Gift of Fire (25 page)

“I’m going to teach you a lesson, Jonas Quarrel.” Verity turned away from him to survey the collection of leather and velvet whips arranged on the wall. “If you want to hang around in torture chambers playing with psychic groupies, then it’s time you learned the risks.” She selected a whip, a long-handled one with soft, delicate tassels on the end.

Jonas eyed her with a new wariness. Verity was as unpredictable as dynamite under normal circumstances. He’d never dealt with her when she was in a jealous rage before. Things promised to get interesting. “Put that back, Verity,” he said. “This has gone far enough.”

“I don’t think so, Jonas.” She walked to the chamber door and closed it. Then she slid the bolt home. The dull
ker-chunk
sounded ominous. She moved slowly back toward Jonas, watching him through narrowed eyes. The tassled whip waved in her hand. “You want to play games in torture chambers? I’ll see if I can teach you a few tricks.”

Jonas was torn between laughter and a hot, sizzling excitement. He’d been aroused since Verity had arrived looking like an avenging queen. He’d taken a violent satisfaction in the knowledge that she wanted him enough to fight for him. It had given him an undeniable, heady thrill to see the possessiveness in her eyes.

But he didn’t know what to make of her now. He wondered just how much of this was serious anger and how much was nothing more than a passionate game.

“Verity,” Jonas said with quiet forcefulness, “the game’s gone far enough. Where are the keys to these manacles?”

She took them out of her pocket and tossed them aside. They landed with a faint tinkling sound, well out of his reach. Jonas frowned. Verity moved slowly toward him, an odd smile on her lips.

“Lesson number one,” she said as she stuck the handle of the whip into the back pocket of her jeans. “You don’t need to wear so many clothes in a torture chamber.” She began unbuttoning his shirt. “Torture chambers are hot places.”

Jonas stared down at her fingers, fascinated. His throat was suddenly dry. “Verity?” The shirt parted and she ran her slender fingers through the hair on his chest. She flicked one flat nipple and Jonas sucked in his breath. His jeans began to feel far too snug.

“Lesson number two,” Verity murmured as she knelt in front of him and yanked off first one scuffed boot and then the other. “You don’t hang around places like this with twenty-thousand-year-old prostitutes. Is that clear?”

“Believe me,” Jonas said tightly, “it won’t happen again.” He was getting turned on so fast that he was afraid he might become the world’s first documented case of human spontaneous combustion. Verity was back on her feet now, her hands busy at the zipper of his jeans. “Honey, you’re not really going to go through with this, are you?”

“I believe in teaching a very thorough lesson.” The zipper hissed in her hands. She let her fingers trail inside the opening and smiled approvingly at what she found there. Jonas inhaled deeply. Then she slid her palms under the waistband and shoved the jeans down over Jonas’s hips.

Jonas groaned under the touch of her soft warm hands on his bare thighs. He looked down and saw his manhood straining against the fabric of his tight briefs. It didn’t take much urging from Verity for him to kick off the jeans. Then he glanced at the door.

“Verity, I don’t think this is such a good idea. Let’s go upstairs to our room. Anyone might come by and wonder what’s going on in here.”

“Oh, lord.” Jonas closed his eyes as he felt her take him into her hands. Her nails scraped exquisitely along the heavy, throbbing length of him. “Verity, this is crazy.”

“Torture. Think of it as torture.”

“It’s torture all right. I’m not sure I’ll survive.” He took a few deep breaths trying to regain some self-control. She had such good hands, he thought dazedly. She knew exactly how and where to touch him. He felt her fingers teasing the full, taut globes at the base of his shaft and instinctively he arched his hips toward her.

Verity released him and Jonas swore in dismay. He tried to reach for her to drag her close so that she could finish what she had begun. But the manacle chains went tight and Jonas opened his eyes, growling in frustration. What he saw nearly did him in.

Verity was unbuttoning her shirt. It quickly became obvious that she was not wearing a bra. She worked with tantalizing, excruciating slowness, letting the garment slowly open to reveal the soft curves of her breasts. She didn’t remove the shirt once she had it unbuttoned. She just let it hang free so that the fabric moved with her, alternately revealing, then concealing her rosy nipples.

