Painted Trust_Edith and the Forensic Surgeon

by Elsa Holland

  Flashes of her had come at unexpected moments throughout the day, on the train, while he examined the microscope slides, passing through a darkened corridor; they were a staccato of unexamined reminiscences, of relived sensations and growing wants. Despite assuring himself that last night was an anomaly, most likely for both of them; he’d nearly lost his footing in his effort to catch the last train to make it home tonight. Not that he’d go to her room—that was the realm of fantasy—but he’d been disappointed to find the theater and its surrounds dark and empty.

  As if God, who had consistently ignored him at the surgical table, now chose to listen, there at the end of the room, bent over a dissection table, was his Apple. So engrossed was she in her task that she didn’t turn at his steps, not even as he came to a stop close behind her.

  She had a black elastic strap around the top of her head, holding in place a magnifying glass and light for detailed dissection work. The focus he read in her body told him this work was not new to her. There was a sense of confidence in her that she didn’t have in the surgery. Her claimed familiarity with anatomy and dissection had not been a fabrication, not like the rest of her apparent history. It seemed women with secrets were to be his fate.

  Vaughn coughed.

  She jumped and turned, the scalpel she was using suddenly poised as a weapon.

  The dramatic stance was somewhat surprising yet totally overshadowed by the picture she presented with the oversized magnifier in front of her eyes. Vaughn raised his eyebrows and the odd tightness seeing her generated in his chest grew.

  “I am frozen in fear,” he murmured, palms itching to touch her.

  The large rectangular magnifying glass hanging in front of her eyes made them huge as she widened them then scowled. A smile tugged at the edges of his mouth. The medical nature of the contraption added an unexpected eroticism.

  “How was day two?” Not what he wanted to ask. No, he was far more interested in: ‘Did you think of me? Did your body relive my touch as mine relived yours?’ ‘Do you want to do it again?’

  He wanted to trace the shape of her, move his hands and fingers across her skin, find the places that would make those enlarged eyes glaze with pleasure and give up their secrets.

  Instead of miraculously flinging herself into his arms, Apple placed the scalpel next to her on the table, eyes still on him as he watched her recognize that it was him and not some imagined assailant.

  “Day two?” Her hands moved to her buttons as if confirming they were all still there, that endearing habit.

  He swayed forward a fraction. “Yes.”

  She swayed closer in what was no doubt some autonomic response, those enormous eyes changing their focus to his lips, and his breath caught. The woman had no guile. There was something extraordinary between them, a communion of souls that was well past the social steps they had yet to take. The social niceties he should take yet was too impatient to do.

  He inched forward, the gentle curve of her hip and the texture of wool filling his palm. She didn’t pull away at his touch, nor did she stiffen; the blessings of saints were still with him.

  Vaughn tilted his head and moved closer, halting a fraction away from her lips. The heat of her breath as she panted washed over his face, warm and sweet, the very heat that held the power to thaw the ice encrusting him.

  Her eyes raised from their focus on his lips and met his gaze, and he willed her to give her assent. They flared in that tell-tale magnifier as she recognized his request, as he sent out his wants on that silent telegraph of sexual charge.

  Do you want me to touch you again?

  Do you want to moan into my ear, pant and beg as I show you the body’s real secrets, secrets a scalpel doesn’t know?

  As if she heard every silent word, he watched as desire blew her pupils into large dark orbs, only to be filled with sadness, or regret, or something just as debilitating.

  “Apple?”

  “I can’t.” It was a strangled whisper as she lurched back and, in a rather dramatic move, yanked her body from his hold at her waist. He released her, of course, and she lost her balance as she tried to both move and lean away from him in an uncoordinated way. His hand shot out and grabbed her arm.

  “I’m fine,” she yelped as she jerked away, again losing her footing.

  “Let me help you.” That damn magnifier knocked his chin as he pitched forward to wrap an arm around her.

  “No! I’m fine, really.” But her hand grabbed hold of his shirt and pulled as she used him to stop herself from falling, and the magnifier hit him again.

  He laughed. “Stop wriggling and you’ll be fine.” He tugged the magnifier off her head and threw it over her shoulder to land on the table behind her.

  “The work,” she cried.

  “Can be done again, now stay still,” he tried to steady his hold on her. She wriggled some more dislodging him from a soft nuzzle at her shoulder, stubborn thing, and then strangely while still in a precarious position, tried to fix her hair which was now a muddle of satin. With his free hand he moved to help her smooth down the ebony locks.

  “Let me go, I’m fine.” Her voice was endearingly grumpy.

  Her legs got tangled in his as she awkwardly twisted around and they both started to go down. Vaughn pinned her to the side of the table as he gained his footing.

  “Hold still.” He growled.

  She gave him a scowl, all the while wriggling against his chest, her hair more awry than when he’d pulled the magnifier off. Their gazes held, and the pull between them moved into something else.

  Oh, he was in trouble.

  He had almost married Henrietta and she had never made him feel like this…needy to touch, needy to look and ferociously hungry to taste. Had it only been two days they had known each other?

  “I was fine,” she sounded indignant. Oddly there was no shock at their contact, no indignation at being compromised, she was simply ruffled. Ruffled and more emotionally cool than he would have preferred.

