Parlor Games

by Jess Michaels

  Parlor Games

  Jess Michaels

  Leda Swann

  Julia Templeton

  Contents

  Jess Michaels

  Fallen Angel

  Leda Swann

  Parlor Games

  Julia Templeton

  Border Lord

  About the Authors

  Credits

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  Fallen Angel

  Jess Michaels

  For Michael,

  who makes me feel like a romance heroine

  even when my hair is scary

  1

  London, 1815

  John Valentine strummed the fingers of one hand along the bar top while in the other he clenched a tumbler of whiskey. He stared at the clock behind the bartender’s head, watching as the moments bled away one by one.

  Glowering at the hated timepiece, he let out a string of low curses that didn’t raise an eyebrow from the gentlemen and ladies surrounding him in the crowded room. In fact, most didn’t even notice his frustration as they talked, kissed, and…He shifted as he glanced down the bar to watch one gentleman, a powerful figure in Parliament, lift the young woman in his company up on the bar to have easier access to the swell of her breasts beneath the low curve of her scandalous gown. Valentine couldn’t help but stare as the woman dipped her head back with a loud sigh. The sigh turned to a moan as her companion pushed the neckline even lower until the dusky rose of one taut nipple popped over the lacy edging.

  Valentine turned away, his erection lengthening beneath the bar. Arabella Nichols’s underground haven of sex definitely lived up to the rumors surrounding it. Since his arrival, he had seen so much that this latest exposure to sin and sex seemed tame. How much more did the legendary Miss Nichols think he could take?

  “Mr. Valentine?”

  He started as a feminine voice, along with hot, sweet breath, brushed his ears. He turned to find a lovely auburn-haired woman standing at his elbow, a broad, flirtatious smile on her face.

  “Yes?”

  “Arabella is ready for you.”

  The young lady’s smile grew as he got to his feet and her gaze swept over him. He ignored her blatant regard…and the equally blatant offer in her expression. With a grin, she turned and led him from the room, past a crowded parlor where even more ladies and gentlemen congregated for erotic foreplay, and finally through a ballroom with a stage where scantily clad ladies danced for the pleasure of the men and women in the crowd below. Valentine kept his eyes focused straight ahead on the lace-clad back of his companion. His head wasn’t so addled by drink and sex that he couldn’t remember this was business.

  Or at least try to remember. It wasn’t easy when temptation waited around every corner.

  His companion led him upstairs and down a long hallway. Through the closed doors, Valentine heard the moans and cries of couples, perhaps even groups in some rooms, acting out the pleasures hinted at below.

  “Are you warm, Mr. Valentine?” his pretty guide asked as she glanced at him over her shoulder.

  His lips thinned at the teasing glimmer in her eyes. “No.”

  She laughed as she paused at an ornate door at the end of the hallway. “Then you are a stronger man than most.” She clicked the door open. “Arabella? Mr. Valentine is here.”

  “Come in.”

  Valentine did as he was told, even though the response came from a formless voice. As the door closed behind him, he glanced around. The chamber didn’t look like he would have guessed based on the establishment’s reputation. He’d expected a tacky display of erotic delights. A room dominated by a bed, perhaps clad in red with satin all around.

  Instead the chamber was tastefully outfitted, from the rich oriental carpet beneath his feet to the expensive furniture and exquisite art that filled the room. There was no bed in the sitting room, but he assumed his hostess’s bedchamber was through the closed doorway across from him.

  Still, he could not find the infamous Arabella Nichols.

  “You kept me waiting for over an hour,” he said, his eyes darting from corner to corner. They finally settled on a high-backed wing chair by the fire. It was turned away from him, but a slender female hand lay on the armrest.

  Still, she did not rise, or even move at all. “I am fully aware of how long you waited, Mr. Valentine.”

  Irritation sluiced through him, tamping down some of his earlier arousal. “So you don’t care how my time was wasted? Is this how you run your business?”

  The hand curled into a fist before its owner pushed to her feet and turned to face him.

  Valentine caught his breath. By God, Arabella was even more beautiful than the gossips and rogues said she was. Long golden curls cascaded over her shoulders and down her back, draping over full breasts that were barely covered by a scrap of white satin that might laughingly be called a negligee. The long slit up one side gave him a good look at her slender, lithe limbs, the kind a man couldn’t help but imagine wrapped around his waist.

  And then there were her eyes. A stunning, captivating midnight blue that pierced through his own. There was a spark of intelligence, of challenge, in their depths that excited him as much as her exposed skin and husky voice did.

  “Keeping you waiting is exactly how I run my business, Mr. Valentine,” she said softly, her voice a little breathless and sensual. She obviously knew her full mouth and the words she formed with it were just as much a tool of her trade as the lush curves of her body or the heat of her sex.

  He folded his arms and carefully, methodically, reined in his shocking animal reaction to this woman. He already knew what those urges could do. He had once vowed to never again be overcome by them.

  “I am not a man accustomed to being kept waiting,” he growled.

