He pushed the gown off her shoulders. Her skin glowed in the firelight as if illuminated from the inside.
Sebastian leaned forward and placed a kiss on the curve of her shoulder. Gabrielle looked over her shoulder at him, a slight smile turning up her lips. She looked like a painting, her gown half off, her hair unbound and loose, the candlelight reflecting off all that exposed skin. Their gazes locked, and the teasing glint in hers turned into something sensuous that held promises of things he had tried to forget over the past months but had been unable to.
He trailed his finger down her back, his fingers tracing each bump of her spine. She shivered. He looked away to press another kiss to the base of her neck and followed his fingers with his lips.
In the morning he would regret this, just as he had the last time, but morning was far away, and Gabrielle was right here, and his cock hurt so damn bad.
“Sei bella,” he whispered in her native language. You are beautiful.
She lay back with a smile so that he was looking upside down at her.
“Baciami,” she said. Kiss me.
He lowered his head but paused just before their lips touched. She smiled up at him. “You are teasing me.”
“I am savoring you.”
Her smile faltered and she blinked. “You undo me, Sebastian Addison.”
“As you undo me.” Therein lay the problem of Gabrielle Marciano. She undid him. Made him feel out of control when he’d always been the one in control. “Ah, Gabby. What am I to do with you?”
She touched his cheek, her deep eyes serious. “You are going to make love to me, and you will not regret it in the morning.”
She knew him too well. He knew that wasn’t going to stop him. He would make love to her, but he couldn’t promise he would not regret it. Why she made him feel this way, he didn’t know. He’d bedded many women in his past, but none had made him feel as out of control.
She arched a brow. “Contemplating the world’s problems?”
“Right now you are my world, and you are a problem.”
“No problems tonight, Sebastian. Just us. Nothing else. No traitors. No Office of Intelligence. Nothing but us.”
Seven months ago he’d thought it would be that simple, until she invaded his mind and he found himself thinking of her when he should have been thinking of other things. To him, that was unacceptable.
Her fingers trailed down his jaw to touch his lips. “Promise me.”
“I promise.” Because he was powerless not to. She enthralled him. Bewitched him. And while it scared the hell out of him, his will was nothing compared to her siren call.
“Baciami,” she breathed.
Her arm wound around his neck, pulling him closer as she arched her back into their kiss. When they broke apart, her eyes glowed and her lips were wet and rosy. “I’ve missed you,” she whispered.
“How’s your arm?” he asked, deliberately ignoring her last statement because he couldn’t go there. Not yet. Possibly not ever.
“It hurts like the devil, but I will live.”
“We’ll try not to jostle it overmuch.”
“Somehow I don’t think I will care.”
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“I’m indestructible. Come here.” With surprising strength, she pulled him down with her good arm until he turned himself around and was lying on top of her. He groaned and forced his body to remain still so he wouldn’t grind his erection into her and end it all before it even began. He’d dreamed of this for so long. Too many times he’d woken from erotic dreams of her pressed against him. Too many times he’d been so disappointed to awaken and find his hips pumping into nothing but a mirage.
She pulled him down with more force than he would have given her credit for, and kissed him as if she were giving him her last breath. He fell willingly into her and into the kiss, and damn if it didn’t feel right. Complete. She made him feel complete, and he knew that what he’d been missing the past seven months was a part of him that she had kept with her after he walked away. She was a thief, stealing pieces of his soul without his even knowing it until now.
Conscious of her injury, he carefully peeled off her gown, revealing a layer of petticoat made of fine Italian lace and French silk. Once that was discarded, he was left with the chemise and then finally, finally, nothing but golden skin. He started at her collarbone and kissed his way down her body. Her nipples were erect, the nubs hard with wanting. He placed a kiss on each, then came back to them, laving them with his tongue until she was squirming beneath him. With each kiss, each swipe of his tongue, he wanted more and more of her. He wanted pieces of her to take with him, as she had taken pieces of him.
She arched beneath him and sighed. It was a sigh of capitulation, of contentment, of coming home. He remembered that sigh in the deep of night when he was fast asleep and the memories sneaked around his barriers. That sigh would haunt him for the rest of his life, he knew.
He rose off the bed and made short work of his clothes, coming back to her in absolutely nothing but the skin he was born in. She smiled up at him, her dark eyes sparkling, her lips red and waiting.
She moved her leg, raising her knee until it brushed against his erection. It was embarrassing just how much he wanted her. More than his next breath, more than he wanted to wake up the next morning, more than life itself.
“Come to me, amore mio,” she whispered into his ear.
He surged into her, her words propelling him forward and setting a frantic temp.
Amore mio.
Amore mio.
She opened up for him, took him willingly, and he easily slid into her warm wetness. Nestled inside of her, he paused and closed his eyes, very close to weeping at the exquisite sensation.
Amore mio.
Amore mio.
He slid out, paused, and slowly, so slowly, pushed back in. Her muscles tightened around him, so smooth and wet. So. Damn. Wet.
Amore mio.
My love.
He groaned, lost. Completely lost in the sensations. The sounds. The scent. The love.