  “See, stop lurching away and we’re both fine,” he loosened his grip and looked down at her face.

  There was a crease between her brows. He wanted to erase it, wanted to smooth over the rough edges that he knew sat somewhere in her life. Her reaction just now was not something he had come across before. Women who were comfortable being handled by a man were always using the access they allowed for a range of purposes and benefits. His Apple did not. She wasn’t programed like other people, like other women. He saw that she was not immune to him and yet she held back, not to manipulate him, but rather from some kind of shutting him out.

  His gaze moved to her mouth, full and wide, almost too big for her face. The natural rose hue of her lips, her pale face, the inky blackness of her hair, was a combination his body found addictive.

  Her eyes flashed up at him and her breath hitched, then she swallowed, and a flush raced up her neck. Everything changed as her body’s responses signaled interest.

  Vaughn drew her against him, the soft warmth of her seeping into him as his lips pressed down on hers. His hand came up behind her head, threaded through her hair and clasping her fragile skull, tilting it. Her mouth opened, and he pressed his tongue into her. Tasted the sweetness as she yielded under him. Her body softened and molded against his, her hands, as they had last night, curled into his shirt. Her lips moved over his, her tongue danced with his more confidently than last time. Then she slowed, stopped and leaned back a fraction.

  Soft warm fingers that smelled of formaldehyde pressed against his lips. “There’s no soul-deep imperative tonight. No reason to do this.”

  He stilled, she wanted this as much as he.

  “There’s always a soul-deep imperative,” his fingers held onto her possessively. “Besides, I should take a pound of flesh for marauding in my lab.”

  She smiled then.

  His head swam with vertigo.

  Yet there was that sadness again, sadness and regret glimmering from the dark pools of her ga
ze.

  CHAPTER 20

  Edith looked at him, his beautiful straight nose, sensual lips, strong angular jaw, and those hungry eyes. A man that gave nothing away through the day lay peeled open in the shadows of night.

  Strong hands squeezed then eased.

  “Edith?”

  Edith. Her name in the timber of his voice, his regard glowing with desire. She felt beautiful, desirable, wanted—feelings she should have felt thousands of times before when she was displayed and admired, yet hadn’t. Hadn’t cared in any meaningful way for the praise of men and women who were the wealthiest and most influential on the globe.

  Yet this man, this man strangely undid her.

  Vaughn drew her closer, tugging her to his chest. A chest which seemed to buffer away the world as it rose and fell faster than it should. Edith slowly pushed aside his jacket to burrow her face against him, wanted his waistcoat gone and to push against the cotton of his shirt, feel the warmth of the skin underneath, the tang of his scent in her nose.

  She should pull back, should wriggle away and keep her distance but what if this was the only man she ever felt this way about?

  Edith lifted her head and looked up at him. His expression was soft as his arms tightened around her. Those hungry eyes looked at her lips then back at her eyes, that hunger . . . it was inside her too.

  She had no impetus to voice a protest at what she knew would come next. A kiss, maybe more. She wanted another taste of this man. This fiercely driven man with eyes that had seen too much.

  Edith pressed closer. “What particular pound of flesh will you be taking?”

  Vaughn’s eyes flared. “The softest bits,” he murmured, then his arms pulled her in closer as he bent down and kissed her.

  His lips moved on hers, firm, full and encouraging. She responded, opening further as he slipped his tongue in, moved it with sensuous slides and thrusts. Her legs trembled, and she clutched at his arms, her tongue moving in a dance of need. Her body burning all over again.

  He pulled back. Their breathing was loud but neither of them said a word as he swung her up and around to sit on the table. His gaze ravished her features. Watching, searching for something.

  “You feel it, don’t you?”

  The words made her soar. Yes, yes. Her chest wanted to explode with her affirmation and yet she couldn’t. Once she had done what she had to do and run, these moments would hurt him to remember. Her affirmation, no matter how sincere, would be remembered as a ploy. Her brow creased. The ache was a visceral sensation deep in her torso, the holding back, camouflaging herself through controlled movements when every muscle pressed to leap forward.

  “Stubborn woman,” he rumbled.

  His mouth came down again and he took from her, punishing her for her silent denial. He held her chin, her head and feasted, pushing her to do the same.

  Those thoughts of stepping back and stopping this foolishness, to protect his heart, to protect his pride, fled under his talented touch, under his need. Heat flushed through her body, her blood pumping thickly in her veins. A delicious want slid down between her legs and pulsed. Every touch of his tongue, every thrust of it promised the echo of those actions elsewhere on her body. Just a little more.

  Her arms and torso took on a will of their own and she held him tight, pulled at his clothes to bring him closer. Ran her hands through his hair, bit tenderly, hungrily at his lips, sucked at his tongue and pushed her chest shamelessly against his.

  Vaughn pulled away.

  Staggered back. He went to say something but didn’t, just tugged his jacket off, dropped it on the floor and started on his waistcoat.

  His lips were shining, his hair was sticking out.

  She had done that.

  The top buttons of his dress shirt were pulled open showing his undershirt and the dark hair on his chest. She had done that, too.

