Secrets of Sin (12 page)

Yes, yes, he’d sign the papers and be gone before she even woke up. He didn’t need her.

He shouldn’t have come back.

Reinier opened another drawer only to find it, too, contained no quill, so he shoved it closed with a little more force than was necessary.

A frustrated sigh wrenched itself from deep in his chest. He gave up searching and set his elbows on the desk, running his hands through his hair. The secretary shook and groaned with the force of his frustrated gesture.

A small casket slid from somewhere in front of him, shattered on the surface of the desk, and opened. Its contents spilled.

There was the quill he’d been searching for all along.

He could sign the papers now.

Although…that would be just what she wanted, wouldn’t it?

Well, it was more than he could say of himself. At least she knew what she wanted; at this point, he honestly didn’t have a clue what he wanted.

No, that wasn’t quite true. He knew what he wanted. He wanted her.

Now, didn’t that sound familiar?

How much did he want her and at what price? Was her body worth his soul? Would it come to that—again?

He wouldn’t let it happen. He’d just have to try harder. He’d have to try harder to be more like her. He’d have to follow her example and be the epitome of perfection for perfection’s sake alone.

But that was easier said than done. Maybe he just needed a small break to figure it all out. He should take some time and work off his confusion and anger with something to tax his body and that would eventually clear his head.

If that was the case, he thought as he folded the divorce papers again and put them back in their place, he’d better try and get some sleep.

Who was he trying to fool? He knew he’d never get any sleep.

Maybe he could seduce one of the pretty little maids or one of the villagers.

Wonderful. They were basically at his mercy. Since when had he sunk that low to even think about something as repugnant and damnable?

Or he could get raving drunk—he’d surely find sleep after that. Only then trying to clear his mind with work in the morning was out of the question. What kind of impression would it make on the workers if the master vomited from a little exertion?

He was a blithering lunatic. Oh, he was angry with them both. At her…at himself…

Good Lord, this bloody island was driving him insane!

“T
hat’s how I used to ride the chestnut filly,” Jaidyn whispered, licking Connor’s ear with a teasing tongue. His hands clamped down on her lean thighs and he could feel the muscles bunch under his fingers when she circled her hips, rose off him, and sat down again, circle, up, and down again, and again…

Finally, she’d revealed her name. A good, solid Irish name. She was his green-eyed, Irish goddess. Her red gold hair was tickling his face, his shoulders, and his sides. Connor pressed his head into the pillow, his eyes rolling up under his closed lids.

He shouldn’t have said what he had; he shouldn’t have asked her to once more show him how she used to ride her horse. He almost felt sorry for himself. Almost, because her strength and stamina were killing him. God, she was good at that. Untamed and enthusiastic, and Connor wanted it to never stop.

She was riding him hard, so hard he thought he was going to burst any moment now, and she didn’t seem to tire one bit. She was wonderful, absolutely lovely. At least that’s what he remembered from right before her rolling and grinding her hips against his cock made him close his eyes. She was perfect, riding him just the way he liked it. No, the way he loved it; the way he’d never been ridden before.

His hands wandered up her thighs and captured her waist that was so small the tips of his fingers touched at the small of her back. Her skin was sticky, deliciously moist from the exercise.

The palms of his hands then cupped her buttocks—firm, nice cheeks. His fingers wandered along the cleft; she was even wetter there. Lower down, where she ground against him, where her slick softness met his hardness…He let his fingers stay there to feel her bouncing up and down on him, taking him in, then releasing his rod only to capture him again completely.

Her breaths were coming hard, and each time he met her thrusts, she’d moan, a soft, high sound, so completely different from when he rode her. Then her moans were low and rough. But whatever position they were in, however he took her, the sounds she made came from deep in her throat and washed over him, inciting him, exciting him even more.

Jaidyn paused. She sat up completely, and her long hair tickled his hands and the inside of his thighs. Connor was grateful for the chance to take one last breath, because he was certain he was going to perish.

He’d have never thought he’d meet a woman who’d respond to him so completely, who matched his need as perfectly as Jaidyn did. One touch from her and he was up and ready in no time. One touch from him and she was hot, willing, and eager at once.

They’d taken a lazy bath, fed each other grapes and oranges and cheese and bread and roast beef from a silver tray. They’d also slept just a little in between, arms around each other. That was new too. He’d never enjoyed a woman beside him for longer than it took to make her crest enough times that he was satisfied. With Jaidyn it was different. He couldn’t get enough of her. They fit perfectly.

