Parlor Games

by Jess Michaels

  It was alarming enough to be plunged into darkness by a woman he didn’t seem able to control himself around, but to add sharp scissors to the equation made it even worse.

  He heard the smile in her voice. “Yes. I promise not to do permanent damage.”

  He made his best effort to relax, but when she touched his scalp with light fingers he came back to full attention. Tingles shot through his bloodstream, heat pulsed to his cock and every other nerve ending. With just one light, benign touch, Arabella set him at the ready.

  As she began to snip away hair, Valentine fought for purchase over his desires. But it was a losing battle. The only thing his foggy mind could conjure was Arabella’s earlier statement to him. She had offered him “benefits” for taking this position. He had ignored that offer at the time, but now it sank beneath his skin, despite his best efforts to pretend otherwise.

  With her delicate hands smoothing through his hair, he could not ignore the images that promise inspired. He could only imagine how good it would feel to bury himself in Arabella’s slick heat.

  And that was exactly the kind of thing that had gotten him dismissed from the Bow Street Runners. Valentine groaned.

  “Too hot?” Arabella asked, her gentle fingers slipping beneath the hot towel to graze his jawline. His cock throbbed in response and he gritted his teeth.

  “Much,” he muttered before he cleared his throat. “No,” he said louder.

  Her fingers moved away. “Tell me if I hurt you.”

  He knew just how easily that could happen. And he also knew the only way to combat his steadily growing desire was to focus on the job she had hired him for. To find out everything he could about Arabella Nichols so he could determine who would want her dead.

  “Tell me about this place, Miss Nichols,” he asked, shifting in the hopes he could conceal his erection.

  She hesitated, her fingers stilling in his hair. Then she cleared her throat. “Arabella.”

  “Arabella,” he corrected. “Tell me about this…would you call it a club?”

  “Yes, though others call it a pleasure palace, a den of sin, and a hundred other names.”

  “And you’re the mistress of the whores here?”

  She stiffened. “They are not whores and I am not their madam,” she snapped. “There are women who live in this house, who mingle with the patrons, fulfill their darkest desires. And, yes, they are paid. But they are not peddling their bodies to the highest bidder.”

  He wanted to pull the towel aside to look at her face, but resisted. He had a feeling she was using the cloth as a shield, and truth be told, he needed that buffer just as much as she.

  “My intention was not to offend,” he said softly.

  She sighed. “I’m sorry. I’ve not been sleeping well of late. The idea that I run a common house for lightskirts rankles me.” She snipped a few more pieces of hair before she continued. “Those who wish to congregate here and enjoy the pleasures and freedom my domain offers pay a membership fee, just as they do at White’s and a dozen other clubs in the city. Once they have paid, they may do as they wish, as long as it isn’t illegal or violent. That fee is how I pay my employees.”

  “And what is the membership fee?” he asked.

  “Five hundred pounds.”

  “Five hundred?” he sputtered, nearly choking on the towel as he sucked in a breath of shock. “That is more than some people have to live on each year.”

  He felt her shrug. “I realize that. But what they find here is freedom without judgment. Exploration of their darkest desires. And utter anonymity. Every member knows if they reveal the identity of any other, they’ll lose their own membership and every activity they participated in will be publicly exposed. For those who wish even more protection, they can disguise themselves entirely. As for me, I’ve built a long-standing trust with my patrons. I will never divulge those who hold membership here.” She paused in her work. “You must promise the same.”

  “My job is not to watch the others here, it is to watch you,” he reassured her. When she returned to her work, he thought about the club she had formed. Even for members of the ton such utter freedom without consequence was rare. “I have heard rumors that your clientele includes many in high society. Even Wellington, Princess Charlotte, and the Regent have been linked to your establishment.”

  “I would never tell you if that were true, Mr. Valentine,” she said with a light laugh.

  “But if it were, that would mean you have powerful people in your midst. Ones who would be very powerful enemies.”

  “Yes.” Her laughter faded and he thought he felt her hand tremble. Once again, a strange desire to comfort her filled him. To make her feel safe.

