by Eva Leigh
Then, she said more lightly, “You’re here now. That’s all that matters.”
“Thinking of this night has been a balm to me these past weeks,” he said candidly. There was no need to dissemble or tell flattering half-truths. Not here. Not with her.
“If you’ve been troubled, I am sorry for it.” Sincerity firmed her words. Perhaps he was, to her, more than another masked guest, something beyond a means to keep a roof over her head.
God knew she held greater significance to him than her role as manager of this establishment.
He bowed. “I’ll find my way through my difficulties.”
Or so he hoped. Every step put him deeper and deeper into unknown, perilous territory.
“Good,” she said. “It would pain me to think of you in distress.”
“Would it?”
She shot him a pointed look. “I’ve no reason to speak falsely.”
“You are this club’s proprietress. I would be inclined to believe that you’ll say nearly anything to ensure a paying guest’s return.”
“It may be that I do not always give voice to my innermost heart,” she said, inclining her head. “Yet I will not lie. Not often,” she added wryly. “But, I won’t dissemble with you.”
Perhaps here, too, she wasn’t telling the truth, but he chose to believe her. It filled him with dark pleasure.
“Appreciated, madam.” Her presence beside him warmed him far more than any wine.
“We match.” She glanced at his mask. He’d forgotten that his was green, nearly the same color as her own. She stroked a fingertip along her mask, and then his. Though it wasn’t skin-to-skin touch, he nearly growled at the contact. “Coincidence?”
“Fate,” he said.
She gave a half smile. “Fate doesn’t exist. There are only choices.”
“And what do you choose tonight, madam?”
“For now, I choose to spend my valuable time with an inveterate scoundrel. One who disappears like smoke.” Her rich and husky laugh reached all the way down to his groin, making it tighten. Then she frowned. “In all this time, you’ve never joined in the activities in here. A displeased or bored guest is unacceptable in my establishment. I thought that when you stopped coming, maybe you’d grown tired of us.”
“Nothing here has ever disappointed me.” He was never returning after tonight, so it cost him naught to speak the truth.
Together, they observed the room and people within it. Half-nude guests danced together, while sighs and moans gently wafted above the music.
“You have never participated in the activity here,” she said, “not once in the whole of a year.”
After the too-brief conversation they’d had that first night, he’d returned again. And again. Each time, he’d been careful. Seeking her out, but trying not to appear too fervent. Yet every time, he made sure to engage her in banter, draw her out like a silken thread.
She was swathed in mystery, cloaked in secrets. Beautiful, aloof. How could he resist her? He wanted more.
But they played a sophisticated game, him and Amina. Always at a slight distance, like chess opponents strategizing the movement of their pieces on the board. A word here. A flirtation there. They both seemed to understand the way of the world, never revealing themselves entirely. All the while, desire was an invisible presence between them, gathering strength.
The last time he’d been at the Orchid Club, they’d spoken of their favorite secret places in London, little corners of the city that held unexpected joy. She hated the zoological gardens because of the caged animals, but loved to watch the birds take wing above a tiny square nestled in Chelsea. He’d confessed he would grab a cake from Catton’s famed sweet shop and eat it while standing on the banks of the Thames, watching the ships drift along the water.
Then . . . he’d taken her hand. A brief touch. Their eyes had met, and the charge between them had crackled like summer lightning. He’d nearly gone to his knees from merely that contact.
She’d slipped away to see after other guests, but he’d felt her gaze on him the rest of the night. A promise of what could be. He’d excitedly planned what might happen the next time they met. But then he’d had to disappear. Leaving the potential unfulfilled.
Until now.
He stepped in front of her so that he commanded her full attention. She tilted her head back to look him in the eye. Always, she had that direct way of looking at him, and it shot awareness through him with a hard, quick intensity.
“I return to this place again and again for one reason,” he said. “The same reason that brings me here tonight—you.”
Her lips parted, yet she did not speak. Surprise flashed in the depths of her eyes.
He narrowed the distance between them, and this close, he caught her scent of night-blooming flowers.
“This will be my last visit to the Orchid Club.” It pained to speak it, making it more real, more inevitable.
She frowned. “If I’ve said or done anything to drive you from here—”
“The world pulls me away, not you. I’d speak more on it, but the rules of the house . . .” He smiled regretfully.
“I . . .” She looked away, then back at him. “I’ll miss you.”
If she wasn’t speaking the truth to him now, she was an excellent actress. She was the picture of regret. So he opted to believe her—it was a falsehood to which he’d gladly cling.
“And I’ll miss you.” For the rest of his life, no matter what befell him or what path his life took, he’d ache for her. “Before I take my final leave, I’ve one thing to ask you.”
“And that is . . . ?”
He took her capable hand in his. She wore no gloves, and neither did he. The press of their palms together jolted through him, bright and hot. He’d anticipated her touch again with an unseemly eagerness—but now he saw that his eagerness had been entirely warranted. She felt . . . exquisite.
“Spend the night with me.” To his own ears, his voice was all but a growl.
Her eyes widened. For a long moment, she said nothing. Hope rose and fell within him, like a bird riding currents of air.
