Parlor Games

by Jess Michaels

  “Stop saying that,” he growled, turning on Bennett with a wild expression he couldn’t control. “We must be mistaken.”

  His friend held out the papers in his hand. “We aren’t. There is no record of the woman anywhere until five years ago.”

  Valentine’s soul howled. It was no surprise that Arabella was keeping secrets. She had all but admitted she withheld the truth from him. But what a secret! She had created an entire identity from whole cloth. Who was she really? And was her shadowy past linked to the current threats on her life?

  “You’re angered by this news,” Bennett mused as he leaned back on the edge of his desk and looked at his friend with folded arms.

  “Of course I am!” Valentine barely resisted an overwhelming urge to put a fist through the closest wall. “She lied to me.”

  Bennett’s eyebrow arched. “And that matters to you because…?”

  Valentine froze. Why did it matter? Arabella had hired him for a duty, one that had very little to do with who she was…or had been. He should have been able to shrug off her deception easily, but he couldn’t.

  Because when he took her in his arms, he felt a connection. Tenuous…trembling…terrifying…but there nonetheless.

  He met his friend’s waiting gaze. Bennett saw too much. Valentine measured his tone carefully, removing as much emotion as he could.

  “It matters because someone from her past could be responsible for the threats on her. Especially if there is a life she’s running from.” He drew in a calming breath, not that it did much good. “When did the identity of Arabella Nichols come into record?”

  “She first surfaced as Jesterton’s mistress.”

  Valentine turned away with a shudder. Lord Jesterton…a sadistic bastard who went through more mistresses than the biggest libertine. He never stayed with one woman longer than a few months and he always settled them with enormous sums. The ones who survived him, that was. A few women he had been benefactor to had disappeared entirely. Rumor said they were victims to his brutality in or out of the bedroom.

  And Arabella had been one of them. What tortures had she endured? He might not know anything else about her, but Valentine knew pain was not her inclination. She must have been so frightened.

  And Valentine found himself wishing to comfort her. To make what ever ugly memories she carried fade away.

  But that was ridiculous! His responsibility wasn’t to console her. It was to keep her alive.

  “If only I knew who I was protecting,” he murmured.

  “What was that?” Bennett asked.

  “Nothing. What about Jesterton? He’s a vindictive bastard. Could he be involved in the attacks against Arabella?”

  His friend shuffled some papers. “Certainly he has been rumored to take swift vengeance on those who cross him, but he’s been out of town for over two months tending to some business concerns. He was not nearby during at least two of the attempts on her.” Bennett shrugged. “And if he wanted to harm Arabella, why would he wait five years to do it?”

  Valentine nodded. He had had the displeasure of meeting Jesterton twice when his own father was still alive, before Valentine left society. The Earl didn’t seem like the kind of man who could manage vengeance as a dish served cold. He hadn’t seemed the patient sort.

  So who was it? He was no closer to any answers. Only to more troubling questions and long-buried emotions.

  “Pardon me, Mr. Caruthers, but a message has arrived for Mr. Valentine.”

  Both men turned to see Bennett’s batman at the parlor door, holding a folded note.

  “For me?” Valentine asked as he stepped forward. “Here?”

  “Yes, sir, apparently the sender stressed its urgency and your servants forwarded it.”

  “Thank you,” he said as he opened the missive. A whiff of the perfume that hung on the fine linen paper gave him no doubt about the sender. “Arabella.”

  His heart throbbing, he turned to the note. His eyes widened at what she had written in her swirling, elegant hand. Anger and terror welled inside him in equal measures.

  “Damn it! Bring my coat,” he bellowed as he stuffed the letter into his pocket. “Hurry!”

  “What is it?” Bennett asked, stepping forward.

  “Keep looking into Arabella’s past,” he ordered as he snatched his coat from Bennett’s stunned batman. “I’ll call on you tomorrow if I’m able.”

  “Where are you going?” Bennett insisted, trailing him as he hurried into the hall.