  Edith ate up the changes in him, then suddenly the thought occurred to her—he could have done the same damage to her clothes and she would never have noticed. In panic she looked down, but she was still fully covered. So long as she stayed covered, she could have just a little more.

  Reassured, her desire-addled mind went for what it wanted. “Come back here.” Her voice was demanding, indignant and that cotton-clad chest called for her to press her face into its hardness.

  He laughed. Ran that strong skilled hand through his hair and laughed some more.

  “You want more, you shall have more.”

  He tugged her to standing, “Come sit on the chair with me.”

  This was getting serious, soon there would be more than kissing. She swallowed.

  “I need to keep my clothes on.” Her face felt all flushed. Vaughn tugged her closer, nuzzled into her hair.

  “I think you’re rushing ahead.”

  “I don’t want you to see me,” her voice tripped.

  He stilled. Edith went to pull away, but his arms tightened, keeping her there.

  “I’ve seen many things.”

  “I don’t care. Clothes on, and no peeking.”

  His eyes were soft when she chanced a look up at him.

  “No peeking it is.”

  CHAPTER 21

  There was a chair near the table she’d been working on. Vaughn placed it between the two long working tables and sat down. “Come over here.”

  As she slipped off the table and walked over to stand between his legs, her eyes filled with an endearing mix of allure and trepidation. He turned her so her back faced him and then started to undo the top buttons of her skirt.

  She stiffened immediately, her hand darting out behind her to cover his.

  “What are you doing?” She took a few steps away and turned. “I said clothes on.”

  “Your drawers can stay on.”

  “No, clothes on.”

  Vaughn nodded, he could work with them both wrapped in trench coats.

  “Just loosened then.”

  She scowled, clearly undecided.

  “I need to undo enough buttons to get my hand down your skirt and into your drawers,” he explained.

  The pink flush on her cheeks was a wonderful reward yet it was the small upward curl of her swollen mouth that made something in his chest flutter.

  “I want to turn off the lights.”

  Vaughn nodded. The lamps outside provided sufficient illumination. He watched as she took the couple of steps to the bank of lights. The last thing he saw was her face as she looked back at him over her shoulder, desire and anticipation in every feature. Then they were showered in a charcoal hazy darkness.

  Her shape moved towards him, a diminutive promise of sensual oblivion. Her skirts brushed against his knees and she blocked out the glow of light as she stood before him.

  Vaughn widened his legs and drew her closer, turned her once again so her back was to him. His fingers found the buttons of her skirt then the ties to her petticoat and drawers. He loosened them but ensured they stayed on, then tugged her down to his lap. “Lean back on me.”

  Her shoulder rested tentatively against him. His lips kissed the side of her neck as he slid his hands over her breasts. The wool was soft but thick, her corset a solid form under those layers and under his palms. The shape of her was all promise of soft flesh but a reality of wool.

  “You’re encased in a fortress of wool, we’ll need to work on the clothes.” She huffed at that. He nibbled at her ear, “Or are you a prim and proper miss?” She clearly wasn’t, but there was something she was worried about.

  “No one has ever called me that before.” There was some pride in her voice when she said that.

  “What have you been called?” Had she been close to another man? He hoped not.

  “Nothing.” Her reply came too quickly.

  His hold on her tightened, and he kissed her neck, a smooth column of white tender flesh, then nuzzled around her ear. Small gentle touches to relax her.

  Gradually his Apple let her shoulders relax and sank into the crook of his left a
rm, allowing him to cradle her and have access to her body and her to his.

  “I find that hard to believe,” he whispered into her hair.

  She wriggled. “I don’t want to say.” He liked that even less. It meant she had a special name that someone had given her, someone before him.

  “So secretive . . .,” he said as his lips grazed over hers. Her response was to nip him with sharp teeth.

  Vaughn kissed her deeper, pressed against her lips as they opened, moved his tongue into the soft heat and tangled with hers. Tasted as she made small mewing sounds and wriggled for more.

  After a while she pulled away from his kiss, panting, “I think I’m getting the hang of this, let me do it.” She tugged him back down, taking the lead and kissing him some more. It was as if having been shown the fundamentals of kissing she was fervently seeking to become a master at the task.

  He lifted off her demanding lips and her hand tightened in his hair. He laughed. “The real skill comes in being able to do more than one thing at the same time.”

  “Men can’t do that, just kiss me.” She murmured and dragged him down again nipping at his lips.

  “Oh I’m very good at it,” his lips purred over her mouth.”

  The band of the skirt was loose enough to slip his hand under as were all the other layers. He pushed his palm flat over her belly, over a soft yet trim lower torso. Under his palm her skin was like satin, all smooth and soft. He pushed his hand down further and the tips of his fingers felt delicate, downy hair.

  God, what did she look like? He had seen the naked female form so often he could easily imagine her; small and athletic, well-defined muscles, round, high breasts encased in luminescent skin.

  Instead of moving his hand lower he slid it down her thigh, over the top of her woollen stocking, and guided her leg wider, hooking it over his knee, then pulled her legs open as his knee moved out. Oh, he knew what that looked like, too, dark hair framing deep pink lips.