by Jenn Bennett
The chemise’s loose legs were embroidered with a field of alternating lotus flowers and fanning papyrus stalks. And over the tops of her breasts stretched the green and blue winged figure of Maat, Egyptian goddess of balance and truth.
Hadley shyly smiled down at him and he wasn’t entirely convinced he hadn’t died and ascended to some sort of heaven.
• • •
Hadley held her breath as Lowe’s gaze raked over the chemise. It was Madame Dubois’s finest embroidery work, and Hadley had sighed blissfully when she’d picked it up that afternoon. Silly, but she couldn’t curb the careening hope that he’d like it just as much.
“O-oh,” Lowe moaned, rising up on his elbows. Half of her wanted to cover herself up. The other half wanted him to put his hands everywhere his heavy gaze roamed. He pushed himself up until she was forced to sit back on his thighs. “Vacker. So beautiful—my God, Hadley.” His knuckles grazed her clavicle and stroked over the embroidered neck of the chemise, sending goose bumps down her arms. Thick blond eyelashes fanned over blue eyes as he blinked. His voice was low and gravelly. “Can I please touch you now? I need to touch you. I have to touch you.”
“Yes,” she said, gaining confidence. “Definitely yes.”
A heavy arm slung around her waist, and with a grunt, he pushed himself off the floor, hauling her with him as he stood. He set her on wobbly feet. “Steady, now.” Two big hands swiveled her around to face her bed.
“What—” She twisted around to see him ogling the embroidered papyrus fans that curved over her backside.
“Jesus Christ,” he mumbled. His willpower seemed to snap. One moment he was in a daze, and the next, his hands were all over her, sliding beneath the loose legs of her step-in chemise to palm her ass, igniting a thousand sparks across her skin. He kneeled behind her, talking more to himself than her. “These have to go.”
He lifted her foot and unbuckled the T-bar strap of one Mary Jane pump, forcing her to grasp a rail of the metal footboard for balance. The other quickly followed. Warm fingers pushed down her garters before circling her thigh to roll a stocking down. Shocking wet heat followed the stocking’s path down her leg—his mouth on the back of her thigh. Down, down, until he licked the sensitive hollow behind her knee.
The second stocking went twice as fast. He seemed to be racing her quickening pulse. She felt him stand behind her before he tugged golden straps down her arms. Silk whispered across her skin as the chemise fell, puddling at her feet.
She was naked. Utterly, completely naked. Her bare skin on display to his hungry gaze. Never had anyone seen her this exposed—not since the incident. Not even George; their brief encounters had been in the dark, beneath the cover of her skirt.
A powerful shudder went through her.
“Shh,” he whispered. Heavy heat prodded her lower back. Good God! Already? Her mind flashed back to the night they met and the shock of his erection pressing against her on the back of the moving train . . . and the ensuing panic she’d felt at the shocking intimacy.
“It’s only me,” he whispered against her ear. “Just me.”
She stilled, bracing for the inevitable cringe as his arms wound around her. Tonight she was ready to fight that feeling. To count it away, or drown it in liquor again if she had to. But—
But it didn’t come. Not even when he pulled her tight against the solid muscle of his chest, bare skin against skin. Or when his wet mouth opened against the side of her throat.
This time, she didn’t feel the panic that blackened her senses and stole her free will.
This time, she felt . . .
Safe.
Her body sagged in relief.
She spun in his arms as unshed tears stung her eyes. His mouth crushed against hers, and he kissed her like he was bound for the gallows and she was his last hope for salvation. His hands were suddenly everywhere, all at once, a whirlwind of heat and sensation, sending pleasurable chills over her skin. He pushed her back on the mattress a second before he bent his head to her breast. No soft kisses. No teasing. He just sucked her nipple into his mouth and pulled. Lightning shot down her center, electrifying her with an intense bolt of lust.
