Rags to Rubies

by Annalisa Russo

She molded herself to him, stroking his back, running her nails over the hard firm muscles. His hands lifted her, pressing her tighter until all reasonable thought evaporated into mind-numbing heat.

  This was insanity. He groaned into her mouth, “I want you,” his voice raw and demanding. “Do you understand me, Grace? I’m mad for you.” He couldn’t stop kissing her, asking her to open her mouth for him, parting her lips, invading, thrusting, devouring. Carnal pleasure of such intensity it stole the breath from his body. He feasted on her.

  Finally, he took a step back, his breathing labored as if he’d just run a race. She smiled up at him with eyes half closed. Standing on tiptoe, she planted a series of virgin kisses over his face and neck, stopping at his mouth to nip and bite and run her tongue along the edge of his lower lip.

  He stood very still, allowing her the intimacy, trying to slow his pounding heart to a manageable rate. He had wanted this for so long, dreamed of how perfect it would be. He knew he had to gain some control. She was a virgin, he an experienced man. This wasn’t how it should be, but he couldn’t seem to stop.

  Barely conscious of his hands rising slowly to her shoulders, he lifted the straps of her dress so the silver fabric fell gently to her hips. He marveled at the perfection he had so often imagined. Creamy, firm mounds with brown-rose tips. He ran his hands over her breasts, feeling their softness and the puckered tips against his palms. When he pressed the peaks between his thumb and finger, she moaned and dropped her forehead to his chest, whispering his name in a sweet plea.

  He lowered his head, taking one perfect bud between his teeth to bite and suck, at first gently, then harder, pulling her into his mouth.

  “Jared.” Grace drew in a breath and arched herself against his lips. Familiar sensations rolled through his body, creating an ache he needed desperately to satisfy.

  He could tell by her untutored response that she was responding to a surge of powerful emotions for the first time. He ran his tongue slick and wet over her other breast until she was mewling softly and had her fingers tangled in his hair.

  The response of his body took him by surprise. He wasn’t some randy young buck, yet he ached to surrender to the feeling. He wanted to part her legs and thrust into her this very second, now, this moment. He wanted to sink deep into her warmth and claim it for himself. But with each moan, each time she murmured his name, each time she shuddered in his arms or responded enthusiastically to his touch, he grew increasingly agitated, then irritated.

  Then angry.

  Abruptly, he swept his hands beneath her knees and swung her into his arms. Placing her on the bed, he fanned her untamed curls against the crisp white pillow. Her breasts glistened, still slick from his eager tongue.

  She moaned with closed eyes. “Please...Jared, please,” she said, now somewhere else, in a place between dreams and reality, consciousness and oblivion.

  Jared sat in a chair next to the bed and touched his rock hard erection, gritting his teeth. Tiny beads of moisture covered his forehead. The muscles in his arms and groin were taut and trembling, his eyes hot with desire and fury.

  What had happened to him? Had this tiny slip of a woman reduced him to a trembling idiot? A rough laugh escaped him for his own foolishness.

  For the better part of an hour he watched her sleep, rubbing her hand because he had to touch her. She knew nothing about protecting herself like so many of the women he bedded. She knew nothing about holding back a part of herself so it was merely a physical coupling. Maybe in her inexperience she didn’t know the difference. But he did. He should warn her of the danger, of the pain.

  Instead, he vowed this would not happen again.

  Until he figured out what was happening to him.

  Moonlight cascaded in through the sheer covered windows, cutting across the bed along one of Grace’s shoulders and softly illuminating the length of her body. At some point, he pulled up her dress and covered her, waiting patiently.

  He had just begun to doze off when Grace’s eyes fluttered open. She pulled herself up on one elbow. Glancing around, dazed for a moment, she cast a despairing look at Jared.