My love.
My love.
He pulled out again and glided right back in. He wanted it to never end, to keep going forever, but all too soon he was racing toward the end. It came so suddenly that he was unprepared and wanted to cry out, “No!”
Gabrielle clutched his shoulders. Her hips surged upward, grinding into him. There was nothing he could do to stop it. He came so hard that spots danced before his eyes.
Gabrielle cried out, clutching him tightly, those inner muscles milking him. And he came and came and came until he was completely empty.
Amore mio.
My love.
—
Sebastian lay on his side, his head supported by his hand, and watched Gabrielle. She was facing him, her eyes closed, her face flushed, her hair a delightful, tangled mess spread across the pillow. All he wanted to do was drink her in with his eyes. She was everything he remembered. So damn beautiful it made his heart hurt.
He’d done it, fallen into the abyss of Gabrielle. He’d escaped once, and he would escape again, but not yet. Not now. In the future, definitely, but not now.
She opened her eyes and smiled up at him.
“What did you mean when you said Riggs came from the streets just as you had?”
Her smile faltered. “This is what you want to talk about now?”
“Yes.” No. Yes. Hell and damnation, but he couldn’t think straight while he was with her, and that was exactly why he had left her in Venice. She jumbled his mind and ignited his body until he didn’t know who he was anymore or what he wanted. He should not have asked about her past first, but he wanted to know, and he found he could not talk about making love to her.
She sighed and rolled onto her back to stare up at the ceiling, causing his gut to clench. His world was tilting and his control was slipping and he despised the feeling.
“I’m not from Italy,” she said to the ceiling. “I
’ve never been married. I’m technically not a contessa. My past is completely false, made up by the Office of Intelligence.”
Sebastian didn’t move because he couldn’t move. He didn’t say anything because he had no idea what to say. He’d given little thought to Gabrielle’s past, completely swallowing the story of her being a widowed contessa. Beyond that, he hadn’t thought about how she had become an operative. What an idiot he’d been. He should have wondered. As a premier operative, he should have questioned everything, but he hadn’t.
She turned her head to look at him. “You have nothing to say?”
“You were never married?”
She laughed. “That’s what you want to say first?”
He shrugged because, yes, it was the first thing his mind stuck on. She’d never been married, and yet when he’d made love to her in Venice, she had not been a virgin. Despite his sluggish thought process over the last few days, he was well aware of what that meant. He’d met other female operatives and knew the lengths they went to in order to gather information. He knew and yet his mind shied from it.
She pressed her lips together and scooted up the headboard. Carefully she arranged the bedclothes one-handed in an attempt to cover her breasts while she pressed her injured arm close. She drew in a deep breath. “I am a weapon of my country. A good little soldier. I go where they send me, do what they tell me.”
“And that involves sleeping with whom they tell you?”
“Yes.”
He winced, cut to the quick for some reason. “I’m sorry.”
“For what? You do the same.”
“That’s different.”
“Is it? You’ve never slept with a woman in the course of a mission?” She laughed again, the sound brittle and bitter. “Men’s tongues loosen when they’ve become intimate with a woman. As if they think that bedding a woman will make her more loyal. Fools.”
He burned with anger. Nay, fury. It took everything he had to appear calm. He despised to the depths of his soul the Office of Intelligence for making a woman do such a thing.
“You may as well know the rest,” she said.
He closed his eyes. Good Lord, there was more. Of course there was more.
“I was born in London,” she said. “Seven Dials, to be exact.”
He let out a sound as if he’d been punched in the stomach. Seven Dials was the worst, most dangerous place in all of London. Hell, in all of England.
“My mother was a prostitute, and I have no idea who my father was. Mama died when I was twelve, and I was tossed into the streets, where I learned to survive by picking the pockets of nobs and generally stealing whatever I could. I was good at it, too.”
Of course he knew the Office recruited such people. Hell, he’d used pickpockets and thieves as contacts too many times to count.
“The Office of Intelligence recruited me when I’d been nabbed after I bit the blow.”
He knew enough cant to understand she’d been caught after stealing from someone. “At the age of twelve?” he asked, surprised. He had no idea there were operatives that young.
She nodded. “I was shipped off to Venice, where I learned to be an Italian contessa. My cover was created back then and my path already chosen. They wanted someone who could flit between Italy, France, and England. Who could rub shoulders with the nobs as well as the demimonde. Who could infiltrate any part of society.” She cleared her throat and gave him a saucy wink. “Aye, gov, I can be a natty lad, a lone wolf, a pennyweighter.” Then she was transformed into one of many women he’d seen beckoning to him from alleyways and dark doorways. Her eyes turned sultry. “You wantin’ some of this, gov? I got what you be needin’.”
In the blink of an eye, she became a lovely seductress with a smile that heated his blood and caused his cock to rise and his bollocks to tighten. When she spoke, her voice was rich, low, seductive. Her fluent Italian was so erotic that he nearly groaned out loud and found that his hand was moving toward her. But he pulled back, giving in to the anger stirring inside him that the Office had taken an innocent and corrupted her for their gain. They had created a perfect weapon, a person who could adapt to any situation, become whoever they needed her to become. He was both amazed and appalled. Impressed and horrified.