  He turned as he wrenched the door open. “Arabella has decided to disregard my order and venture out alone. So I am going to the opera.”

  Without waiting for Bennett’s answer, he started down the stairs, but he could hear his friend’s voice echoing around him as he boarded his waiting carriage.

  “Be careful, Valentine.”

  As he slammed the carriage door, he scrubbed a hand over his face. Be careful. It was all he could do when Arabella…or whoever she was…was making her way into his hardened heart.

  When the curtain to her private box flew back, framing Valentine at his darkest, most furious best, Arabella’s heart flipped with both relief and anticipation.

  Relief because although she had tried to be brave, every noise, every word, every gesture from those in her midst made her tremble. She now saw danger around every corner and Valentine’s presence gave her a peace she hadn’t felt since he stormed from her room with a demand she stay home.

  But the reasons for her anticipation were less clear and certainly less reassuring. She knew he would be angry. In truth, she deserved the fury that darkened his brown eyes to rich chocolate. She had put herself in danger to prove a point and he would react accordingly.

  But she anticipated more than his mere rage. As he stood, the curtain fluttering behind him, the light from the hall outlining his wide shoulders, his fists clenched, she realized she had missed him. She anticipated being with him. Touching him. Letting him touch her.

  Her heart flipped as he pulled the curtain closed and stormed, silent, across the small private area. She scrambled to her feet to meet him, but he gave her no opportunity to put up a defense. Instead, he grabbed her shoulders, turned her, and pressed her against the wall behind them.

  “What were you thinking?” he growled, his touch as demanding as his words. His fingers pushed into her skin, but they did not inspire fear or a need to obey. Instead, they sparked dangerous lust. Need she had forgotten was so strong in the days they were apart.

  She struggled against him to no avail, so she stilled, staring up at him as she prayed he would not see what a strong hold he possessed over her.

  “You left,” she whispered, her tone as harsh and angry as his. “You demanded I follow your rule with no explanation. I waited for you to tell me when you would return. You never contacted me. For all I knew, you had no plans to complete the bargain we made. What would you have me do? Live under the rule of an absent lover who has made it abundantly clear he does not respect my right to make my own decisions? Live in fear of my own shadow? No, Valentine, I would not have you control me.”

  He barked out a laugh that no doubt carried to the boxes around them. Society would have its fun recounting this tale tomorrow.

  “No, Arabella.” He sneered her name and she turned away from the contempt in his tone. But when he spoke again, the sarcasm and anger were muted. “I would have you use enough sense to know I was trying to protect you. I would have you care enough about your own safety to hear my words. Your actions in coming out alone tonight were foolhardy at best.”

  She pushed against him, again trying to break away from the distracting press of his body. All she succeeded in doing was brushing her hips against the hard thrust of his erection. Her eyes went wide as she darted her gaze to him. He tilted his head in challenge, as if daring her to point out that he wanted her.

  She didn’t. Instead, she whispered, “I had no choice. People were beginning to ask why I locked myself away. If I wanted
to keep the threats against me a secret, I had to come out. To be seen. And—”

  She bit back what she was about to say. It was too close to the truth, too close to him.

  “And what, Arabella?” he asked, his grip on her arms softening, becoming a caress rather than a prison. “You have so many secrets. What is this most recent?”

  She shivered as his breath caressed her cheek, her throat. How many dreams had she had of Valentine’s hands on her skin since he deserted her? Of his smile, the one he so rarely flashed. Of his cock buried deep, but also of the comfort of his hand against her back as she entered a room.

  “I wanted to see you,” she admitted, hating herself for telling him something that could be used against her. But she couldn’t hold back. “I wanted you to come to me.”

  He drew back, staring at her as if weighing why she would say such a thing. Then his mouth dipped closer, his breath searing her lips as he murmured, “I’m here, Arabella. For better or worse, I am here now.”