  “Did we...I mean, well, you know?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Let’s just say I prefer a level playing field, sweet pea,” he answered gruffly, pulling her to her feet. “Let’s go home.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Jared pressed the cool glass of scotch and ice to his forehead. The small fire in the grate crackled and warmed the library. Sallie had called with some interesting news. Ownership of The Peacock Club was held in a blind trust, unusual for a fly-by-night establishment. By law, it would have been near to impossible to discern the actual owner’s name, and Sallie reported that the club enjoyed, for the most part, anonymity from the police or received advance notice of any plans for a raid. The owner was either powerful enough or had paid enough to enjoy freedom from the law of the land. Again unusual. Most owners of a fleabag operation like The Peacock Club wouldn’t bother to pay big money for protection and would take their chances with raids, hoping the damage would be minimal enough to reopen.

  Elite clientele expected to be protected by the establishment in exchange for their patronage, but the patrons of The Peacock Club were the usual sort, working stiffs, and prostitutes who used the upstairs rooms. Any member of the upper crust found there would be looking for deviate, sordid entertainment.

  There seemed to be nothing out of the ordinary about the club except for two rooms on the third floor that were always kept locked. One of Sallie’s men, particularly efficient at picking locks, had reported to Sallie that one room was empty, with a connecting door and small hallway leading to another room. The furnishings consisted of only a worn, empty desk and chair.

  Jared rubbed the back of his neck. The club had to be the connection to the break-ins. The jewels Grace appraised were valuable, but none had ever been stolen. She kept them only long enough to produce her sketches, make the detailed appraisal, and return them by insured carrier within one week’s time.

  The pieces of jewelry were exquisite, most with extensive provenance to document. Her expertise on Renaissance jewelry had been confirmed by Smith. The detailed sketches and reports of the stones and settings made the gems easily identifiable and less likely to be stolen. But this persistent, nagging feeling meant he had missed something.

  Jared leaned back and sipped the twelve-year-old golden liquid, mentally reviewing last night’s events for the hundredth time. Well past the age of losing his head over any woman, he’d only slept a few fitful hours between midnight and dawn. Hell, it had been years since a sexual encounter had kept him awake at night.

  Invasive morning light knifed through a crack in the heavy draperies and caught his attention. Jared tented his fingers, watching the light beams dance across the parquet floor.

  Eleven days ago he’d let her into his home at four o’clock in the morning—and everything changed. Ten days ago he had kissed her. And last night...last night he almost sent himself to the loony bin.

  She’d been more than willing, eager even, pleading with him, and sweet. So sweet the memory of it began to harden him again for the umpteenth time since the encounter.

  He wasn’t angry with her.

  He was angry at himself for his inability to think of her in the same terms as all the other women he had bedded. Just one more pretty face, one more delicious body.

  Somewhere along the line she had become more than that. And, if truth be told, he had to admit to himself that part of it was fear. Fear she would feel too good in his bed. Too pleasurable to leave afterward.

  He thought about who would care for her when Zia Bruna passed. She would be alone and vulnerable; then the darkness would come, and the cold and the emptiness.

  Scowling, he drained the scotch.

  It wasn’t his responsibility. He drew a deep, slow breath and exhaled slowly, trying to expel the demons. Maybe a long, hard ride would help. Then
an afternoon at the gym for some exercise, maybe a sparring partner. Every punch would make him feel better, regardless of who got hit.

  “Donagon!”

  The toughened miner appeared at the door and eyed the empty scotch glass. He leaned a muscled shoulder against the doorjamb and crossed his massive arms. His insolent demeanor as he glanced at his pocket watch left Jared irritated. Yet Donagon never seemed to take offense at his abrupt tone. Maybe because he’d been listening to it for years.

  He shot Donagon a hard, implacable look, the kind that always made a person leery about crossing him. In spite of it, Donagon’s eyes lit with a bit of amusement. Damn him!

  “I want to ride Widowmaker in half an hour. Let the stable boy know. And tell Henry to ready the locomobile and bring it round when I’m back.” He rose and stretched. “How about a few rounds at the gym? Are you game?”

  Donagon grew a lazy smile. “Well, now, that won’t help.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Won’t help what’s ailin’ you, but I’d be happy as a flea in a doghouse to go a few with you. Sure, and don’t be expectin’ me to coddle you, seein’ how you got that pretty face and all.”

