by Alyssa Day
“Look, man, in all seriousness, if you mess with my sister, you’re going to have to face me,” Declan said, and he was only shaking the tiniest bit as he faced Christophe, holding one of the ceremonial swords from the display on the wall.
“When did you get that down? How—”
“Later, Fee,” Declan said, suddenly looking a lot more grown-up.
Christophe’s grin faded and an expression of total seriousness took its place as he slowly rose from the chair, hands held loosely at his side. “Declan, it is both courageous and honorable of you to protect your sister. I swear on my oath as a warrior not to do anything with her that she doesn’t want me to do. Does that satisfy your honor?”
Declan nodded uncertainly, and lowered the sword.
Fiona’s mouth fell open, and she stepped between the two of them, placed a hand on each of their chests, and shoved. “I. Am. Standing. Right. Here!” she shouted. “Bloody Neanderthals!”
Hopkins put the gun back down on the table. “Perhaps you might lower your voice before the housekeeper and the rest of the staff call the constables or rush down here to investigate?”
Christophe caught her hand in one of his, raised it to his lips, and kissed her palm before she could snatch her hand away. She had to fight herself not to give him the satisfaction of rubbing her hand against her pants to make the tingling feeling go away. His smile told her he knew anyway.
Damn the man.
“Look. Why don’t we all calm down? I don’t want to hurt anybody,” Christophe said. “We both want the Siren. I happen to represent . . . a consortium of very wealthy investors who will be happy to pay. So we steal it together, I get the Siren, I give you the money. Minus a certain finder’s fee for myself, of course.”
He poured himself a cup of chocolate, bold as brass, while she and Hopkins stared at each other in stunned disbelief. Disbelief being the operative word.
“What possible incentive could you have for giving us all the money? We weren’t born yesterday,” she pointed out.
Christophe put his cup down and flashed that wicked smile at her again. “No, but the gods clearly blessed whatever day you were born. As to incentive? I’m in the mood for a little challenge, and may Poseidon himself strike me down if that’s not the truth.”
Oddly enough, the man paused and looked to the windows for a moment before continuing. “I don’t need money, and clearly you don’t, either, from the looks of this place. So we both do this for the fun of it. Why don’t we have a little fun together this time?”
The double entendres in every sentence out of his sinfully gorgeous mouth was sending little shock waves through her nerve endings. Have a little fun together, indeed. She’d like to have naked fun with him . . . Oh. No. She was doing it again. She clenched her fists and tried to remember all the reasons this was such a bad idea.
“I don’t trust you,” Hopkins said flatly, aiming his deadliest stare at Christophe. “I wouldn’t trust you with the good silver, let alone a priceless jewel from the British royal collection. Certainly not with Lady Fiona.”
“Right. Patriotism?” Christophe rolled his eyes. “From the man who was obviously helping her steal the Siren from queen and country in the first place? Try again.”
“We’re going to do it,” Fiona said. “I’ll be your partner, for this one time, and one time only.”
Hopkins jerked his head to stare at her in disbelief. “But—”
“We have no options. He will promise never to disclose my identity if we do this, correct?”
Christophe tilted his head and considered her for a long moment, then nodded. “Yes. You have my word.”
Something changed in the air—a tingle of power washed over Fiona and she shivered. Words had power, and perhaps his words had more power than most.
Hopkins narrowed his eyes, studying Christophe, but then he slowly shook his head. Fiona knew he must be using that extra sense he had—a super-hyped sense of intuition—that let him read people and their intent. “No. I don’t care if you believe you won’t hurt her. I can’t trust—”
In a flash of movement far too quick for her eyes to follow, Christophe was at Hopkins’s side, twin daggers raised, one to each side of her butler’s throat. “I respect your need to protect Fiona, but do not question my word, or my honor, as I accord you the same.”
Before any of them could move, Christophe sheathed his daggers and bowed to Hopkins. “I give you my sworn oath that I will not cause harm to come to her, nor will I allow any other to harm her.”