Wasn’t there something he needed to do? He couldn’t really remember now. There was no yesterday for him, no tomorrow. Only the present, this moment, and each moment that he was with Jaidyn. It was the only thing that counted, the only thing that was important. The only thing that was…

He opened his eyes to see her. He’d never forget how she looked, because saying she looked…beautiful didn’t quite fit. She wasn’t just beautiful, she was stunning. More than that. There was no word for it—at least Connor didn’t know one. Certainly not at that moment.

Her skin, her perfect, smooth skin, as white as porcelain, as soft as silk and dotted with all the places he’d kissed and had yet to kiss, glistened with transpiration, shone as the pale light of the early dawn illuminated her. It made her look ethereal. Like a fairy.

Catching her hips in his hands, he helped her with her sumptuous ride, bucking his hips up against her, and she let out those incredibly arousing, soft and high moans again. She was circling her hips against him, grinding her core on him, and he watched himself slide in and out of her, glistening with her juices. Gooseflesh rippled her skin and his as well.

Connor sat up, wrapping his arms all the way around her at the same time. This was where he wanted to be. His mouth found the puckered, delicious pebble of one breast and engulfed it, eagerly sucking it until he felt her arms around his head, pressing him closer to her. He left his teeth open a little so that her nipple rubbed against them but was then caressed by his lips. She must love the gentle abrasion. Her breathy moans were lower, coming faster as her ride became harder.

Quickly, he flipped them around, never leaving her warm embrace. When she landed on her back sprawled under him, he braced himself against the mattress and pumped into her hard, rolling his hips with long strokes that sent fire pulsing through his veins. He was going to burn alive, but it didn’t matter. It was all right; he’d die a happy man in her arms.

He was close and her sheath was fluttering around him. They’d come together. No, he had to hold back, he wanted to see her sigh and moan and whimper, her body rocking with another climax beneath him while he plunged into her tender flesh.

Closing her eyes, she bit her lower lip and froze, her whole body stiff with the calm before the storm. The blink of an eye later, she gasped and exploded, her nails raking his shoulders, eyes wide, body heaving off the bed in waves. Connor slowed, heightening her enjoyment, drawing it out not just for her sake but for his own. He’d never seen a more striking or mesmerizing sight than Jaidyn peaking so completely. The intensity of her orgasm shook him, raged through his body. He couldn’t hold back much longer, but he had to. He wanted to.

The waves of her orgasm ebbed by degrees and her body became softer, pliant under his. She swallowed hard; then he saw the haze crawl away, and when her emerald gaze focused on him, the contented smile on her lips sent a sizzling bolt through his body. He was lost. The last conscious thought he had was that he needed to pull out before it was too late.

His climax exploded through his body and burst from his mouth in a hoarse bellow.

He pumped into the hot tunnel he suddenly found himself in, not knowing how he’d gotten there. He thought he’d pulled out. Bending his head, Connor saw that it was Jaidyn’s hand that milked every last drop out of him, his semen dripping over her fingers and onto her lower belly. When he was completely spent, her hand retreated and she met his stare in which his utter amazement must have shown.

She smiled. And Connor didn’t just feel satisfied. He felt without question completely and truly happy. He wanted her to look at him that way always. He wanted her to…

Having wiped her hand on the bedsheet, her arms snaked up around his back and he let himself fall into her embrace. His heart was pumping in an erratic rhythm, his breaths coming hard. Bringing his hands up, he brushed a few wayward strands of her strawberry blond hair from her face.

Her body fit his like it was made for it. It was the perfect port, the only port that he’d ever want or need.

Connor mirrored her smile and brought his lips closer to hers, just an inch away. He could taste her breath on his lips, her warm, soft, luscious lips that quivered right now before he…

Sudden shock at what he was about to do surged through him. An ice-cold iron bar had replaced his spine and his eyes widened as realization hit him with the force of a cannonball.

What on earth was he doing? What in bloody hell had happened to him?

Cursing under his breath, Connor immediately left her arms, rolled off the bed, and stalked to the washstand. He filled the china bowl with cool water and splashed his face a few times, dragging his wet fingers through his hair. Bracing his arms against the stand, he watched, head bent, the bead that formed on the tip of his nose drop back into the bowl, rippling the surface with flawless circles. The water barely helped to cool his mind.

The sleepy early morning sun glimpsed at him through the open window. He gripped the rim of the washstand so hard that his knuckles turned white.

What had he been thinking?

He’d wanted to kiss her? A whore? Kissing didn’t work without feelings. He certainly didn’t have tender feelings for her, and surely she didn’t have any romantic feelings about him. What devil had possessed him?

“Connor?”

He could hear her move on the bed behind him, but he wouldn’t look at her and didn’t answer her. He was too embarrassed. No, he was too angry.

What had she done to him?

Whatever spell he was under, he had to get away from her. Lips grim, he grabbed one small washcloth on the stand beside the bowl, immersed it, then wrung it out. He didn’t even look back when he tossed the wet cloth in her direction, growling a distant “Clean up,” while he did the same.