He released her flesh with a wet pop and moved his attention to her other breast. She cried out and scissored her legs together in an attempt to get relief from the building ache between her thighs. She was embarrassingly wet, wantonly rubbing herself against his erection . . . drowning in want and a startling neediness. She tried to calm herself down, but some animalistic part of her wasn’t willing. Her legs fell apart around his. His long middle finger parted her damp curls. She jerked and writhed against him.
“You’re so wet. Jesus, Hadley.” Wonder coated his words as he whispered, “You want me.”
More than anything. She moaned, half-ashamed as his hand ran through the slickness that coated her inner thighs. Half-amazed, too. She’d never been so aroused. When his thumb circled her clitoris, she felt a tickling warmth as pooling liquid trickled down her flesh.
Lowe groaned, a rich baritone rumble she felt through her bones. She couldn’t stop her plea from jumping overboard. “Please, Lowe. God, now. Please.”
He immediately pulled away. Where was he going?
She lifted her head to see him reaching for his suit jacket that hung on her bedpost. He fumbled for a small tin and flung the quickly discarded lid on her coverlet—where Hadley caught a glimpse of its printed front, a chariot drawn by a pair of racing lions.
Oh.
Interesting. She’d never seen any in person. She wanted to tell him that she’d followed a new method of counting the days in her cycle. That they should be in the clear. Instead, she found herself caught in a fascinated daze as she watched him retrieve a ring of latex and unroll it down his length. Good grief. He could sell tickets to this show—every hot-blooded girl in town would pay to see such a spectacle. If he’d felt impossibly thick and heavy in her hand minutes ago, he looked even more intimidating now. She didn’t know whether to be worried or impressed.
Impressed, her body decided, as another wave of need warmed her aching sex.
His shadow fell as his body covered hers again, warm and strong and big. A welcome weight. His maimed hand pushed one arm above her head, like she’d pinned him moments before. “It’s only me,” he said again, kissing her bottom lip. Their fingers threaded together as he prodded her legs apart, making room between her thighs for his hips. He pressed his forehead to hers. “I’ve never wanted anyone so badly. Never. My God, Hadley. Tell me you want me inside you.”
“Yes.” She could barely speak.
“Tell me.” He guided her free hand to hook around his neck and shifted his weight to his forearms. Back bowed, he pushed himself against her entrance, a teasing pressure that made her want to writhe beneath him. “Say it.”
“I want you—”
He plunged inside her before she could finish. One punishing stroke, no quarter. She cried out, digging her nails into his neck, shocked by the near-painful intrusion.
“Don’t move,” he said sharply as his muscles strained.
She didn’t. Couldn’t. All she could do was hold her breath. One, two, three . . . Her body relaxed. He groaned and pulled back—no!—before pushing into her again, more slowly. Terribly slow. Perfectly slow. Slow enough to make her squeeze her eyes shut as desire rolled through her.
“Yes?” he murmured.
“Lowe,” she answered.
He kissed her and she let go, giving in to the feel of his hips driving against hers and the beautiful friction that whorled between them where their bodies were joined. Her free hand roamed over his warm skin, exploring, delighting in the hard lines of his shoulders and back. The way he shivered beneath her touch when her nails swept down his side.
She stretched out below him, lifting her knees to invite him deeper. They both groaned as her muscles tigh
tened around him. She gasped and shifted her hips, testing the angle until she felt the brush of his wiry curls teasing the sensitive bundle of nerves pulsing in her clitoris.
So much pleasure. Enough to erase years of martyrdom. Every fear, every worry, every night she’d spent alone, wondering if there was nothing more—it was all gone. Swept away. She felt warm tears streaming down her temples as joy caught in her throat.
“Hadley.”
“It’s so good,” she said dumbly.
“This is how it’s supposed to be,” he murmured, kissing her eyes. “This is what I’ve wanted.” His lips pressed against hers and she tasted salt.
Me, too, she thought. And so badly.
Never expect anything and you’ll never be disappointed. She told herself if this was all there was—this closeness, this dismantling of her phobia, this fuzzy pleasure—that it would be enough.
But it wasn’t.
