all tied up. She felt a bit guilty as this seemed very naughty, but Lucy also could not resist sitting back and admiring her handiwork when she had his legs spread and his ankles secured to the bedposts by the velvet ropes. His arms were stretched over his head. He obviously enjoyed it—he was rock-hard.
She was wet and creamy with anticipation. Her womb ached with wanting him, and she could feel how damp she was between her thighs.
As she had sat back and surveyed how Sinjin looked tied up, she had yearned to stroke between her legs, to touch her clit, because she knew one light touch would make her come.
But she wanted to share the orgasm. She climbed on top of him, straddling his thighs. Slowly, she lifted his rigid shaft. It was incredibly thick and hard, almost like iron, and obviously a sign he was very, very aroused. With a soft, graceful stroke, she ran her hand down the shaft, then back up, where she cupped the head. His juices bubbled up, wetting her hand, making her hand slick so she could play with him.
But he begged her to stop. “I won’t last, love.”
She lifted, bracing one leg straight and she stroked the swollen head to her wet nether lips. Then she took him instead. Deep inside, all the way inside, in one stroke, until she collided with the firm planes of his groin. Oh God. She moaned fiercely.
Then, planting her hands on his chest, she rode him.
In three wild strokes, she came. In an explosion of cries, and moans, and bursting lights, and squeals, and gasps. Her head lolled back and forth. Pleasure crested in her, and she slumped forward on him.
He drove into her twice more, then his hips jerked up so hard they lifted her off the bed. He growled and roared and thrashed against the ropes that bound him as he came.
When his orgasm stopped and Sinjin fell back, Lucy let her body collapse over his, while she gathered strength for another bout. After that ... and surely after several more orgasms he would not ever want to go.
His body sensed dawn approaching. Weakness worked at his arms and legs. Sinjin felt his muscles grow tired, his arms sagging against the ropes that held him. Dawn was coming and it was draining his strength.
Tossing back h
er tangled hair, Lucy sank back on her haunches. She splayed her hands on his abdomen and sucked in deep breaths. “Oh heavens,” she whispered.
Smiling, Sinjin watched her try to regain her senses from her orgasm—her third since she had tied him up. He wanted more, he wanted to savor this, but he had to hope she finished soon and undid his bonds. An hour or two was all he had left.
Then she arched back, made a sound of pleasure, and ran her hands over her bare breasts, caressing herself.
God, he had to fight not to grow hard again. “All right, Lucy,” he urged, huskily, “untie me.”
She dipped her head, then lay on top of him, pressing her cheek to his chest. “No.”
“No? Lucy, hell, do it right now.”
“I won’t. I won’t let you go and be killed. We must think of a plan. We can do this together. It will be dawn soon and then you cannot go.”
Sinjin let his head fall back on the bed, shutting his eyes. The poor sweet love. Her ropes would not hold him, no matter how tightly she believed she had bound him. Now she was sprawled on top of him, apparently hoping she could keep him pinned to the bed.
Did she really care about him so much? How could she?
But there was no point in arguing with the woman. He knew exactly what to do. He had to exhaust her with pleasure, until she fell asleep, and then he would deal with her.
There, she had done it.
He was tied to the bed—very well tied, Lucy thought. There was no way Sinjin could get free. She was lying on top of him, also trapping him. If he tried to escape, she would know. She had lied to him, but she had no other choice.
She refused to lose him. She had intended to stay awake all night, but after so much sex, so much pleasure, she was yawning. She would just shut her eyes for a moment... .
But the next thing she knew, she was opening her eyes to daylight.
And she was alone in the bed.
20
Pursuit
The first thing Lucy did was hasten to Sinjin’s bedroom and ensure he had fallen into his day sleep. He had left her a note, a few brief lines.
You exhausted me, love, and I needed to seek darkness to rest. You were right. I cannot leave you.
From the doorway to his bedchamber, she saw him sleeping. He did it motionlessly. But he did not respond to her when she had whispered his name. And he could not go outside now, not now that it was daylight.
She had won. She’d managed to protect him.
Satisfied, Lucy closed the door and she went to James’s bedroom. He was awake and he looked happy. He held out his arms to hug her when she went into his room.
Touched, she had hugged him back. Tears leaked from her eyes, but she quickly brushed them away. Then she helped him dress.
Coaxing him to eat breakfast proved difficult. One of the maids had delivered an assortment of gleaming covered dishes. Tempting scents drifted into the air but James did not want to eat at first. She lured him with ham and eggs, and finally he began to devour the food eagerly.
He burped, giggling after he did, then looked longingly at the window. Sunshine streamed in, and it was promised spring warmth. “Could I go outside, Lucy?”
Hope shone in his large green eyes. But to go outdoors would not be safe. She shook her head. “I’m sorry, James, but we should stay inside.”
His lower lip protruded, and she tried to reassure him. “We will make lots of fun inside today. I promise.”
To keep her word, she spent the morning playing with him in the upper rooms of the brothel, the rooms reserved for them. Surprisingly, there had been a room in the attic with toys stored in a large trunk. She did not know what was happening down below in the house, but it was quiet. Last night she had extracted a promise from Helena and Beatrix that they would never go exploring in the brothel again. The madam, Mrs. Simpson, seemed to be working to keep James and Lucy’s sisters separated from the scandalous business of the brothel.