That sense of power was back, but more than a tingle this time—more of a jolt. Fiona noticed that the hair on Declan’s head and arms was standing straight up.
“Perhaps, since we’re no longer actually living in the time of William the Conqueror,” she said, in case they didn’t understand her point, “you might address any promises about me to me.”
Christophe swung around to face her and strode across the space between them with the arrogant confidence of a conqueror himself. “And so I should. I give to you, my ninja, my sworn oath not to lay a single hand on any part of your extremely luscious body.”
She blinked. “Well. Right. Then let’s—”
“Until you ask me to.” He bowed again, to her this time, and she stared down in disbelief at his lowered head and his broad, muscled back. As he straightened, she considered whether or not it was bad form to shoot the man. Again. He had the nerve to grin at her and she dove for her tranq gun.
Declan pulled her back and put his arm around her shoulders, probably sensing her need to do violence. “Should we start planning?” he asked. “I can work on a longer time-out for the cameras, but they’re going to be tougher to crack now that they caught us.”
“We can discuss plans tomorrow. It is very late, and Lady Fiona must make an appearance in the morning. Preferably without bloodshot eyes from lack of sleep,” Hopkins said, taking charge of the room the way he’d done since she was small. “Have you forgotten the Charing Cross Children’s Books reading and signing?”
She had. Somehow this infuriating criminal had driven all rational thought from her mind. Ask him to put his hands on her. The cheek of the man.
“Of course not,” she lied. “The store owner has been lovely to me; she has nearly two hundred copies of The Forest Fairies already purchased and ready for me to sign.”
“The what?” Christophe leaned against the wall, his powerful arms folded across that muscular chest, dangerous even at rest. “Did you say forest fairies?” He grinned and some no doubt evil thought lit up his eyes with amusement.
“Fiona’s the best author and illustrator of children’s books in all of Europe, maybe the entire world,” Declan boasted.
Fiona felt her cheeks heat up again, although she’d have thought she was too tired for even embarrassment. “Let’s not get carried away. The Forest Fairies is my newest book. It’s a retelling of a rather grim Scottish fairy tale.”
“Aren’t most fairy tales grim? If you’d ever met any of the Fae, you’d understand why. Vicious bastards, most of them,” Christophe growled. “Especially the Unseelie Court.”
Declan laughed. “Unseelie Court? Isn’t that a myth?”
“Sure, that’s what they’d like you to think,” Christophe muttered. “Then they murder you and steal your child.”
“You’ve met Fae?” Fiona found it hard to believe. Certainly, since the vampires and shifters had announced their presence, there had been rumors that other, more publicity-shy supernatural beings existed, but she’d never known anyone who claimed to have met one of them.
Declan piped up: “There’s a new course on the Fae in next year’s Oxford catalog.” When Fiona turned to look at him, surprised by his first mention of Oxford, his cheeks flushed bright pink. “Not that I’m planning to go to university just yet. You need me here.”
“I most certainly do not need you here, you idjit. You and that giant brain of yours are going to school. You need to meet girls and go to p
ubs. Experience the life of a college man,” she said firmly.
Christophe grinned, and she shot him a warning glare. Family business was none of his. He raised his hands in an “I surrender” pose and said nothing.
Hopkins, however, was family and had no such restraint. “Ah, yes. The ‘pints and birds’ lecture given to generations of budding young Oxford men. A model of decorum, he’ll be.”
Declan’s face flushed even hotter, if that were possible. “I’m not—”
“Having this argument now, yes, I agree,” Fiona interjected smoothly. “In front of our new partner.”
“Don’t mind me,” Christophe said. “I don’t have any brothers or sisters, so I’m finding this all pretty interesting.”
She put her hands on her hips, ready to give him a piece of her mind, but she noticed that his smile was looking strained around the edges and he’d gone a little pale under his rich golden-brown tan. Guilt raised its head again. She’d shot the man full of drugs only hours ago, for Saint George’s sake.
Speaking of which . . .