  Then his mouth met hers at the same instant the orchestra below blared forth in music and the opera began. Arabella arched, no longer fighting. It had been two days since he touched her and she had thought of little else during that time. For the moment, she didn’t care about surrender or the voices in her head that reminded her how foolish that was.

  She wanted Valentine. She wanted him to fill the stunning, sudden emptiness his departure had left in her soul, her body, her heart.

  He obliged without her asking. His mouth, which had been so rough when he claimed hers, gentled against her lips. She opened to him and, for what seemed like an eternity, they kissed. He sucked and swirled her tongue, tasted her completely. He owned the kiss, but did not use it against her as he had done in the past. It was a gift, given even as he took equal pleasure in return. For the first time since she met him, she felt like they were on equal ground, and it was glorious.

  The music below swelled again, the lilting voice of the soprano merging in perfect duet with the deeper tenor. Valentine drew back, looking into her eyes. Questions lay there in his gaze. Ones about her past. Even ones about the future. But one stood out above all others. He was asking to touch her, without words. Without force.

  She gave her answer by slipping her hands between them and shoving his heavy coat from his shoulders. He growled out satisfaction before his mouth returned to hers. Now the kiss was possession.

  Valentine pushed against the wall, pinning Arabella. The luscious length of her molded to his hard body and he was in heaven. Only one thing was better. Having her admit she wanted him at her side. He ignored his better judgment and memories long enough to savor that confession.

  Her arms slipped up around his neck, urging his kiss on, surrendering, this time with no fight. It was enough to drive a man mad. His fingers stroked her arms, swept along her exposed collarbone, and finally found the little pearl buttons on the front of her stunning violet gown. The one that made her eyes midnight-blue.

  The delicate fabric fell away easily in his hands, revealing her voluptuous breasts. Valentine dipped his head, capturing one rosy nipple and sucking hard enough that Arabella cried out at the exact moment the cymbals crashed below them and muffled the sound.

  He glanced up. She bit her lip, trying to hold back a second cry of pleasure when he took the opposite nipple into the heat of his mouth. That wouldn’t do. He wanted to hear her pleasure. It was more beautiful than the opera below.

  He stroked his tongue across the bud, swirling, sucking until she was trembling. Finally, his teeth rasped gently over the sensitized tip and she let out a moan as her trembling legs gave way.

  He cupped her backside to support her, massaging her through the drooping satin of her gown. She arched helplessly, shamelessly offering her breasts, grinding her hips against his swelling erection. His control wavered as intense pleasure ripped through him.

  He forgot any concern for control or the crowd around them as he pulled her dress away, letting it pool at her feet. She was naked beneath. Of course she was. She always was. And he loved that she granted him such access. That she was always ready, always slick and heated, always open for his touch.

  “Valentine,” she breathed close to his ear, his name a plea.

  He did not deny her. Drawing back, he wasted no time in divesting himself of his own clothing. He stood before her naked, his erection thrusting proud and ready, curling toward his stomach. It tingled with every look she gave him, with every step toward her, as if his cock knew that soon it would be inside her, fulfilling both their needs.

  Arabella sucked in her breath. Valentine’s body could not have been molded more perfectly to her specifications, and she ached to join with him in an ancient dance of pleasure. That it was also an ancient dance of control was something she shoved aside, revolting against her rational mind in favor of her body’s desire. Her heart’s desire.

  He reached for her and she stepped freely into his arms. Slowly, he lowered her to the floor, cushioning her on their discarded clothes. If the rough carpet was uncomfortable, she didn’t feel it. She was too focused on Valentine as he knelt beneath her spread legs.

  He cupped her rear end, hot fingers searing her skin. She gasped as he titled her up, spreading her sex for his hungry eyes and opening her to his every whim. As the music crashed and built around them, he fanned the flames of need by playing his fingers along the entrance to her slit. His index finger smoothed her curls, brushed teasingly over her clit, and finally delved deep within her. She tossed her head, gasping for breath as pleasure threatened to overwhelm her even with this simple touch. No other man had ever brought her to the edge, kept her there, with such ease.