Jonas stared at her hungrily, wildly intrigued by the sight of the straining nipple that flirted with him from the shadows. She was as turned on as he was, he thought. That realization almost sent him over the edge.

But he couldn’t let go yet, he told himself. This was too good to ruin with an early, unplanned climax. He wanted to see how far Verity would go. He had to find out just what she had in mind. When she reached for the soft whip in her pocket he shook his head wonderingly,

“You wouldn’t dare,” he whispered.

“Oh no?” She studied him closely, frowning in concentration. Then she extended the whip experimentally.

“I swear, Verity, if you try anything with that whip, I’ll…Oh, Christ.”

The velvet tassels trailed lovingly over his thigh and moved upward to tease his thrusting shaft. Jonas jerked backward in reaction. She dragged the tassels the other way, tangling his eager manhood in the little velvet strips. Jonas swelled to new heights.

“Not bad, for a psychic,” she murmured with a small, teasing grin.

Jonas swallowed heavily and took another deep breath. “Verity, so help me, when I get free I’m going to make you pay for this.”

“I warned you the night you tied me to the bedpost that one day I would get even.”

She twirled the whip, letting it wrap him more tightly. Then she tugged gently and the tassels pulled briefly at Jonas before reluctantly uncurling.

“Verity, you don’t know what you’re doing.” He could barely get the words out.

“Don’t I?” She knelt in front of him and replaced the whip tassels with her hot, tight mouth. Jonas stared down at her head and waged a heroic battle for self-control. Every muscle in his body was strained with the effort. His whole world was filled with a flame-haired vixen who obviously considered him her private, personal property. He thought of his baby growing within her and he wanted to shout his triumph to the world. Just when he thought he would surely explode, Verity released him.

He breathed heavily, taking a step back from the edge and regaining a small measure of control. He watched Verity set down the silly little whip and unfasten her jeans. Jonas stared, hypnotized, as she shimmied out of the denims. She then stepped daintily out of her panties and Jonas gritted his teeth. He was going under fast.

When she moved away from him he gazed raptly at the sweet, sexy curves of her derriere. He could have studied the sight all day without growing bored.

But Verity had other plans. She was dragging the padded bench toward him.

What the hell?” he demanded as she pushed the bench toward his legs.

“Open your legs,” she ordered.

He did so reluctantly, uncertain what she had in mind. She maneuvered the bench between his thighs. Jonas suddenly felt very vulnerable. He looked at her through narrowed lids. “Now what, Madam Torturer?”

“Sit down.”

He obeyed slowly, discovering that there was just enough play in the manacle chains to allow him to sit on the padded bench. His legs were astride the seat. “Baby, you are going to be the death of me.”

“You’ll survive. Maybe.” Her eyes were hot and shimmering with desire as she walked over to where he sat. She bent one knee and straddled the bench. She was only inches away from him.

Jonas inhaled the spicy, feminine scent of her arousal and thought he would go into orbit. Again he instinctively reached out to embrace her and pull her down onto him, but once more the manacles restrained him. He relaxed, swearing softly in frustration.

Verity settled herself carefully on his hips. She caught his shaft between gentle fingers, then she slowly eased him inside her softness. She took her time, allowing her body to adjust to the penetration at its own speed.

Jonas sucked in his breath and willed himself to endure the sweet torture. He could feel the familiar, initial resistance, felt the soft, clinging folds clutch at him, and then he was all the way into the tight sheath. He released the breath he had been holding deep in his lungs. Verity’s fingers clamped onto his shoulders and her head tipped back as she began to move astride him.

Jonas was half-dazed. She looked so beautiful in her passion, he thought. Sweet and sexy and trembling with her desire for him.

She wanted him. Jonas had never been wanted or needed in his life the way Verity wanted and needed him.”

“
Verity
.
”
Jonas’s voice was thick with need. He knew he would never last. She had him in her power and he was violently aroused, totally at her mercy. He didn’t stand a chance. When her mouth came down on his, he thrust his tongue hungrily between her lips, searching out the hot darkness inside her mouth. He felt her tighten in that special way she did just before her climax. He heard the soft whimper in her throat, and his passionately tormented body gave up the battle for control.