“How are you walking around? Those are pretty powerful drugs on those tranq darts.”
“I have a natural resistance. But don’t take that as an invitation to shoot me again. Please.”
“Now would be a good time for bed,” Hopkins said, smoothly making the pistol disappear in his jacket.
“Oh, I so agree,” Christophe said, pinning Fiona in place with his hot gaze. “Where are we sleeping, partner?”
“There is no we. Hopkins, please put him in the blue room for tonight and we’ll . . . we’ll sort this all out in the morning.”
“If he doesn’t murder us all in our sleep,” Hopkins muttered, opening the door and motioning to Christophe to follow him.
As they left the room, Fiona heard Christophe laugh. “So, Hopkins. Where did you say that good silver was?”
Chapter 10
Fiona flipped the covers off her legs and stared down the length of her traitorous body in the moonlight from the open window. She was utterly exhausted—and utterly unable to sleep. Every inch of her body seemed to be on fire with a series of electrical charges, and her skin was tingling. Her mind kept whispering that satisfaction and relief was just down the hall.
He was just down the hall.
All that beautiful male power and that big, hard body just waiting for her to strip him bare and lick every inch of him. Of course he would return the favor. She had some parts that really, really, needed licking right now. Her nipples were so hard they ached, for example, and other parts of her? Well. Perhaps she could give herself just a little relief and finally be able to fall asleep.
She closed her eyes and slid one hand underneath the top of her silk panties, groaning a little when her finger touched her swollen clitoris. Yes. Just like that. It was his fingers touching her; those long, strong fingers rubbing, gently at first, then a little harder. Oh, yes.
Her breath sped up, and she felt hot wetness spilling from her core. The mere thought of him had her hotter and wetter than she could ever remember being before. She’d probably catch on fire if she ever had him in bed with her for real. She dipped her finger farther into the slick heat and rubbed it back up over just exactly where she needed the pressure and cried out a little at the sensation. Yes, his tongue would feel just like that, oh, God, oh, it would be so good, even better. But he wouldn’t stop there. No, he would be voracious. He’d take his other hand and cup her breast. She took the soft weight of it in her hand and pinched her nipple, imagining him sucking her, hard, and her hips bucked up against her hand. Oh, it wasn’t going to take much, just the thought of him touching her, saying sexy things to her, was going to rocket her out of the bed any moment. She murmured his name, trying it out on her tongue, and it felt right, so she said it again.
“I’m here, and I can’t believe you started without me,” he said, and for a moment she thought she’d imagined it, part of the fantasy, and she twisted on the bed, but then his hands grasped hers and his weight settled on the sheets next to her. Her eyes flew open to stare directly into his, which were a burning, glowing emerald fire.
“I’m your partner, remember? And you called my name. That meets the terms of our agreement, doesn’t it?” He pulled her wrist up so that one of her hands was above her head on the pillow, and he took the other, the finger that had been inside her, and sucked it into his mouth, licking every inch of it. She moaned at the sensation, too aroused to be embarrassed that he’d caught her pleasuring herself.
“Ah, gods, you taste good, like the finest Atlantean honey,” he growled, his voice a rumble in his chest. “I’m going to taste every bit of you before the dawn, my ninja.”
She didn’t speak—couldn’t speak—it had been so long and she wanted—she needed—and just one taste of this man couldn’t hurt, wouldn’t hurt—the justifications tumbled over themselves in her mind so fast she couldn’t think.
Didn’t want to think.
Only wanted to feel.
“Then kiss me,” she whispered, and he made a noise of sheer masculine triumph and took her mouth, captured it, plundered it like a pirate. He kissed her with skill and heat and something more—almost a desperation—as if he had to taste her right now. He made a noise, or she did, and suddenly he was lying fully on top of her, his hips between her thighs and his hard, thick erection pressing against her just exactly where she needed him. She rocked up against him, crying out into his mouth, and he pulled his head away and groaned, loud and long.
