A Courtesan’s Guide to Getting Your Man

by Celeste Bradley

  Emily lowered her chin to her chest and gave her husband a look that needed no words.

  “Don’t do it.” Mick leaned forward on the desk. “Let me invest in the pub. I can get you out of whatever temporary spot you’re in and we’ll move forward together. I…” Mick paused before he went any further, knowing that if he mentioned the reality-show money he’d damned well better deliver. “I might be in a position where you won’t have to worry about money anymore.”

  Cullen and Emily glanced at each other in shock.

  “You win the Mega Millions?” Cullen asked.

  Mick shook his head.

  Cullen folded his arms over his chest. “Don’t be daft, Magnus. You’re already part owner. Da left the pub to both of us. This place is as much yours as it is mine.”

  “Then what are you doing trying to sell the feckin’ place behind my back?”

  Cullen’s eyes went wide. “Ha! I’m the one who’s in here bustin’ my bollocks every day trying to squeeze out a livin’ in a recession!”

  Mick smiled. “Exactly my point, old man,” he said, reaching over to put a hand on his brother’s arm. “Isn’t it about time I did my bit?”

  While they’d argued, Em had been studying Mick and Cullen, nervously fiddling with her ponytail. “That’s enough,” she said, her voice so soft it alarmed both the men. She looked at her husband. “Now, would you kindly explain what kind of spot we are in? I’m well aware we’re not making money hand over fist here, and I know we’ve been a few weeks late on bills, but is there something yer not telling me?”

  Cullen swallowed. “We’re … ah … about three months behind on the mortgage,” he said.

  She blinked. “Which one—the house or the pub?”

  “Both.”

  “What?”

  “Ah, shit.” Cullen wiped a hand over his face. “I was hoping I could get us square before you found out. I didn’t want you to worry. But the receipts just kept getting less and less…” Cullen tried to smile. “But tonight might be a sign things are turning around!”

  “Oh, for feck’s sake, Malloy,” Em said, shaking her head in disbelief. “You hid all this from me? Why? I have a right to know if we’re headed to hell in a handcart! Anyway, I thought we did everything as a team.”

  Cullen lowered his head, chastised. “I just didn’t want … this,” he said. “I couldn’t face you finding out I’d failed you, failed the children.”

  “Look,” Mick said to both of them. “You have a lot to sort out, but there’s still an offer on the table. I have about fifteen thousand saved and it’s yours. Catch up on the mortgages, get ahead on your bills.”

  Cullen shook his head. “We couldn’t. We’d be wiping you out.”

  “You wouldn’t.” Mick laughed to himself before he elaborated, knowing his brother might very well assume he was joking. “I’ll be getting my own reality show soon.”

  There were two beats of silence before Cullen exploded. “Bwaa-haa-haa!”

  Emily smacked him on the top of his head.

  “Why did you go and do that?” Cullen glanced back and forth between Emily and Mick. “He’s coddlin’ us, Em!” He paused. “Right?”

  Mick shook his head. “It’ll be on the Compass Cable Network. I didn’t plan to tell you until it was a done deal and I’d signed on the line, but when this business with selling the pub came up…”

  They both stared at Mick in silence.

  “All I’m sayin’ is, please don’t worry about money. Don’t sell the pub.”

  Cullen jumped up from his desk chair and nearly knocked Emily over on his rush back to the bar. “Drinks are on me!” he called out to anyone who might still be in the place. “My baby brother’s a famous TV star!”

  Twenty-two

  That next evening, Piper pulled into the drive of the Georgian-style brick mansion with its Ionic columns and steep entrance stairs, still unsure why, exactly, she was there. Mick had slipped a cryptic note under her workroom door sometime that afternoon, asking her to meet him that evening at Towne Gate Historic Guest House about a half hour south of Boston.

  Being a good girl—and a constantly aroused one—Piper had gone home to feed Miss Meade, grab a few overnight things, and do as she’d been asked.

  She knocked on the glossy black door, noting with interest the low fanlight above the entrance, patterned with a typical teardrop design of the period.