Never mind that she’d had sex with George a handful of times and never once had an orgasm. Or that she hadn’t so much as kissed another man in years. None of that mattered. She suddenly wanted it all, and she wanted it with Lowe. Right now. How easily he’d come apart earlier beneath her inexperienced hand. No shame, no struggle. Just total abandon and trust. She wanted that, too. And when her body greedily fisted around him again, that want intensified into something more than determination.
“Goddamn,” Lowe murmured. “Yes, min älskling, ja.”
O-oh. Oh!
This is really happening.
Urgently needing an anchor, her free hand clung to his straining biceps as her toes curled, bobbing above the increasing pace of his pumping hips.
Sweat beaded on his brow. His fingers tightened around the hand he held captive above her head while he pinned her to the mattress below. She was so close. And so very desperate for it. And within the span of two heartbeats, there was no stopping. A horde of people could burst in the door and she wouldn’t be able to muster enough shame to halt it. She was gone. Lost. Racing toward oblivion and uncertainty and a gathering darkness that threatened to swallow her whole, if she was willing to dive into it.
And she was. God, she was!
The climax ripped through her like a summer storm, jerking a long, carnal cry from her lungs. She came endlessly, pleasure tumbling and shaking and squeezing her until she couldn’t breathe. Until she thought she might die from it. Until she felt Lowe’s body seize and heard his answering roar as he came inside her. He sounded just as lost and bewildered as she felt. And as he collapsed against her, she threw her arms around his neck, curled her legs around his hips, and pulled him down with her.
TWENTY-FOUR
HADLEY DOUBLE-CHECKED HER BEDSIDE alarm clock. Three. She didn’t remember falling asleep, but must have. The bed was achingly empty. But the panic she’d felt when she first realized this a few moments ago was fading, now that she knew for certain he was still here. She’d never been so happy to hear noise in her apartment. Clinks and bumps, water running in the pipes, cheerful whistling. The pleasant sounds of someone else in her home. And not a maid that would abandon her tomorrow, but Lowe.
Lowe.
She grinned at the ceiling, squeezing her eyes shut as a silent joy washed over her, and pushed out of bed.
After a hurried trip to the bathroom, she slipped into a plover gray Habutai silk peignoir dotted with bright begonias, quickly tying the sash as she hunted the location of the noise. Kitchen. She rounded the doorway, wincing at the harsh pendant lighting reflecting off white subway tile. When her eyes adjusted, she found herself staring at a very interesting view of Lowe’s thoroughly naked backside.
Arm draped over her icebox door, he was bent over, peering inside. Long legs dusted with blond hair supported well-shaped buttocks with muscled hollows. But it was the shadowed glimpse of what hung between those legs that made her chest warm.
My God, the things he’d done to her over the last few hours . . . the things she’d done to him. She could scarcely believe any of it had happened. And now, here he still was. No dream—solid flesh. Very solid flesh. She liked the way his back rippled as he poked through jars and containers. Not much to see. Butter. Fig preserves. Blood oranges. Some cooked chicken for Number Four, who was spooling around Lowe’s feet like they were best of friends.
“What is this, do you think?” he asked the cat. “The green fuzz isn’t giving me hope. Looks vaguely meat-based.”
“Week-old deviled ham,” she warned, voice cracking with sleep. “What are you doing?”
He glanced over his shoulder and stood. A shame. She’d been enjoying that. But the slow grin he gave her made up for the loss. The long top of his sandy hair was a messy mop of loose curls limned in pale light. He pushed away a thick lock that hung over one eye and shut the icebox door.
“I’m making breakfast,” he answered, corded arms crossing his broad chest as he leaned a shoulder against the icebox.
“Naked?”
One shoulder lazily lifted and fell. “Why not?”
Indeed. Walking pornography, right in her kitchen. She drifted closer, feeling a bit like a wealthy tourist on a safari trying to get a better view of a grazing gazelle. “At three in the morning?”
“I’m famished.”
“Me, too,” she admitted.
His eyes sparkled with good humor. “All that touching and moaning exhausts a body’s resources.”