“One night,” he said in the silence. “In the morning, we’ll part company forever, but until the sun rises, we’ll give each other unimaginable pleasure. I promise,” he went on, “you’ll have nothing to regret, only memories of an extraordinary night. All you have to do is say yes.”
She stared up at him. Her breath came quickly, mirroring the thundering of his own pulse. The heat between their bodies could start a conflagration that would raze the city.
God, how he wanted her.
One moment became another and another. He could see the thoughts racing behind her eyes, the calculation of risk against reward.
He prayed for her answer, craving it with a fierce intensity, yet fully prepared to walk away if she said no. The choice had to be hers.
Her gaze locked on his, and when she spoke, her words were firm and decisive.
“Yes.”
Chapter 6
Lucia’s gaze moved over her buccaneer. He was tall, broad-shouldered, dark-haired and possessed spectacularly blue eyes, and his devastating handsomeness was like a weapon against which she could not defend herself. He had a clean, straight jaw and a very wicked, sensuous mouth.
“Yes?” he repeated.
“Yes,” she said once more. Her pulse sped with each word from her lips. “I’ll take you to my bed—for tonight alone.”
Am I making a mistake?
Sleeping with a guest had always been forbidden, even when Mrs. Chalke had run the club. And yet, for a year, Lucia and the buccaneer had circled each other, drawn by an irresistible pull. All this time, she’d fantasized about him. What his touch would feel like, how it would be to caress his bare skin, or discover his taste.
She’d resigned herself to never knowing the answer to these riddles. But after this night, she would never see him again. He’d said as much.
And tomorrow, she’d learn th
e fate of her club. Everything could come crashing down in less than twenty-four hours—the death of the establishment, the loss of employment for the twenty members of the staff, and the end of Lucia’s funding for the girls’ home.
The future was a morass of uncertainty. But tonight, just this once, she’d permit herself selfish pleasure.
No harm will come of this. There was no danger to her heart, no threat of a growing attachment. They would enjoy each other, and part company. She’d be safe.
His eyes darkened and his nostrils flared. The look of pure desire on his face stoked her own need.
“I’ve a carriage out back,” he said.
“My rooms are just upstairs. No waiting.” No time to reconsider or question herself.
“Guide us there.”
With his fingers intertwined with hers, and her heart pounding, she led him to the foyer.
Elspeth rose from the low stool upon which she sat and stared at Lucia and the buccaneer’s joined hands. Her wide gaze flew to Lucia’s.
“I’m leaving everything in your hands for the rest of the night.” Lucia looked levelly at her friend, but knew her gaze held a note of entreaty.
Only for tonight. For this single time, I’m taking something that’s meant for me alone.
Perhaps Elspeth understood how much Lucia needed the solace and distraction of pleasure, because she nodded.
“Enjoy your evening,” Elspeth said.
Silently, Lucia exhaled. She offered Elspeth a small, grateful smile before leading her buccaneer up the main staircase. As they climbed the stairs, she was acutely aware of his presence behind her, and the burn of his flesh against hers from merely the press of hands. The steps creaked with his mass, reminding her of his size, so much larger than her, giving her a foretaste of his weight on her. A thrill danced along her limbs and centered between her legs, where she was alive and sensitized.
The main corridor upstairs was lit by a single candle. Lucia stopped outside her door, fitting the key into the lock. She trusted her friends and the staff, but never knew when an inquisitive guest might manage to find their way into the private rooms where she, Kitty, and Elspeth lived.
As she slid the key into place, her buccaneer pressed close behind her, nuzzling her neck. For a moment, she simply held herself still, absorbing his touch. Her eyes struggled to remain open, and her hand trembled. She couldn’t seem to unlock the door.
“You’re up here early.” Kitty’s voice broke through Lucia’s sensual haze. “I— Oh.”
Lucia looked down the hallway to see Kitty standing outside her room, jogging little Liam on her hip.
Behind Lucia, her buccaneer stilled but didn’t move away. His breath fanned warmly across her nape, making her breasts tighten.
A smile bloomed across Kitty’s face. “As you were, soldiers.” She saluted before disappearing into her room.
Alone, finally. Lucia opened the door to her chamber. Taking a breath, she stepped inside.
He followed at once, shutting the door behind him. She quickly locked it so no one would disturb them.
She leaned back, knowing full well that the movement pushed her breasts tightly against her gown’s curved neckline. A shameless, proud display.
He stepped closer, and her breasts brushed his broad, solid chest. This was the closest they had ever been to each other, and her whole body felt acutely sensitized, aware of every point of contact. His thighs against hers, their hips cradling together.
“Am I to have you, then?” he rumbled.
She adored the hint of an Irish accent in his words, yet would never know more about where he came from, or anything at all about him.
Here she was, in her room, with an intimate stranger. A man she knew well, yet not at all.
More, a voice within her cried. I need more than another meaningless fuck.
She forcibly shoved the unwanted thought away. It was so much easier to reduce her need for him to the craving of one body for another. Delving deeper and learning him made him too real, turning him from a fantasy into a fully developed person.