  “Well, hello!” A pleasant older woman opened the door to the bed-and-breakfast, ushering Piper into a magical world. Her eyes widened at the sight of the historically accurate splendor of the foyer, with its deep burgundy Regency striped wallpaper, the cantilevered iron staircase that curved graciously upward, and the ornate Indochinese-style light fixture over her head.

  “Yes, Dr. Malloy said you’d be interested in the history of the house,” the woman said with a smile. She held out her hand. “Nanette Benson, innkeeper.”

  “Piper Chase-Pierpont.”

  Nanette laughed merrily. “Please come in.” As she gave a quick tour of the downstairs public rooms, Piper had to resist the urge to gasp and pant. She couldn’t help herself—there was classic Palladian plaster detailing. She saw tall, narrow windows and a columned fireplace inset with marble. Then there were the Sheraton sitting-room chairs against the wall, the mahogany and red velvet armchairs with sabre legs, and the glazed yellow chintz draperies. Even the small ornamental touches such as the blown-glass peacock on the mantelpiece, the framed floral paintings, and the silver plate … Piper could almost picture the Blackbird sweeping through with the gored hemline of her long skirt trailing behind.

  “I’m sure you don’t want to spend your evening looking at knickknacks,” Nanette said, wiggling an eyebrow. “But here, take my card.” She slipped an elegant white business card into Piper’s hand, along with a room key. “It’s the second door on the left at the top of the stairs. You two are my only guests this evening, being a weeknight and all, so feel free to roam about.” She patted Piper’s hand. “Enjoy your stay.”

  Slightly confused—and still reeling from the beauty of her museum-ready environment—Piper pocketed the card, held on to the key, and climbed the stairs. She opened the lock, turned the brass knob, and swung the door open to … the Blackbird’s boudoir?

  Her overnight bag fell to the floor. She heard the beat of her own heart. What in the world was Mick up to?

  Piper stepped into a small sitting room, its rich yellow walls glowing in the candlelight. Her eyes were immediately drawn to the decadent giltwood chaise longue in the room’s center, with its scrolled arms and blue-and-gold striped silk upholstery. Next to it was a sizable circular table of mahogany, adorned with fresh flowers and a tray of fruit, cheeses, and sliced bread. And next to that sat a bottle of red wine, opened and breathing. She noted the two wine goblets. Two plates.

  Her head swiveled around.

  And one man.

  She nearly passed out at the sight of him. Lust and alarm in equal measure rushed through her.

  He leaned against the doorway to the adjoining bedchamber, dark loose curls around his head, a devilish smile on his lips. From the waist down he wore a pair of tight nankeen breeches and black Hessian boots. On top, he was decked out in an unbuttoned waistcoat, a billowing white linen shirt open all the way down to his rippled abdomen, and a cravat that fell loose from his neck.

  But what startled Piper most was the black satin mask that covered his face from brow to nostril.

  Sir?

  The masked man took three steps toward her. Piper watched the hard muscles of his thighs undulate and the ridges of his stomach move as he came closer. She was mesmerized by his male beauty, but baffled. Clinging to the knowledge that she had not, in fact, become batshit-crazy and that this gorgeous man was, in fact, Mick Malloy, her only question was, how did he know? Was that why the pages were out of order? Should she be angry that he’d snooped around her office?

  Oh God, no—he’d seen all my notes!

  On
fire with shame, Piper backed away.

  “Oh no, you don’t.” A hand gripped her arm. Piper stared into the cobalt-blue eyes that burned from behind the mask. “Tonight you’re all mine.”

  Piper let go with a bark of bitter laughter and tried to pull away. He only yanked her tight against his bare chest.

  “Don’t be angry,” he said, his voice low and husky as he dragged his lips upon her cheek, down the side of her neck. “This is all for you, Piper. If you don’t enjoy yourself, we’ll stop, but tonight is all about your pleasure, your fantasy.”

  She leaned away, staring up into his eyes. Piper saw no teasing there, though she had to admit it was difficult to read a man in a mask. Plus she was thoroughly distracted by his mouth—erotic and delicious—the only exposed feature of his face.

  “I—” Piper stopped herself, suddenly overwhelmed. “I’m embarrassed.”