“You aren’t kidding,” she murmured, all too aware of the dull soreness between her thighs.
He swayed closer and dropped a peck on her forehead. So casual and affectionate, as if they’d been doing this for years. She caught the unique scent of his skin and breathed in deeply. Better than the lilies by her bed. Better than anything she could think of at the moment.
His appreciative gaze roamed over her dressing gown. He made a satisfied noise before scratching the back of his neck. “I washed up the dishes in your sink, by the way.”
“You didn’t have to do that,” she said, feeling mildly embarrassed.
“Someone did. Why do I get the distinct feeling that you’re unfamiliar with manual labor?”
“Because I am,” she said, prodding his toes with hers. He had the loveliest arch to his feet. “I’m not going to apologize for my family’s money. It’s not as if I sit around doing nothing. I work, after all. And I’ll have you know that I dirtied those dishes, so I’m not completely useless around the kitchen. I can make toast. And tea.”
His big toe wiggled in answer as it drifted over her foot. “And peel oranges.”
“And peel oranges,” she agreed with a smile.
“Well, together we might get somewhere, because if you can brew us up some tea and make toast, I’ll fry us up some eggs.” He glanced down at the purring ball of fur nosing his way into their toe conversation. “Eggs for three, I suppose. Or maybe we should feed him the deviled ham and see if it’ll turn him into Number Five.”
“Big talk. At the rate you two are going, you’ll be kicking me out of the covers and cuddling up with him instead.”
“Not on your life.” He grazed a barely-there finger down her hip as she passed, sending a tiny shiver racing below the silk of her robe. “I like your claws better.”
While she set a kettle on to boil and pulled down the smallest metal canister from a set of FLOUR-SUGAR-COFFEE-TEA—the one marked “coffee” was only filled with loose coins and nails—Lowe found a cast-iron skillet and struck a match to light the stove.
“I meant to say this earlier, but your burn looks much better,” she said, nodding toward his arm.
“Lucky for me, I had a skilled nurse to bandage it up properly.”
She chuckled and set two empty teacups on saucers. “It’s rather strange to spend my Friday night making breakfast with a naked man in my kitchen,” she said, spooning tea leaves into two cups as she stole a glance at his body. �
�Strange, but good.”
“If I wasn’t here, what would you be doing?”
“Sleeping. Or, if you take into account the events of the last week, I’d be trying to sleep at my father’s house and failing. If I had to spend one more night in that depressing old place, I might’ve gone crazy.”
“He probably doesn’t want you doting over him anyway.”
“I’m sure you’re right.” She set the tea canister back in its place on the shelf and fitted bread into both sides of an electric toaster. Then she bent to pick up Number Four, who lazily draped his front legs over her shoulder. “Have you had a chance to look at the pictograms?”
“I think I’ve narrowed the third canopic jar down to a handful of names.” He cut off a nub of butter into the pan. “You ready to get back to our task?”
“We can start tomorrow, if you’d like. My weekend is free.” What she really meant to say was that she wanted him to stay here with her. That all of this was so wonderfully new, and now that she’d broken her touching phobia, she felt like a child who’d tasted sugar for the first time—buzzing with joy and delight and a glorious sort of satiated warmth.
And it wasn’t enough.
She wanted more. Both more of what she’d already had and the promise of new experiences. She wanted to know what it felt like to wake up in his arms. To bathe with him. To walk to the market and buy bags of food to fill up her empty icebox and cupboards.
Silly things.
Lowe cracked eggs into the hot butter and rattled off the names he’d matched to the pictograms. They debated the meanings behind one of the symbols. And when their humble late-night dinner came together, she pried Number Four from her shoulder, happy to have a plan for tomorrow.
They set steaming cups and plates down on a small round table sitting beneath a window that framed a view of the sleeping city. Lowe glanced at the pair of polished café chairs sitting beneath the table and tested their mobility, shifting one chair closer to the other. “Well, what do you know. Looks like you’ve got a few things around here that aren’t nailed down.”