  He shook off that reaction. Business. This was business. “Why do you believe someone is trying to kill you?”

  She hesitated again. “Perhaps for my records that involve those very powerful people. Perhaps because someone is angry I revoked their membership. Perhaps someone upset over the end of an affair. Perhaps because they know—” She stopped and her fingers jerked away from his scalp.

  Valentine reached up and gripped the edge of the swiftly cooling towel. Pulling it aside, he looked at Arabella. He’d known she was standing close to him; after all, he’d been able to smell the scent of her skin, feel her warmth…But seeing her so near was still a shock. She was so very lovely and his body rocketed to painful awareness in an instant.

  She met his stare with an even one of her own. It might have been called challenging if she hadn’t caught her full lower lip between her teeth and nibbled nervously. He watched her tongue sweep over her swollen mouth and his cock swelled ever hotter.

  “I—I should shave your whiskers,” she murmured, grabbing blindly for the bowl on the table beside her. It clattered, but she managed to grasp it in clumsy fingers.

  As she stepped closer, her legs brushed his arm. Valentine shut his eyes, murmuring a silent prayer that he wouldn’t humiliate himself before he touched her. He felt like he could explode with the slightest touch.

  She lathered her hands with shaving soap and began to stroke her fingers over his cheeks.

  Valentine knew about desire. No one could have called him a saint and kept a straight face. He had given and received all kinds of pleasures…even had desire used against him. But he hadn’t fully realized the power of such a simple touch until now. When Arabella glided her soapy fingertips across his cheek, his jaw, every nerve ending exploded. Every fantasy melted in comparison.

  And he wanted her more than he had ever wanted any woman.

  More to the point, she wanted him. Her nipples puckered beneath the thin sheath of her gown, thrusting against the satin in an invitation he would soon be unable to refuse. Her cheeks filled with pink heat, her eyes glazed, and a little sigh escaped her lips as she lifted the razor and smoothed the first of his scrubby whiskers away.

  Valentine shut his eyes, but it was folly. Until he could shut his nose to her delectable scent and his ears to her rasping breath and all his other senses to the nuances that made her so attractive, Arabella Nichols would continue to weave a wicked spell around him.

  The moment she finished her work with the razor, Valentine shoved out of the chair, using the damp towel to wipe his face clean as he moved as far away from her as he could.

  Slowly, he turned to face her. “I don’t mix business with pleasure, Arabella,” he rasped, the break in his voice belying his every word.

  “You deny your body?” she asked with a tilt of her head. “That is a rare quality in a man, at least in the ones I’ve observed.”

  He shrugged one shoulder. “Perhaps. But it remains true.”

  Arabella watched him for a long, heavy moment, then took a slow step in his direction. “My business is pleasure, Mr. Valentine, so I’m afraid it is not possible for me to separate them. I have learned the trick is not to deny yourself, but to prevent emotion from creeping in…taking over.”

  He watched her slip toward him, an
angel, a siren, a temptress all at once. His body swayed, his heart throbbed. He swallowed past a lump in his throat. “Desire can blind.”

  That slowed her advance and a sadness crept into her expression that made his heart ache in a different way.

  “True. Too true. But only if you allow it. And I promise you, I will not. Ever.”

  Valentine wrinkled his brow at her vehemence. But then she covered her emotions with a soft smile.

  “Consider this a part of the job you have been hired to do, Mr. Valentine,” she continued. “If the world is to believe we are lovers, the best way for us to be convincing is to make that fiction a reality. I promise I’ll make no further demands once you have finished your investigation and I feel safe.”

  Valentine stared. He was lost. He knew it. There was no way he would deny her. He wanted her. He wanted to taste her in every way. Fill her until he felt fulfilled. Claim her until she would never forget the sensation of him pulsing inside her. Even when she’d had another lover…even after a hundred more.

  Arabella must have sensed that silent surrender, for her hands lifted to the scandalously thin straps of her negligee. With a smooth motion, she slipped the gown away to pool at her feet and stood before him, utterly naked.