No. She shouldn’t crave that connection. It only led to pain and heartbreak.
“We are to have what we want,” she said in a murmur, looping her arms around his neck and bringing him down, closer to her. He cupped her waist, heat from his body seeping into hers.
This is all I want, she told herself, trying to quiet her demand for affinity. A good, hard fuck. Only that.
For a moment, they merely gazed at each other, their mouths hovering closely. Then, as her eyes drifted shut, their lips came together. Softly at first. A brush back and forth as they learned each other’s textures and the hints of their taste. His initial gentleness surprised her. She expected him to crash against her mouth and take, take, take. That was the way of most men. But not this man. He progressed slowly, learning her bit by bit.
Her heart thudded in alarm. This was too affectionate, too meaningful, reaching deep into her to find the place where she yearned for true intimacy.
She turned the kiss more demanding and ravenous. He responded at once, sweeping his tongue into her mouth with velvet strokes. She sank into the sensation. The man knew how to kiss a woman. He clearly took pleasure from the act itself, rather than rush it toward another destination. She took from him hungrily, as he gave her himself, deep and rich and lush.
I don’t want to take another stranger to my bed, that voice within her interjected. Who is he, truly?
Stai zitta, she mentally hissed back. Don’t muddle things. They’re complicated enough.
She moved deeper into her room, needing to hurry toward the raw, purely physical needs of her body as if she could outpace her thoughts. He followed. After pausing briefly to light a candle, she let her hands roam over his body, and, che bello, he felt magnificent, solid and firm with tightly hewn muscle that shifted powerfully beneath her touch. This was all she needed to know—that he was beautifully made and could give her physical release.
If she wanted more, if she craved the comfort one soul could give another, she’d lock that craving away, where it couldn’t hurt her.
His large hands caressed her everywhere, sweeping along the curves of her arse, cupping her hips, skimming up over her waist. Heat tore through her, turning her liquid and pliable.
The back of her dress dipped low, baring the skin between her shoulder blades, and she jolted with pleasure as he stroked her flesh there.
He cupped her breasts, and sparks tumbled through her entire body. She arched up into his touch. His growl resounded low within her, speaking directly to her need for the purely carnal.
Yes, just this. Only this.
His rumble grew deeper when he plucked her nipples into tight points, making her moan.
This was perfect. This was precisely what she needed. The fall into pleasure, heedless of everything but desire. Tomorrow didn’t matter—nothing mattered but now.
It’s not enough, that infuriating voice insisted. What of your heart? What of the bond between two souls? I want that.
There was no way to escape her own demands, much as she tried to silence them.
“Too many clothes,” he muttered. He edged back slightly and moved to pull off his coat.
“Wait,” she heard herself say.
He froze in midmotion. “You want me to stop?”
“Yes—but no.” She drew a shuddering breath. Don’t say it. “I need more.”
Madonna santa!
His gaze sharpened. “Anything.”
“I want . . .” She could not stop the words as they tumbled from her lips. “Give me one truth about you.”
“A truth,” Tom said slowly as he struggled to make sense of what she’d asked. He lowered his hands.
Amina spoke in a rush, as if trying to get every syllable out before she thought better of it.
“Not your identity. That remains hidden. But tell me something about yourself.”
“Why?” He pushed against the wall of his confusion.
This was not what they had agreed upon.
“What does it matter?” Her words were almost sharp. “We’ll not see each other again after tonight.”
“Yet to speak of such things goes contrary to your established rules.”
He tested his own response to her request and found . . . welcome acceptance. Finding a stranger to fuck was easy enough. He’d taken others to bed within minutes of meeting, with them knowing nothing about who he was or knowledge of what he feared or desired in the hidden recesses of his heart. Hell, there had been more than a few times his bed partners hadn’t even known his name.
It hadn’t mattered to him then. But the chance to have Amina discover more about himself felt as though he’d waded into a warm ocean, becoming more and more buoyant with each step.
For a moment, she was silent.
“I’ve had lovers before. Always, I made certain to keep them essentially strangers. You and I, we’re destined to walk away from one another, but . . .”
He’d never heard her sound uncertain, not once, and yet she spoke as if testing out her thoughts that were unknown, even to herself.
“But . . . ?” he prompted.
She tilted up her chin as if in defiance. “I want this to be different. I want you to be different.”
So—he wasn’t the only one invested in their two-person planetary system.
What she suggested was a risk, yet secrecy was her stock-in-trade.
They’d part with the dawn, leaving him only with memories of physical sensation. Yet to have her learn about him wasn’t enough. He hungered for anything about her, small, gleaming pieces that he could hold tight to in decades to come.
“One condition.”
She gazed at him warily. “Tell me your terms.”
“In exchange for my truth, I want the same from you.”
Behind her mask, her eyes went round.
His pulse throbbed. It was a gamble, demanding this from her. Much as he wanted her and the pleasures of her body, there was a chasm within him that demanded a deeper knowledge of this extraordinary woman. Perhaps he might not know the secrets of her mind and heart, but in the long years ahead when he was mired in cold, passionless duty, he could warm himself with embers of remembrance.