“Gods, you’re going to make me shoot off like an untried youngling before I even get you naked,” he said, his voice husky. “I want to see you.”
She bared her teeth at him in something like a smile. “Then get off me and get naked yourself. If I’m going to be bad, I’m going to be very bad, and I don’t feel at all like being proper tonight.”
She reached down and cupped him though his pants, and he threw back his head and made a guttural sound of need. She was delighted with herself. She was a temptress, suddenly, inexplicably, and she was seducing him.
“Take them off. The trousers. The shirt. All off,” she commanded, drunk on her own power. She knelt on the bed and pulled her camisole over her head, so she wore nothing but the silk tap pants.
He inhaled sharply and froze, staring at her breasts with such predatory hunger that she shivered, and a tiny sliver of doubt tried to surface in her mind. Could she really handle this man?
“You are beautiful beyond any dream of the gods,” he said, dropping to his knees beside the bed. “I have never been so happy to have been shot by anyone in my life.”
He reached out, cupping her breasts in his big hands, and her nipples visibly tightened and hardened even further. He smiled and looked up at her. “They want me to suck on them, don’t they?”
She shivered, staring at the deep, glowing pools of his eyes.
“Tell me,” he coaxed. “Say the words.”
“I can’t—I don’t—” She stumbled, flustered. “Ladies don’t talk dirty.”
He laughed, and the rich sound of it sent a wave of heat through her. “Ah, but warriors do, my beautiful ninja. So let me tell you that I’m going to lick and suck and bite those ripe berries until you cry out for me to do the same to your hot, wet cunt. Then I’m going to tease and torture you until you come in my mouth and finally, finally, my ninja, I’m going to plunge my cock in you so hard and so far that you come, screaming, over and over.”
She burned bright red at his crude words, but her body strained toward him, wanting every bit of what he’d just offered. “Too much talk,” she whispered, and he laughed again, then licked her nipple into his mouth and sucked, hard. She cried out and would have fallen backward if he hadn’t caught her with a hand on her bum. He sucked and licked that nipple until she was writhing in want, needing more, clutching his head and all that silky hair, mindlessly murmuring nonsense words of pleasure and longing.
Finally, when she was near to madness, he re
leased her and stood, stripping his clothes off in seconds and then lifting her in one smooth motion as if she weighed nothing and carrying her to the cushioned seat under the open window. He lowered her to the seat and crowded her until her naked back rested against the cold glass pane at the top of the window, with the cool breeze and nothing else against the skin of her lower back. Then he knelt in front of her again and, grabbing fists full of silk on either side of her hips, ripped her panties from her.
She gasped, the combination of his barely restrained violence and the cool air from the open window pushing her to a dangerous edge.
“Shh, ninja,” he purred soothingly, in between pressing hot kisses to her breasts and belly. “I won’t hurt anything but that bit of silk. I mean to have you now, though.”
He grasped her thighs and pushed them apart, then held them still and bent his head to her. At the first touch of his tongue on her swollen clit, she shuddered over the edge of the abyss to a hard, quaking orgasm, almost as if she’d been ready for his touch since she first encountered him on the floor in the Jewel House.
Waves of nearly unbearable pleasure crested and broke over her until she couldn’t bear it as his talented tongue dove inside her and swirled around her and then his lips captured her swollen bud and sucked as hard as he had on her nipple. She bucked up under him, crying out, and tried frantically to get away.
“Too much, too much,” she gasped, barely able to breathe around the pounding waves of ecstasy sizzling through her. She pulled at his head to try to make him stop, but he simply shook his head, the soft waves of his hair brushing her inner thighs.
“Not too much. Not enough,” he growled, and then he fastened his lips and tongue around her again and began rhythmically sucking and licking at her until she writhed helplessly against him, the cool mist from the night rain icy cold against the overheated skin on her back. The contrast added yet more pleasure, and she had to stuff her fist in her mouth to muffle her scream when she came again, over and over, long, sharp spikes of ecstasy stabbing through her in a pleasure so intense it was nearly pain.