  “No! Don’t be!” Mick cupped her chin, encouraging her to look at him. “I sat down at your desk to leave you a note yesterday, and saw my name on a Post-it stuck to a stack of papers. I was curious. I shouldn’t have looked. It was none of my business. Forgive me. But once I started reading, I was hooked … shocked, even. As a scholar I was fascinated by her story, but I admit, I just got plain turned on as fuck.”

  “Did anyone see you reading it?”

  “Piper,” Mick said, holding her by the shoulders. “I figured you had good reason for never mentioning the diaries as part of your exhibit, and I kept your secret for you. I went to the copy shop and had your copy back in your drawer in twenty minutes. My copy has been in my possession every minute since. It’s here tonight. I thought we could have fun with it. Or, we can burn the damn thing if you like.”

  Piper let her eyes feast on the living, breathing girl fantasy that stood before her. It was ironic that Mick had gone to these lengths for her, because the basic Mick Malloy was almost more than Piper could handle. And “Sir” Mick Malloy? With that familiar velvet brogue now distilled into a husky bedroom whisper? Those twinkling eyes? That man-package all gift-wrapped in a too-tight pair of riding breeches?

  That should be illegal.

  “It’ll be okay, Piper.” Mick pulled her close and held her tight, his large hands rubbing up and down her back as she melted into him. “I want to give you something special tonight—that’s all,” he whispered. “I want to feed you and play with you and watch the expression in your eyes as all your wildest fantasies come true.”

  Piper hid her smile.

  “Brace yourself, woman, for I plan to force you to say the word ‘cunt’—and with an e, no less—and watch you morph into a wild, wanton slut.”

  She closed her eyes and buried her laugh in his hard, down-covered chest. He smelled warm and masculine. She wanted to sink her teeth into him.

  “And after tonight we can continue on our merry way with the sins exactly as written, maybe even find a few new ones as we go. Does that sound doable?”

  “I suppose.” He had to have felt her smile widen against his chest.

  “All right, then.” Mick stood her up straight. He softly patted her on the bottom. “Be a sport then and head to the bedroom. Freshen up if you like. I’ve laid out a little something for you to wear.”

  Piper raised an eyebrow at him. “I thought tonight was about my fantasy.”

  Mick tipped his head back and laughed, the rich and husky sound thrilling her to the core. “It is. Now do as I say and wear what I’ve laid out for you and then get your pretty little arse out here as fast as you can.”

  Piper obeyed, retreating to the bedroom, smiling and thinking. She took a quick but hot shower, telling herself that she was fine with Mick knowing about the diaries. She had planned on telling him anyway, because she was going to need his help to pull off the exhibit. Piper brushed her hair, reapplied a sweep of eyeliner, and picked up the “little something” Mick had selected for her to wear.

  It took her about a half second to figure out where he’d found his inspiration. The first night the Swan had sent the virginal Ophelia into Sir’s arms she’d worn something quite similar—a perfectly sheer gown, tied loose at the neck, revealing every contour and swell of her body.

  More than naked, indeed.

  Piper padded out on bare feet but stopped almost as soon as she entered the sitting room. She had to catch her breath. The still-masked Mick was sprawled out on the chaise longue, skin gilded in the candlelight, long legs wide, shirt still open, smirk still visible. He tapped a thigh to indicate where she was supposed to sit. She did as she was told and walked toward him, the wisp of fabric floating behind her in the breeze, all of her charms exposed to his gaze.

  He teased her as he fed her, inserting a strawberry between her lips, then taking it out with his teeth, all while his hands caressed her body. He fed her wine, enough to relax her but not dull her senses, he said. His fingertips stroked her inner thigh, tweaked her nipples. At one point Mick dipped his fingertips into the wine glass and pushed the gown to the side so that he could watch the droplets fall on her erect nipple. Then he licked them off.

  “You are so beautiful tonight.” Mick nuzzled her cheek and the side of her neck, sending electric shivers through her body. “I hate to tell you this, but your nipples are hard as little pebbles.”

  She laughed. “I can’t say I’m shocked.”