Sunlight spilled in through the window of the attic room. Skirts tucked beneath her, Lucy sat on the carpet and watched James play.
He looked very much like Sinjin when he worked with great seriousness. He patiently stacked his many blocks. He built a castle with soaring towers. A bridge, and a house, and a pile of scattered blocks that he claimed was a battlefield of war. Finally, though, on his third castle, he swept all the blocks down with an angry swipe.
He crossed his arms over his chest and cried, “Want to go outside!”
On her hands and knees, Lucy began to gather the scattered blocks. She had to jockey her skirts out of the way. As she pushed the blocks toward James, she thought of how to explain this. “I am sure you do, sweetheart. But you cannot today.” Sinjin had warned her that the prince would be watching the house. “There are bad men outside and your uncle does not want you to leave here, where you might be ... vulnerable.” Bother, this was a wretched way to go about it.
As though she could save him from anything.
The boy’s faith in her touched her heart. It also was a great responsibility. But she could not take him outside—she could not protect him from a powerful vampire, or from Jack and his lackeys. “Very soon, you will be able to go outside,” she said soothingly. It was not quite a lie, but it was not true. If she did not let Sinjin hunt down his prince, would it ever be safe to let James outside? To let him live like a normal young boy?
Perhaps it would never be safe. But even then, she couldn’t let Sinjin risk his life. She couldn’t let him die, even to give James and her and her sisters safety.
Lucy moved around the room, gathering up fallen toys and setting them up on various chairs in James’s bedroom. She was lost in a maelstrom of thought. James was like her—he could never live like a normal boy, could he? She had tried so desperately to be normal, but that was a path that led to loneliness. If James tried to act like a normal boy, he would spend his whole life hiding what he was, as she had tried to do.
He had to, didn’t he? There was no other way for a dragon to live. No dragon could be open about what they were... .
But she had been frightened of what she was. Ashamed of it. She did not want James to grow up feeling ashamed of being a dragon. Or hating what he was.
What if Sinjin took James away from England? Was there another place in the world where it would be easier for a dragon to survive ... ?
Bother, some of the blocks had rolled under the armoire. On her hands and knees, Lucy got down as low as she could, and reached. She gathered up two, and stretched her arms, trying to reach two more—
She frowned. In the background, James had been humming. Blocks had clacked together as he’d thrown them around on the floor.
It was now utterly silent.
She scrambled back, and jerked around. A pile of blocks sat in the middle of the carpet. But there was no James sitting beside it. Almost tripping over her heavy skirts, Lucy struggled to her feet. “James?” she called, even as she guessed she would receive no answer. Her heart plunged into her stomach.
“James?” she shouted, sharply. “If you are hiding, I want you to come out at once.”
Nothing. The door gave a soft creak, but it was only a breeze giving it a push. “James?” she called again, and her voice was growing shrill. “If you are hiding as a joke, I want you to stop. You are making me frightened.”
She rushed around the room. She dropped to her knees to check beneath the bed, praying she would see the blue-eyed scamp grinning at her. But there was nothing underneath.
Swiftly, Lucy searched behind the curtains, and the door, and under the covers of the bed. Her heart pounded in her throat—he wasn’t in the room. He must have gone outside. She ran out to the stairs, and almost tumbled down them. Clutching the banister, she steadied herself and started running down the steps again.
Heavens, James had wanted to go outside. Had he decided he wouldn’t get permission to go, he would just run out and do it?
She had to stop him.
She raced all the way down
to the first floor of the house, clutching her skirts clear of her feet. Where would James go? Surely not out the front door—one of the footmen would have likely caught him. He would go out the back, probably, into the garden.
She reached the kitchens and almost barreled into a young maid. The cook, in the process of chopping up a chicken with a heavy knife, looked up. “Are ye after that lad?” the burly woman demanded. “ ’e ran through ’ere just now. Almost knocked over me pies.”
Lucy managed a stumbling sentence somewhere between “thank you” and “I’m sorry,” and she rushed past the woman, wended her way clumsily around large worktables, past an oven, and between hanging pots. She shoved open a low, narrow door, and flew out into the yard.
Sunlight dazzled her eyes after the darkness of the kitchens. The yard was narrow and long, stretching back to a stone wall that threw a line of shadow over neat gardens. Her heart flip-flopped in her chest. James stood in the shadows, near a wooden gate set in the wall. A brown-haired man stood with him.
“James, come here!” she cried, forgetting it was probably not the wisest thing to do. She ran down a small gravel path toward them.
The man’s hand snaked out and grabbed James’s wrist, capturing the boy. Then the stranger looked up and glared at her. Shock hit her so hard Lucy stopped on the path.
Blue eyes. Coffee-brown hair. A rugged line of jaw; a straight, perfect nose; long eyelashes; and the look of gentlemanly disdain.
Scowling at her, sneering at her, this man looked like Allan Ferrars. Like her former fiancé.
This was guaranteed to destroy him.
Even with his beaver hat pulled low, his collar high, gloves on his hands, and his greatcoat covering him, Sinjin could feel the warmth and power of the sun sapping away his strength. Each step felt like he was lifting a ton of stones and slamming them to the sidewalk.
He’d come in daylight because his sire would never expect an attack while the sun was up. He wasn’t strong, but the prince would also be weak, and that might give him the chance to win.