Jonas didn’t try to stifle the hoarse shout of satisfaction that accompanied his release. He gloried in the explosion that tore through him, pumping himself heavily into Verity’s softness until he felt totally drained.

Verity collapsed against him, her head on his shoulder as she recovered her breath. There was a sheen of perspiration in the valley between her breasts. Jonas relaxed deeply, enjoying the scent of her hair and the way the curls tickled his nostrils.

“So you love me, hmmm?” he drawled when he regained command of his voice.

“More than anything else in the world, Jonas.” She didn’t move.

“Not going to let any psychic groupie with hot pants get her hands on me?”

“You’d better not let yourself get into a compromising situation like that ever again,” Verity warned fervently. But her eyes were gleaming with languid satisfaction as she raised her head to look down at him. “No telling how I might retaliate next time. Do you hear me, Jonas?”

“I hear you,” he whispered. Then he tightened one hand into a fist and yanked hard on the manacle. The weak aluminum catch came apart with a snapping sound and his wrist was free. He repeated the action with the other hand.

Verity stared at his freed hands. She was outraged. “You were faking it. I thought I had you really chained. You could have gotten free anytime.”

Jonas laughed softly and pulled her close. “I haven’t been free since the day I met you, little tyrant. And I wouldn’t have missed this torture session for the world.”

He kissed her deeply and thoroughly as he listened to the cheap aluminum manacles clatter against the stone wall.

They just didn’t make dungeon implements the way they used to.

Chapter Thirteen

Lunch was a somewhat strained affair. Maggie Frampton served the meatless lasagna and minestrone Verity had helped her prepare, but she didn’t even bother to make barbed remarks about the lack of animal protein. She seemed distracted, Verity thought.

Elyssa was not very talkative either. Privately, Verity did not consider that a great social loss. Verity did notice, however, that Elyssa took special pains to ignore Yarwood. Jonas, and herself. When she spoke, it was to discuss crystals with Oliver Crump or to snap at Maggie for being slow. A lot of the sweetness and light had gone out of Little Miss Sunshine, Slade Spencer was his customary morose, nervous self.

Doug Warwick and Jonas, apparently oblivious to the awkward atmosphere, talked intently at the far end of the table, discussing Jonas’s observations and the overall outline of the report.

“We can, hardly claim that the villa is a shining example of Renaissance purity of line,” Jonas said. “So we’ll have to emphasize the historical significance of the place. Don’t worry, it’s all going to sound impressive enough, especially when you consider the fact that you haven’t got much in the way of competition. If this were Italy, you’d have a tough time convincing anyone that this was an historical treasure, but genuine Renaissance villas are scarce in North America. I think I can turn out something that will wow your potential buyers.”

“Good,” Warwick said, sounding relieved. “I want to get this deal going.”

Spencer spoke up, his mouth twisted in derision. “Turning out this report is a hell of a job for a guy with a Ph.D., huh, Quarrel? Sort of like getting paid to write a flashy ad for a big real estate deal. Not exactly pure and noble scholarship.”

Verity scowled, instinctively opening her mouth to leap to Jonas’s defense. But Jonas forestalled her by responding first.

“Pure and noble scholarship and fifty cents won’t even buy a cup of coffee these days,” Jonas said with surprising mildness. “I was never all that taken with purity and nobility when it comes to scholarship, anyway. What about you?”

“Me?” Spencer shrugged. His coffee cup rattled in the saucer as he picked it up with fingers that trembled slightly. “I agree with you. Screw pure and noble scholarship. It won’t buy shit.”

“True,” Jonas remarked with a pointed glance at Spencer’s fragrant pipe. “But then, not all of us are in the market for shit.”

Verity shot Jonas a withering glance. Spencer turned a dull red and everyone else at the table suddenly became very busy with their food. Jonas’s comment had been an all too obvious reference to Spencer’s drug problems.

“You think that degree after your name entitles you to make cracks like that?” Spencer asked hoarsely.

“No, I’d probably make the same kind of cracks even without the degree “

It was Doug Warwick who stepped in to save what was left of the conversation. “As I was saying, I’d like to have that report for my buyers as soon as possible. Now that we know the villa is authentic, they’ll move on the deal.”