  She gave him a small and knowing smile before she slid forward in a movement both graceful and enticing. “That I did know about you, though little else. You see, Mr. Valentine, I had to be sure about your character.”

  Valentine snorted. “My character?”

  Her smile faltered a fraction and her voice was tighter when she replied, “Yes. My business is delicate. I could not bring a man into this world who would frighten away my patrons with his glowering disapproval. And I couldn’t hire a man who was unable to control himself when the ladies who work and play here offered themselves to him. You had to be tested.”

  She came closer with each word until she was mere inches from him. Her body heat reached out, curling around him, addling his mind as it warmed his pounding blood. Valentine’s fisted hand stirred at his side. He yearned to reach out and smooth his fingers along this woman’s silken skin. To claim her mouth. Her body. Make her stop talking and start moaning in pleasure.

  What the hell was wrong with him? Why was he so affected by the pounding sexual tension that coursed through the room? Under any other circumstances, he would have just departed, but practicality interfered. There were few people who would hire a disgraced former Bow Street Runner. And he needed this job, what ever it was, almost as much as he desired the woman who offered it to him.

  “Why does a woman like yourself wish to hire a man like me?” he asked, surprised his voice didn’t tremble with pent-up desire.

  Arabella’s body language shifted. From the erotic temptress, she changed to an unsure, frightened lady. The transformation was brief, but Valentine saw it. And it inspired a strange desire to take care of her.

  “I need your protection, Mr. Valentine,” she said, and it was her voice that trembled, but not with desire. “Someone is trying to kill me.”

  Arabella shuddered as she said the words, but it wasn’t only fear that caused her to shiver. It was strange…she hadn’t had such a visceral reaction to a
man in a long time. But John Valentine, with his focused, intense brown eyes, scruffy whiskers, and hair too long for current fashion, aroused her utterly and completely. Considering why she was hiring him, that could be very bad.

  Or oh, so very good.

  Valentine cocked his head, but he didn’t seem any more moved by her statement that her life was in danger than he did by her presence. Except that when she glanced down, the outline of an impressive erection was clear against his fitted trousers. Still, he remained cool. Impassive. How she longed to crack that shell.

  “Tell me more,” he said. “Tell me all the details.”

  She stepped back, using the business acumen she had honed for so many years to rein in her emotions. Motioning him to the settee by the blazing fire, she crossed to her bureau and withdrew a little wooden box. When she turned back, she saw Valentine had gone to the settee but hadn’t taken a seat. He simply stared at her, his body outlined by the fire in a most appealing way. Dear God, but he was a handsome man.

  With a shake of her head, she crossed back to him, letting her body brush his as she took the seat he would not. Still, he did not join her.

  “It began a month or so ago,” she explained. “With a letter left nailed to the door of this establishment. It explained in vulgar detail what the sender wished to do to me. I ignored it.”

  Valentine looked down at her. “Why?”

  She smiled, though the answer gave her no pleasure. “I am sorry to say that I receive many such letters each year from various people who want to see me gone from London. Whether it be people who have not been allowed membership to this place, ones who have had their membership revoked for bad behavior, or the occasional ladies society that wishes to end my ‘reign of sin,’ threats are a part of my daily existence.”

  “Then why take this one seriously?” he asked and advanced a small step closer.

  The spicy scent of his skin filled her nostrils and her heart rate increased tenfold with the intoxicating effects. She shook her head. What was wrong with her?

  “I didn’t until another letter arrived. Then another. One was even slipped beneath my bedroom door while I slept.” She trembled at the thought that someone had been in her home, had such easy access to her. “Still, I hoped this person would simply go away…but then—” She broke off as she held out the box filled with the letters she had saved.

  Valentine hesitated as he stared at the spot beside her on the settee. Then he seemed to surrender, for he sank to a seated position. Once again, she was surrounded by his scent, his masculine body heat. Both gave her a strange feeling of comfort.

  “Then?” he asked as he took the box filled with the words and promises of her stalker. His voice was softer this time. As if he understood her pain. Her fear.

  “The threats turned to attempts on my safety and life,” she admitted. “Someone put burrs under my mare’s saddle to make her shy when I rode around Hyde Park. A fire was set in my bedroom…deliberately. Only the quick reaction of a servant kept it from raging out of control. And one night someone fired shots through the window of my main hall. They were aimed at the area where I always sit.”

  Valentine’s face pulled into a scowl. “So whoever this is, their behavior is escalating from threats to actual violence.”

  Slowly, she nodded. Hearing him say those words brought reality home to her. No matter how much she’d been trying to deny she was in danger, trying to keep the truth from everyone around her, she could do so no longer.

  “That is why I called upon you. I require assistance, I cannot face this danger alone. I need someone who can protect me and investigate what has been happening to determine who is responsible. I know you were once with the Bow Street Runners.” She was surprised when his face twitched with displeasure at the reference to his former employers.

  “And why choose me?” he asked, his gravelly voice suddenly strained. “If you know I was a Runner, you probably also know I was dismissed in disgrace.”