  Valentine wanted to shut his eyes, but the glory of her body did not allow it. She was all curves, soft and glowing like Botticelli’s Venus. Hers was a body made for touching. Her skin looked like fine creamy satin. Her full breasts would overflow his large hands. Her hips called out to be gripped as he took her. And the soft curls of blond hair at her mound demanded to be smoothed away to reveal the wet heat of her sex.

  He drew in a harsh breath. He was going to have this woman. He couldn’t control that fact. But there was only one way to be sure he wouldn’t lose his senses, to be sure he wouldn’t be used or betrayed again.

  And that was to utterly dominate their sexual encounter. To make her understand, without words, that he would not be at her mercy. That she could not control him with the twitch of her hips or the offer of her kiss.

  He took three long strides across the room and dragged her into his arms. His mouth came down and met hers without prelude. His kiss was harsh, bruising, but she didn’t draw away. Indeed, her lips parted to meet his passion with one equal in every way.

  Their tongues tangled, tasting, teasing, but Arabella felt more in this kiss than a promise of passion. It was a test. For both of them. Valentine was set on controlling her; she had to be just as strong about doing the same to him.

  She crooked one leg, lifting it high on his hip so the heat of her damp sex rested against the throbbing tip of his erection. Even through his trousers, she felt the steel of his cock swell larger.

  A little smile tilted her lips as Valentine dragged his hot mouth to her throat, raising goose bumps on her arms as he gently suckled the delicate skin. This man might be accustomed to control in the rest of his life, perhaps even with other women…but she could easily make him let go. Surrender.

  And she had thought John Valentine would be a challenge. Bah! She would win this war.

  As he trailed his mouth to her collarbone, grazing her with nuzzling kisses that heated her blood to the boiling point, she dipped her head back and gave herself over to sensation. After he’d had his way for a bit, she would take over. Turn the tables. Until then…

  She sucked in a breath as his mouth captured one nipple. Valentine swirled his tongue around the sensitive bud, laving it with humid heat, then nipping gently until pulsing desire shot from the point of contact to her pussy. The man knew how to use his mouth, that was clear.

  She clenched his shoulders as he slipped his hands down her back, trailing rough fingertips along her sensitive spine before he cupped her backside and lifted for better access to her aching breasts. Arabella bit back a cry of pleasure as he treated her opposite breast to the same torment as the first, then pressed his lips to the valley between.

  To her shock, she felt herself slipping into a haze of desire and need. This was a place she hadn’t found herself in for a long time. Years ago, she had learned from brutal experience just how a man could use her body against her. Since then, she no longer fully let go. Her pleasure was always muted, always kept at a distance.

  But with Valentine, she struggled for control as he massaged her backside, lifting her as he took a few strides toward her bed.

  She shook her head, fighting the overwhelming need. She’d gotten overconfident and allowed herself too much pleasure. She needed to reclaim control of the encounter. Now.

  Valentine laid her on her bed, dragging her down to the edge where he wrapped her legs around his hips. She moaned as the apex of her thighs brushed his hard stomach, then struggled to sit up as he leaned forward. She grasped his cheeks, pulling him in for a hot kiss. Unfortunately, claiming his mouth did nothing to reduce the fire burning in her belly. If anything, he seared her, branded her even more.

  Frustrated by desire and lack of control, Arabella gently sucked his tongue while she yanked at his shirt buttons, pulling the linen away from his broad shoulders and tossing it on the floor behind him. She pulled back to stare. He was even more magnificent than she imagined. All sinew and muscle, built from hard work that had also given his skin an olive tone. She shivered before she pulled him toward her.

  Valentine fell against her, pinning her down with his body weight, holding her in place with his hands as he ravished her mouth yet again. As he claimed her lips, he parted her legs with one knee. Arabella arched helplessly, her sensitive sex colliding with the rough wool of his trousers. The fabric rasped against her, creating delicious friction that brought hot, wet arousal flooding to that area.