  Jared growled as he strode from the room. Why did Irishmen have to romanticize everything? “Don’t go getting any wrong ideas. She’s nothing but trouble. Trouble I’ll soon be rid of.”

  “Aye, trouble.” Donagon made a face as he traipsed after him. “Like the plague, she be. All that shiny hair and that pretty backside.”

  “Shut up, Donagon.”

  ****

  Tonight, she thought, and then I want to wake up to you each morning for the rest of my life. That’s what Grace had wanted to say when Jared asked her last night what she wanted from him. She had finally admitted to herself the depth of her feelings, the unbridled desire, the tenderness she felt for him. She had surrendered her heart in that moment. Totally. Without reservation. Whatever would happen between them, she would never regret it.

  Sitting across from him and not touching him had been sheer torture. The yearning came from a place deep inside. A place she didn’t recognize. She only knew the gut-wrenching feeling might soon tear her apart.

  She moaned and rolled over, pulling the cozy duvet up to her neck. An enormous headache started over her eyes and wound its way around her ears to pound unmercifully on the back of her skull. She deserved the pain. But she wasn’t sore anywhere else. She knew enough that, if they had been intimate, there would have been some discomfort, so he had told the truth about last night.

  Last night.

  Why had she drunk so much? Groaning, she rolled over and glanced at the clock on her night table. Mid-morning. Zia Bruna would know, for sure.

  She moved her fingers in small circular movements around her throbbing temples. Sliding her fingers down to her tender breasts, she grimaced, wondering how everything had gotten so out of control. At what point in the evening had she decided to let him take her virginity?

  Crazy, but it had seemed right. Even in the depths of her drink-clouded, muddled mind last night, she had known right from wrong, but she hadn’t been able to summon up any force against it.

  Adam had been skillful, and she’d thought her lack of desire was the result of her lack of knowledge, but now she knew he hadn’t been the right man to open her to her own passion. She frowned at the memory of Adam, realizing she hadn’t thought of him much since meeting Jared. Other men paled in comparison to Jared. Especially liars and cheats.

  She’d never been as aroused as she had been last night, so out-of-control, wicked and wanton. Learning her body’s secrets, while exhilarating, left her a bit frightened, and sharing those secrets with another person would leave her vulnerable.

  A sharp rap at the door startled Grace a half-moment before Zia Bruna pushed it open with her cane and shuffled across the room. Her aunt made tsking sounds as she lowered herself heavily into a nearby chair. Grace flipped the sheet over her head.

  “Graciella, what are you doing?”

  “Don’t lecture me, please, Zia,” Grace pleaded, removing the sheet from her face. “Not this morning. I know you mean well.”

  “You do not know him, cara mia. He doesn’t understand about you yet.”

  “I know, but he’s been so kind, and I feel wonderful when I am with him. I think...I think I love him, Zia.”

  Zia Bruna made the sign of the cross twice and wagged her finger at her niece. “You could have him now, if you want, but he doesn’t understand yet. He sees with his eyes. Not with his heart. Not yet. If he takes you now, it will be too soon.” She rose and made her way back across the room with difficulty, muttering in her unique language, her hands waving to facilitate the words leaving her mouth.

  ****

  Jared circled Donagon warily, his fists in a defensive stance. Sweat dripped into his eyes, the salt burning as he blinked. He focused on his opponent, aggravated he hadn’t been able to punch that silly grin from Donagon’s face. He blocked a lethal combination neatly and took two dancing steps backward.

  “Why don’t you just bed the bloody woman and get it over with?” Donagon spat out as he threw a series of short right jabs in lightning succession.

  The jabs fell short of their mark as Jared pulled back. “What?”

  “’Pears to me you been tonsil-paintin’ for a reason.”

  “Counting my drinks now? I told you she’s not my type. You should know that.” Jared grunted as Donagon connected with a blow to his belly. He knew Donagon pulled the punch at the last second. Had the toughened miner wanted, he could have ended the fight right then and there.

  “Well, then, you should have left ’er alone.”