“Connor, what’s wrong?”

He still didn’t talk to her. Instead, he went to the chair where his clothes were and donned them hastily. He didn’t even bother tying his hair back. Just before he reached the door, he looked back at her. He had to; he didn’t know why.

His grandmother always used to call freckles like hers “fairy kisses.”

Clearly he was under some kind of spell.

They were staring at each other. Her eyes were wide. She bit her lower lip, averted her eyes, and reached blindly for the blanket. Lips quivering, she covered herself but didn’t look at him again. She turned her back, away from the door, away from him.

Connor felt the muscles in his cheeks jump. He turned and ground his molars so hard he could hear them make tiny little noises in his head, creaking and crunching like the planks of a ship at sea in the middle of a calm night.

Hand wrapped around the doorknob, he narrowed his eyes at the door’s panel in front of him. His heart was beating heavily up to his throat. Something akin to dread was squeezing his neck with cold talons.

Whatever she’d done to him and that had him so…confused…it didn’t agree with him. Not at all.

He turned the knob and left the room without another backward glance.

The door fell shut behind him when he was almost down the stairs. With each step he took, something in his chest constricted, more and more, until Connor had to pause to catch his breath.

He was cursed; that must be it. There was no other logical explanation for it.

“Monsieur O’Driscole!” Madame Poivre’s lilt tore him out of his dark thoughts and his head snapped up to see her standing right in front of him at the foot of the stairs, barring his hasty retreat from her establishment.

“Why, you’re a little pale. What ’as ’appened?”

For the first time since he’d known her, he couldn’t manage his typical smirk. His eyes were glued to her and instantly he avoided her searching gaze, looking to the side, then down.

“I think you need a glass of something stronger than port right now. Come with me.” She slung her arm around his, hooking in his elbow, and much to his chagrin guided him to another room at the back, even farther away from the exit. But Connor complied. The house was asleep; besides, he had too much respect for the madam to just brush her off.

Next thing he knew, instead of halfway to the harbor, he was seated in a comfy armchair in a room he’d never been in before. Madame Poivre thrust a slightly chipped lead crystal glass in his hand that was filled with golden-brown liquid. Its fragrance was familiar and it soothed his agitated mind right away. Irish whiskey. Single malt. He guided the glass to his lips in a slow and deliberate way, savoring it like it was ambrosia. Indeed, to him it was. Taking a sip, he let the liquid splash against the roof of his mouth, then linger on his tongue. Swallowing it, he felt its almost nonexistent burn down his throat, tasted the gentle, tickling whisper of its unique flavor on his palate. Connor closed his eyes as the liquid brought balmy calmness and tingling strength back to his body at once.

“You’re leaving us already, O’Driscoll?”

Connor’s head snapped up at her having said his name without the usual disfigurement of a fake French accent, and he realized her small, shrewd eyes were taking in his every reaction.

As much as he wanted to reply something, nothing came to his mind. “Yes” was not quite the truth, because he was sitting here now and not on his way like he wished to be, “no” would be a lie; “as soon as you let me” was stating the obvious but rather impolite. So what could he say?

“You’re not displeased with her, are you?” She focused all her attention on him.

Connor averted her searching gaze yet again, looking instead into the lead crystal glass in his hand. “No.”

Madame Poivre sighed with relief. “Good. After two days that would have sounded rather unbelievable, anyway. You’re probably asking yourself how she came to be here in my house?”

When she said it, Connor knew that that was part of what had been bothering him all along. But before he could react in any way, she snorted and went on, “I have this acquaintance. He is a young sailor who has chosen, might I call it a less than perfectly respectable profession? The poor boy never had anybody else to look after him but his Auntie Polly, who herself grew up in the worst part of London. But she made something of herself. She even learned a bit of French in her time, and she taught him some virtues that are so easily forgotten these days.”

Connor looked up at her and she winked at him. Was she talking about herself?

“Oh, listen to me, digressing again and chattering about something that is totally beside the point. This acquaintance of mine is probably the last honorable buccaneer there is, and I have seen one or two in my time. He brought her to my doorstep.” Pausing, she let out another dramatic sigh.

Connor finished the whiskey and set the empty glass on the small table next to him. He’d rather she stopped talking about Jaidyn. And he’d rather be on his way. Standing, Connor bowed to her and excused himself. “I thank you, Madame Poivre, but I’m afraid I need to leave now. I—”

“She is a rare beauty, is she not?” Speaking quickly, her eyes narrowed at him once more with a peculiar glitter.

Connor paid her no mind, though. He turned to leave the room. He’d show himself out; after years of coming here, he knew the way only too well.