  “You have very responsive nipples. Anyone ever tell you that?”

  “Just you.”

  “Stand up for me, Piper.” His voice got deeper. Raspier. She stood.

  Mick stood as well, looking down into her face with those mysterious, half-hidden blue eyes.

  “Mick?”

  “Yes?”

  “Are you ever going to take off the mask?”

  He laughed. His laugh sounded slightly devious. Then he slid his warm hands all over her shoulders, cupped her elbows, and pulled her toward him. “You don’t like the mask?”

  Piper giggled, even as his hands tightened on her arms. “I do.”

  “Good, because it’s going to stay on for a while. Do you know why?”

  She shook her head, the heat and need gathering deep in her belly. She realized she liked him taking charge like this, teasing her, playing with her—arranging a surprise like this for her. “Why?” she asked.

  “Because I’m going to wear this mask while I fuck you senseless. Haven’t you wondered how it would feel to be ravished by a masked man?”

  “You mean like the Lone Ranger?”

  “You little wench.”

  He grabbed her up in his arms and supported her under her back and legs. He carried her into the boudoir, where he gently laid her on the spectacularly spired canopy bed, then hovered over her, her dark stranger, the man with the perfect mouth, the generous sense of humor, her dream lover made flesh.

  Mick kissed her then. He claimed her with his lips and tongue and before she knew it she was arching toward him, raising her hips into the hard front of his English breeches.

  “Get this off,” he commanded, pulling on her barely there gown until her arms were free. He tossed the frothy fabric onto the floor. “I want you completely nude underneath me,” he said, his hot touch exploring her breasts, her ribs, her belly. He cupped her buttocks in his hands and pressed her even harder to the front of his body.

  “Do you feel this? This is for you, Piper. My cock and my lust, this night—it’s all for you.” His mouth covered hers again, hot and sweet and so very wet. “But I do have a request.”

  “Anything,” she said, vaguely aware of how he toyed with her, surprised by the desperation she heard in her own voice.

  He laughed again, the same devilish sound. “I’d like to mix and match the sins tonight. I plan to make love to you in front of that mirror, there, and have you watch me take my pleasure from you. I plan to break out a few toys tonight and make you beg for what you need most. And I want to tie you down. That will be about trust. Do you trust me?”

  Piper felt light-headed, dizzy, lost in the candl
elight and the sensation of his taut masculine body pressed against hers. Did she trust him? Of course she did. She was here with him, nude and defenseless, wasn’t she? He knew all her secrets.

  “I trust you,” she said, gazing up at him, big, male, and beautiful. She watched as he took both of her hands and placed them high and wide above her head. That’s when she felt the silky restraints encircle her wrists.

  “Oh,” she breathed.

  Next, Mick took the flat of his palm and gently pressed down on her tummy. Piper felt the silky, cool bedclothes against her bottom and back. Then his hands moved to her thighs. He spread them wide. He pressed the heel of his hand into each inner thigh, making her shudder with delight, heat moving through her and settling between her legs.

  That’s when he attached the restraints to her ankles.

  “Oh wow,” she breathed.

  Mick chuckled as he moved down her body, his breath now hot against her opening. She could feel herself getting slick with need. He kissed the tender flesh just outside her swollen lips, began to nibble on her tight curls, bite gently at her mound, all while avoiding what she wanted most—the sensation of his lips and tongue and teeth on her clit and inside the lips of her sex.

  She cried out in frustration.

  “Do you want more?”

  “God, yes.”

  Mercifully, Mick’s fingers began to dance along her slit, seeking out her juice and spreading it all over her opening. “Like this, love?”

  As she nodded, she felt his fingers gently pry her open. She felt completely exposed and at his mercy, her arms tied, her legs tied, her back flat against the bed.

  “I’m going to eat you up, spread you open and then have my way with you, all tied down and helpless like you are, all mine to do with as I please.”

  Piper moaned, delirious with the knowledge that she must look like a wanton offering, spread open and pinned down. Never before had she felt this devoured—this owned. It felt as if they played on the edge of something dangerous and dark, precisely what made it so exciting, so intoxicating.