  Jared backed off a few steps, bouncing back and forth on the pads of his feet, eyeing his partner carefully. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Sure and I’m talking ’bout how the two of you looked when you came in last night. Her all rosy pink and ’er dress all mussed up. Looked to me like somebody had a good ol’ time figurin’ out what type she be.”

  “So I kissed her. It meant nothing. She means nothing to me. Not in that way. Not the way you silly Irishmen think.” He knew, in spite of Donagon’s gruff exterior, the man had a way with women. Wild and reckless when he’d been younger, he had probably met and bedded more women than Jared could count. He suspected the secret behind Donagon’s appeal was he actually listened to them and knew what they wanted.

  “Ah, so that’s the reason you’d be happy enough to chew nails and spit rivets.” Donagon’s arm flashed up, blocking a blow to his face. “And ’ere I was figurin’ alls you wanted to do was lay ’er down and plow ’er furrow right pretty.”

  “Don’t talk about her like that!” Jared whirled, throwing out a combination that backed Donagon to the ropes. “She’s not a whore, for God’s sake!”

  “So that’s the way of it, then.” Donagon leaned on the ropes and bent over, panting. A smile curved his lips. He straightened up and raised his fists again. “So you haven’t bedded ’er yet.”

  “No,” Jared snarled. “Not because I don’t want to. But she’s a virgin. Even I know the difference.”

  “Ah, that’s good ta know, boyo,” Donagon said dryly. And Jared never saw the powerful left coming until the punishing blow connected.

  ****

  Tuesday afternoon was surprisingly warm for early November. Grace, relaxing by the pool, sipped her teamonade, Mary’s wonderful combination of tea and sweet lemonade. The afternoon sun dipped low in the sky, kissing the edge of the horizon with gold. She reached down and pulled a few nearby weeds. Lord knew she needed a diversion. What she could remember of the prior evening’s lovemaking was deliciously sweet. The memories, though clouded by drink, were still able to elicit a pleasurable ache.

  She placed her hand on her abdomen, then pressed her fingers lower. She’d overheard whispers and sexual innuendos from other women. She knew something intensely gratifying happened when two people made love. How
she wished she had someone to ask about the amazing sensations.

  She knew the logistics, what animals did. She knew they would be naked and he would come inside her and there would be pain the first time. But these wild, frantic feelings she was experiencing threatened to hurl her off an edge, a precipice so intense it frightened her.

  She knelt and began to pull more weeds from beneath a tea rose.

  “Hello,” a cheerful voice said from behind her.

  She looked over her shoulder to see Mary toting her herb basket.

  “I thought I would pick some chamomile for a spot of tea for your aunt. She seems a bit anxious today.” Mary stooped to pinch off several sprigs of the herb, glancing tentatively at Grace.

  “Thank you, Mary. I’m sure she’ll appreciate the gesture. Chamomile is one of her favorites, and I really enjoy your teamonade recipe very much.”

  “Family recipe,” Mary said. “If you don’t mind me saying, both you and Jared seem distracted today,” Mary ventured. “I had to ask him three times how many people to expect for the evening meal.”

  “Didn’t he leave with Donagon?”

  “Yes, and he seemed...well, irritated with him.”

  “Whatever for?”

  “I don’t know,” Mary responded. “Donagon was humming a cheerful little Irish ditty that seemed to get on Jared’s nerves.”

  Grace coughed and changed the subject. “Where is Billy today?”

  “Henry…” Mary blushed. “I mean, Mr. Cobb, went to fetch him. He’s fishing at Frog Pond on the west edge of the property. I don’t have the heart to tell Billy the ponds aren’t stocked. He loves to fish.”

  “Billy’s a wonderful boy, and Mr. Cobb is very good with him.”

  “Yes, they’re quite fond of one another.” The words held a trace of wistfulness. Mary plucked a few more sprigs.

  “He seems a good sort. Mr. Cobb, I mean. And we both agree he is quite handsome,” Grace said gauging Mary’s reaction by the blush that spread across her ample bosom and upward.

  “Yes, but I was fooled by a pretty face before.”