“You were twelve years old, for God’s sake.” He sat up and rubbed his hands down his face. If he hadn’t known so much about his employer, he never would have believed her tale.
The skin around her eyes was pinched. Her face was pale. Her arm more than likely hurt like hell. “That was my age in years, but I was far older than that in experience. I’d lived on the streets for months, surviving the best I could. If the Office hadn’t found me, others would have, and they wouldn’t have been as nice as the crown was.”
“Seven Dials is notorious for its sex trade,” he said.
“Yes, and I narrowly escaped it. I’d evaded it as best I could, but even I knew time was running out. I had a few more nights at best before I was nabbed by those who peddled little girls.”
“My God, Gabrielle.”
“It’s not so bad,” she said. “I appreciate everything the crown has done for me. If not for them, I would not be here today.” She looked away, her expression desolate. “I would have rather died than be sold into prostitution.”
“And so you sell yourself for government secrets?”
She looked at him steadily. “Is that how you think of me, Sebastian? As a high-priced prostitute?”
“No, of course not. Forgive me. I misspoke.”
She looked at him for a long time, the firelight flickering across her face, playing hide-and-seek with the shadows.
“Gabrielle—”
“I make no apologies for my life. And now that you know, you will also know that anything between us is impossible. An earl does not marry the daughter of a Seven Dials whore.”
Each word was like a stab to his heart. His throat closed up and he swallowed against it, railing inside at the truth that he could not deny. “But the world will never know,” he said. “If the crown allowed the information to come out, it would expose the Office of Intelligence as well, and that simply cannot happen.”
Her look told him that he was grasping at straws, denying the undeniable.
“I hate what the crown has done to you,” he whispered.
“Ah, Sebastian. Don’t hate the crown. They plucked me off the streets and saved me from a far worse fate. They’ve put a nice roof over my head, rich food in my belly, and pretty clothes on my body. In payment for all of that, I investigate threats to the crown, just as you do.”
All of that was true, and yet there was so much more to it. He didn’t blame her for sleeping with other men. He blamed the Office. He blamed a society that forced a woman to do such things in order to survive.
“Thank you for your sacrifice,” he said.
Her laugh was bitter and harsh. “You don’t understand, do you? It’s not a sacrifice. I like what I do. I like that I can travel and see a world I never would have had the opportunity to see. I like that I can help in some small way to rid the world of people who threaten our nation. I’m not that much different from you, Sebastian.”
He felt the same way she did most days. He liked knowing that he stood between evil and the people of England. He experienced a sense of accomplishment that being an earl had never given him. No one would ever know what he had done, and most times he was fine with that.
“You think less of me,” she said, her expression closed off.
“No.” He squeezed her hand. “I think more of you.”
Chapter 13
Sebastian sat in a chair by the window in Gabrielle’s bedchamber. As he watched her sleep, he rubbed his finger along his upper lip and contemplated the evening’s revelations.
It had been quite an eventful evening. Gabrielle had been attacked, they’d made love, and she’d turned everything he believed upside down. His mind was reeling but his thoughts were very clear.
Be
fore she’d drifted back to sleep, her eyes had been shadowed with stories she wouldn’t tell, memories she wouldn’t share.
He did what he always did in difficult situations. He prioritized. Right now he had to stop thinking about Gabrielle’s past and remember that someone out there wanted to hurt her.
Gabrielle had been too long without someone to protect her, and damn, but he was feeling very protective of her at the moment. She would hate that, of course, and truth be told, he wasn’t pleased about it, either. Gabrielle was a drug he didn’t need in his system, and yet he was helpless against her.
He dressed quietly, searching for his clothes in the near dark, and soundlessly slipped out of her room.
He ran into Riggs on the staircase and motioned for him to follow him into the drawing room. “Gabrielle is still sleeping.”
Riggs nodded, expressionless. Sebastian wondered at Riggs’s past but didn’t have time to ask. Obviously the man was committed to Gabrielle, and he didn’t look at all surprised to see Sebastian emerging from her bedchamber.
“I don’t know why she was attacked last night, but I intend to find out. In the meantime, whoever wants her is still out there. I need you to be extra vigilant.”
Riggs nodded again. He seemed to be a man of few words unless he was ordering Sebastian about.
“I’m leaving to confront the man who attacked her last night.”
Ah, finally a reaction. Riggs shifted, his stance widening, his fingers flexing as if he wanted to get his hands on Wilcott as well.
“Please try to keep her inside until I return. Together we should be able to protect her.”
“Very well, sir. Will there be anything else?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Would you like me to accompany you?”
Sebastian smiled. “As much as I would love to have you watch my back, I feel you’re needed here to keep an eye on Gabrielle.”
—
Sebastian stood in the shadows and pushed his anger to a place deep inside where emotion wouldn’t rule. He practiced patience before entering the house, watching, listening. No servants were up and about, but the sun would rise soon and with it the household. He wanted to be gone by then.
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