  For a brief moment, the displeasure she saw in his eyes turned to raw anger and hurt, but then the emotions were gone. Arabella took a deep breath. Clearly she would have to tread softly over these delicate subjects.

  “I also heard the charges leveled against you were unfounded,” she said softly.

  At that, his face lost its anger, gentled. She sucked in her breath. Without the tension in his every muscle, Valentine was even more appealing. For a wild moment, she wondered how to permanently temper the rage that hung around him. How to release it with more pleasurable pursuits. Then she dismissed that surprising reaction.

  “W-will you take the job?” she asked. “The payment is generous.”

  His eyes darted to her face, then slid lower, sweeping over her with undeniable interest. Her blood heated in reaction as her nipples tightened and wet desire flooded her already tingling pussy. She wanted to know what this man tasted like. What his cock felt like when it slid home inside her. She wanted to know how much pleasure he could bring. From the reined-in sensuality in his eyes, the way he held his broad, strong body…she guessed it would be as much as she could handle and more.

  Slowly, she leaned forward until her barely clad breasts brushed his arm. His stare darted to the point of contact and she had no doubt he saw how hard her nipples were. Certainly she could not ignore his swelling cock. But would he allow himself to act on his desire, this man who seemed so capable of denying himself?

  “If you wish it, there could even be other benefits to doing this for me,” she whispered.

  Valentine’s expression shifted, unreadable beyond a flash of indefinable strong emotion. She found herself wanting to touch him, but held back. Until she had his answer, she was not going to pursue anything further with him.

  “Very well,” he said softly, though he seemed to take no pleasure in accepting her offer.

  She wrinkled her brow. The man clearly desired her, but he did not respond to her in the way she had come to expect. He could have already had her on her back. She wouldn’t have resisted…But instead he pushed off the settee, away from the brush of her body, and paced to the fire.

  Clearing her throat, she said, “I do not wish anyone to know about our bargain, Valentine. No one can know you’re protecting me.”

  His brow wrinkled. “Why?”

  Arabella felt the blood drain from her face. There were many reasons why she kept secrets. Most she could not, or would not, reveal. “It would frighten the young women in my employ if they knew I was under attack.”

  His eyebrow arched. “They didn’t realize the threat when you were shot at?”

  She shook her head. “I told them the shots were fired by a drunken reveler.”

  “Hmmm.” He looked displeased by her lies and she felt strangely compelled to explain herself.

  “Any hint of danger would hurt my business. I work in the arena of fantasy and pleasure. Any danger found within these walls should only be erotic and easily vanquished with a word or a touch.” She sighed. “No one must know the truth.”

  “I see.” He folded his arms across his broad chest, drawing her attention to the muscular definition of both. “How do you propose I protect you if no one can know I’m here?”

  She smiled. “By pretending to be my lover,” she explained. “Part of why I chose you for this job is that you are exactly the kind of man I would take to my bed.”

  And that was no lie. In fact, she hadn’t realized just how true it was until Valentine entered her chamber and made her wet and wanting with just a few words. “If you cleaned up a bit.”

  “Cleaned up?” he repeated, his eyebrow arching as he digested her request.

  Rising to her feet, she closed the distance he had put between them with a few steps. He straightened up, tensed as she lifted her fingers and brushed his cheek. Rough stubble raked her skin and she hardly kept herself from moaning out loud.

  “Yes. If you shaved.” She lifted her hand higher, almost forced to stand on her tiptoes to glide it through his s
ilky hair. “Cut your hair.” She smiled as she forced herself to pull away. “Nothing to scar you permanently, I assure you.”

  “I see,” he said softly, and for the first time since he came into her chamber, a small smile lifted one corner of his full, utterly kissable lips. Her heart thudded in response.

  Yes, she would have to be very careful with this one. If she managed to get him into her bed, which she had no doubt would happen and happen soon, she would need to repeat her mantra every moment. No heart. Only body. Pleasure without emotion.

  “Very well, Arabella Nichols,” he said, and the sound of her name coming from his mouth made her knees turn to the consistency of warm jelly. “Do your worst.”

  2

  Valentine shifted in a hard wooden chair in Arabella’s bedroom as he watched her make mysterious preparations. The scent of exotic spices hung heavy around him, addling his mind and making his already erotic thoughts about Arabella even more disconcerting.

  How could he have agreed to pretend to be her lover? There was no doubt he would make that fiction a reality within days…hell, hours, given his attraction to her and her sensual signals. And she was exactly the kind of woman he couldn’t dare to lose himself in.

  She turned to him, a bowl in one hand, a straight razor in the other, and a wet towel draped over one arm. Water had splashed on her thin satin nightgown in a few areas, and where it had, the fabric clung to her skin, nearly transparent.

  If he lasted more than three-quarters of an hour without taking this woman, it would be a Herculean feat.

  “I’ll place this over your face if you don’t mind,” she said as she set the bowl and razor on a table beside him. She lifted the towel and covered his face. It was warm, meant to soften his rough whiskers before she shaved them. “I’ll cut your hair while we wait.”

  “You will?” he asked, his voice muffled by the towel.