  She caught her breath, but it was too late. A loud, harsh moan escaped her mouth, vibrating against Valentine’s lips. He chuckled. By God, she was the most responsive lover he’d had in a long time. Just the lightest touch had her skin flushing, her nipples pebbling, her sex flooding as it awaited his cock.

  And, oh, how he wanted to fill her. He lifted his head to look down at her. Through the dewy need, her blue eyes sparkled with challenge. Slowly, she worked one of her hands free from his grip and trailed her fingertips across his shoulder, placed her palm flat against his chest before she moved it down, down over the curves of muscle on his stomach, lower to his hip. And finally, she slipped his trousers open and captured his cock.

  Valentine groaned, tensing his arms so they didn’t buckle and send him crashing down on top of her. She gripped him, just testing his weight, his girth in her palm. Then, with a wicked little smile, she stroked him from base to tip.

  He couldn’t hold back a gasp of pleasure. Arabella knew exactly how to please him, as if she knew his body as well as he did himself. Her second stroke was just as sure and spots of black began to cloud his vision.

  “Lie back,” she whispered, pushing him to roll off her and lie down on her pillows. He blindly followed her guidance as she stroked him yet again.

  Arabella smiled, letting her thumb swirl a gentle circle around the sensitive head of his erection before she kissed his mouth. He hardly had the strength to return the kiss when her fingers were doing such magical, mesmerizing things. But then her mouth was gone, drifting down, down. She lapped her rough tongue over one flat nipple, mimicking what he had done to her earlier. His body bucked, the sensation going straight to his cock. He was surprised by how he ached with disappointment when she withdrew her lips.

  But the disappointment fled, replaced by anticipation, when her lips brushed his stomach, and finally her hot breath caressed his straining, throbbing erection. Blue eyes lifted, filled with promise and heat, snagging his until he could see nothing else.

  He watched as she blew warm air on the tingling head of his cock. Then glided her tongue out for a teasing lick. He tensed, gritting his teeth and balling his hands into fists as pleasure tightened all his muscles. He wanted her hot mouth on him. But he wouldn’t beg for it. That was all the control he had left.


  Arabella didn’t make him beg. With a sly wink, she wrapped her lips around him and took him deep into her throat. Valentine’s head strained into the pillows and his back arched as potent, heated pleasure nearly had him blacking out. He felt like he would spend already, like a green youth with his first woman. It took every amount of effort and experience to keep from doing just that.

  She didn’t make it any easier, setting a hot, sensually slow rhythm with her lips. She alternated between deep strokes and swirls of her tongue, gliding her hand in time with her mouth and bringing him closer and closer to the brink.

  His breath came in shorter and shorter pants and control went from wire thin to almost non ex is tent. There was no denying the explosion about to come. And he was going to enjoy every damn minute of it.

  Opening his eyes, he stared upward and started in surprise. There, mounted above Arabella’s bed, was an ornate silver mirror. It was as large as the bed itself and now it reflected Arabella’s blond curls bobbing around her bare shoulders as she pleasured him.

  But more than that, it reflected his own reactions. He watched his stomach tighten with every stroke of her tongue. His back arch. And his face showed…utter surrender. He was at the mercy of this woman.

  “No,” he groaned as he sat bolt upright. He grasped Arabella’s shoulders and dragged her up his body.

  “Valentine?” she panted, struggling in his arms as her eyes widened in surprise.

  He refused to let her escape as he flipped her over on her back. “Not like this,” he growled. “Not on your terms.”

  Arabella didn’t get the chance to respond. Not before he grasped her hips and slid inside her in one, long stroke. She couldn’t hold back a cry of pleasure. Valentine’s cock stretched her, filled her. It had been many months since she’d had that pleasure. Only her own fingers, her toys, had been her companions at night. But there was nothing like a man’s cock.

  And Valentine’s was a fine specimen.

  His eyes were wild, burning with need as he stared down at her, unmoving. She arched in the hope of forcing his thrusts, but he held her steady, pushing her shoulders down into the mattress.