  But no other man had been like Valentine.

  His finger pulled away, leaving her clenching body empty. “You’re so hot,” he murmured, his voice filled with awe and tense with desire as he swirled his wet finger around the bud of her pleasure. “So wet and ready.”

  She nodded, the ache inside her spiraling tighter, closer to losing control. “Yes, ready for you. Please, please…give me what I need.”

  His gaze came up and she was shocked by how intensely a fire now burned within. He gripped her hips and slid her forward until the head of his cock nudged her entrance.

  “What ever you desire,” he promised as he thrust forward.

  Around them, the opera house echoed with the building music of the final aria. The singer’s voice grew more desperate with emotion, and so did Arabella. Valentine swirled his hips as he thrust, holding her close as he took her.

  Release built like a racing stallion within her. She felt it approaching as Valentine pounded deep inside her and it raged out of control when one rough thumb pressed down against her sensitive clit.

  She bit back her cries of pleasure as wave after wave rocked her. Her body tingled, her hips jerked, and all the while Valentine thrust on, his pace never ending, never easing.

  She had just come down from the high of release when he leaned forward, lifting her until they were face-to-face, her legs wrapped around his thrusting hips. Still, he continued to move within her, even as he speared his tongue between her lips.

  Valentine clenched at her hips, setting the pace as he thrust. She met him, her mouth scorching his, her breasts brushing his chest. God, she was so hot around him, milking him closer to release.

  But he wasn’t ready yet. He wanted to feel her clench and quiver again. Again. He never wanted that to stop. He was claiming her, whether she knew that or not. And he would not be satisfied until she was weak in his arms, given over to him utterly.

  He broke contact with her lips and dipped his head, catching the nipple that bobbed so temptingly before his lips. Her head tilted back and she sighed. Then the sigh broke as he sucked. Her body tightened, her channel squeezing and pulsing through a second, powerful orgasm that brought him right up to the brink of control.

  He thought of anything and everything to calm his racing pulse. Not yet. His possession wasn’t comp
lete. Her surrender wasn’t overpowering.

  Sweat slicked their bodies as he once again lowered her to the piles of clothing on the box floor. She was limp in his arms, panting as her body clenched through the final tremors of her most recent release. This time he didn’t kneel as he took her, but covered her with his body, holding her close and raining kisses along the damp, flushed skin around her hairline, down her neck.

  He slowed his thrusts, ignoring the shots of overwhelming, electric desire that stroked his cock each time she lifted weakly to meet his demands. He worked his hips, rotating to let her feel how fully he filled her. To stroke that secret, sensitive spot buried deep within her channel. Her body quickened with each stroke, her hands clamped against his back, nails digging at his flesh as he brought her closer, closer, closer…

  He watched her face as he took her. She strained, tears of relief streaming from her eyes. She was close to another orgasm, one more powerful than any previous. He saw it in her eyes, felt it in the way her body reached for more, reached for completion.

  He rolled his hips as he slipped his fingers between their bodies and stroked her clit between his forefinger and thumb.

  Arabella screamed in time to the final note of the prima donna’s aria and it was the most beautiful sound Valentine ever heard. She bucked, her hips nearly throwing him free, and still her release and her cries went on and on. Even after the singer finished her final note and the crowd rose to its feet in applause, Arabella cried out as he finally allowed his own pleasure and filled her body—as he wished he could fill her heart.

  Arabella’s hands trembled as she refastened her buttons and did what she could to straighten her wrinkled gown. Not that what she and Valentine had done would be a secret, even if she could erase the effects from her clothing. She had practically screamed the opera house down. But that wasn’t what troubled her. She had been on public display before…even with Valentine.

  What troubled her was how intense this encounter had been. Not just physically, though she was weak from orgasm after orgasm, but emotionally. Valentine had been reaching for something as he took her, something more than power or control. And truth be told, she’d reached for it, too.